#your hint for this one is: beeps

[moonverc3x]

[rafecameronssl4t]

Will Rafe and readers children get arranged marriage too? If it’s traditional in reader’s family does that mean that there’s matches found for the children already? Would reader let that happen to her kids? I expect reader’s parents would push for arrangements to be made as soon as a child is born

Always repeating itself || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: lol I was think of this video for the beginning since I saw soo many tiktok comments joking abt it how it would be him walking to the car and saying kids get in the car 😭😭

Warnings: angst!!!!

Word count: 2,193

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“Kids! Let’s go!” Rafe’s voice carries from the foyer, sharp and commanding, though not without a hint of warmth. You take a moment to smooth down Madeline’s dress, her little hands fidgeting as her eyes gleam with excitement. “Alright, sweetheart, off you go,” you whisper, giving her a gentle nudge as she bolts toward the door, her laughter ringing through the hallway.

Leo lingers behind, slower to move, his tiny fingers wrapped tightly around your hand. “Careful on the stairs,” you call after Madeline, already bounding ahead, her shoes thudding loudly against the floor. You grab your bag, glancing back one more time at Leo as he moves in front of you. His small hands gripping the railing as he steps carefully down each stair.

“Take your time, Leo,” you murmur, a soft smile spreading across your face as your hand instinctively rests on your rounded belly, the growing weight of the life inside you grounding your steps. Rafe watches from below, his eyes narrowing slightly but softening as he sees Leo’s slower pace. Madeline is already at his side, her hands swinging in his, filled with boundless energy.

“C’mon, buddy,” Rafe says, his tone firm yet encouraging as he extends his hand toward Leo. Leo finally reaches his father, slipping his small hand into Rafe’s, while you take the final steps down, your movements slower, more deliberate. Rafe’s eyes linger on you for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his face before he turns back to the children. “Got everything?” he asks, his voice low as he reaches for the car keys.

You nod softly, pressing a hand against your stomach again, feeling the light kick beneath your skin. “Yeah,” you reply with a hum, your eyes locking with his for a brief second before shifting to the children, now racing toward the front door. There’s a weight to the moment, one that neither of you acknowledges out loud, but it lingers like the unspoken words always do between you two.

Rafe steps aside, closing the door behind you as he unlocks the g-wagon with a beep. You open the back door for the kids, watching as Leo and Madeline clamber into their seats, their excitement barely contained. Rafe moves around the car, quietly buckling the kids in. His movements are precise, almost mechanical, but there’s an undeniable care in the way he makes sure their belts are snug.

You lean back in your seat, one hand tracing slow circles on your belly, feeling the gentle stirring beneath the fabric of your dress. The feeling always brings you a strange comfort, a reminder of the life growing inside you, of the future you didn’t quite plan but now couldn’t imagine without. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Rafe shifts the car into gear, glancing over his shoulder as he reverses out of the driveway. The sound of the tyres crunching against the gravel fills the silence for a few moments.

“Do you know what this is about?” Rafe breaks the silence, his eyes flicking toward you with a mixture of curiosity and mild concern. There’s something else there too—wariness, perhaps. He’s never been one to be at ease around your parents, and this unexpected meeting only stirs that discomfort. You shrug lightly, your gaze focused out the window for a moment before returning to the rhythmic movement of your hands across your stomach.

“No idea,” you murmur, your voice soft, almost distant. You can feel the tension building in your chest, an old, familiar feeling whenever your parents are involved. The tightness grows as you try not to overthink why they summoned you today, especially with the children. What could be so urgent? Rafe’s grip tightens on the wheel, and you don’t miss the slight clench of his jaw.

He’s never been good at hiding his frustration, though he tries for your sake—sometimes. There’s a part of you that wonders if he’s bracing himself for whatever demands or expectations your parents are about to lay at your feet. You glance at the rearview mirror, catching sight of Madeline and Leo in the back, completely oblivious to the tension building in the front seat.

~

“You’re joking,” Rafe scoffs, his voice dripping with disbelief as he swirls the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking softly. He brings the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip of bourbon, his eyes narrowing at your parents across the grand dining room. You sit beside him, frozen in place, trying to process the words that had just shattered whatever illusion of calm you thought you’d have during this meeting.

It was bound to happen, but hearing it out loud felt like a punch to the gut. “They’re still children!” Rafe’s voice slices through the tension hanging in the room, his frustration flaring as he slams the glass onto the table, the sound reverberating through the ornate dining room. “And are we forgetting the fact that she’s still not born?” His hand gestures sharply toward your swollen belly, his anger spilling over as your hands instinctively cradle your stomach.

Rafe’s gaze is intense, his blue eyes flashing with a mixture of disbelief and fury. His jaw is clenched, the muscles tightening as he glares at your parents, the weight of their expectations pressing down on him, on both of you. The suffocating traditions of your family—arranged marriages, predetermined futures, heirs before individuals—were wearing on him, threatening to tear down the fragile balance you had both tried to maintain.

Your father leans back in his chair, unfazed by Rafe’s outburst, his expression as steely as ever. Your mother, ever poised, crosses her legs delicately, her cool composure only fueling the fire in Rafe’s gaze. They’ve seen this reaction before—yours, when you were told of your own arranged marriage. To them, this is just another step in the preservation of the family’s legacy, a legacy that had been woven into every decision, every expectation.

“Rafe, we understand your concerns,” your mother begins, her voice calm, like she’s explaining a simple business arrangement. “But this is not about today. This is about securing their future. She may not be born yet, but she, like her siblings, will have her place in this family, and part of that is ensuring they all have the right alliances.”

Rafe scoffs, running a hand through his hair, his frustration only building as he listens to their cold, calculated reasoning. He turns to you, his eyes searching your face, looking for something—anything—that shows you’re as disturbed by this conversation as he is. You meet his gaze, your hands still resting protectively over your stomach, feeling the soft flutter of movement inside you.

Part of you wants to agree with him, to speak up and tell your parents that this is madness. That your children deserve a choice, a chance at a life that isn’t dictated by contracts and old traditions. But the other part of you—the part that had been raised in this world, where duty and legacy are everything—knows this was always inevitable. It’s the same fate that was chosen for you.

Rafe’s voice lowers, but the anger remains. “You’re planning their futures before they can even speak for themselves. Do you realise how insane that sounds?” He turns back to your father, who has remained quiet throughout the exchange, observing Rafe’s reaction with a measured gaze. “Rafe,” your father finally says, his tone cool and authoritative, the kind that commands respect.

“This isn’t about insanity. It’s about responsibility. You, of all people, should understand the importance of that. Our families were built on these alliances, and your children will carry on that legacy.” Rafe leans back in his chair, exhaling harshly, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table as he tries to contain the frustration boiling inside him. He’s always hated this aspect of your family—the suffocating rules, the unspoken expectations that had shaped your life from the moment you were born.

Your mother’s expression was unreadable, though you know her well enough to catch the subtle lift of her chin—an indication that she expected this reaction from Rafe. “Y/n,” Rafe mutters, turning his head toward you, searching your face for any sign of how you were taking this, his blue eyes flickering with something close to desperation.

He’s waiting for you to speak up, to be the buffer between him and your parents, as you often are. You swallow hard, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Of course, you knew this day would come. In your world, in the world of dynasties and old money, these things were decided long before feelings or personal desires were even considered. Your children were not just your own; they were the future of two powerful families, and with that came the responsibility to uphold the tradition of arranged marriages.

It’s what had happened to you, after all. “Rafe, I understand that in your family, this may seem insane…” you begin, your voice steady, though your heart is pounding with the weight of the situation. Inside, a storm of conflicting emotions rages—your loyalty to your family’s legacy, the deep-rooted traditions you were raised with, and the growing sense that this isn’t the life you want for your children.

You glance at Rafe, watching as his anger simmers just beneath the surface, his fingers drumming impatiently against the side of his glass. “Oh this is more than insane and you know it, Y/n.” His eyes meet yours briefly, a flash of frustration and disbelief swirling in the blue depths. His family may be wealthy, even powerful in their own right, but they’ve never adhered to these kinds of traditions.

The antiquated practices your parents held onto with such ferocity were foreign to him, and every time they were brought up, it was like another layer of expectation was placed on his shoulders. You shift in your seat, trying to navigate the tightrope between the world you come from and the man beside you. “But in this family—your family now—this is what’s expected,” you continue, trying to keep your voice calm, even as your own doubts creep in.

“Our children’s futures are tied to these alliances. It’s not just about them, it’s about securing the family’s legacy.” Rafe’s jaw clenches visibly, his knuckles whitening around the glass as he sets it down with a little more force than necessary. “So what, they just get to be pawns in some game?” he snaps, his voice low but filled with restrained anger. “Is that all we are to them?”

You wince at his words, knowing that’s exactly how he sees it. It’s how you once saw it too. But you’d been trained your whole life to believe it was more than that—that it was a duty, a responsibility to the family. Yet, sitting here now, with your hands protectively over your stomach, the reality of arranging your own children’s marriages before they’ve even had the chance to live feels like a cruel twist of fate. One you never wanted to inflict on them.

Your father clears his throat, leaning forward slightly, his eyes sharp, watching the exchange closely. “Rafe,” he says, his voice measured, authoritative. “This isn’t a game. It’s about ensuring the stability of the family. The world we live in requires certain… arrangements. We all made sacrifices for this, and so will our children.”

Rafe shakes his head, leaning back in his chair, exhaling harshly as he runs a hand through his hair. “Sacrifices?” he mutters under his breath, his voice tinged with bitterness. He looks at you again, the plea in his eyes unmistakable. He’s desperate for you to push back, to stand with him against your parents and their rigid traditions.

But you hesitate, your gaze dropping to your stomach once more. How can you deny the truth of what your father is saying? You’ve lived it—your entire life has been shaped by these expectations. “I know it’s hard to understand,” you finally say, your voice softening as you turn back to Rafe.

“But it’s how things are done in this family. We have to think about the bigger picture.” Rafe’s eyes narrow, his frustration palpable. “And what about them?” he asks. “What about their lives, their choices? Are we just going to take that away from them before they even have a chance?” His words hit you hard, stirring something deep within you.

The idea of your children—your daughter, not yet born—being forced into the same mould you had been, fills you with a sense of dread. But the pull of your family’s expectations is strong, and breaking away from it feels impossible. You can already sense your mother’s disapproval, the way her gaze sharpens at Rafe’s defiance, as if he’s an outsider who doesn’t understand the way things work in your world.

Rafe’s eyes flash with frustration, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t care if that’s how it’s always been done,” he snaps, his voice rising slightly before he catches himself. “They’re not us, Y/n. They deserve more than this.” Your heart tightens at his words because a part of you knows he’s right. You glance at your parents, their expressions unchanged, as if they had heard these objections a thousand times before.

Your father’s gaze settles on Rafe with the kind of authority that comes from years of making decisions others are expected to follow. “We are not here to debate this, Rafe” your father says, his tone calm but firm. “This is about securing the future. Our future. Our children’s future.” Rafe lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he looks away, staring out the large windows behind your parents.

The sun is setting, casting a soft glow over the estate’s immaculate gardens, but the beauty of it is lost in the suffocating atmosphere inside. You know this conversation is far from over, and as Rafe’s hand curls into a fist on the table, you can’t help but wonder how much longer you can keep navigating this delicate balance between your family’s expectations and the life you want for your children.

“This is ridiculous,” Rafe mutters again, quieter now, his voice barely cutting through the heavy silence that lingers in the room. His fingers tap restlessly against the armrest, and just as you’re about to respond, the sound of doors swinging open pulls your attention. You turn to see Leo and Madeline barreling toward you, their shoes tapping against the polished floor, their laughter momentarily breaking the tension.

Behind them, the maid rushes in, her face flushed with worry as she tries to catch up. “I’m so sorry—” she starts, breathless, but before she can finish, Rafe stands abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping harshly against the floor. “It’s fine. We’re done here,” Rafe says, his voice firm as he looks at you, then shifts his gaze to your parents, making it clear that this conversation is over.

The weight of his decision hangs in the air, thick with unspoken words. As Madeline runs up to him, her small arms reaching for him to pick her up, Rafe’s features soften, if only for a moment, as he bends down to scoop her into his arms. You sigh quietly, exchanging a look with your mother, her expression unreadable but the disapproval still lingering in her eyes.

There’s a silent understanding between you—this conversation isn’t over, not really. You rise from your seat, your movements slow as you reach for Leo’s hand, his small fingers curling around yours. With one last glance at your parents, you follow Rafe out, the heavy door closing behind you with a finality that echoes in the pit of your stomach.

[favefandomimagines]

Everything Has Changed (r.c)

Summary: what started out as an arranged marriage, blossoms into something more after a tourist runs a stop sign.

AN: arranged marriage!au because I’m a sucker for angst, fluff and a male character who realizes what he has.

Warning: brief mentions of sexual activity

The sun hung high over the Outer Banks, its rays sparkling off the ocean waves. Rafe Cameron stood on the golf course, his mind far from the game. All he was thinking about was his “wife” who was at home.

Rafe had spent his childhood being the odd one out in his family, and now he was trapped in a whole new world.

When Ward told him that he was going to be marrying Y/N Y/L/N, the first thing he said was “who?” It was Sarah who told him that she had been friends with her for years.

Their families had grown close over the years, their paths intertwined since childhood. Rafe and Y/N had shared some moments as kids—playing on the beach, the occasional birthday party—but they were never close friends. As they grew older, the divide between them widened, especially as Rafe embraced his party boy side.

“Dude, focus!” Topper shouted, snapping Rafe back to the present. He shook off the irritation and concentrated on his swing, trying to push the thoughts of Y/N from his mind.

“Sorry, man,” Rafe muttered, forcing a smile. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

“Can’t believe you’re actually married,” Kelce chimed in, laughing. “You? Tied down? It’s like watching a lion in a cage.”

“Yeah, well, not much choice in the matter, is there?” Rafe snapped, the bitterness in his tone clear. “My parents thought it was what’s best for the family name.”

“You know the good thing about these business marriages?” Topper asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. “You can still hookup with other people.”

Rafe shook his head. “Not going to happen. I’m not unfaithful, so I expect her to act the same way.”

Little did he know, his thoughts about Y/N would soon change.

||

A week later, everything shifted. Rafe was on the golf course again, enjoying the day with Topper and Kelce, when his phone buzzed aggressively in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, frowning at the unfamiliar number. Ignoring it at first, he went back to his game.

The phone buzzed again, and with an annoyed sigh, he pulled it out. “What?” he answered, a hint of irritation in his voice.

“Mr. Cameron?” a calm voice spoke on the other end. “This is Dr. Miller at Kildare County Medical. I’m calling about your wife, Y/N Cameron. She’s been in an accident.”

Rafe felt his heart drop. “What do you mean? Is she okay?” He asked.

There was a pause on the line, and he could hear the muffled sounds of the hospital in the background. “She sustained some injuries, but she’s stable. You’ll need to come to the hospital to pick her up.”

Rafe’s irritation morphed into a visceral fear, a feeling he had never expected to experience for someone he hardly knew. He cursed under his breath, muttering something about the day being ruined. “I’ll be there.”

Dropping everything, he hurriedly made his way to the hospital, thoughts racing in his mind. How could this happen? Why did he care so much? As he drove, the weight of their marriage settled heavily on his shoulders.

||

When Rafe arrived at the hospital, he rushed through the doors and made his way to the ER. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils, and the sound of beeping machines surrounded him. He found Y/N sitting on an examination table, her head bandaged and a doctor stitching her up.

“Rafe?” she looked up, surprise etched on her face, but it quickly turned to annoyance.

“What happened?” he demanded, his voice sharper than he intended.

“Some stupid tourist was texting and driving,” she replied, her voice strained as the doctor worked on her. “Ran a stop sign.”

“What are you doing here?” Y/N asked. “The hospital called, Y/N, I’m your husband.” Rafe answered, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He watched her as she winced slightly at the thread being pulled.

Rafe’s eyes narrowed as he watched the doctor press the needle into her skin. “Take it easy,” he said, an unexpected protectiveness flaring within him. “You know what? Where’s the plastic surgeon?”

Y/N winced again at the pain. “Relax, Rafe. I’m fine. It’s just a stupid cut.”

“But—”

“Go back to golf, Rafe. You don’t need to be here.”

The coldness in her tone cut through him. “You’re hurt, and you want me to just leave?”

“You’d prefer that, wouldn’t you?” she shot back, a mixture of pain and frustration in her eyes. “I don’t need your pity.”

Rafe clenched his fists, angry at himself for how much her words affected him. “Did you call the police? Get the license plate number? I should sue the bastard.”

“Stop it! I’m fine! Just go back to your golf game.” she hissed, dismissing him.

He hesitated, a million thoughts racing through his mind. She wasn’t fine—not really. He could see that she was shaken up after the accident. The idea of her getting hurt scared him more than he wanted to admit. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Sarah is coming to get me,” she replied coldly, crossing her arms.

“Don’t act like you care just because we’re in public,” she added, her voice low but fierce.

Rafe stood there, the realization hitting him like a wave: he didn’t want to lose her. He didn’t just feel annoyed by their situation; he felt something deeper.

That night, Y/N returned home to find two dozen roses on the kitchen counter. She glanced at them with an unreadable expression just as Rafe walked in.

“Do you like them?” he asked, hopeful that it might be a first step.

She scoffed bitterly. “I’m allergic to roses.”

He felt his face flush. “I didn’t know…”

“You would if you’d bothered to ask,” she replied, voice laced with frustration. “You’d know a lot more if you weren’t such an ass the first year of our marriage.”

Her words cut deep, and for the first time, Rafe recognized just how much he had hurt her. She had never wanted this marriage any more than he had, yet she had done nothing but accept it with grace. He made up his mind that things were going to change.

He watched her as she tossed the flowers in the trash before walking right passed him and up the stairs.

||

Over the next few weeks, Rafe found ways to break through Y/N’s walls. Each gesture was an apology, a bid for a second chance. He learned her routines, finding out she was fond of morning coffee from a local café. Every day, he made sure her favorite caramel macchiato was waiting for her when she woke up.

He surprised her with tickets to an art exhibit she had once mentioned in passing, standing beside her as they admired the paintings. Though she was wary at first, she couldn’t help but smile at his efforts. Slowly, he began to chip away at her guardedness, showing her that he was willing to put in the work to make amends.

One night, she told him, “If you want to make things right, Rafe, it’s not about grand gestures. Get to know me. My favorite color, my favorite music, the things I love. That’s the only way I’ll believe that you care.”

And so, he did just that. He took the time to ask her about her favorite movies (she loved classics), her favorite books (she had a soft spot for poetry), and her favorite flowers (hydrangeas, not roses). Each new fact he learned about her deepened his understanding of her, transforming his initial frustration into genuine admiration.

He spent hours creating a playlist of her favorite songs, a blend of jazz, classic rock, and indie folk. When he played it for her one evening, she looked at him with an expression he hadn’t seen before—trust. She leaned against him as the music filled the room, allowing herself, just for a moment, to be vulnerable.

Eventually, Rafe’s sincerity broke through her walls. She found herself looking forward to spending time with him, enjoying his newfound attentiveness. They began to laugh together, sharing inside jokes and secrets they had once kept to themselves.

What was once just an obligation to get their parents to shut up about grandkids, sex was now enjoyable for the both of them. Before, Rafe didn’t care if Y/N enjoyed it or not but now, all he cared about was her. What she liked, what she didn’t like, the things that turned her on. He found that Y/N’s pleasure was a gateway to his own.

Y/N found herself wrapped up in the sheets of her’s and Rafe’s king sized bed, Y/N was lying on her side, drawing circles on Rafe’s back with her finger. “You know, that’s very distracting.” Rafe mumbled, his eyes still closed.

Y/N smiled at him as he opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’m sorry.” She said. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He replied. Rafe continued to look at Y/N, taking in her natural beauty. No makeup, hair not done, it was just her.

“I love you.” He whispered. Y/N’s movements halted as she looked at Rafe. “R-Really?” She stammered. “I know I was an ass. I thought this marriage was your fault and it wasn’t. But over these past few months, getting to know each other, I think this marriage was the best thing that ever happened to me.” He continued.

“I love you too, Rafe.” Y/N spoke softly. Rafe moved to wrap his arms around Y/N’s body, pulling her into him before kissing her deeply.

||

It was now Autumn in the Outer Banks, the ari getting slightly cooler outside but never dropping below 55 degrees.

Y/N had been up for a few hours, spending most of her time in the master bathroom. She had been feeling a little under the weather the past few weeks and she thought it was just food poisoning at first. But when it didn’t stop, and her period was late, she decided to take a pregnancy test.

Y/N looked down at the three positive tests that were sitting on the bathroom counter. Her and Rafe were having a baby. The first thing she felt was fear, mainly because she had been so accustomed to walking on eggshells around Rafe.

But she had to remind herself that the Rafe she married, wasn’t who he was anymore. Then she felt relieved and happy.

Y/N snuck out of the bedroom and crept downstairs to make some coffee for when Rafe woke up. A few minutes later, she heard his footsteps come down the stairs.

Rafe saw her leaning against the kitchen counter in his t-shirt, holding out a coffee mug for him to take. He could see a look of almost mischief on her face as he took the mug.

“What’s up?” he asked, a gentle smile on his face. “There’s something I want to tell you,” She started. Rafe furrowed his eyebrows at her statement.

She took his free hand and placed it over her stomach. “We’re having a baby, Rafe.”

Rafe’s eyes widened as he stared at her in shock, then joy. A rush of emotion surged through him, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

As they embraced, he whispered, “Thank you for giving us a chance. For giving me a chance.”

In that moment, he knew he had found something he’d never known he needed—her love. And he would do everything in his power to protect it, to protect them

[ipodfresa]

Its okay to be vulnerable

summary: anxiety gets in the way of you and abbys love life

cw: mom!abby x mom!r, smut, fingering (r!recieving), crying after sex, anxiety, angsty, abby helps you feel better, slight proofread, idk very self indulgent.

When your baby girl first arrived, Abby was all over you. God forbid you were in a different room. Whether cleaning up the nursery, preparing dinner, or getting ready for bed, she had to be near you. Abby has always been protective, but after the baby was born, something seemed to flip inside her. Her affection and need to be close to you has her like she has a highschool crush again.

Sometimes, she’d slide her hands over you before your little one stirred awake, bodies pressed together under the blanket, on top of her, underwear gone. Kisses litter your face, and your lips, little puffs of air in agreement as you babble incoherent sentences of pleasure. The blonde has the cutest smile on her face, Everything felt messy, loud, and raw, but you didn’t care. Throwing your head back, you’d capture her lips in a desperate kiss, swallowing each other’s gasps as she scissored her fingers inside you. The cold metal of her wedding ring would brush your folds with every movement, adding a chill to the heat coursing through you.

“ ‘m? Gonna come?” she whispered breathlessly, fingers Everything was hot and sweaty, your legs tangled with hers. You nod, not trusting your voice. She hasn't gotten you like this since the baby, and never really has time to properly fuck you because both of you are constantly on your feet caring for your little one.

Her finger rubs against your clit, slow but with enough pressure it has you clenching her hand between your legs.  Abby didn’t let up, though. Instead, she flipped you onto your stomach, raising your hips and pressing your upper body into the bed, your face smushed into the sheets. Your pajama shirt bunched above your breasts, leaving you exposed, taking her time, moving between slow, torturous strokes and sudden, quick pumps of her fingers. Your moans grew louder, your legs kicking back at her, wordlessly begging her to slow down. She doesn't stop but takes the hint as you hear the beeping of your baby monitors going off.

Abby doesn’t mean to let you slip away, but she does, her grip loosening as she reaches over your slumped body to silence the monitor. The small red light flashes insistently, its rhythm cutting through the silence surrounding you both. Focus on steadying your breath, your face buried beneath your arms and tangled in the comforting press of pillows. Abby’s body half-drapes over yours, and you can feel the slight shake in her legs, either from the chill in the room or from the intensity of what she’s done to you over the last 15 minutes.

“Everything okay?” you whisper, voice hushed and tentative, as you glance sideways. Abby squints at the monitor’s light across her flushed face and swollen lips, bruised from kisses. When her eyes meet yours, her expression softens, and she nods, gently setting the monitor back onto the bedside table. Her lips find yours in a kiss, gentle, both of you savoring the shared afterglow. There's no need to hurry, the simple comfort of your caressing touches and kisses, calm one another in the quiet.

“She’s alright?” you ask again, breaking the kiss, your worry showing through. Abby chuckles softly, her heart clenching at how you still put your baby’s needs above your own, even in moments like this.

“Yes, baby,” she murmurs, pulling you close and maneuvering your tired body into a cuddle. The blanket covers your bare lower half; Abby never even took off her clothes, the urgency of you two fucking making it seem irrelevant. Her hand cradles the back of your neck, its familiar weight causing your eyes to close as a sense of safety envelops you.

“We don’t have to rush to the nursery every time it goes off,” she whispers after a pause. You stare at her, breathing finally even. The digital clock behind her reads 3:10 a.m., and you reach up to caress her cheek, feeling her exhaustion show in your own.

“I know, I just…” you begin, but your words catch, and you suck in a shaky breath, seeing the concern deepen in her eyes. “I can’t help but hear her little cries whenever that thing goes off.”

Abby’s lips form a pout as she hears the emotion swelling in your voice. She wraps her arms tighter around you, holding you close, sensing the depth of your love to your baby.

“I know,” she murmurs into your hair, rubbing your back with slow strokes. Her embrace grounding you as you nuzzle deeper into her chest. “I’m here, and you’re here. She’s safe. It’s okay to be vulnerable..”

You cling to her at these words, feeling her lips press a tender kiss against your hairline. Guilt twists inside you as you stifle your tears. Each time Abby tries to steer you away from your house responsibilities or the baby, your mind seems to wander. This time, the worry feels heavier as it all comes crashing down at you.  Abby then remembers the depth of this, understanding that maybe it’s the intensity of your orgasm, an overflow of emotions the past few days. It's not common for you to cry after sex, but it’s not the first time, either.

“Love you,” you mumble into her chest, eyes closing as her lips leave another gentle kiss on your head.

“I love you too” Abby whispers after the kiss, settling you into the gentle quiet of the night as you bask in her overwhelming love.

a/n: not having the best of days so here we go. also happy 1 year anniversary and thanks for over 200 followers :)

[rin-may-1103]

Just a Bite (part two)

Previous | Master Post | Next

Danny slid into the taxi and closed the door, not even a second later did the man merge into traffic. Sneaking a glance at the driver, who somehow looked even worse than Danny did when he hadn't slept in four days, Danny slowly peeled off the sticky note from the seat.

glancing down, he found Clockwork's familiar handwriting. (which he would like to add, shouldn't be as familiar as it is, but then again, he shouldn't be having tea time with him either.)

Do what you think is right, only then does your future look bright.

well, alright then. does that mean Danny should jump out the moving car? because he didn't think walking into some poor rich dude's house and forcing his company on the family was the right thing to do. He thought it was the most convenient at the moment, sure, but not the right one.

flipping the note over, Danny found more writing;

Do not jump out of the car, you've already come this far. Patience will be a virtue. This is worth the persue. Do not worry, there is no hurry.

"what the hell, Clockwork?" Danny quietly hissed, glaring off to the side and out the window. "You become friends with Ghostwriter or something? and what do you mean don't worry? I'm literally running from the government. if nothing else, that's probably the one thing I need to worry about."

Another sticky note poped up, this time stuck to the back of the driver's seat. Glancing up, Danny waited a second for the driver to be distracted before reaching out and snatching the note.

the only thing on it was a very shitty smily face.

what the fuck.

"this isn't funny, clocky!" Danny hissed again, glancing up to make sure the driver hadn't heard him. "mom and dad literally have my ecto signature, they only need a single hint of which direction to go before it becomes all too easy to find me again."

closing his eyes, Danny took a deep breath.

holding it for a second, then exhaling. Alright. Fine, if Clockwork isn't worried or against this, then there's no reason not to do this. (well besides the obvious one; it's rude to walk into someone's house uninvited and whatnot.)

"fine, but I'm only staying long enough to snag some food and then I'm gone, got it?" Danny grumbled, glaring at his reflection in the window. he didn't receive another note, so he leaned back and watched as the city passed. Slowly buildings spread out, and green lawns turned into green fields.

staring down at the smiley face, Danny shook his head, carefully he pulled out his phone and removed the case. shoving the sticky note inside, Danny put the case back on and put his phone in his pocket. it was dead, so he couldn't do anything else with it so might as well make it useful. who knows when Danny might need that little bit of ectoplasm.

A few minutes later, the taxi slowed to a stop next to a black gate and rolled down the window. "taxi 'ere, Mr. Wayne already paid me."

"I see," a strongly British voice echoed from the box, "come in." The gate beeped a second later and swung open, allowing the taxi to drive through. Danny glanced around the front 'yard' as they approached the looming building. Nicely trimmed green grass fields as far as the eyes could see, trees lining where Danny had to assume were the property lines.

somehow it was completely different from Vlad's front yard, yet still, Danny could only describe them as the same. Green, full of flowers and sculpted bushes and outlandishly garish paveways for their rich front doors. If Danny squinted he could swear there were butterflies happily fluttering around the sides of the building.

and Danny uses the word building here because that was not a house.

No, no. That building wasn't even a mansion like Sam's house. nor was it a castle, like Vlad's. It was an old building of amalgamated eras and themes. Danny was so annoyed his phone was dead right now, Sam would have lost her mind if she could see what he was. Are those eighteenth-century dormers right next to a twentieth-century skylight???

you know what? Mr. Wayne deserves to have all of his food eaten right in front of him. Who in their right mind would allow their home to look like that? And in the twenty-first century no less!

The taxi pulled to a stop; and Danny, lost in his Sam-induced horror, automatically pushed the car door open, stumbled his way out, closed the door, and stopped at the bottom of the stairs to stare up at the roof.

Taxi man sniffed and then drove off, his jaw cracking yawn echoing in the back of Danny's mind.

"Master Tim?" the British voice from earlier echoed out from the now-opened door. Danny's gaze dropped from the roof and down to the older man now walking toward him. the man hadn't looked up from his newspaper, still reading a paragraph as he stopped in front of Danny.

blinking, Danny glanced down at the paper. he might as well see what had the man's attention so thoroughly. Another article about Damian Wayne and the schoolyard incident.

Danny snorted, he remembered reading about that one. Someone had thrown away their copy and Danny had been bored. let's just say Danny was thoroughly entertained. he even had thoughts about how the kid had managed to sneak in a small dagger with how tight the school's security claimed to be.

"it had to be his belt, I just know it," Danny whispered, leaning a little more to try and see what the new article revealed.

"yes, yes. young master Damian snuck his dagger to school, no need for you to tell me how for the seventh time. Now, then." the butler, folded the paper and put it in his back pocket, and then, again without looking, gently grabbed Danny's arm and guided him toward the door.

"master bruce has been worried about your lack of sleep, you will go to your room and take a nap or you will not be allowed to share in your siblings' desert at diner tonight." the British man sternly continued, closing the front door behind them.

Danny blinked at him, then at the large foyer in front of them. he was so glad Vlad hadn't splurged on aesthetics like this family obviously had. Was that a crystal chandelier?

The British man, Danny was going to call him Gramps now, guided Danny to the stairs and then promptly let him go so he could rush off to find the source of a loud crash, but not without telling Danny (master Tim) to get some rest.

Glancing up at the grand stairs (covered in an obscene amount of glitter) and finding a large golden framed painting of the ocean with a for sale sign next to it, Danny made up his mind.

Mr. Wayne was a multi-billionaire, who allowed his ancient family home to be butchered. If he wasn't going to respect his home when Danny didn't even have one anymore?

Then Danny was going to honor Sam; The person who had dragged him into this hellish life of interior and exterior design (as well as the half'a life coincidently). And how was he going to do this, you ask? well what else, then do the very thing she's dedicated her time to?

Eating the rich.

Or in this case; their food.

and well, what was a ghost supposed to do when welcomed into an ancient home with ungrateful residences? Not haunt them?

[auroralwriting]

coffee

spencer reid x fem!reader

spencer always feels better when you make him coffee to cheer him up. auroral writing's fallidays masterlist

word count: 1k

warnings: season 2 spencer, no use of y/n, show-accurate spencer aka he’s a little, sweet nerd, comfort but no angst

Sometimes, having your boyfriend at home was worse than missing him while he was on a case. Spencer would be exhausted from time to time, varying on the case they worked on. It wasn’t easy to see your love so beat down so often. He promised it was just jet lag, but deep down, you knew some of the cases bothered him, too.

Late last night, Spencer arrived back home. Whenever he was gone, you’d stay at his apartment to water his plants and make sure the place was top notch by the time he came home. He had slipped into bed with you while you slept, not wanting to disturb your peace.

When you woke up, your heart fluttered seeing your genius lying next to you. The dark circles around his eyes were more prominent than they usually were. He didn’t even change out of his clothes.

It was clear that his thoughts were heavy, even deep in sleep. You wondered how bad this case was. What always cheered Spencer up was a nice, warm cup of coffee in the morning. So, you decided that's what you'd do; make him a nice, warm cup to make him feel better.

You got up slowly, making sure to take soft steps in order to not wake Spencer up. You opened his dresser drawers and laid him out a tee shirt and some plaid pajama pants so he could get comfortable when he woke up.

Once that was done, you went into his kitchen and turned on his record player, some soft classical music filling the empty room. The tunes help occupy the space as you worked on breakfast.

The coffee pot beeped off when you heard soft creaks from Spencer’s bedroom.

You grabbed his mug, one catered to the way he made his coffee, and carefully walked into the bedroom once more. Spencer’s eyes softened when he looked at you. He rubbed his eyes, giving his iconic soft, goofy smile.

“G’morning, love.” Spencer muttered, softly stretching as he sat up.

Cheeks tinted with red, you sat on the side of the bed with the mug in hand. “Morning, Spence. I made you some coffee, fresh out of the pot.”

Spencer took a sip, a low hum coming from his throat. “Perfect,” he mused.

“Long case?” You asked, brushing a piece of his hair back from his forehead.

“Very much so,” Spencer nodded. He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. “Statistically, ninth percent of victims gone within the first day or two are found safely. Ours had been gone a full week.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, you knew what he meant. “You all tried your best, honey.” You tried to comfort. “Did you catch him?”

“Yeah,” Spencer nodded, a sigh of relief following his next sip of coffee. “This is really good.”

“I made it just the same,” you chuckled.

Spencer gave a small shrug with a hint of a smile on hips lips. “It tasted better when I know it’s to make me feel better.”

“If it helps, I also made blueberry pancakes.” Spencer’s smile grew at your words. “Now, get comfy and come have breakfast with me. I’m starving.”

After a few minutes, Spencer walked out of the room. “You put on Beethoven,” he smiled. You knew that was his favorite composer. Spencer sat down, eagerly taking a bite of the food you prepared for him. “Baby, it’s so good,”

You smiled at his compliment, “I’m glad, Spence.”

“Let me make dinner tonight as a thank you,” Spencer said, swallowing the food in his mouth. “Please?”

No matter how many times you did nice things for him, Spencer always wanted to repay you. That’s one of the many reasons you loved him so much. He was always fair, kind, and truly the most loving man you’d ever met in your life. Your relationship was built off of love, trust, and balance. It was perfection.

“How could I ever say no to that face?” You giggled at the dopey smile he wore.

"How about more breakfast for dinner," Spencer offered, taking a sip from his mug. "I can make us cinnamon rolls, hot chocolate, and maybe today we can go out and get an apple pie, too."

Your face lit up at the thought, "You really do love me, don't you?"

Spencer laughed, "With every bone in my body."

"That coffee really helped your mood, huh?" You put your head on your hand as you stared lovingly at your boyfriend. What a perfect man he was.

"It did," Spencer admitted, "but the fact that you made it and did all of this for me is what really helped."

Once you were both finished eating, you and Spencer snuggled on the couch, a large blanket laying over top of both of your laps. You were both cuddled in the middle, laughing at the tv as you watched Halloweentown. It was the perfect fall day outside, and you both were on your second mugs of coffee.

"Don't we still need to go to the store?" Spencer asked as he played with a strand of your hair.

You softly hummed in reply, "It's noon, we still have time."

"Well, there's still several more Halloweentown movies to watch," Spencer replied with a smile. "At this rate, we'll never go to the store."

"A late midnight snack, then." You decided. "This is too nice to just give up."

Spencer pressed a kiss to your forehead, "I agree. I could go for a big midnight snack."

Even when you went to go to the store, more around seven, you stopped off at the local coffee place to grab a cup from them. They were just about to close, but it was worth it to see the look on Spencer's face.

The last cup of coffee was served at just a little past midnight as the two of you sat on the couch, criss crossed, eating cinnamon rolls and apple pie. Your mugs were still smoking from the heat of the coffee.

Spencer gently grabbed your chin, giving you a warm kiss. You tasted the icing on his lips from the cinnamon rolls.

"Thank you," Spencer said softly. "For today and the coffee."

"I'd do anything for you, Spencer." You replied with a small smile settling on your lips.

[loveshotzz]

bartender!eddie x fem!reader Eddie’s night.

🎵my man gives real love that’s why I call him killer, he’s not a ‘wham! bam! thank you ma’am!’ he’s a thriller.🎵

summary: After being stood up on a blind date, the cute bartender you’ve been ‘trying’ not to flirt with keeps you company.

word count: 12.6k

warnings: 90’s AU / 18 + no minors! /eddie is in his early 30’s, fingering, oral (f receiving), semi public smut (p in v), cream pie, dirty talk.

authors note: my love letter to the 90’s 💕after one month of brain storming and three weeks of writing here’s part one of Whatta Man! Eddie’s night. (This is a singular one shot. Steve’s night is part two, can you find the easter eggs for his night 😉)Thank you to my very talented friends who always brain storm with me and share ideas. This fun lil AU wouldn’t have happened with you. ily 💗 edit by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

You didn’t want to go on this date. Not when your roommate set you up, and you certainly didn’t want to go when he picked The Foxy Lounge. But when Weather Man Mike predicted the first warm day after three months of bitter winter you’d take any excuse to wear your favorite dress. 

You’d been here before, always stumbling in after a night out with friends because they were the only 4am place in town. Those late nights turned to early mornings were more of a thing of the past now so when you got to the familiar chipped red door you didn’t recognize the bouncer standing outside. He has a head of honey colored hair that’s just long enough to run his fingers through. His toned frame sits pretty wrapped in a tight black tee and long legs covered in dark wash jeans tight enough for you to really have to focus on keeping  your eyes on his face. A freckle covered neck leads to a strong jaw and a chiseled nose. Leaning against the brick wall with his boots crossed at the ankles a toothpick twirls between his straight teeth.

The platform of your sneakers hitting the pavement as you come to a stop and the jingle of your power beads alerts him of your presence, hazel eyes going round like the moon in the sky. Straightening his posture he snatches the tooth pick out of his mouth, stuffing it in his back pocket. You swear you see a Tamagotchi tucked away as he clears his throat with a puff of his chest.

“I.D.?” 

Your lips twitch, the forced deep baritone in his voice isn’t fooling you, and you wonder if it fooled anyone when the signature beep of a Tomogatchi pet needing to be fed goes off in his back pocket. He coughs to try to cover the noise while you quickly pull what he needs out of your cross body. Holding it out for him to examine you look up with a glossed smile matching the one in the picture. Narrowing his eyes, you catch a glimmer of playfulness when he clicks on his flashlight. 

Examining it like it could be a fake, you bite back a giggle while he turns it around giving it one more once over before handing it back to you with a soft chuckle.

“Funny, we have the same birthday.” His voice comes out normal this time, soft and friendly just like you thought.

“Twins!”

A genuine smile lights up his face like the sign above your head, his boyish features coming out despite the stubble on his chin.

“Might as well call us the Olsen’s.” Throwing you a wink he pulls the gold handle to open the door for you. The sounds of Return of the Mack break through the hums of the street behind you. “Have fun tonight honey, be safe. If anyone bothers you, just come grab me okay? I’m steve.”

Your cheeks heat up at the endearment and you have to remind yourself that you’re here for a date. You catch a hint of his cologne when your shoulder brushes against his chest on your way in, the expensive scent making you dizzy when it hits your senses.

“I will, thanks Steve,”your words are shy when they come out, making his lips twitch in response. Nodding his head, you catch the tinge of pink on his skin before he closes the door with a small wave.

It's even louder inside with the drunk conversations battling for dominance against the music. Tugging nervously at the bottom of your dress you look around the bar for the vague description of this guy Craig your friend gave you. 

You scan the crowd a few times before your eyes catch the big brown ones of the bartender. The stool in front of him freeing itself at the same time your eyes connect, the corners of his plush lips pull up as he beckons you over with two heavily ringed fingers. The unruly dark auburn curls that hit just below his shoulders catch the low light behind the bar, the yellow glow softening up all his edges. 

Rocking back on your heels you pull the strap of your cross body closer, doing your best to collect yourself before you push through the crowd accepting his invitation. His smile widens, pulling up his stubble covered cheeks to reveal a set of perfect white teeth to you. The one you give him in return comes out a little shy as you plop down on the ripped vinyl that matches the red of the door.

Ink litters his arms disappearing under the frayed ends of his sleeves letting you know there was more under the tight fit of his worn faded black Metallica shirt. The two rips near the collar give you a glimpse of the chain wrapped around his neck. The scruff lining his jaw adds a few years from afar but from this close he looks your age. The silver hoop in his nose catches against the bright lighting under the bar like the rings adoring his fingers. Pulling out two empty shot glasses with a twirl he quickly fills them up with Jameson.

“This one’s on the house sweetheat, it’ll help make your date cuter.”  He winks with a sly grin, your stomach flutters with his full attention on you like this.

The glass is heavy in your grasp as you stare at the dark liquid with a faint grimace. His low chuckle catches your attention before the pop and hiss of the soda fills your ears. As if reading your mind he slides over a coke, letting you keep your pride by not having to ask for a chaser.

“How do you know I’m here for a date?” Raising a questioning brow, the sides of your lips twitch as you struggle to hold a straight face. “A girl can’t come to the bar alone on a Friday night?”

The chocolate in his eyes lights up at your playful banter, slinging a white towel over his shoulder he leans in, forearms pressing hard against the counter as he invades your space. The spice of his cologne and the burn of cigarette smoke joins with him and you find yourself sucking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Are you telling me you’re available then?” Dropping his voice low enough to feel between your legs, you wished more than anything you had a different answer to give him.

The heaviness of his gaze has your cheeks warming, the intensity of the eye contact forcing your gaze away for a second as you clear your throat. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear you muster enough courage to meet his eyes again. 

“N-no unfortunately, you were right.” Exaggerating a heavy sigh, his confident demeanor never wavers despite his confirmed suspicions.

“Unfortunately is right, huh?” Winking, he pushes back leaving only the lingering scent of his cologne raising his shot in an offering of cheers. “To what could have been, baby.” 

A giggle bubbles past your lips when his fingers brush against yours meeting in the middle with a clink. Downing his shot like a professional, he’s left to watch the way you struggle with yours. Amusement is evident on his face while he watches the way your throat stays unwilling to open. Holding the alcohol in your mouth longer than anyone would want, it finally gives in letting the bitter liquid go down with a bite. Pushing the can of coke towards you with his knuckles, his laugh booms loud from his chest as you search for reprieve in the sweetness with desperation.

Chugging with abandon, you forget your surroundings for a second before your eyes meet his over the rim of the can and it’s almost enough to have you snort the rest of it all over yourself. 

Coming up for air you grumble a half assed “shut up” doing your best to try and fight the smile begging to spread across your lips as you wipe them with the back of your hand.

“Not a whiskey girl I take it?” Punctuating the ‘t’ harder than normal, his teasing falls on deaf ears when you get distracted at the way his thick fingers wrap around the shot glasses.

“Not a shot girl in general, I’d rather not taste the alcohol if I can help it.” Shrugging, you trace invisible patterns on the sticky quartz of the bar top with french tipped nails silently reminding yourself for the second time tonight you’re here for a date.

“So how’d you two meet?” He raises his voice so it comes out sickly sweet while a shaker and a lemon appears in his hands. Setting them down on top of the worn jagermeister logo that covers the drink mat he starts rolling the fruit against his palm.

“We haven’t met yet actually, a friend set us up.” 

Eddie’s movements freeze for a second, eyebrows furrowing together in a look of confusion as if that was the craziest thing that anyone had ever told him. He grabs the bottle of simple syrup adding more to what looked like it was going to be a sweet drink before he answers.

“Someone like you shouldn’t need to be set up, sweetheart.” He looks up at you from under the hood of his lashes quickly picking up on the effect he has on you.

He twirls another empty glass onto the counter top before he smashes the lid of the shaker on, not giving you a chance to respond he starts shaking it louder than you know is necessary. The bats tattooed on his arm dance across the muscles with the flex of every flick of his wrist.

“Really? Laying it on thick, huh?” Raising your voice enough to know he could hear you, he taunts you by cupping his free hand over his ear to make a show of pretending he can’t, mouthing a ‘sorry’ with a smirk. The laugh he earns from when he finally relents is the prettiest sound he thinks he’s ever heard. 

“Well I hope this ‘friend’ has a good vetting process. No less than three interviews or no dice.” He pours your drink with panache, like he’s putting on a show for you, like you’re sure he does with all the other girls.

Grabbing a straw he plugs one end with his index finger before he dips it into the slightly lighter liquid. The heat between your legs becomes almost unbearable when his lips wrap around the end tasting his creation with a low groan, his pink tongue pokes out to collect the sweetness left behind.

“I think, I think you’re gonna like this one. It’s an Eddie Munson original, I’m calling it "Wasting Love.” The roll of your eyes makes him bark out another laugh. The signs of the smoke you smell on him are more noticeable in this one’s rumble.

“I wonder what could have inspired it?” Biting your lip to hide your smile, you knew you shouldn’t be flirting with him while you waited for Craig, but you can’t help yourself. Besides, he was already ten minutes late.

“I think you know what inspired it sweetheart, I can tell you’re not just some pretty face.” Dimples poking through his cheeks, he finally takes notice of the glares from the customers filling up the bar. Everyone’s patience starting to wear thin while they waited for whatever this was to be over. 

“I gotta stop ignoring all the other people in here real quick, but I’ll be back for your review.” He throws you another wink and it has you shifting in your seat as he starts to walk away.

“Wait! I never opened a tab!” Calling after him as you reach for your purse, he tuts loudly, turning around to face you, continuing his path walking backwards. 

“You shouldn’t be paying for a thing tonight, gorgeous.” He waves his hand dismissively before his back is to you again giving his undivided attention to the bearded man who looked ready to murder the carefree metal head if he didn’t get his Bud Light in the next five seconds.

Trying not to get too caught up in someone that wasn’t your date you timidly bring the straw to your lips. Humming appreciatively when the sweetness hits your tastebuds you’re pleasantly surprised at how much you actually like it. Feeling bold enough to take a bigger gulp, you look around for Craig again. So lost in the little bubble you had been in with Eddie you didn’t realize how much more the bar had filled up since you arrived. A new kind of rowdy energy in the air — the low murmurs of conversation get loud enough to drown out Semi- Charmed Kinda Life.

Glancing down at your pink swatch watch, your date was now twenty minutes late. Turning around to check and make sure the lavender cross body you told him to look for was visible, you crane your neck around looking one last time. It’s easy to shrug off the sinking feeling of rejection when you turn back around to watch Eddie in his natural habitat. 

He moves behind the bar like he’s been doing it his whole life, like everything was muscle memory.  As if he could feel you staring he catches your gaze throwing you a smirk before he tosses a bottle of tequila in the air catching it with ease. Pouring it into four lined up shot glasses, the group of girls in front of him celebrating what looked like a bachelorette party with all their multi-colored hats and boas squealed with drunk delight. Your eyes hit the back of your skull in a hard roll when one of them bats their eyelashes at him with a hand on his arm.

Sucking down the rest of your drink, the slurping once you hit the ice is loud enough to annoy the guy next to you who shoots you a warning look over his shoulder. Mouthing an apology you push your empty glass away looking around the bar one more time. The guilt of flirting with Eddie starts to disappear when you look at your watch again and start coming to terms you were actually being stood up. Searching for his doe eyes again, your heart sinks when you find him this time.

Dimples in his cheeks again, he’s practically beaming at her. Their body language telling you this isn’t their first time meeting and how animated he is when he talks to her is like he’s known her for years. Gesturing wildly with his hands while she nods enthusiastically, something he says has her throwing her head back with a laugh loud enough you can hear it over the music. You huff through your nose, the sting of rejection sneaking its way back in. The reminder that he was just doing his job and you were here for a date, one that never showed up, slaps you right in the face.

Averting your gaze to spare whatever confidence you have left, your eyes find the bouncer at the front door. Inside the bar now with a hard glare set on his handsome face. His arms sit folded across his broad chest while his jaw clenches at the same time as the muscles in his shoulders flex. Steve looks pissed.

Interest piqued, you follow his line of sight despite it going in the direction of the bar you were trying to avoid. Somehow not surprised when your eyes land on her again, you notice Eddie has already busied himself with someone else. With his back towards both of you he fills two pints with Blue Moon, the uncomfortable look on her face couldn’t be missed. The greasy blonde hair on the man that was clearly invading her personal space told you he’d been drinking all day. The grimace on her pretty face says she could smell it on his breath too.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when you see him grab onto her arm while trying to whisper in her ear. You feel yourself ready to stand up and help when she pushes him away, with the way the veins in her neck were flexing whatever she was saying to him wasn't nice. Shoving her hand in his face she storms towards the front door where Steve is waiting, looking seconds away from killing the man who followed her path out of the bar with a leer.

The scowl on her face softens instantly when she’s met with Steve opening the door, the glare on his face being replaced with a deep flush when you catch a “Thanks, Stevie” fall appreciatively from her lips.

SMACK

Jumping at the sound of metal hitting wood, Eddie’s dimples show themselves only this time they are for you as he leans forward on his arms again, eyes flicking towards the spot next to you. He pulls himself even closer when he notices no one new occupying the stool, making you search for friction with the fat of your thighs. 

“Penny for your thoughts, beautiful?” Flashing you his perfect teeth for the second time tonight the bruise to your ego already starts to disappear.

“I drank it without gagging, didn’t I?” Crossing your arms on top of the bar it's your turn to lean into his space and you swear you hear his breath hitch at your new boldness.

Licking his lips, your eyes greedily follow the path of his tongue. His smile stretches across his face even more when he notices, making no effort to move- unwilling to back down from the silent standoff you’ve challenged him too.

“‘I’ll have you know I take that as a very high compliment coming from you.” His breath fans across your cheeks from this close, mint and whiskey hitting your nose when he huffs a laugh. “Where’s Prince Charming?”

“Turns out there was no Prince, just an ugly old toad.” Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you look up at him through half lidded eyes, “Good thing I didn’t kiss him, huh?”

A low rumble shakes in his chest as he dares to lean in even closer, the tips of your noses almost brushing while the bubble you’d lost yourselves in reappears.

“Yeah baby, you can’t give those out to just anybody, they gotta be for someone special.” His voice is low, dripping with the kind of want you’d never had directed at you before. His eyes take in every inch of your face from this close while you try to keep up with his smooth tongue.

“Got anyone in mind, Eddie?” Doing your best to match his tone, his brows pinch together at the way his name sounds coming out of your mouth taking one last look at your lips before meeting your eyes again.

“Yeah, I know a guy actually. He’s a bartender with a great head of hair.” Wiggling his eyebrows when you snort, the front door swings open, breaking you two apart as the girl from before commands the room like a record scratch, silencing the bar for the first time all night.

“Eddie! It’s bad, Steve needs you!” The sheer panic in her voice is enough for the jealous monster inside you to stay at bay as Eddie pushes back on his heels.

An irritated sigh escapes him while he mutters ‘not a-fucking-gain’ under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose before his eyes find yours. You jump a little when he grabs your hands, the warmth of his palms enveloping yours while he gives you a pleading look.

“Don’t - I mean, please don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back, I need to go save my buddy’s ass again. But I promise I’ll be right back, this conversation is too important to leave unfinished.” He flashes you that million dollar smile like chaos isn’t ensuing outside and all you can do is nod, signaling that you’ll stay put.

Hopping over the bar his loose fitting combat boots squeak over the counter top, the black jeans that were hidden from your sight somehow fit him even better than his shirt. Your gaze is shamelessly hungry as it follows him until he’s out the door. The scuffle outside leaking through the music with a blur of bodies outside. 

Too focused on the glimpse of Eddie’s towering frame stepping between the two guys to break up the fight, you don’t notice the person who walks through the unattended door until it shuts behind him with a thud. Ready to glare at whoever it is your eyes widen when you meet the ones belonging to who you can only assume is Craig. The burnt auburn hair he sports and the way he zero’s in on your purse confirms your suspicions. This was Craig, you're incredibly late and not even remotely as attractive as the bartender, date.

“Shit, shit, shit.” No matter how quickly you averted your stare, you knew it was too late, he saw you. Panic sets in while your brain goes a mile a minute trying to think a way out of this.

Looking around the bar for some sort of escape, the thought of ducking into the bathroom sounds like a winner but then the image of Eddie coming back and seeing you gone seeps into the forefront of your mind making you quickly toss that idea out the window. Turning to the people on either side of you who are too lost in their own conversations to notice your dilemma, you try to decide which one you could interrupt the most naturally. 

The couple on your right looks like they’re on a date going really well and the one on your left seems like two friends catching up. The tap on your shoulder is enough for you to make a split second decision, clearing your throat you spare the newly blossoming romance next you from your desperate antics, choosing to interrupt the friends who are reconnecting with a loud fake laugh.

“That’s when she told me- um excuse me do I know you?” Gruff and confused, the man closest to you looks at you as if you’ve grown two heads. First your loud slurping and now this? This plan was never going to work from the get-go.

Another persistent tap on your shoulder has you grasping for straws. You open your mouth to try to sell whatever this was one last time. 

“Umm excuse me?”  Craig’s voice comes out loud enough to cut you off and for the poor guy next to you to give you the final cold shoulder. Unable to ignore him any longer, you force yourself to turn around and face him head on. Kind of. 

Channeling your inner Alicia Silverstone you try to give him the best Clueless look you can muster and he returns it with an even more confused expression, clearing his throat.

“Hey, sorry I’m late. I’m Craig, Ariana’s friend. I think I’m supposed to be meeting you?” Shoving his hands in the pockets of his tan slacks, the maroon sweater he wears fits loosely over his thin frame, dirty black chucks on his feet, his look screams ‘I listen to Nirvana’.

“Umm, I think you have the wrong person? I wasn’t supposed to be meeting anyone here tonight.” It’s not believable in the slightest when the words leave your mouth, your less than confident delivery giving you away. The look on his face lets you know you’ve definitely been made

“Are you sure? I was told to look for the girl with a lavender purse.”  As if to prove his point he points to the exact one he’s talking about slung across your shoulder. He scoffs when you keep up with your charade, “I know I’m late but this is ridiculous.”

“A lot of girls have purple bags, Craig.” His name comes out dripping in venom, the need to get rid of him before Eddie’s return throwing any logic out the window. You needed to believe your own lie.

The sudden harshness has him raising his hands in defense, backing down a little under the daggers of your glare.

“Whoa, chill out, my bad. You just match the exact description I was given, that's all.”

Clenching your jaw in frustration because he just won’t give up, you try to hold your composure while your eyes flick towards the door in anticipation for his return.

“Well you’ve told me you were late twice already so she probably just left. Rude of you to keep her waiting honestly.” Narrowing your eyes at him, you know that he’s aware of exactly what you are doing but you don’t care anymore.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what happened, and not her being bitter I’m one measly hour late.” The way his words clip signal the rejection sinking in, a glare setting firm on his face.

It’s the stare down of the century before Eddie comes barging through the entrance with a loud huff and a clap of his hands. Cheeks red from yelling and hair slightly more wild than before. He checks to make sure you’re still exactly where he left you before he glances over to Craig for a split second not registering who he is. Hopping over the bar with another skid of his boots, he still manages to give you a lopsided grin when he gets to the other side. Hitting the top of the bar in a series of beats - he’s a ball of energy.

“Sorry to keep you waiting sweetheart, Steve’s lucky the girl he took a knuckle sandwich for has a first aid kit. Rick keeps saying he’s gonna get one but I have yet to see it. Want another cocktail?” Talking a mile a minute with the leftover adrenaline from the fight, he still doesn’t notice the way Craig watches the two of you until he catches how awkward you’re being. Eddie’s face hardens, the softness he was giving you disappearing. “Something I can help you with buddy?”

You don’t even have to look at Craig to know he’s puffing out his chest with a point of his chin addressing Eddie.

“Actually pal, maybe you can.” His tone makes Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, a tested smile spreading over his lips while he lets Craig continue. “I was supposed to meet someone here for a blind date, I was told to look for a girl with a lavender purse exactly like this one. You haven't seen another girl with this exact same bag have you?” 

Eddie’s wide eyes meet yours, amusement filling the specks of golden brown as he picks up on exactly what’s happening. The corners of his lips twitch before he nods his head licking his bottom lip holding your gaze long enough to make you squirm before bringing his attention back to Craig with a low whistle.

“Oh yeah, I remember that hottie, man. It’s a shame you were late, she took off with this dude she met waiting for you. She didn’t stand a chance, though, honestly. I know the guy, he’s too smooth for his own good. Pretty good looking too. Can’t be leaving your girl unattended around him. Probably wouldn’t have worked out between you two anyway.” Eddie catches the roll of your eyes at his self indulgent story as you cover your mouth with the palm of your hand to hide your face splitting grin.

“Why don’t you walk away with some dignity. What’s that saying? There’s always more fish in the sea or some shit.” Eddie adds more salt to the wound, finally breaking Craig enough to give up.

“Whatever you say man, this bar is fuckin’ lame anyway. Who wants to drink to Third Eye Blind.” Grumbling his insults as he slinks away, he takes one last look at you and Eddie before his final exit with a flip of his middle finger.

Eddie’s stare is hot on your face, while you bashfully avoid his gaze keeping your eyes lingering on the door. When you finally dare to meet his eyes the shit eating grin on his face makes you groan, the buzz of your drink pulling a giggle out of you. 

“Eddie, don’t —“

“Well, well, aren’t you just a little heartbreaker, huh?” His teasing only makes your cheeks grow hotter as you try to hide your face from his view.

“Don’t you need to go attend to all the customers you left?” Your words come out muffled from behind your hands as you slowly pull them down just enough to uncover the fake glare you were sending his way.

“I’ve got my favorite one right here.” Voice dropping low with a smirk, he was right, you didn’t stand a chance.

“I haven’t paid for a single thing, you refused my money if you remember.” Bringing your hands down to fully come out of hiding, he bites his bottom lip when he can take in your features again.

“It’s no good here, baby, I could actually get arrested if I take it and then how would I be able to take you out to get pancakes after my shift if I’m behind bars?” Bringing his hands together in mock shackles and a pout, the chain wrapped around his wrist catches your eyes for the first time.

“You’re takin’ me to get pancakes?” Flirting like a love sick teenager, you even start to kick your feet under the bar.

“It’s the least I can do since you’re my fill in bouncer for the rest of the night.” Smirking, he nods his head to the man at the opposite end of the bar flagging him down with a twenty dollar bill. His eyes sparkling with something new now that he had you.

“Me? A Bouncer? I’m not intimidating in the slightest!” Your cheeks hurt from how hard you smile at his retreating form, the game of ‘playing hard to get’ becoming a thing of the past now.

“Sorry, you owe me, heartbreaker.” He shrugs like it’s out of his control before flashing you the same lopsided grin leaving you a mess of nerves from getting to spend the night with him.

The hours till close go by faster than you anticipate with Eddie topping off your drink any time you ask, the buzz from the alcohol is just enough to handle the growing intensity of his flirting. Now that the only obstacle in the way of each other was time, he was relentless.

Enjoying the game of chicken the two of you had started unconsciously playing, you stop noticing the clock. Every six customers earns you five —sometimes ten minutes of his time and he makes sure to use every second of those breaks as an excuse to lean in close, whispering in your ear, holding your face close every time you talk. He was getting off on the way he could make you shift in your seat and hide your bottom lip between your teeth when he got close enough for his lips to brush against your ear. Your fingers find excuses to wrap around his wrist when he invades your space, playing with his chain, you keep him close making sure to tilt your head just enough for him to catch a glimpse down your neck into the low cut of your dress.

The small hand on the clock above the door hits the three and it’s not until his breaks start getting longer and your touches are able to get a little bolder that you notice the murmur of voices over the music disappears. The few stranglers left sipping their last drinks of the evening are paying the two of you no mind despite the way he’s tucking your hair out of his way to trace the shell of your ear with the tip of his nose.

The realization that you’re finally about to be alone with him brings your nerves to a head and the need to check yourself over in the bathroom mirror becomes urgent. The flick of his tongue along your earlobe distracts you for a second as your head nudges against his when it tickles making a giggle slip past your lips.

“I gotta go to the bathroom, Eddie.” You inhale the scent of pine lingering in his shampoo, giving him one last nudge with your nose before hopping off the stool. He gives you his best puppy eyes as you get up to leave, pushing out his bottom lip when you tug your dress down.

“Please, I’ll be like three minutes.” You roll your eyes at him but the smile that lights up your face tells him you’re eating it up.

“I’ll be counting every second you're gone, baby.” Holding his hands over his heart for dramatic effect the man at the end of the bar snorts loudly ruining the moment. He earns an annoyed glare from the bartender, “Better hurry up and finish that shit old man, it’s closing time.” 

You hear him grunt in response to Eddie’s rude reminder before disappearing into the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. Stickers and writing with permanent marker cover every inch of the dark crimson walls. The doors of the black stalls barely hang from their hinges, dents from many reckless drunk nights at The Foxy Lounge punch random spots into the metal. The bottom of your sneakers stick to the floor with every step to the mirror where more stickers and black scribbles line the surface including a girl named Leigh’s phone number with the note ‘for a good time call’ attached at the end leaving just enough room to see your face.

The space buns on top of your head are messy from Eddie nuzzling his beard into your hair all night. You try to salvage what was left of them by tightening the knots a little more before deciding it's a lost cause. He was probably just going to mess them up more anyway. The thought of Eddie’s hands being free to touch you in every way you’ve wanted all night has you taking a deep breath while you hold your own eyes in the mirror.

“It’s happening, you’re gonna have sex with him. You’re gonna fuck the super hot bartender who flirts like it’s his second language tonight and you’re gonna be confident about it okay? You hear me?” Pointing to yourself in the mirror, the determination in your stare is enough for your tipsy pep talk to work its magic.

Taking one last look at yourself with a nod of your head you pull open the bathroom door ready to take on the rest of the night. Only to stop in your tracks when you notice the stool that was occupied is now empty and every inch of Eddie is also in full view from where he stands in front of the jukebox. Your eyes are insatiable taking in his tall frame like this for the first time all night. 

You notice the giant chain that hangs from his belt loop this time, and there’s even more rips in his jeans than before giving you a peek at the pale skin hidden underneath. His shoulder blades move under the thin fabric of his shirt when he clicks his choice on the machine. Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer spills out from the speakers of the bar as he turns on his heels, the smirk that plays on his lips dares you to catch the hint with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Very subtle.” Crossing your arms as if to act immune to his charms, you know he sees right through your facade but he plays along anyway raising his big hands up in the air in mock surrender.

“It’s just one of my favorite songs, I don’t know what kinda ideas you got going on in that pretty little head of yours.” He takes a few more steps towards you slowly closing the gap, daring to be closer to you than he had been all night without a wooden bar separating you.

“Interesting, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Sixpence fan.” Raising your eyebrow, you have to look up at him when he finally takes the last few steps to stand in front of you. 

“Why? Cause I’m such a tough guy?” His grin grows wider when he looks down at you catching the roll of your eyes while you uncross your arms opening your body up to him with a laugh. 

“I can’t stand you.” Your swat is flirtatious with your palm hitting his chest. He’s quick to catch it, using your hand as leverage to pull you closer, biting back his groan when a breathy gasp slips past your lips when he tucks you into chest. First your giggle and now this? He just knew you were going to sound so pretty falling apart for him.

“I think Craig would call that bluff sweetheart.” He gives you a minute to let his words sink in, throwing his head back with a loud laugh when you huff at him embarrassed. “I’m teasing, I’m teasing. He needed to be dumped, a girl like you deserves someone that's gonna show up when they’re supposed to.”

The sweetness of his words has you melt against him, the playful pull from before surrendering to his touch and you swear there’s hearts in your eyes from the way he looks down at you after saying something like that. 

“Thanks for tonight Eddie,” your voice is small when it comes out laced with adoration, and it’s his turn to get bashful making your favorite dimples come out again.

“No problem sweetheart, honestly it’s my fuckin’ lucky night.” Pulling your knuckles to his lips, he places a gentle kiss to the skin stretched over them before letting your hand drop, noting the disappointment on your face that you’re quick to cover up. 

“Wanna get some fresh air while I smoke before I close this place down?” 

——

Eddie somehow looks even better under the twinkling stars and pink fluorescent lights of The Foxy Lounge sign. The low hum of the electricity filling your ears as you lean against the brick of the building. His eyes are brighter out here, catching them with your own when he looks at you over the end of his cigarette.

He winks when you meet his pointed gaze, the flame of his lighter casting shadows that dance across the strong lines of his jaw, the orange glow highlighting the stubble that covers it. Batting your lashes at him, you push your hips off the wall playfully while he keeps his eyes on you through his entire first drag, only breaking contact for the split second he needs to blow the smoke he inhaled away from you. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” His words come out like a warning before he takes another hit.

“How am I looking at you Eddie?” Biting your lip to hide your smile, you make sure to say his name extra sweet just how you figured out he likes. He shakes his head with a low chuckle blowing more smoke into the clear night sky. 

Despite only taking two drags, he flicks the barely smoked cigarette to the side before closing the distance with a few steps leaving him crowding you against the building. Your chest brushes against his with every shallow breath. Getting lost in the darkening amber inside his eyes, the calloused tips of his fingers catch against the soft skin of your chin. The pad of his thumb pulling the velvet of your bottom lip from between your teeth.

“Like you want me to kiss you.”

Ducking his head down he nudges your nose with his, the heat of his breath fanning against your open mouth. His eyes go from yours back down to your glossed lips silently begging for your permission.

“I think it was you that was hinting at kissing me earlier.” Pushing up on your tiptoes, you smile against him when your lips just barely touch. 

“Oh? You think that’s what I was doing hmm?” Asking the question he already knows the answer to, his tongue licks against your top lip as your hands find the material of his shirt, fisting as much of it as you can before yanking him down to collect his lips with an eager mouth, giving up winning whatever game this was. 

You swallow his moan when your tongues meet in the middle battling for dominance, teeth scraping, you taste the few puffs of tobacco still lingering on his taste buds as his muscle massages against yours. Sliding his knee between your thighs, he smiles smug into the kiss when your hips search for friction against the denim.

He breaks away from your mouth long enough to start trailing wet kisses down your jaw, the rough hair on his chin rubbing your skin raw as he starts nipping and sucking bruises along your neck. Biting hard enough at your pulse point to have to soothe it with his tongue after the mewls he pulls from you are enough to drive him insane.

Your fingers tangle into the curls at the nape of his neck, giving his roots a pull while you turn your head, opening more of yourself to him. Taking your silent invitation he nips at the dip of your collar bone before lifting his head to press his forehead to yours. 

“I gotta close up baby, but then…”rubbing his hands up your curves with a low groan he squeezes at the plush of your hips before finishing his sentence, “I think I promised you pancakes.”

Nodding your head because words are stuck at the tip of your tongue, he grabs your cheeks with a strong grip, smushing your lips together before stealing one last kiss.

——-

Eddie doesn’t give you the attention you’ve grown accustomed to all night when he starts the process of actually cleaning the bar. Your body still buzzes like a live wire from the drinks and the kiss outside. He’d been counting his tips with his back to you for the last ten minutes and you were growing impatient for more of him. You needed it. 

Counting the last bill he finally turns around and your thighs press together when you get to see his face again. Shifting in your seat when his eyes barely meet yours, he makes his way to the other end of the bar. Pushing yourself up to lean forward with puckered lips, he ignores your advances passing by without so much as a glance in your direction. Huffing when you plop back in your seat, he flips the knob starting to wash his hands in the mini sink with his back to you again. Your foot taps against the metal of the stool as you watch him grab the scratched up red bucket hanging below and a fresh rag quickly replacing his hands with it to fill up.

You wonder if he can feel your stare when he adds the soap, taking his time while he spins the rag in the steaming water, he starts ringing it out. Arms flexing and suds spilling over his knuckles, you were gonna lose your mind if you didn’t get your hands on him soon. 

He makes big swipes as he starts working his way towards you, keeping his eyes so focused on his task you’d think you were invisible if it wasn’t for the smirk that was getting impossible for him to hide. It only grows bigger when he stops in front of you, adding a low hum to his charade purposely wiping around the outline of your hands that were splayed out on the counter ready to push yourself up again. 

“Eddie - c’mon!”  

You’d be embarrassed if it wasn’t for the laugh that falls easy from his chest when he finally looks at you. His face softens and his eyes darken when he catches your angry pout, your fingers are quick to find his free ones making him tsk at you but he doesn’t pull away.

“My hands are wet baby.” He knew you didn’t care and the teeth showing in his wide grin told you he didn’t either.

Giving into your persistence like it hasn’t been a fight to keep his hands to himself this whole time, he leans forward brushing his nose with yours before nudging it against your cheek so your lips just barely touch. When you go to close the space he pulls back just enough to tease, a small whine escaping you at his games.

“What’s got you so needy, huh?” His words are whispered as he presses with the slightest pressure before pulling back again. “I didn’t kiss you good enough outside, you need more?”

“Please.” Your cheeks burn when you hear how your voice sounds, but his grip on your fingers tighten and a low moan breaks through his front at how desperate you sound just for a kiss.

“Gotta give my girl what she needs.” Your brain gets stuck on the words ‘my girl’ taking you a minute to realize he was finally giving you what you want.

It’s slower than outside, he’s taking his time with you this time. Untangling his fingers from yours, his hand comes up to wrap around the side of your neck. The water feels good on your skin as the pad of his thumb starts rubbing soft lines under your jaw while his tongue swipes at your bottom lip looking for more. You don’t give into his advances on purpose, keeping your mouth closed to get him back for all his teasing you feel his smile grow against your own.

Expecting him to stop and surrender, he only doubles down. Catching your top lip with his bottom, he pulls away just enough for you to open your eyes. God, you wished you kept them closed. The brightness from outside had turned them into nothing but black leaving no trace of the specks of brown from before. The knowledge that he was just as affected by all of this as you sends you reeling. Toes curling inside your sneakers.

“Whining over here for me to give you what you want, and here I am baby, and you’re playing hard to get.” Nipping at your bottom lip he meets your heavy lidded gaze again, “Gonna let me give you what you want?”

He barely lets you finish nodding before he’s on you, the hunger from outside coming back as he leans over the bar to deepen the kiss like you’d been begging him for. Opening your mouth for him without hesitation when he asks for permission again your tongues meet lazily, exploring each other like you didn’t get a chance to before. Pushing up again eager to get more of him he pulls back leaving you breathless with spit slick lips.

Despite the way his chest heaves trying to catch his breath, he does his best to play it cool, smirking when you have no shame chasing for more.

“I gotta finish closing up.” He gives you one more chaste kiss before he starts wiping the rest of the counter down. 

Jutting out your bottom lip into a pout, he laughs, throwing out a ‘you’ll survive five minutes baby.’

You leave him alone doing your best not to distract him, despite how much your fingers itch to have him close again. Grabbing the money from the register and the receipts for the night he disappears back into what you could only assume was Rick’s office. When he pops back out he looks a little more relaxed.

“Just gotta wipe the bottles down and then I’m getting the prettiest girl the best pancakes in town.” Clapping his hands together with a rub of his palms, he grabs another rag.

You were starting to hate pancakes. Not that you didn’t want them, you just wanted him more.

“Hey Eddie?” Trying to hide your ulterior motives in the sweetness of your voice, his eyes meet yours almost instantly and they narrow just as quick.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Setting the rag down he leans forward with his palms on the bar he gives you his undivided attention. An intimidation tactic. Unable to help yourself, your eyes trace up the ink covering his arms.

“Teach me how to make that drink?” Looking up at him from under your lashes, you see something flash across his face, fingertips digging into the countertop after the question leaves your mouth.

“Wasting Love?” 

“I mean, I wouldn’t call it that now, would you?” Laying it on thick, a slow smile spreads across his face. He saw what you were doing and he was going to fall into your trap willingly.

“Why don’t you come back here then, we’ll make our own.” His voice comes out low, his pupils taking over all the brown, pretty white teeth baring themselves at you.

His gaze is predatory when he watches you jump from the stool, the exaggerated sway of your hips keeps his eyes trained on the curve of your waist as you make your way into his space for the first time all night. Leaning against the back counter, his legs are spread wide leaving little to the imagination on how worked up you had him. His eyebrows raise when he sees the automatic press of your thighs at the sight. It wasn’t fair, you were trying to seduce him, not the other way around. He wasn’t even trying.

As if on cue the jukebox that had been left to play all night clicks, Ginuwine’s Pony pouring out of the speakers as he licks his lips unashamed at the way he’s drinking all of you in like this.

“Gonna teach me how to make something sweet, Eddie?” Trailing a finger along the bar while you close the distance, you drag out the ‘e’ at the end of his name just enough to get him to groan.

His hands grab your waist squeezing just hard enough to feel his strength before using it to pull you flush against him. The material of your dress doing nothing to hide how hard he is pressed into your ass. His lips trace the shell of your ear, the heat of his breath tickling your neck as you push back into him searching for more. The stubble on his face rubs rough against the soft skin of your cheek as he punctuates each word with a roll of his hips.

“The sweetest, baby.” 

You bite back your moan when his nose trails up your neck, his lips just barely grazing the warmth of your flesh before they settle back against your ear. You hold onto the wood of the bar in front of you when he hums low, feeling it deep in your core. His calloused fingers start a path up the bare skin of your thigh hiking up your dress when they catch the hem.

“Tell me,” your eyes close when his nose is pressed to your temple as he speaks, “Do you like cherries, baby?” His tongue catches your earlobe sucking it into his mouth, grazing it between his teeth when he lets it back out.

Your knees almost buckle at how good everything feels, the slow rock of his hips never stopping as he plucks at the lace trim of your underwear. 

“Y- yeah, I love cherries,” you whimper when his palms lay flat on the outside of your thighs, the cool metal of his rings biting into your skin when he squeezes at the fat working his way back up.

“Of course you do, pretty.” His thumbs hook the sides of your underwear, “You’re just so sweet all the time, huh?” Despite the need for friction, you spread your legs for him wondering if he can hear the way your lips pull apart sticky, arousal coating the inside of your thighs.

He chuckles soft in your ear praising you with a ‘so sweet’ before giving them a tug, letting the red lace fall to the floor. Keeping his hands on your hips, he presses himself against you hard enough to have the heels of your sneakers pick up off the ground. A low ‘fuck’ slipping out from under his breath when you whine a little.

“Red lace? Was Kurt gonna get lucky or was this just a ploy to get me all along, sweetheart?” Your cheeks burn at his question, his low chuckle tickling your ear when he hears you huff out an annoyed breath. “‘Cause if that’s the case all you would’ve had to do is walk through that door on any given night.”

He grinds himself against you one more time, but you can really feel him this time and it makes your legs shake.

“Are we gonna make this drink or do you wanna keep talking about Craig?”  The shake of your voice doesn’t go unnoticed despite trying to be sharp with him but the grip on your waist still tightens at the mention of the other man’s name

“Sure we can, if that’s really what you wanna do.” His words taunt you but with one hand holding you against him the other flips a clean cocktail glass onto the bar top with ease, like he wasn’t rock hard digging into your back.

Reaching around, his hand trails up the front of your thigh sending goosebumps across your heated skin. A shiver runs down your spine when he dares to dip between your legs inching his way towards where you want him most.

“We better not mix liquors so why don’t you be a good girl and grab the whiskey for me.” His lips brush against your ear with every word, his hand never faltering on their path even when his fingertips meet your slick folds. Feather light, he traces along your slit, not daring to break the barrier yet. Brain hazy with want you don’t even comprehend what bottle you reach for, blindly grabbing for whatever was in front of you.

“That is tequila, sweetheart. Tsk, tsk, tsk are you even listening to what I’m saying? Or are you too…” Before he finishes his sentence he pushes his index finger past your entrance, your warm walls wrapping tight around his digit, “…distracted?”

Your head lulls back against his chest, your eyes closing when he pushes two knuckles deeper. Your needy whimper makes him kick up again making you grind your ass against him in response. Licking your lips, you try to collect yourself only chasing for more of his finger once. 

“N-no, I can do it.”  Determined to prove him wrong, you focus just long enough to grab the Jameson bottle, “What’s next?”

He hums in approval while his smile grows against your skin. Deciding to indulge in your stubborn game still, he curves his finger enough just to make you gasp his name.

“Are we keeping this simple, or do you want something a little more—” Adding a second finger, you stretch easily for him now, dripping down his hand, “Complicated?” 

You shudder, a moan slipping past your lips while your grip on the bottle tightens so much you're scared it’ll shatter. Fuck, you gotta keep it …

“S- simple - oh.” His thumb finds your clit applying just enough pressure to have your mouth fall open and your brows to knit together, and just as quick as he’s there, he’s gone. 

Pulling himself free, he tries his best to ignore the way your pussy tries to suck him back in, your body begging him for more. You whimper at the loss, your eyes opening to remind you where you are.

“I’m gonna need both hands to do this, baby.” His fingers shine with your slick when he wiggles them for show, stepping back just enough for you to see the grin on his face but not enough to get out of your personal space. 

Grabbing his wrist, his eyes go dark when he realizes what you’re about to do. Gaze turning half lidded when your mouth opens, huffing out a deep breath when your tongue flattens against the pads of the two fingers that were just buried inside of you. Wrapping your lips around them, your arousal is tangy sweet hitting your taste buds.

Hollowing your cheeks as you suck them clean, you watch the confidence drain from his face, eyes rolling in the back of his head at the sight. The blunt ends of his nails dig through the soft material of your dress and he starts rutting into you with a little more force when you slide your tongue between each knuckle.

“Jesus christ,” his voice is strangled, words coming out through gritted teeth when you let him go with a loud pop.

“Now you can use both hands,” you say innocently, like you didn’t just suck them clean. You let his fingers tug at your bottom lip before dropping his wrist.

He fists a handful of your dress, a low growl rumbling from his chest getting a taste of his own medicine. Licking his lips, his eyes narrow at you before his teeth start to show, mischievous in the low light.

“Well if we want this drink cold, we need to fill this shaker with ice.” Just like the glass, he flips it on the counter one hand never leaving your waist despite his claim. 

Pressing his lips to your ear again, he makes sure to let his breath linger a little before he talks, enjoying the goosebumps that appear from such a simple touch.

“Fill it up for me, baby?” Your thighs clench at the deep rasp in his voice, both of his hands finding a home spread out on your thighs.

Nodding your head you slide open the silver metal door of the ice chest below you, bending over more than you needed to to scoop it up into the shaker. He groans loud when you press into him like this, his fingers making quick work to flip the back of your dress up. 

“Look at you, so fucking messy for me and I’ve barely touched you.” Grabbing a handful of your ass, he ruts into you, the rough denim hitting your clit in a way that has you moaning his name.

He laughs quietly at your neediness flipping your dress back down when you straighten out. Chests heaving in time with the other, neither one of you was ready to back down. Not yet.

“Might need to unzip those pants.” Looking over your shoulder at him you fake a pout, “Feeling a little strained back there handsome.”

Smugness dripping from the smile on your face, he raises his eyebrows at you in a challenge. 

“Since you wanted something simple sweetheart, we just need two more things.” One hand snakes its way back between your legs, squeezing at the inside of your thigh before he lets you go for the first time since you set foot behind the bar.

Craning your neck so you could follow him, you find him bent down grabbing lemon juice from the mini fridge under the shorter back counter. Shutting the door with his foot when he stands up, he throws a wink your way when he grabs the simple syrup.

Setting the bottles in front of you he steals a quick kiss that leaves you wanting more before he grabs the small tub of cherries from the fridge he forgot his first go around.

“Okay, so you’re gonna grab the Jameson, and I want you to pour it out to the count of three for me then cut it off.” He returns to his place behind you, his large hand swallowing yours when it shadows your movements.

Your pour is shaky when he counts low in your ear, nuzzling his nose in your hair calling you a good girl after each successful addition to the simple concoction.

“Alright, now you’re gonna shake it as hard as you can angel.” His hands squeeze your hips for encouragement.

Doing as he says he pulls you against him even harder when your arms start to go wild. Your chest bounces with each movement making you giggle and you almost don’t hear the hitch in his breath at the sight. 

He helps you by putting the strainer over the rim of the glass when you’re ready to pour. Mumbling soft words of praise while he nibbles at your ear lobe. The drink is much lighter than the one you had all night, the dark orange turning lemon as the white foam fizzed on top.

“I think I could take your job.” You smirk reaching for the cherries to top it all off. 

“You think you could take my job?” He snorts incredulous, watching you unwrap the plastic wrap from the small tub dropping three cherries into the already very sweet cocktail.

“Absolutely.” Grinning while ignoring his stare you reach for another cherry, “No doubt in my mind.” You grab the fruit between your teeth, finally meeting his eyes as you pull the stem, relishing in the burst of sugar and grenadine that erupts against your tongue.

“Tough luck princess, unless you know how to tie that cherry stem in a knot with your teeth, no bar in this town is gonna touch you.” Grabbing his own cherry, he dangles it in front of your frowning mouth for you to bite. Obliging him with it bumps your bottom lip you tug gently, taking the fruit before chewing slowly while he sucks the stem once before it disappears in his mouth.

“I’m calling your bluff now. No one knows how to actually do that.” Daring him to prove you wrong he mutters a ‘watch me’ between his working teeth.

You don’t lose focus on the way his hand on your waist starts to wander, the blunt ends of his nails scratching against the fat of your thigh while his tongue ties the stem like it’s easy. Jaw flexing with each twist of his tongue before he pushes it out to show you, a pleased look on his face when the small knot in the middle comes out perfectly placed. 

Swiping it off his tongue with the fingers that were inside you minutes ago, you wonder if he can still taste you when he sets it next to your drink satisfied by the way your jaw drops.

“How do you think I got this job? I’m more than just a cute face.” The touch of his hands grows bolder when they start working their way up your dress, a thickness in the air that wasn’t there before filling your lungs.

“That’s quite the skill set you have there Mr. Munson,” your giggle is breathless, your eyes going from his down to his lips as you try to play it off.  

“I can do more than that with my tongue sweetheart, if you wanna find out.” His nose nudges against yours, the smirk on his face making you sweat when his fingers trace up your wet folds again.

Surrendering instantly, you forget all about the drink the two of you made nodding without hesitation the desperation for him all night finally taking over.

“Yeah?” His voice breaks when his thick fingers push into your entrance again feeling just how worked up all his teasing had you.

“Please - Eddie,” the pad of his thumb finds your clit again making you beg, “Fuck.”

“Asking me so sweet, how could I say no to you?” Murmuring against your lips, he finally gives in and kisses you. Wet and sloppy he only does it long enough to take your breath away before dropping to his knees.

His big hands on your hips angle you to face forward, flipping your dress up over your ass again. The air of the bar is still hot against your folds, arousal dripping down your thighs, you’re fully exposed to him now. You hear him suck the skin of his teeth at the sight, a ringed hand coming down just hard enough on your right cheek to make it jiggle before both hands palm the fat.

“I can’t believe you were gonna let anybody else but me have this pussy. Should be a punishable offense.” Pulling your cheeks apart to expose more of you to his hungry eyes, he pushes at the small of your back signaling for you to bend over more for him.

He moans loud enough to make you jump when you listen to his command, even you can hear the sound of your lips pulling apart for him. 

“All this for me, baby, fuck, you spoil me.” He wastes no time burying his face between your folds, his talented tongue collecting your juices before finding your clit. The rough hair on his chin rubbing your sensitive skin raw as he shakes his head from side to side. 

Squeezing your ass to pull you closer to his face when you try to run away, he sucks your bundle of nerves harder when he gets you back to where he wants you, dipping his nose into your entrance every time.

He does the motions he would do when he ties the cherry stem into a knot against your clit, a strangled moan ripping from your throat when he does it again.

Your hands find purchase on the top of the bar, eyes closed tight while you see white behind your lids. Your nails dig into the wood when his tongue flattens, the lewd squelching of your arousal filling your ears when he pushes his face so deep between your legs you aren’t sure if he can even breathe. The moan that rumbles through his chest and vibrates to your core tells you he doesn’t care. Wrapping his lips tight around your clit he sucks even harder, not caring when your legs start to shake from overstimulation. 

“Eddie, Eddie, I’m gonna - fuck!” His name comes out long and drawn out when you fall apart on his tongue. Relentless, his teasing never stops, his hands holding you up while your body starts to shake. Humming low in satisfaction against your cunt.

“I n- need, I need…” willing your eyes to open, your vision’s blurry from how hard he made you cum. Pulling away with a loud smack of his lips, he palms your ass cheeks before craning his neck to try and get a good look at you.

“What do you need, baby?” He nips at the curve of your right cheek before pressing his face to it, dazed from getting what he’s wanted all night completely content.

“I just, I just need you to fuck me,” you don’t recognize the choke in your voice when you whine for him. Whine for more.

“Jesus christ.” His words tickle against your skin when he groans, kneading the soft flesh of your ass one more time before standing up. 

His hands are on your hips before you can fully register the change in position, spinning you around and lifting you up he sets you on top of the counter behind the bar. The one where drinks aren’t served and the one that’s low enough for Eddie to slot himself perfectly between your legs. 

Eyes blown black while his beard and nose ring shine with your slick, his lips part - swollen and pink from pulling your first orgasm out of you. Bangs clinging to his forehead, his hair is a wild mess on top of his head from your hands. The confident air about him is gone, replaced with nothing but the need to have you. Snapping out of your daze, you’re quick to find the metal of his belt buckle.

His forehead presses to yours, while he watches the way your dainty fingers work the leather out through the loop. The white tips of your nails catch his eye when you undo the button of his jeans and his cock twitches at the thought of them pumping him for all he’s worth.

He hisses when you push the denim down his hips, his hard dick springing out to smack against his shirt that you immediately wish wasn’t there. Precum leaks from the angry looking pink tip while your hands fist the hem of the worn cotton, silently begging him to get rid of it. The big vein that follows the curve of his length makes your mouth water as he obliges your pleas, ripping his shirt off and throwing it somewhere you’d have to find later. 

You’re able to really take all of him in like this, his chest is heaving covered with just as many tattoos as the rest of him, the silver chain you’d peeped earlier hanging right in the dip between his pecs. Your eyes follow the dark patch of hair that leads to his cock, long with the kind of girth that you know is going to be a stretch, a strangled whine bubbles out of you at the sight while your thighs spread begging for him.

“God, I want you so bad,” you whine wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him even closer giving into your animalistic instincts. 

“I know baby, me fuckin’ too.” He pumps his cock a few times groaning loud, squeezing hard at the base before pressing the head between your dripping lips. Mesmerized at how they wrap around his tip, his precum mixes messy with your arousal making lewd noises as he sweeps it through your folds.

Body shaking every time he hits your clit, you finally hook your ankles growing impatient when he teases your entrance.

“Fuck. Me.” You get out through gritted teeth, the lopsided grin he’d been giving you all night turns cocky when he pushes the tip in, your head lulls back at the invasion, the silk of your walls desperate to start sucking him deeper.

“Not so sweet now are you, huh?” Pushing himself all the way in, his rough thatch of pubic hair hits your clit when he bottoms out. His confidence falters for a second when a deep moan rips through his chest at the feeling. “So fuckin’ tight baby - shit.”

Your nails dig half crescent moons into his inked skin while you adjust to his size, his nose skimming against your cheek while he whispers how good you take him when your walls start to milk him, your body letting him know it was okay to finally move.

“Feel so good, Eddie, fuck - so good.” Your hips start a slow rock, feeling every ridge and curve of him. Your dress sits rucked up at your waist giving a perfect view of the way you take him, and it’s even better than what his imagination had come up with all night. 

He lets you use him for a minute, big hands resting on your waist — content with just watching the way you coat his cock with everything you have left over for him from the first time he made you cum. 

“That feels good, huh?” Cooing at the way your brows knit together and your mouth falls open, he picks up the pace, taking control. 

Pulling you all the way to the edge, his strokes get deeper, the tip of him hitting the spot that you know Craig would have never found. He pulls his cock out half way, relishing how your velvet walls try to keep him in place, he holds his composure before pushing back in, filling you to the brim. Addicted to the way it makes you gasp his name and arch your back, your body asks him for more when you’re too cock drunk to get the words out.

The straps of your dress start slipping down your shoulders with every thrust, your breasts bouncing just begging for his attention. His cock twitches inside you, it's almost too much. Greedy for more despite fighting the urge to cum, he tugs the front of your dress down to reveal a matching bra to the panties on the floor. Hips stuttering for a moment he growls at the reminder of your date before tugging the lace down, your nipple pebbling instantly for him before he takes it in the heat of his mouth. 

Pushing yourself closer, needing more, your hands find their way to bury themselves in his curls, holding him close. You needed him close. His tongue flicks at your sensitive bud and it makes you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Your hips finding a way to match his strokes, reigniting the flames deep in your gut. God, he was gonna make you cum again.

He grunts around your breast, spit dripping down your soft skin from his ministrations while the snap of his hips start to get harsher and you know he’s nearing his end. He lets your nipple go with a loud pop before his hand comes up to grip your chin, his lips finding yours in a frantic mess of teeth and battling tongues.

The wood creaks underneath you from the force of his thrusts and the bounce of your ass to meet them. Mouths tangled, you swallow each other's ragged breaths, both of you desperately searching for your end when his fingers find your clit. Rubbing circles with just enough pressure to have your body start to shake against his, he nips at your bottom lip grunting when he feels the way it makes you flutter around him.

“Come on baby, give me another one. Be my sweet girl again and tell me how good I make you cum.” His fingers slip against your clit, fingers wet from how worked up he had you but his words are enough to have your world stop for a second.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Ed-“ Going blind behind your closed eyes he coaxes your second orgasm out of you with a silent scream falling onto his turned up lips. Proud of his work, his hips start picking up their pace inching closer to his own release he’d been fighting off since going down on you. 

“God, - fuck I’m close - where d-do you-?” Sweat drips down his forehead while he struggles to find his words, his impending orgasm making him short circuit.

“Inside, shit - please, I need it, Eddie.” Still needy and barely coming down, your legs around his waist tighten their hold, locking him in place while you use the last of your strength to help get him there. 

“Whatever you’re doing - holy shit , Jesus - I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” His hips press hard against yours when his cock twitches, spilling warm inside your greedy walls that don’t stop asking him for more. His face hides in your neck, the heat of his breath fanning against your sweat kissed skin while his body shakes with his release.

The roll of your hips never stops, just slowing enough to make him shiver after he starts softening, spent inside of you. You know there’s a mess starting to drip but neither one of you has the energy to move just yet. His lips start leaving small kisses along your neck, nose nudging against the space behind your ear and you can feel his smile against your cheek before he finally lifts his head up. The brown in his eyes return to a warm auburn like before when they meet yours.

“Rick is gonna fucking kill me if he ever finds out what happened on this counter tonight.” Rolling your eyes, you snort at his joke before shoving against his chest.

“You’re telling me you don’t fuck all your cute customers behind the bar, Eddie?” Batting your lashes at him, he squeezes your hips with a smirk. 

“Only, the really, really cute ones. I take them to get pancakes at IHOP around the corner, too.” Something shifts in his eyes and you think for a second you might see self doubt in them for the first time all night, “That is, if they still want to.”

“Well lucky for you, I only let bartender’s from The Foxy Lounge take me out.” Nudging your nose against his, your smile touches his lips.

“Sweetheart, you know I’m the only bartender here right?” Grinning like someone who just won the lottery, he quickly gets rid of the space between you, kissing you like it too.

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[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 04. FELLED BY YOU

a/n: i've served three chapters of angst and teasing and almosts that never came to fruition. but today is the day! today logan howlett gets fucked. i mean...does the fucking. you know what i mean. there's gonna be some hints of pain, but really he's starting to focus more on getting it right this time around. so be prepared for the filth to come.

summary: the importance of you slammed into him during your two weeks spent apart. yet when he's forced to confront the truth, he finds himself stuck between having you or hurting you.

word count: 9.7k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, wade continues to be the worlds worst wingman, yearning, angst, fluff, flirting heavily, nasty sex, p in v sex, logan gets flashed in a good way, oral (f receiving), reverence and romance, logan is an idiot until he's not, exhibitionsim (kinda if you squint really hard), pain play cause he's a whore, he lifts you cause he's strong like that.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Time didn't exist in a linear line for him. Never a single point that drew his life from one spot to another. His constant loss of memories and different universes left him numb to the concept as a whole. He found it better to ignore the thought—move past the tragedies that came next quicker than what already happened.

What was time to an immortal man who'd lived through too much already?

What did he have left to lose?

He never found himself counting the minutes, hours, and days before you. To him, they were a jumble of things that only shifted to become one solid fact. A year he'd never get back. Moments he might one day lose. Faces he would one day come to outlive—to see grow old and pass. People he'd never meet again.

He didn't bother with it.

Until he spent a night wrapped around you and fell asleep with no nightmares. He woke up long before you ever would—dawn barely cracking across the night's darkened armor. The clock on your nightstand read five a.m., but his body shouted something different. He wasn't fatigued like every other morning coupled with endless nights of no sleep, dreading the next time he had no choice but to close his eyes.

Logan almost wished he crawled back into the bed in order to watch you be roused from sleep with the beep of your alarm. He should have. At least then he'd be counted as a smart man for not sneaking out and heading home. Even thinking of what came to your mind when you woke up sent pain down his chest.

"Punch buggy!" A gloved fist slammed into his shoulder with enough weight behind it to cause the car to jerk left.

"Fuck!" he growled, slamming his foot on the brake and whipping around to embed his claws in Wade's leg. "Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up!"

"Rules of the highway Log–"

Red splattered against his makeshift yellow suit as he dug his other set of claws into Wade's chest with a roar. In his peripheral vision he caught sight of a small red car whizzing by. The driver laying on the horn with an anger Logan felt at the base of his stomach. Wade pointed to it with a smile in a meager attempt to lighten the mood.

He wouldn't say he was on edge. That would be a pathetic attempt at lying.

He passed edge one week and six days ago. Twenty-four hours after leaving your apartment Logan met the edge of his anger, and flew right off without bothering to keep himself in check. Two weeks without your presence. The sound of your voice, the warmth of your scent. Two weeks of a fucking mission Wade convinced him to go on; with the claim that they'd be back before Friday.

Which wound up extending to yet another five days of being stuck in the back fucking woods of Virginia—stuffed into an already small truck. The rhythmic clunk of the shovels in the bed slamming against the side already had him gritting his teeth. An hour of driving with Wade's game of spotting cars caused him to almost crack his molars.

Logan wasn't a patient man.

He swung first and asked questions later. That was his way of living. Two weeks of counting the seconds as they passed by like molasses only seemed to reaffirm that fact. He knew irony lingered in the truth; an immortal man who held less than an ounce of patience in his body.

There had to be a joke in there somewhere that Wade would no doubt yank out before the end of this trip.

Retracting his claws, he settled back in his seat to glare at the deserted long road ahead of them that seemed to lead nowhere. The car became a prison he couldn't escape an hour ago. And the appeal of trying to kill the man beside him only grew the longer he sat there. Logan already felt like a piece of shit for leaving with no explanation. He didn't need Wade's blood to make it worse.

With a huff he slammed open the car door and got out. The air was hot, stale, and left him choking in the leather suit that already clung to his skin. He tugged at the collar, sucking in air to get his heart to stop racing.

It proved to be difficult when your face distraught with tears began to morph, take shape into the you he couldn't save.

"Something tells me this has nothing to do with not getting to visit pound town before we left." When he was met with a wall of silence, Wade's head fell back with a groan. "Please hold while we deal with another existential crisis guys. He'll get there eventually."

Logan's fingers curled into fists. Wade—relentless as he was—refused to be pushed away this time. He leaned against the car, twirling his baby knife as Logan tried to hold back every ounce of fucking anger that needed an outlet. None of it was pointed at the Merc with a Mouth. Not even the nonsensical comments could penetrate Logan's otherwise silent exterior.

No, Logan knew exactly where the anger was directed. He knew that all of this rage stemmed from his own self loathing. For doing to you what he knew would hurt the most. For doing...exactly what the other you did.

Leaving wouldn't give him the opportunity to run from his pain. Fuck he figured that out a long time ago, but that never stopped him from trying.

He was an old dog with one singular trick. Hurting the ones he loved.

"Just call sweet angel up, say that you're with your old pal Wade, and explain in extreme detail how you'd love to bend her over every surface in that apartment you stare longingly at like you're waiting for her to return from war."

Telling him to shut the fuck up would only incur more bullshit to leave his mouth. Logan chose the easier route and stared into space; focused on the way his heart began to slow the more he thought about that night. How you slept against him without fear. Your hands pressed to his chest, face tucked into his shoulder. Somehow in the span of a few hours you were able to make him feel normal again.

"How much longer do I have to deal with your fuckin' bullshit?"

"One day give or take who drives."

"You're not driving."

Wade shrugged. "Your mistake." With a swift turn, he leapt into the bed of the truck and grabbed the two shovels. "Now give me a smile with those Tony award winning teeth of yours cause we've got work to do."

The endless nothingness of fields and flat ground would eventually drive him insane. One more day didn't sound awful if he knew that you were waiting for him at the end of all this. But that remained the problem he couldn't solve—the nightmare that followed him in his waking world. What if you weren't there? What if that was his final chance and you made the choice for him?

He sighed, squinting his eyes against the sun. "Alright. Give me the damn shovel."

The constant tapping of your boss's pen was going to drive you insane. Although if someone were to ask you, this wasn't the first time in the past two weeks that you were holding onto your temper by the skin of your teeth. In fact, you couldn't recall a time where your body and mind had been this on edge. As if you were a rubber band pulled tight, ready to snap at a moment's notice.

"Three days off?" Her voice remained monotone—grating against your already racing mind.

"Yes," you replied.

The request would go through without issue; you'd been here before, asking the same routine questions. Only this time you felt the unease from that morning begin to work its way through your body. Doubt lay heavy on your heart the more you ran each minute in your mind. Combing over where you might have gone wrong—what would have made him want to leave.

Waking up without Logan wasn't what set you on a path to self-destruction. At first, you were logical enough to assume that he was a busy man; being a superhero and all. He must have a good reason as to why he slipped out of your bed before the sun could fully rise, leaving behind nothing but flowers that now sat dead in a vase, and a brand new door.

Two weeks without a single word—without an explanation or a reason—began to grate on your mind. Pulling at each worry with an intensity that left you winded. Until you were forced to confront the idea that this whole thing...what you and Logan intended to start...wasn't what he had in mind to begin with.

"I'll grant you the days." The slow build of relief flooded your nerves that were already shot to shit. "Just next time you decide to sneak a guest in, please make sure he signs for a visitor's pass."

A familiar wave of discomfort spilled in your chest. Getting caught wasn't on your schedule of things to happen when it came to your job. Then again, having Logan in your life wasn't a part of your plan either. Yet somehow that happened as naturally as taking a deep breath of fresh air.

He didn't step into your life with a stoic aura of peace.

Logan crashed into it head first without a choice.

You remained a gravitational pull, an orbit he couldn't escape from, and without warning he'd been pulled to you. Where he'd exist until it was time for him to be set free.

What remained of your fear—the one thing that kept you from falling wholeheartedly—was that one day Logan might come to the decision all on his own. Without bothering to tell you, or let you in on the secret. That after all that happened...he might want to be set free. If he didn't already.

The walk back to your apartment dragged longer than it should. Your steps were slower, mind entirely distracted from the task at hand, and body aching from lack of sleep. Two weeks without Logan left you questioning why you bothered to pursue him at all. Why had you given him so much freedom to roam in and out of your life? Especially when you'd never done that with any other person before.

You knew the answer.

Logan offered you a chance to live in a way you never thought of before. Fear of the unknown kept you complacent; stuck in your ways. In such a short time he managed to slowly peel away what still remained. The anxiety that lingered in your heart at the thought of being loved—of falling in love.

He shattered your walls without even trying.

Accepting that is what left you struggling to breathe after drowning in what he gave. You were supposed to be the one to lead him out of the dark waters, back to a shore of safety, yet somehow he pulled you right in with him.

That is what kept you right on the edge of whatever this could possibly become.

You wanted to ask him why he left. Dig into his thoughts and pull free your answers. He might give you a fight—knowing what Wade told you about him having a tough exterior—but this wasn't nothing to you. All you wanted was to know that he held the same belief. That this meant something.

Calling his phone never worked—going directly to a voicemail box he never set up. Texting him wasn't an option, and you couldn't exactly write him a handwritten letter to send off without an address of where to go. Which left you here. Stuck in the radio silence and waiting for a response to crack through all the static.

Digging for your keys at the bottom of your work bag nearly caused you to miss the woman standing by your door. Her hair was tied into a messy updo, showcasing the familiar white streaks you'd seen before. Something akin to joy flushed through your body as Vanessa pushed away from the wall—two coffees held in her hands and a paper bag that smelled eerily like bagels tucked into her arm.

"I wonder when I'd see you again," you said, catching her smile as you slid the key into your new lock with ease.

"Blame Wade. He's been keeping me hostage for weeks."

You snorted, tossing your bag and coat on the table. The flowers—now dried and falling to pieces—still remained the centerpiece of your apartment. Petals were scattered along the wood, some now on the floor. But you couldn't find it in yourself to throw them out. You still held out hope that they might bring him back to you, even if he didn't want to return.

"I don't need to know the gory details," you sighed, accepting the tepid coffee and cold bagel. "How long did you wait?"

"Thirty minutes." She fell to your couch with a groan, kicking off her heeled boots. "I figured you were well into the first stage of wallowing and might need someone to drag you out of it."

"I'm not–"

Her eyes fell to the bouquet, lips pursed as if fighting a smile. "And those are from who again?"

"Just because I kept them doesn't mean I'm wallowing." You collapsed beside her, exhaustion withering your body quicker than the sun did with those flowers. "I just haven't cleaned yet."

"Right."

Vanessa had been your friend since Wade moved in across the street and accidentally almost killed you in the middle of the street. She wound up apologizing for him with two bottles of wine and hours of conversation. Even in the midst of their breakup, she still solidified herself in your life with nights of movies and days out in the city. You never thought you'd get a friend out of living here, but somehow life without Ness in it felt bleak.

Which gave her the ability to read you like an open book. She'd seen what you looked like after a breakup—she’d endured countless talking stages with you—and was able to pick out the signs of what your pain looked like.

"He's coming back, you know."

Your heart fluttered at the mere mention of his existence; you silently cursed yourself for it. "Did Wade tell you that?"

She nodded, taking a sip of the shitty cold coffee with a grimace. "I love the man, but he has the worst timing."

"Timing?" You sat up, alert for the first time since waking up alone. "What are you talking about?"

"I figured you didn't know," she sighed. "Logan didn't leave because he wanted to. Trust me I'm pretty sure if given the choice he'd lock both of you in here until we had to call the police." She didn't give you room to interject—even as you started to speak. "He's an X-Man babe. And well Wade—dipshit that he is—decided to drag him on a mission at the worst fucking second."

The words hung in the air for longer than either of you wanted, but your mind was racing a mile a minute. Mission. A fucking mission. How could you have been so quick to jump to conclusions?

You knew who Logan was the second you met. Understood the importance he held. Yet you never pieced together that two weeks of no contact might have meant something entirely different than a breakup.

"He's..."

"On a mission," she replied—lazily biting into her bagel.

"With Wade?"

She spoke around a mouthful of cream cheese. "If he could die, he'd be a goner."

Already the picture was starting to form. Logan stuck for two weeks with a shitty phone that didn't work, constantly bugged by a man who had a mouth that shit talked faster than he could think. He left to try and be the man he wanted people to see him as. The man that still held a legacy in this universe.

You simply forgot to contend with the fact that you weren't just opening your life up to James Howlett...you were making space for the Wolverine too.

"A year's worth of panic just crossed your face. Wanna talk about it?"

What was there left to say? That you'd been an idiot for believing Logan would leave you high and dry? For letting your doubts get the better of you yet again? Or should you explain that for two weeks you felt an emptiness that scared the absolute shit out of you? As if he ripped a hole in your chest with his claws and had no intention of patching it back up.

"Wade told you this himself?"

She stood, heading straight for the vintage cabinet in your living room that held whatever liquor you kept in stock. "More or less. It was hard to hear him over all the screaming in the background."

Somehow her words didn't phase you—even as she continued to speak about the possibility of what they were up to. You caught the words shovel and stole a truck but nothing beyond that. You took the glass of wine without question—mind focused entirely on the man who managed to turn your word on its head in such a short time.

"When do they get back?"

Her lips curved into a smile that told you one thing: I got you right where I want you.

It took no time at all for you to be thinking of the next time you saw him and hiding it from her felt like trying to build a wall with space on the sides. Enough room for her to sneak into your mind and tug out the truth.

"Tomorrow." She took a sip, settled back down beside you, and reached for the remote. "Wade's throwing a party. Your attendance is mandatory."

A second barely passed before your response was spilling free. Excitement now replacing the doubt that willed itself to stay.

"I'll be there."

"Who had money on the great honey badger expedition?" Wade called out to the rather full living room.

You sat curled on the couch beside Vanessa—a red solo cup filled with shitty beer perched on your knee, condensation spilling across your hand. Dopinder was halfway into a story about his first solo job, Colossus was crammed into a small seat, and Logan sat at the table—his eyes a searing burn against the side of your face.

"Shit," Vaness sighed, digging into her front pocket—a twenty slapped into Wade's hand with a kiss.

You gasped. "Traitor."

"I really thought we were gonna win."

"Who did you bet against?" Your eyes caught sight of the cash getting slipped in Althea's hand—her smile cocky enough to give Wade a run for his money. "Of course."

"If it makes you feel better, Wade is done trying to play matchmaker between you two."

You wondered if you said the word bullshit loud enough it would penetrate through Wade's wall of not listening. The temptation was there. Though you decided to remain silent...for Logan's sake.

Since they returned, he barely said more than a few words to you. Them being hello and I tried to call. You both knew the second part was purely fictional, but figured it was easier to remain silent about it. Arguing wasn't something you were keen on doing—given that he had more than enough time to offer an explanation.

Yet he chose to put distance between the two of you. Sitting in sullen silence, a glass of whiskey nursed slowly and eyes latched onto the way you laughed.

He wanted to speak to you. Tell you how often he thought of you—how many times he made a note of something interesting or funny to regale you with once he returned. But the knowledge that you might very well hate him for leaving silently and without a promise of return, put everything to the back of his mind.

Reconciling with you was the first thing he planned to do.

Yet like he did in his own universe, he chose to keep you at arms length. Away from the insanity of his volatile emotions and dangerous demeanor. You were too good; too breakable.

"Fox and friends!" Wade's voice dragged his attention away from you. Even mere feet away Logan felt you right down to his fucking bones. "I have a special surprise for you heathens. Yeah that's right I'm looking at you Sugar Bear."

A hand gripped Logan's shirt, dragging him up from the chair as he struggled not to slam his fist into Wade's throat. "We're gonna play a little game I like to call Forty Five Minutes In The Closet. I'll pick two people and they'll have to hide the two hundred and seventh bone in the human body."

"It's called seven minutes in heaven. Dumbass," Al muttered.

"No. No, that's something else."

Logan felt the hair rise on the back of his neck at the sight of your smile. How you lit up at Wade's humor. You wore a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, yet he couldn't place a time where you looked more beautiful. If it weren't for the grip Wade had on his shoulder, he'd be asking you to meet him in the hallway—an apology already set on the tip of his tongue.

"Anyways!" Wade shook him violently—knowing that if Logan met his irritation with violence he'd have another problem to worry about. "I nominate this broad shouldered—thick muscled—thunder cunt from down under cunt to be our first contestant."

His eyes flicked to the side, lips curving into a smirk that could only be categorized as diabolical. "Drink some water girls cause things are about to get good."

Vanessa smiled, yanking your arm into the air without warning. "I nominate her to go with him."

"That's right you do baby!" Wade shouted.

"No," Logan growled, yanking his arm away from Wade.

Only to catch how your face fell. You tried to mask it with a laugh, but he could see the damage was done. All the doubts that you fought against began to slowly rise to the surface; each moment spent with him now a time you wanted to get back. But like a trooper, you stood with a glare in Vanessa's direction, and walked towards the hall closet barely big enough for two coats and a broom.

"Go go," Wade shoved him (violently) in your direction, and held the door for Logan to squeeze in beside you. "Now some ground rules. The walls are paper thin so if you end up dancing the Devil's Tango, we'll be making popcorn to go along with the show. Oh and any procreations that come out of this automatically get named Wade."

"You're disgusting," Logan snarled.

"Wade I don't think–"

You heard a loud have fun from everyone outside before the door slammed shut. Darkness swallowed the both of you whole. Yet you felt how close he stood even with your eyes still trained on the door. Heat radiated off his body in waves, soaking into yours with ease. His breath came in quick but released slowly as if he was trying his best to keep his temper steady.

At this point blaming him for losing it wasn't an option. Not when you never expected the night to wind up like this.

You sucked in a deep breath, hands shaking when your heart began to race. You tried to appease every improper thought that entered your mind, but failed spectacularly as they kept on coming. Another sharp inhale echoed mere inches away—his body tensing as your scent deepened. Calling to him like a siren song he needed to answer.

"Stop that," he ground out, fingers curling into fists to keep himself apart from you.

Your eyes met his searing gaze even in the pitch black. "I'm not doing anything."

"You're not. But your body is." He huffed, feeling his willpower begin to splinter when your heart jumped. "How long do we have to...ya know..."

It took you a minute to realize that Logan was suddenly bashful. The urge to reach for a flashlight to see the red that most likely tinted the top of his ears reared its head. You would have done it if it weren't for the way his entire body flinched. His back now pushed against the wall furthest from you.

"Seven minutes," you murmured. "Are you okay?"

"'M fine."

You'd never seen him this on edge before. So close to snapping.

Perhaps it was the way he reacted whilst in your vicinity, or the fact that this was the most he'd said to you in twenty four hours. But the doubt you harbored for two weeks slowly began to shift into a wave of anger. One that demanded at least one final answer as to what you were doing here. What this meant to him.

You wouldn't continue pining after a man who couldn't give it to you straight; not after you gave him so much.

"At least now I can ask you what's going on."

He stiffened, his head snapping up to see your face begin to shift—your tone sharper than before. "What?"

"You heard me Howlett." His lips twitched at the sound of his last name. You fought the urge to land a punch to his jaw he'd barely. "Two weeks of no contact. You gave me nothing. And I was fine with it because I knew you were with Wade, but this? Avoiding me so you don't have to give me a reason as to why?"

"Honey–"

Your eyes narrowed, shutting him up quicker than he expected. "I'm not done talking." Another deep breath set off the last of your rant. "If you don't want to continue whatever this is then that's fine. I've moved on from guys like you before. I can do it again. But now you don't even want to be near me. I don't know what I did to make you–"

The step he took came unexpectedly. As did the next and the next until you were pinned to the wall behind you—his hands on either side of your head. Whatever fight you had left in your system fizzled out when his head dipped and lips slid down the side of your neck. Kissing gently at the vein he longed to sink his teeth into.

"Logan," you gasped, tilting your entire body his way. The reaction was involuntary. As if he possessed you in ways you never expected.

The smile he pressed to your cheek told you he liked it.

"That's what you think huh bub? That I don't wanna be near you?"

"Y-Yes..."

He chuckled. "I just spent two fuckin' weeks in a car with that walking mouth. You think I went of my own free will?" The breath that ghosted along your cheek caused your whole body to shiver. "'M stayin' away honey cause if I get too close I'm gonna do things to you that you aren't ready for."

A fire began to unfurl in the base of your stomach, rapidly coursing through your body without a single warning. He let it happen. He held you there, lips so close you could taste his whiskey on the tip of your tongue, and waited for you to speak. Waited for you to make your final choice about him.

"And if I am?" Your fingers curled into his shirt, chin lifting in a show of defiance. "Ready?"

He groaned at the sight of your fire coming back, his forehead falling to press against yours. "Don't say shit you don't mean."

"I do mean it."

Logan felt his entire body crumple as the familiar sound of his claws echoed in the small space—dust from the now split wall dropping onto your clothes. He could hear Wade's shout of disdain through the already thin walls. But his sole focus was on the way your breath quickened, how your fingers dug beneath his flannel and onto his thin beater.

"What do you want from me honey? Say it. I'll fuckin’ do anything."

The echo of your breathy whine fucked him up for good; ruined any chance of sanity for the rest of the night. If the closet wasn't so damn small he'd grind you along his thigh to watch your mouth go slack. He'd drop to his knees to taste you and drag you over the edge again and again without any intention of stopping.

"I want an apology," you replied, shaking him loose from the haze of lust he found himself stuck in.

His lips curled into a smile. "That right?"

You nodded, fighting against everything in you that screamed to keep this going. To let him kiss you senseless and fuck you against the wall. You didn't care that you were still in Wade's apartment, you didn't care that you were probably down to four minutes and a handful of seconds.

This felt pivotal to the shaky ground you both balanced on. And you were desperate to see what became of the mess that would no doubt come crashing down around you.

"You left." The words were a high gasp as his hand splayed against your stomach. "I-I missed you."

A rumble echoed from the bottom of his chest. "Yeah bub? Ya missed me?"

The words were on the back of your tongue, an explanation on just how much you ached for him. How nights without hearing his voice left you battling demons you usually kept at bay. But his hand was rucking up the bottom of your shirt and the heat of his calloused palm was against bare skin. Dipping lower as your mouth dropped open.

"You got no idea," he growled, lips so close to yours it caused your heart to scream. "How much I fuckin' thought of you. Of this." Fingers slipped beneath the top of your jeans and your head fell back against the wall. "Thought about how sweet you'd taste for me."

"L-Logan–"

He smiled. "Let me give you a proper fuckin' apology."

Echoes of laughter filtered through the already thin door as someone (most likely Wade) told yet another joke. At any other time you would dig up the last strand of your common sense and put an end to Logan's movements. Any other time you'd have enough coherency to understand that if you got caught neither of you would live this down.

Any other time that would have been the first thing on your mind.

But Logan's fingers brushed the edge of your navy blue laced underwear, effectively killing every thought in your head before it could fully form. Your hips canted up into his touch, fingers burying in his hair to tug his face closer. He felt too far even as he pressed you against the cold wall—his body emanating enough heat to have you gasping for air.

"I can smell it," he rasped. "Drivin' me insane honey."

A moan climbed up your throat, but he silenced you easily. His lips found yours in the darkness and you felt your heart cry at knowing he was back. That he wanted you.

You clung to him, tongue meeting his in a messy reunion. All teeth and quick stunted breaths and spit you felt cling to your joined lips. You swallowed his groan with a soft whine of your own. His hand dipped one inch further, fingers prodding against your patch of hair, and you felt your stomach clench.

"Oh–" Your gasp was sharp, loud enough for Logan to cringe as it echoed in the small space.

That didn't stop his fingers from sliding through your slick with a stunted moan. His lips a hot press against your cheek—body caging you into the drywall.

"Gotta be quiet," he whispered.

"S-Sorry–" You dug your teeth into your lip hard enough to taste copper. All in the hopes that it would silence every sound that was desperate to be set free. With the curl of his fingers he struck against your clit in rough strokes, dooming you to the shame that would no doubt come once the both of you stepped out of this closet. "Ah!"

His lips slammed against yours, tongue plunging into your already gaping mouth. He tasted like whiskey. Like everything you longed for in the past two weeks.

Your heart clenched in your chest as he upped the pace of his fingers—the wet echo of your slick now bouncing off the walls. A tremble began to form in your legs and you tugged on his hair to signal what was about to come. But Logan remained one step ahead of you.

He smiled, ignoring the aching throb of his cock as he coaxed you towards a quick and blinding release. One he would replay in his mind for the rest of the night. He knew Wade probably stood outside the door with his ear pressed to the wood, but found he didn't mind. Because you were in his arms, with your lips against his in a dazed kiss, and he had never felt such bliss before.

"C'mon honey. Lemme see you."

"'M almost there," you breathed, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted.

He wanted to eat you alive.

"I know you are. Can feel you leakin' on my hand." His teeth scraped against the shell of your ear, hips grinding along your thigh for some relief. "Let go so I can fuckin' taste you."

A blinding heat began to build faster than you had time to latch onto it; his fingers now tapping roughly against your pulsing clit. You reached for it, let that feeling begin to consume you. Only for something heavy to slam against the closet door—startling the both of you.

Logan ripped his hand away, his body stumbling to the opposite wall. He looked flushed. As if you were the one about to rip a mind numbing orgasm out of his body. Not the other way around.

You coughed, fixing your shirt and jeans as the door swung open. Wade's cocky smile told you everything you needed to know. Being subtle and playing this off was no longer an option, because he knew what you were up to. He could read it on your face.

"What ya thinkin' about?"

"Wilson–" Logan growled, moving to stand in front of you—his claws itching to slide free and dig into Wade's super-healing flesh.

"Wasn't talking to you peanut." He peeked over Logan's shoulder, his smile big and bright and glaringly obvious. "Don't tell me. You two were also debating the logistics of bringing back Robert Downey Jr. to the MCU."

"Shut your goddamn–"

"Because I think it's a money grab. I mean come on Iron Man? Again?"

Logan began to reach for his neck, but your hands pressing to his waist forced him to freeze. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder with a laugh as you squeezed past the both of them. He felt his heart twist in his chest tight enough to send pain down his spine.

Wade still smiled like an all knowing asshole, but the sight of you joining Vanessa on the couch with a sheepish smile eased the nerves that still jumped under his skin.

"Not another word," he spit, shoving a finger into Wade's chest to force him back a few feet.

The man merely smiled—eyes flicking down to the glaringly obvious bulge in Logan's jeans. "Don't tell me. Whiskey dick again? I've told you it's common–"

His claws came free with a roar. Wade's familiar shriek now echoing through the apartment as he sprinted towards your spot on the couch. In the hopes that you might be able to tame the animal intent on ripping him to shreds.

He could count on one hand how often silence echoed throughout the apartment at night. Each time being when Wade disappeared to Vanessa's place with the intent of returning well past the afternoon. Trash still lingered here and there after the small party, but he ignored it in favor of pouring another glass of whiskey.

Falling to the couch with a groan, he felt the weariness of two weeks with Wade on the road resurface in his body. Eventually he'd will himself to sleep. Still plagued by nightmare after nightmare. Except his mind was stuck on the thought of the closet. How you arched into his body with a whine, how wet you were for him in such a short span of time.

There was something addicting about seeing you confront him with your anger. All the fire you kept locked away suddenly became the sole focus of your energy and Logan found he couldn't get enough.

An hour after you were walked home by Vanessa (Wade in tow behind her), he still could smell you on his fingers. The way your scent clung to his shirt when you were up against him. How you moaned for him. So pretty and willing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd sported a hardon for longer than an hour; yet in your presence they always seemed to fucking happen.

The whiskey kept his mind settled on the present moment. On Althea's snores in the background and the city noise that spilled in through the open window. If he was lucky, he'd get twenty minutes in a hot shower with his hand wrapped around his throbbing cock.

That alone kept him from passing out on the shitty couch—his mind hazy and drunk on lust.

A beep from his now charged phone drew his attention to your window across the street. The light was on. So he knew you were awake. But the sight of you walking out into your living room—a black robe wrapped around your body—had him sitting up straight. He reached for the device, flipping it open to see your name flash across the small screen.

Logan couldn't even remember pressing answer. All he knew was that your voice filled his ear seconds later.

"Hi," you said, tone breathy and high. Flashes of you from earlier began to enter his mind.

"Thought you went to sleep honey."

You smiled, pushing the window open—your phone tucked between your cheek and shoulder. "I tried."

"Nightmares?"

"No," you sighed. "Something else."

The feeling from earlier began to lick at his veins again, smoldering beneath the surface of his skin. "Yeah?" You nodded. "What is it?"

The sharp inhale of breath gave him a clear and straight answer. One that had him spreading his legs a bit wider on the couch—eyes fixed on the way you fidgeted with your hands. He wasn't able to get you off earlier; just barely on the precipice of an orgasm before you were rudely interrupted. And though you wouldn't say it out loud, he knew you still felt the remnant of an ongoing fire.

"Wade was kind of an asshole earlier about it," you mumbled.

Logan had never seen you this shy before. He wanted to sear the sight into his mind.

He chuckled, low and raspy; you felt it in your stomach. "He's usually that way."

"He got in the middle of us," you sighed.

"He did." Logan leaned forward, elbows braced on his thighs, and watched as you stepped a bit closer to the window. "What about it honey?"

"Well–" Your fingers toyed with the tie of your robe, eyes glued to the way he got to his feet and moved towards the glass. "My door is unlocked."

The robe dropped to the ground with a soft flutter and Logan's mouth went dry. You stood bare before him, the phone clutched in your hand—determination on your face. He felt every part of his body scream at the sight of your skin—your breasts and cunt—presented to him this way. You were a marble statue straight out of a museum and he wasn't worthy of even getting a mere glimpse.

Your heart hammered in your chest at the sight of his claws coming free—a growl ripping through the phone line. He looked starving. Practically feral at the sight of you like this. You'd never wanted a man to devour you this way before; as if you were the meal to be served up on a silver platter.

Cold air seeped in through your open window, tightening your nipples, and Logan clutched the side of his window frame hard enough for the wood to crack. Your scent lingered in his nose—driving him past the brink of sanity.

"Don't fuckin' move," he snarled, slamming the phone shut in his large palm and heading straight for his door.

Counting the seconds, you remained stuck on the sight of his now empty apartment. People milled along the street down below—the late night goers that headed towards the subway entrance. You only hoped that no one bothered to look up. Or else they'd see you naked and standing before an open window.

Five minutes barely passed before your door was being shoved open, his boots a loud echo in the stark silence of your apartment. You turned—gasping at the sight of him disheveled and panting. His claws slid back as he shut the door with a soft thud that felt like a gun going off. Whatever words you wanted to say—explanations you longed to give for your behavior—died the second he walked towards you. Intent painted blatantly on his face.

Meeting him halfway, you collided against his body with a breathless kiss. Your fingers clung to his back as his hands gripped your bare thighs and hoisted you up. He stumbled forward, slamming you softly against the nearest wall, and took your mouth with a possession you'd never experienced before.

Logan kissed you with a heady fervor that left you dizzy. After so long, the aching need for you began to ebb into a madness that swallowed him whole.

One that demanded to be felt in its entirety.

"I'm sorry," he gasped against your lips, tongue licking along your teeth. "For leaving."

"Logan–"

He shook his head, gripping the back of your neck to draw you in for another kiss. "'M never leaving you again honey. Got that?"

With a nod, you pulled him back—tasting the remnants of whiskey and a cigar he must have smoked after you left. He growled into you, hips chasing your dripping cunt as it slid along the crotch of his jeans. Soaking him before he could even get a chance to taste.

There was no denying what this would lead towards. What those days of conversations and quick glances would amount to when the tension finally broke. Logan expected to be left with the fragments of a broken relationship that never was. You were adamant on making it become more.

"I want–" You pulled away with a sharp gasp, his lips slotting against your neck—working down the skin with gentle bites. "Want you inside me."

His forehead pressed to your shoulder, a groan ripping from his chest. "Fuck."

Your lips connected to his neck when he began to walk, teeth sinking into the veins that ran down into his shirt. Logan had to struggle to keep his feet straight—his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass. He couldn't figure out how he managed to have such a stroke of luck. What occurred for him to have you in his arms, naked and wanton and grinding against his leaking cock that smeared inside his jeans.

A soft moan was pressed to his ear when he dragged your hips along his. The final steps into your bedroom now turning into a race to get you spread beneath him. To finally have you in ways that left him worried for his own psyche.

"Driving me fuckin' insane honey," he bit out against your ear, dropping you onto the soft mattress.

You smiled—eyes dark and shining with a cloud of lust. "So are you." Your fingers tugged at the bottom of his shirt. "I've been wanting you to touch me for weeks."

He wasn't going to fucking last.

Yanking off his shirt, he let both of them fall to your floor—giving you free reign to drink in the sight of him above you. The soft touch of your fingers trailed down his arms, tracing the veins in fascination. Your lips parted, chest rising and falling with each quick breath, and Logan felt the strings holding his self control in place snap.

He dipped down, sucking your peaked nipple into his mouth with a groan.

"F-Fuck," you sighed, nails digging into his shoulders so hard he felt his skin rip before it healed over. His cock jumped with the pain—hands fisting your soft comforter to keep himself stable.

"Do that again."

He caught a glimpse of your fucked out smile before your fingers were digging into his back, scratching lines across his skin. A loud moan slipped past his lips as he worked his way down your body. Lips trailing along your stomach—teeth sinking into your hips so hard it would hurt tomorrow. And you scratched line after line into his skin.

Adamant on leaving a mark that might stay till the morning.

"I didn't get to taste you," he murmured, hands moving to spread your soft and supple thighs.

"The closet was too small—oh–"

His nose pressed to your mound, inhaling the scent that drove him feral for weeks on end. Logan was fully aware how animalistic he turned the second his eyes landed on your glistening cunt. He wouldn't be surprised if drool began to slip from his mouth at such a pretty sight.

"Fuckin' gorgeous."

Hazel eyes darkened at the sight of you clenching around nothing—your hand delving into his already mussed hair. No response existed when he looked at you like this. When his thumbs spread you obscenely with a hoarse groan.

"Logan," you mewled.

Trying to form a coherent word flew out of your mind, his touch all you could focus on. A sharp cry fell past your lips when his mouth sealed over your cunt. Tongue flicking your clit and thumb sliding between your dripping folds.

Your legs were hitched to his shoulders, body bent upwards as he ate you like his last meal. His eyes fluttered shut with a moan and he sucked at your clit, rolling it along the tip of his tongue. Sounds you'd never heard before ripped from your chest, your fingers scrambling to grab onto his arms. To find an anchor in the dizzying pleasure he dragged you towards.

The simmering heat from hours before rose up in your body quicker than you expected. Reminding you that he'd already brought you to the edge once.

This time wouldn't take long at all.

He groaned, two fingers prodding at your entrance, and buried his tongue between your folds. The wet sound of his mouth sent a flare of need through your chest—drawing your lungs tight and near the precipice of pain. Breath became nonexistent as he lapped at you—his fingers sinking right down to the knuckle. You clawed at his skin, mouth open and chest heaving.

"Fuck–" Rough pads curled along your walls, striking against a spot you'd never reached on your own. It tore a cry from you, your legs now a trembling mess over his shoulders.

But he kept going. Ate you without stopping. As if breathing was secondary to the taste of you spread on his tongue.

"I-I'm gonna—fuck Logan!"

A growl was mumbled into your cunt, eyes now sharp and focused on your face as it screwed up in pleasure. The echo of your slick filled your ears, his fingers pumping into you and mouth drinking down everything you gave him. It all became too much. Until something bright and searing began to unfold in your body.

His teeth scraped your clit with another rumbled sound, and whatever remained to hold you together snapped. A sob of his name was yanked from your throat, fingers gripping at his hair to keep him still as you grinded against his tongue. And he collapsed onto the mattress, hips pushing into the bed while you used him.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes when the final dregs of your release began to seep from your body. Even while his tongue continued to lap at you—roughly moaning at the taste of you leaking into his eager mouth.

"Wait," you sucked in a breath, hand pressed to his head to keep him at bay when pain sparked through your body. "T-Too much."

His lips curled into a smile, canines on display and mouth shiny with your slick. "'M gonna do that again." Your eyes widened in protest, only for him to get to his feet. "But first honey. I'm gonna fuck you."

The flame sparked to life again, slowly simmering at the base of your stomach. You met him halfway, crawling to your knees to reach for his belt buckle. Lips sliding against his in a messy kiss as he shared your taste, licked it into your mouth with a sigh. It wasn't until your hand dipped into his jeans that he stopped you—his eyebrows pulled together and lips swollen.

"Hold on."

"What's wrong?" you murmured, kissing his chest and biting at the muscle.

"Not—ha—" His hand gripped your ass at the feeling of you tugging at his jeans; your fingers slipping down to cup him gently. "Not gonna last very long if you do that bub."

You grinned. "It's only fair. After you got to taste me...James."

"Shit." A hand on your throat dragged you back to his lips, to the hot slide of his tongue along yours. "Later. I'll let ya do whatever the fuck you want with me later."

Oh how you liked the sound of that. Images of getting him beneath you, of his head tipped back in pleasure, filled your mind. They begged you to make it reality.

Logan however had other plans.

"But I want to suck you off," you pouted.

He felt his cock leak down your hand, the pearly precum now spread along your thumb that rubbed at his vein. Weeks of starving for you left him an impatient man. Yet something told him you saw it clearly in the way his whole body tensed. His fingers digging sharply into any part of you he could reach.

Reaching for your leg he hooked it around his waist and knelt on the bed—his jeans and boots in a heap on the floor. Your lips never strayed far from his, fingers dancing along his bare back—feeling the muscles shift beneath hot skin. He wanted to lay you out beneath him, but the need for more began to eat at both your hearts.

This wasn't a quick and fast fuck. He wouldn't leave in the morning with no notice. No, Logan knew that when it came time for the sun to rise in the sky, he'd be back between your thighs with a sated smile on his face.

"Gimme a second honey," he panted, gently removing your hand from his cock. "Don't want to fuck this up."

You laughed, nuzzling his cheek as he dragged his head through your folds. "You won't baby."

The word slipped off your tongue with ease, but he felt like a shot had just gone through his chest. Somewhere between the two weeks spent apart and getting you like this—wrapped around him entirely at peace—Logan made a choice. He understood what this meant. He knew that you weren't temporary.

Perhaps it was stupid of him to dive in so quickly. Perhaps you’d regret this choice in a month or two. But he was tired of hiding from a past version of himself that continued to haunt his waking life.

He wasn't going to be the man who ran.

He would forever remain the man who stayed.

Your face contorted the second he began to slip into your dripping cunt—fingers sharply digging into his shoulders as he stretched you slowly. Teeth sunk into your bottom lip before your head fell back—a guttural moan pulling from your throat at the feel of him.

"Big," you rasped, hips canting down to help him.

White flashed behind his eyes when you clenched, a broken grunt pressed to your chest. "You can take it for me."

"I–" Another short thrust had him slipping into you with a sigh of your name. "O-Oh fuck."

He felt his claws bite at the skin of his knuckles, his teeth now a sharp prick at the top of your breast, as you settled into his lap. Sitting on his cock with a garbled shout of his name. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face back to his, and Logan could feel the pull of his orgasm draw tight in his body at the sight of you entirely fucked out.

"You with me?"

Lips curled into a soft smile, your eyes fluttering open. "Feels like you're in my chest," you mumbled.

Pride bloomed in his stomach, mixing with the heat that ate him alive. "Yeah?"

No answer was given because you'd decided it was time to move with a shift of your hips. He let you take the lead, giving what you could take and pulling back when your face screwed up in pain. He wasn't a small man—that he understood plainly. But the sight of you grinding along his lap, fucking yourself on his cock, had him nearly begging for more.

You gripped his shoulders, clambered to your knees, and sunk down on him again in one swift plunge. Logan choked on his spit the second you started to ride him in earnest. Sinking down on him in short repeated thrusts, you found his lips in a kiss that melted away into a mess of teeth.

"So fuckin' perfect." He gripped at your hips, pulling you down on his red and aching cock. "Takin' me like you were made for it honey."

A whimper met his ears at the slight shift in angle—the head of his cock now pounding against the spongy part of your walls. He grinned at the sound, helping you move just a bit quicker in order to chase the high that built rapidly in your body.

"You were made to fuckin' take it huh?"

You nodded, eyes bleary with tears. "Uh huh," you sighed.

"Made to fuck my cock," he growled. "To cum on it."

"L-Logan–" you whined, thighs shaking with the effort of riding him. He noticed seconds before you did.

"I know baby," he cooed, pushing you back onto the bed and sinking into you with a sharp thrust that sent his name careening from your mouth. "'S too much for you."

Hooking your legs over his shoulders, he claimed your lips in a final kiss before setting a pace that had you clawing at his shoulders. It was almost punishing how good he fucked you. His hips pounded into yours, the repetitive slap of skin against skin now louder than your combined moans.

You felt the string begin to draw tight again, pulling at each muscle and tendon in your body. The walls of your cunt clamped down tight, drawing him in as your hands braced against his chest—your eyes rolling back at the feel of his body dragging against yours.

"There we go," he grunted, fingers sliding through your slickened mess to rub at your clit in small rough circles. "C'mon bub. Fuckin' cum on it yeah?"

"Ah!" Fighting for breath, you felt your entire body break as bliss flooded your system.

The scream of his name pierced his eardrums and Logan swore he felt his soul snap in half at the sight of you so lost in your pleasure. Chasing his own high, he bracketed his arms against your head, his claws now scratching at the wood of your headboard as he fucked into your pulsing cunt. The feel of your hand on his back, your lips against his jaw, sent him flying off behind you.

A rough snarl tore from his mouth as he came, burying himself deep enough to send pain down your thighs. The warmth of him spurting into you sent another flare of heat down your spine, sating whatever unconscious need you harbored to have him this way.

His head dropped to your chest, claws embedded in your now ruined pillow, as his cock began to soften. Your bodies reaching a level of comfort that hadn't been there before.

You ran a hand through his hair, toying with the locks as your eyes fell shut and legs moved to wrap around his hips. It shocked you how much you longed to remain like this. Pressed against his naked body with sleep lingering on the edges of your mind. You nearly asked if he felt the same, but the contented sigh that brushed against your breast gave you the answer you wanted.

"We're doing that again," he mumbled, kissing at your still hard nipple.

"Soon hopefully," you smiled.

"Mm." His cock stirred to life slowly, sending a wave of surprise down your spine. "Careful what you wish for bub."

"At least let me get some water," you mumbled, drawing his face back to yours—thumb running along his cheek. "Then you can–"

Your eyes flew open at the sound of something blasting from across the street. Logan turned with an irritated grunt as a song began to filter through your open living room window. One that you recognized instantly as WHAM!. Careless Whisper if you were shooting for accuracy.

Logan groaned, dropped his face to the crook of your neck. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill him."

A shout bounced off the buildings, Wade's voice suddenly louder than the song. "That's what I'm talking about honey badger! Al give me back my fucking twenty!"

You laughed, trying to listen to what else he said, even as Logan began to kiss a trail down your shoulder. His mind focused on far more important things than his fucking roommate. The song continued to play, Wade singing along horribly, and you suddenly felt your future encompass you with a warm smile.

A life of joy, of passion, of family.

Sinking into his touch with a sigh, you let the worry fall from you in layers. The promise of this, no longer a fantasy.

note: they finally fucked y'all! if you finished all of this then i love you. drink some water per wade's words from earlier.

[pucksandpower]

Borrowed Time

Charles Leclerc x single mother!Reader

Summary: you do everything in your power to make your sick son’s dream come true but what you don’t realize is that meeting his hero will change all of your lives forever

Warnings: terminal illness and death

“You know what would be the coolest, Mama?” The soft voice of your son, Luca, breaks through the silence of the hospital room.

You brush a stray hair from his forehead, trying to coax a smile onto your face despite the weight in your chest. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

“To meet Charles Leclerc. Just once. To tell him he’s my hero.” Luca’s eyes, though tired, gleam with that familiar spark every time he talks about Formula 1.

Your heart aches, knowing how much this means to him. “He is pretty amazing on the track, isn’t he?” You respond, reminiscing about the countless races you’ve both watched together from this very room.

Luca nods, holding his toy race car, a replica of Charles’ Ferrari. “Yeah, but it’s not just that. He never gives up, even when things get tough. Kinda like me.” There’s a hint of pride in his voice, making you marvel at his resilience.

You pull him close, tears threatening to spill. “You’re my hero too,” you whisper, kissing his temple.

He snuggles closer, murmuring, “I just wish I could meet him, Mama. Tell him he gives me strength.”

You take a deep breath, new resolve settling in. “You never know, my love. Miracles happen.”

The determination you feel is like a roaring fire and you silently vow to make Luca’s dream come true. No matter what it takes.

***

As the evening shadows stretch across the hospital room, you find yourself deep in thought, racking your brain for any means to make Luca’s wish a reality. You think about reaching out on social media, starting a campaign, anything to catch Charles Leclerc’s attention.

You start by posting on your personal pages: a heartfelt message accompanied by a picture of Luca holding his toy race car, the walls of his room adorned with posters of Charles racing. #LucaMeetsLeclerc, you caption it, hoping against hope that the message reaches the right eyes and ears.

The following days are a whirlwind. Friends, family, and even strangers share the post, and the hashtag starts trending in your community. Messages of support flood in and local news channels express interest in Luca’s battle.

One evening, after reading Luca a bedtime story, your phone buzzes with a notification. It’s an email from a name you don’t recognize but the subject line sends your heart racing: A Special Meeting.

Opening it hastily, your eyes skim over the words:

Dear Y/N,

I represent Charles Leclerc. We were deeply moved by Luca’s story and would like to arrange a meeting ...

Tears blur your vision and you can’t help but let out a soft sob of relief and joy. Luca, hearing your cry, looks up at you with curious eyes. “Mama? What’s wrong?”

You pull him into a tight embrace, trying to convey all the love and happiness you feel. “Sweetie,” you whisper, pulling back to meet his gaze, “I think your dream might just come true.”

Luca’s eyes widen and his smile lights up the room brighter than any lamp ever could. The journey to fulfill a lifelong dream has just begun.

***

The hospital room feels heavier than usual. The rhythmic beeping of monitors fills the silence as Luca plays absent-mindedly with his race car on the bed. Just as you are about to suggest a card game, a knock interrupts the monotony.

“Come in,” you call softly.

The door opens and to your astonishment, Charles Leclerc himself steps inside, a shy smile gracing his features. He seemed different than on the TV — more human, more vulnerable.

“Ciao, Luca,” Charles greets, his voice gentle.

Luca’s eyes widen, his jaw dropping. “You ... you’re real.”

Charles chuckles, pulling a chair closer to the bed. “Last time I checked, I am. Your mom tells me you’re quite the fan.”

Luca nods vigorously. “You’re my hero. When you race, I feel like I’m flying. Free from this …” He gestures vaguely at the hospital equipment surrounding him.

Charles’ eyes soften. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. But, you know, you’re a hero too. Racing against challenges every day.”

You watch their interaction, touched by Charles’ genuine empathy. “Thank you for coming. It ... it means the world.”

Charles turns to you, a depth of understanding in his eyes. “When I read about Luca, I saw more than just a fan. I saw a fighter. Just like on the track, it’s the fights we don’t see that often matter most.”

There is a brief silence, filled with unsaid emotions.

Luca’s voice, trembling with emotion, breaks the quiet. “I have a question, Charles. How do you stay brave even when you’re scared?”

Charles takes a moment before responding. “I focus on the present. Fear often comes from thinking about what might happen. But in the moment, there’s a job to do, a race to finish.”

Luca looks thoughtful. “So, you mean I should focus on now and not think about ... later?”

Charles nods, placing a comforting hand on Luca’s. “Exactly. Live in the now and remember that every race has its challenges. It’s how we face them that defines us.”

Tears well up in your eyes, gratitude and admiration for Charles swelling within you. Here he was, not just a racing star but a beacon of strength for your son.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice choked with emotion.

Charles smiles, glancing between you and Luca. “No, thank you. Today, I met a true champion.”

***

“You know,” Charles begins, playing with the edges of the signed Ferrari cap he just gifted Luca, “I once met a kid, a bit older than you, at a race. He told me that every time he felt like giving up, he’d watch one of our races. Said it gave him hope."

Luca’s fingers trace the signature on the cap. “Is that why you race? For people like him ... and me?”

Charles leans back, gazing out the window for a moment. “Partly. But also for myself. Racing ... it’s my passion, my escape. It’s where I find my strength.”

You feel compelled to share your own perspective. “We all have our races, don’t we? For Luca, it’s here, fighting every day. For me, it's trying to be strong for him, even when I feel like falling apart.”

Charles looks at you intently. “It’s incredible the strength we find when it’s for someone we love. Your journey, your race, is just as important — is more important — than any I’ve been on.”

Touched by his words, you continue, “I watch you race. The precision, the dedication. It’s art. I want Luca to have something like that, something to pour his heart into.”

Luca chimes in, his voice soft, “I think I already have something. Watching races with Mama, it’s our thing. It helps me forget, even if just for a while.”

Charles leans forward, engaging Luca directly. “Then let’s make a promise. You keep fighting your race here and I'll keep racing out there. Deal?”

Luca’s smile is radiant. “Deal.”

There is a pause, a moment of reflection, before Charles turns to you. “You're an incredible mother. The strength you show, the love ... it’s palpable. And it reminds me so much of my own maman.”

You blink away tears. “We do what we have to for our children.”

He nods, a faraway look in his eyes. “She would always say the same thing after losing my father. And sometimes, despite all the pain and struggle, we find connections, kindred spirits, who remind us we’re not alone.”

You smile, feeling a deep bond forming, not just between Luca and Charles but between two souls who understood the depth of love, sacrifice, and hope.

***

“I have a proposition,” Charles offers, the twinkle in his eyes belying the gravity of his words.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on.”

“How would you both feel about attending a race in-person? I can make sure Luca is comfortable and you both get the full VIP experience.”

Luca’s face lights up with hope and disbelief. “Really? I ... I’d get to see you race in real life?”

Charles nods, “Right from the best seat in the paddock.”

You hesitate, considering the logistics, the health implications. “I don’t know. It’s a beyond generous offer but Luca’s health …”

Charles raise a hand, preempting your concerns. “I’ve thought about that. We have top medical facilities at the track and I’ll make sure we have everything necessary for Luca.”

“You’d do that for us?” you whisper, the weight of his offer sinking in.

Charles leans forward, sincerity evident in his gaze. “I’ve won races, stood on podiums. But the race Luca is running, the courage he’s showing ... it’s unmatched. I want him to see a race, not just as a spectator but as a fellow racer.”

Luca looks up, eyes brimming with tears. “You make it sound like I’m a hero. But I’m just trying to get by, just trying to ... to live.”

“And that’s what makes you a hero,” Charles replies gently. “Facing adversity and pushing through, not because of fame or accolades but because of love, hope, and sheer will.”

You feel a lump in your throat, deeply moved by Charles’ words. “It’s not just race wins or trophies that make you a champion, Charles. It’s moments like this. Thank you. This means more than words can say.”

He smiles, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “In the grand scheme of things, life is the most important race. And in that race, I’ve found two champions right here.”

***

In Monza, as you settle into the VIP area with Luca by your side, the excitement in the air is overwhelming in the best way possible. The roar of the engines, the sea of red flags, the bustling energy of the crowd — it is a sensory overload that fills Luca’s eyes with wonder.

“Monza is special, you know,” Charles whispers, kneeling next to Luca’s wheelchair, overlooking the historic Italian track. He slips off a red Ferrari bracelet from his wrist, its well-worn leather showing its age. “This was given to me when I first joined Ferrari. I like to think that it’s brought me luck ever since.”

Luca’s eyes widen, tracing the intricacies of the bracelet. “Why are you giving it to me?”

Charles smiles, “Today, I want you to hold onto my luck. Keep it safe for me, will you?”

Nodding fervently, Luca reverently holds the bracelet. “I promise.”

When Charles leaves to prepare for the race, Luca clutches the Ferrari bracelet to his heart. “Mama, did you see? He gave this to me. His lucky bracelet!”

You smile, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. He wants you to keep it safe. It’s a piece of his heart.”

As the race progresses, you both watch in awe as Charles’ navigates the twists and turns of the circuit. Your heart races with every lap, both as a fan and as someone who had come to know the man behind the helmet.

And then, the moment you’d never forget — a triumphant finish, Charles Leclerc taking the checkered flag. The Tifosi erupts into cheers, and during the celebration, you almost swear that Charles’ eyes find yours among the crowd.

Over the radio, his voice crackles through the airwaves, reaching not just the pits but into your very soul. “This one’s for Luca. Keep fighting, champ.”

Luca’s eyes widen, his hand clutching the bracelet even tighter. “Did you hear, Mama? He said it for me!”

Tears well up in your eyes as you nod. “Yes, sweetheart. He said it for you.”

The post-race interview is a blur of emotions. Charles, sweaty and exhilarated, is asked about the race, about his victory. But then he pauses, his gaze distant yet focused, his voice trembling with emotion.

“This win ... it’s for someone very special. A young friend of mine named Luca. He’s fighting a battle much tougher than any race and his spirit, his courage — it’s what carried me through today. Luca, this is all for you.”

***

The roar of the crowd has faded but the emotional high from the race lingers. You, Luca, and Charles head back to the hotel provided by Ferrari with laughter and memories of the day filling the conversation.

However, as the night passes by, a chilling silence envelopes the room. Luca’s breathing becomes shallow, his skin clammy. Panic bubbles up within you. The medical equipment that was always close by in the hospital is absent here.

You rush to his side, your hands trembling as you try to comfort him. “Luca, honey, stay with me. Breathe.”

Charles, witnessing the scene, feels a deep pang of fear and helplessness. “I’ll call for help,” he says, fumbling for his phone.

As you count the seconds for first responders to arrive, Luca’s weak hand reaches out, clutching Charles’ wrist. His voice, barely a whisper, shares a desperate plea. “Charles, if ... if I don’t make it, promise me you’ll look after Mama. She’s strong but she'll need someone.”

Charles, tears blurring his vision, nods, squeezing Luca’s hand reassuringly. “I promise. But you’re a fighter. You have to keep racing, okay?”

Luca manages a faint smile. “Always racing, Charles. Always.”

Emergency services arrive soon, the room transforms into a flurry of medical professionals and machines. Charles wraps an arm around you, pulling you close as you both watched, praying for a miracle.

Hours feel like lifetimes. When the medical team finally manages to stabilize Luca, the emotional toll is evident in every face in the room.

You approach Luca’s bedside, gently stroking his forehead. “You gave us quite a scare, sweetheart.”

Luca, though exhausted, manages a faint smirk. “Had to keep the race interesting, right?”

Charles, his voice choked with emotion, adds, “Every race has its challenges, remember? You faced this one head-on, just like a true champion.”

Luca’s eyes meet Charles’ own, a depth of understanding passing between them. “Remember your promise,” he whispers.

Charles nods, his gaze drifting to you. “Always.”

***

“You know, I’ve seen some tough races,” Charles begins, his gaze distant, “but nothing compares to what I witnessed last night. The strength, the love, the sheer determination.”

You sigh, exhaustion stamped across your face. “Every day is a race. Some days, the finish line feels close, other days it feels miles away.”

Charles takes a deep breath, his voice wavering slightly, “I ... I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through but I want to be there, for both of you. Luca asked me to look after you and that’s a promise I intend to keep.”

You look up, surprised by the depth of his commitment. “You’ve done so much already. You’ve given Luca memories he will cherish forever.”

He moves closer, his eyes searching yours. “It’s not just about Luca. It’s about you too. Through this entire ordeal, the strength you’ve shown, the love … it’s made me see life in a different light.”

A silence envelopes the room, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the machines monitoring Luca.

“I’ve raced all over the world,” Charles whispers, “but I’ve never met someone who’s touched my heart the way you both have. I want to be there for you, for whatever you need.”

You blink back tears, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his words. “It’s been so long since someone offered to share the load. I’m not sure I know how to let someone in anymore.”

Charles gently takes your hand. “One step at a time. Just like in a race. We face each challenge as it comes, together.”

A tear escapes, trailing down your cheek. “Thank you, Charles.”

He brushes the tear away, his touch lingering. “No, thank you. For letting me be a part of your world and for showing me what real strength looks like.”

***

“Look at that,” Luca murmurs, pointing towards the sunset painting the sky with hues of pink and orange. The three of you sit atop a hill overlooking the city, a picnic blanket spread beneath you.

Charles takes a deep breath, the fresh air filling his lungs. “You know, moments like this make me appreciate life even more. The simple joys, the beauty all around.”

You nod, taking in the serene view. “It’s easy to get caught up in the chaos and forget these moments exist.”

Luca’s eyes shimmer with a mix of mischief and wisdom beyond his years. “You two sound like philosophers. All I know is that this sandwich tastes amazing.”

You chuckle, ruffling his hair. “Always living in the moment, aren’t you?”

He grins. “That's the secret, Mama. We have to savor every bite, every sunset, every laugh.”

Charles, deeply moved, joins in. “You're right, Luca. In the races, I’ve learned that every second counts. It’s the same with life.”

Luca nods earnestly. “Exactly! You can’t rewind time. You can only enjoy it.”

The evening wears on with laughter, stories, and shared dreams. The three of you revel in the simplicity of the moment frozen in time.

As stars begin to sprinkle the night sky, Luca turns to Charles, a serious expression on his face. “Promise me something?”

Charles leans in, listening intently. “Anything.”

“Make more moments like this with Mama, even after ...” Luca's voice trails off, the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.

Charles squeezes Luca’s hand, his voice thick with emotion. “I promise, champ. Moments full of love, laughter, and sunsets.”

Luca’s watery laugh has tears pooling in your eyes. “You know, when you look at the sunset, remember me. Remember this moment.”

You turn to him, tears now overflowing. “Luca …”

He smiles, a mixture of melancholy and contentment in his gaze. “I may not be here forever but I'll always be a part of these sunsets. A part of you.”

Charles, his voice a gentle whisper, adds, “And a part of me.”

***

“Mama?” Luca’s voice, frail and delicate like the gossamer wing of a butterfly, quivers with fear.

You lean in closer, grasping his hand between both of yours, heart heavy. “Yes, my love?”

He swallows hard, searching your eyes with his own clouded ones. “I’m scared, Mama. I don’t want to go.”

Tears blur your vision but you muster a brave smile for him. “I know, sweetheart. But remember our sunsets? Sometimes, the sun has to set to make way for a new dawn.”

Luca’s fingers weakly grip yours. “But what if it’s dark, Mama? What if it hurts? What if I’m all alone?”

Charles, unable to remain a silent spectator, interjects, his voice cracking with emotion. “You won’t be. It will be just like falling asleep. You’ll have the sunsets, the memories, and all the love we’ve shared. That light will never fade. We will always be here. I promise.”

Luca’s eyes shimmer with tears but also a glimmer of hope. “Will you sing for me, Mama? The song from when I was small?”

Your heart breaks, remembering the countless nights you’d sung him to sleep. Taking a deep breath, you begin, your voice soft and lulling:

“You are my sunshine,

My only sunshine,

You make me happy

When skies are gray ...”

Luca’s breathing slows, his grip on your hand loosening.

“You’ll never know, dear,

How much I love you,

Please don’t take

My sunshine away.”

As the final note leaves your lips, Luca’s chest rises gently one last time, then stills. The room is silent, save for your heart-wrenching sobs.

Charles steps closer, wrapping his arms around you as you crumple into him, your world shattering. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, tears streaming down both your faces.

***

The somber quiet of the funeral is punctuated by the soft cries of mourners. The backdrop of gentle flowers contrast starkly with the weight of the grief in the air.

Charles stands next to you, holding a polished helmet, the vibrant colors of his Monza race-winning headgear gleaming under the sun. He turns to face you, eyes red-rimmed.

“This,” he starts, voice choked, “is my helmet from Monza. The race we won together. He was my co-driver that day, in spirit.”

You take a shaky breath, reaching out to touch the helmet, feeling its cool surface, the memories of that day flooding back. “He would’ve been so proud to have this.”

Charles nods, tears streaming down his face. “And this,” he says, taking the Ferrari bracelet off his wrist, “he held onto it for me once. I ... I want him to have it. To keep it safe.”

You clutch the bracelet, feeling its familiar weight, the leather still warm from Charles’ wrist. “It meant the world to him. And to me. Thank you.”

The two of you stand side by side, staring at the small casket adorned with flowers and memories. The embodiment of a life cut short but filled with love and unforgettable moments.

Together, you place the helmet and bracelet inside, a final tribute to a young racer whose journey had inspired so many.

“He’s free now,” Charles whispers, his voice barely audible. “Racing in the skies, no pain, no limits.”

You nod, tears flowing freely. “Our little champion, forever.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, both of you finding solace in each other’s warmth. The wind picks up, rustling the leaves, carrying with it the memories of a brave soul, forever remembered, forever missed.

***

The familiar crest of the hill looms ahead, the very spot where laughter and dreams once danced in the wind. You and Charles reach the top, the vast expanse of the horizon stretching out before you. The setting sun casts a golden hue, much like that unforgettable evening a year ago.

Charles lays down a blanket, reminiscent of that day, and the two of you sit, lost in memories. The silence isn’t empty — it’s filled with remembrance of a young boy’s laughter, his dreams, his courage. The hole he left behind in your hearts.

“Do you ever feel,” Charles hesitantly cuts through the quiet, “that Luca is still here with us, watching these sunsets?”

A tear slips down your cheek. “All the time. Every time I close my eyes under the setting sun or look up at the sky, I feel his presence.”

Charles takes a deep breath, struggling with his emotions. “I’ve been thinking about a way to honor Luca. To keep his spirit alive.”

You turn to him, eyes questioning.

“A foundation,” Charles begins, “In Luca’s name. To help children with terminal illnesses and their families. To give them hope, love, memories.”

You feel a rush of emotion, a tidal wave of love and loss. “He would have loved that. To know he’s making a difference even now.”

Charles nods, tears rolling down his cheeks. ‘It’s not just about the financial help. It’s about the moments, the memories. The sunsets and the picnics. The dreams and the hopes.”

You intertwine your fingers with his, drawing strength from the bond you’ve forged. “We’ll do it together. For Luca.”

The sun slowly dips below the horizon. As the first star appears, a sense of peace envelops the two of you. In the heart of sorrow, a new purpose is born, ensuring that Luca’s light continues to shine, guiding countless souls out of the darkness.

***

The sun sets in a blaze of colors, casting a warm glow over the hill that has become a symbolic memorial. Charles and you sit side-by-side, hand-in-hand, watching the bittersweet horizon.

A small voice breaks through the silence. “Mama, Papa, why do we come here?”

You turn to your daughter, a smile tugging at your lips. Lucia, with her curious eyes and radiant smile, is a constant reminder of love and life renewed.

“We come here to remember someone very special,” Charles explains gently, his eyes, so similar to your daughter’s, filled with tenderness.

Lucia looks at you both, a hint of understanding in her innocent gaze. “Luca?”

You nod, voice soft. “Yes, sweetheart. Your big brother. We come here to celebrate him, to tell stories about him, and to show him how much we love him.”

Lucia frowns slightly. “But I never got to meet him.”

You stroke her hair, your heart aching and swelling simultaneously. “He’s always with us, in our hearts. Just like you are.”

Charles leans down, wiping away a tear that escapes your eye. “And you’re named Lucia after him, to carry his memory forward.”

Lucia’s eyes light up, smile shining bright. “I’m like a part of him?”

“Yes,” you say, your voice filled with emotion. “A part of him lives on in you. In all of us.”

As the sun dips below the horizon, bathing the world in twilight, you hold each other tightly, a family united by love, loss, and the enduring spirit of a young boy whose legacy lives on in every sunset, every star, and every beat of your hearts.

[unabashegirl]

Echo — Dr. Styles

Harry is a cardiothoracic surgeon and Aurora is just one of his students...

Author's note: Hello everyone, this one shot has been posted a long time on Patreon. I'm finally happy to release it for all of my Tumblr followers. I hope you enjoy it. It's quite long so happy reading!

check out my patreon and get access to more :)

word count: 7.5K

masterlist

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The operating room hummed with a symphony of beeping monitors and the steady rush of air from vents. He stood at the center, surrounded by a team of skilled medical professionals, each playing their part in the delicate dance of a heart transplant.

Dressed in his scrubs, His focus was unwavering as he gazed down at the patient lying before him. The heart monitor beeped steadily, a reassuring rhythm amidst the controlled chaos of the surgery.

"Scalpel," He called out, his voice calm yet commanding. A nurse placed the tool in his outstretched hand, and with practiced precision, he made the first incision.

The room seemed to hold its breath as Harry worked, his movements sure and steady. The transplant was a delicate procedure, requiring absolute precision and unwavering focus.

As he meticulously dissected the damaged heart from the surrounding tissues, Harry's mind was a whirlwind of calculations and decisions. Every cut, every stitch, held the patient's life in the balance.

"Alright, let me have a retractor," he requested, his eyes never leaving the task at hand. A nurse handed him the instrument, and he gently maneuvered the tissues aside, revealing the beating heart beneath.

The sight never failed to awe Harry, even after years of performing surgeries. The human heart, a marvel of nature, beating with the rhythm of life itself.

With a sense of reverence, he reached for the donor heart, carefully preserved in a chilled solution nearby. As he lifted it into place, a collective breath seemed to fill the room.

"Clamp," The doctor instructed, and the new heart was secured in its rightful place. With meticulous care, he began to stitch the arteries and veins, connecting the life-giving vessels of the new heart to those of the patient.

Time seemed to both stand still and fly by in the OR. Each stitch, each suture, brought the transplant closer to completion. The team around he moved with practiced efficiency, a well-oiled machine working in perfect harmony. After six hours of standing with no breaks, he stepped back. The heart transplant was a success.

The room seemed to exhale as the monitors beeped steadily, the sound a comforting reassurance of the patient's stable condition.

"Get him to the ICU and keep me updated every hour," the surgeon instructed his intern firmly. "Stitch him up," he commanded, swiftly removing his disposable gown and gloves.

"Dr. Styles? Should I inform his wife and family? What should I say to them?" the intern asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

"No, I'll take care of it. Thank you, everyone," Dr. Harry Styles replied, his voice steady and reassuring, before exiting the operating room.

As Harry stepped out of the operating room, the weight of the surgery lingered in the air around him. The hushed tones of the hospital corridor offered a stark contrast to the controlled chaos of the OR.

With a purposeful stride, he made his way to the waiting area where the patient's family anxiously awaited news. The sense of anticipation was palpable, the air heavy with worry and hope.

The patient's wife sat on the edge of her seat, her eyes red-rimmed from hours of anxious waiting. As she caught sight of Harry approaching, her heart leaped into her throat.

"Dr. Styles," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "How is he? Is he going to be okay?”

Harry paused before her, his gaze gentle yet unwavering. "Your husband is out of surgery," he began, his voice steady. "The transplant was successful, but he's still in a critical condition. We'll be monitoring him closely in the ICU."

Tears welled up in the wife's eyes, a mix of relief and fear washing over her. "Can I see him? Can I be with him?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry nodded, "Of course. He's being prepared for transfer to the ICU now. You'll be able to see him soon. Now it's a matter of time and his body's response to the new heart. I’ll go check on him in a few hours. Excuse me” He gave her a small smile before disappearing down the corridor to complete charting and also get to a meeting with the attendings and the chief.

Morning," Harry greeted as he stepped into the conference room, juggling his charts and a cold brew he'd snagged from the coffee shop outside.

"How'd the surgery go?" Niall, the attending for emergencies, inquired as Harry settled in beside him.

"Alright," Harry shrugged, already engrossed in his notes. "What's this meeting about?"

Harry and Niall had struck up a friendship recently. Niall was a natural conversationalist, known for his boisterous laughter and infectious smiles. In contrast, Harry tended to keep to himself, often lost in his thoughts.

"It's about the new surgical interns starting today," the doctor seated across from Niall shared, catching Harry's attention. He frowned, already dreading the inevitable chaos that came with the arrival of new interns. Teaching was never his favorite part of the job, but he endured it for the greater good.

"Oh, I'm excited!" Niall beamed, a glimmer of enthusiasm in his eyes that Harry couldn't quite match. He knew Niall's fondness for charming the new interns, often leading to more than just professional relationships.

"Morning," the chief greeted as he entered the room, his presence commanding attention. In his mid-sixties, the chief had hired Harry, yet their interactions remained minimal. Harry preferred it that way; he kept his circle small, especially in a place where boundaries could easily blur.

"This will be a quick meeting about the incoming interns and the duties and expectations for the next few weeks," the chief explained, setting the tone for the discussion.

Harry listened attentively as the chief outlined the responsibilities and expectations for the upcoming weeks with the new surgical interns. His gaze wandered around the room, noting the varied reactions of his colleagues.

Niall seemed positively thrilled, nodding along eagerly and already making mental notes about which interns he would be taking under his wing. Harry couldn't help but shake his head at his friend's predictable enthusiasm for the new arrivals.

On the other side of the room, Dr. Patel sat with a look of quiet determination, her focus unwavering as she absorbed every detail of the chief's instructions. Harry respected her dedication and work ethic, knowing that she would undoubtedly excel in guiding the interns. She was one of the most famous gastroenterologist surgeons in the hospital.

As the meeting progressed, Harry found himself growing more apprehensive about the impending arrival of the interns. The first few weeks were always a whirlwind of orientation, training sessions, and long hours in the OR. He knew it would test his patience and ability to teach effectively.

"Any questions?" the chief asked, bringing Harry's attention back to the present.

Harry glanced around the room, noting the silence that followed. He cleared his throat, deciding to speak up. "Just to clarify, are we each assigned specific interns to mentor, or is it more of a collective effort?"

The chief nodded, addressing Harry's question. "We have a list of assigned mentors for each intern, but I encourage all attending physicians to participate in their training and offer guidance when needed."

he chief distributed the lists of mentors to each of the attending physicians. Harry glanced down at his list and noted that he had five interns assigned to him, the majority of whom were male. It brought a slight sense of relief, knowing he might have more common ground for discussion with them, than with the female ones.

"They should be up in a few hours. They are getting introduced to their residents and the program before they're sent your way," the chief informed the group. "That will be all. Have a good day."

With that, the meeting was adjourned, and the attendings began to gather their things and prepare for the arrival of the new interns. Harry folded his list neatly and tucked it into his pocket.

After attending to some of his post-op patients, Harry returned to his rounds before a page from Camille, one of the cardiology residents, summoned him to the cardiology wing. He knew exactly what that meant – it was time to meet the new interns.

"Doctor Styles! There you are," Camille exclaimed, waving him over as he entered the room. Before him stood a group of about twenty eager faces, all eyes on him. "This is Dr. Styles, one of the leaders in our cardiac surgery program. Any decisions made here will be run through him first."

"Good morning, everyone," Harry greeted, offering a warm smile to the group. "Congratulations on being accepted into the program. It goes without saying that this will be a demanding journey, but I hope it proves to be fulfilling for each of you. I'll be mentoring a few of you directly, but please know that I'm always available for questions or guidance."

"Any questions for Dr. Styles?" Camille interjected before Harry could slip away.

One voice rose from the group, breaking the brief silence. "About the mentoring. How does it work?" the inquiry came.

"Is that you, Knight?" Camille scanned the crowd until her eyes landed on Aurora, who stepped forward, no longer hiding behind a taller colleague. "Yes," Aurora confirmed, her voice steady. "I'm just wondering when we'll find out who our mentors are and when we should meet with them?"

"We don't have a set schedule for that," Camille replied, turning to Harry for confirmation. He nodded in agreement before she continued. "It usually happens when you and the attending find a bit of time between their duties and cases. As for when your mentors will be revealed, they will progressively become known as we introduce you to the rest of the attendings," Camille explained. She then turned to Harry. "Dr. Styles, do you have your list?”

"Right," Harry acknowledged, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the list. Unfolding it, he scanned the names before finding the one he was looking for. "And Aurora Knight," he announced.

"There you go," Camille said with a smile. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Styles. We'll see you in a bit."

Aurora Knight had always been sharp, bright, and endlessly curious, but above all, she was remarkably disciplined. So, when the time arrived to select a career path, her parents were taken aback by her choice of medicine. Aurora's unwavering discipline had guided her through many challenges, yet the surgical program posed an entirely new and demanding playing field.

At 27 years old, Aurora Knight was a striking figure with her long, tousled blonde hair framing her face. Her hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence and a hint of mischief, reflecting her sharp wit and curious nature. Despite her petite stature, there was an undeniable presence about her, an aura of confidence and determination that seemed to radiate from within. With a warm smile that could light up a room, Aurora carried herself with a grace.

"We'll be dividing into groups now," Camille announced, her voice carrying over the bustling activity of the surgical wing. "Each group will be assigned a new case, with an attending and resident in charge. Please listen to your resident and attending," she emphasized, gesturing for the interns to pay attention.

Aurora listened attentively as Camille began calling out last names, assigning each intern to their respective groups. As the names were called, excitement buzzed through the room, mingled with a touch of nervous energy.

"I hope I get to be with Dr. Styles," Aurora heard a voice beside her murmur. She couldn't help but smile at the comment, the sentiment echoing her own thoughts about the charming head of the cardiac surgery program.

Aurora kept her gaze fixed on the floor, not bothering to glance up at the others around her. Despite her outward confidence, it was all a facade. In truth, she was more of an introvert, often finding solace in the quiet moments of reflection.

However, being reserved didn't mean she was blind. She couldn't help but admire his striking features from the corner of her eye.

"Knight," Camille's voice finally broke through her thoughts, and Aurora looked up to see Camille pointing to a group of five. She was the last to be called, completing the group.

"You five will be heading down to the emergency room," Camille commanded, her voice firm. "You do remember where it is, right?" All five of them nodded in response. Aurora, however, couldn't recall, but she still nodded, not wanting to risk embarrassing herself and standing out.

The group of interns began to make their way downstairs in silence. None of them knew each other, but circumstances had brought them together on this task.

"Does anyone actually know where it is?" one of the men finally broke the silence, voicing the question that had likely been on all their minds.

The question hung in the air for a moment before Aurora spoke up, her voice steady despite the slight nervous flutter in her stomach. "I'm not entirely sure," she admitted, her hazel eyes meeting the gaze of her fellow interns.

The man who had asked the question nodded in understanding, a small smile playing on his lips. "I guess we’ll figure it out all together" he reassured, his tone friendly. “I am Milo”

“Aurora” She shook her hand.

The group continued down the corridors of the hospital, following the signs that pointed toward the emergency room. As they walked, conversation began to flow more freely, the initial awkwardness of being strangers starting to fade.

Aurora found herself drawn into the discussions, her curiosity piqued as she listened to her new colleagues share their experiences and aspirations. Despite the nerves that still lingered in the back of her mind, she couldn't deny the sense of camaraderie that was beginning to form among them.

Soon, they reached the bustling entrance of the emergency room, the controlled chaos of medical staff and patients filling the space. Camille had mentioned they would be assisting with a new case, and Aurora felt a surge of anticipation mingled with a touch of apprehension.

"We should check in with the attending," one of the interns suggested, breaking the silence that had fallen over the group as they took in the scene before them.

Aurora nodded in agreement, the group moving towards the attending physician who was overseeing the ER that day.

They stood awkwardly a few feet away from Niall as he diligently checked over some charts and finished a note on a patient. All five of them glanced at each other, silently urging someone to muster the courage to approach.

Eventually, Niall felt the weight of their glances on him and spoke up without looking up from his work. "I won't bite," he said, trying to ease the tension. “He is in there”

Just as they were about to make a move, the voice of Dr. Styles boomed through the room. "About time! Where the bloody hell have you been?!" he yelled, the urgency evident in his tone.

The interns hurried into the room, where they found Dr. Styles performing CPR on an unconscious patient. "What are you doing? Get in here!" he commanded, his voice urgent as he gestured for them to join him.

Aurora struggled to maintain focus, but it was nearly impossible not to be captivated by Dr. Styles' striking appearance as he fought to save a life. The muscles beneath his uniform strained with effort, his hair falling in disarray as he applied pressure. Despite his intense concentration, a furrowed brow revealed his determination to revive the patient. Suddenly, his commanding voice snapped her out of her reverie.

Without hesitation, she reached for a pair of gloves and swiftly approached the table.

"Let's get an EKG on him, Dr. Knight. You know how to do that, right? Or do I have to draw it for you?" Harry's voice cut through the urgency of the moment. Aurora nodded, her focus already on the task at hand. She began placing the electrodes on the patient's chest, each one carefully positioned. She ignored his harsh comment doubting her abilities.

"You, intubate him," Harry's next command came without pause as he assessed the patient's vitals.

Milo, one of the other interns, tried to not hesitate. He moved to the head of the bed, positioning himself to intubate the man efficiently.

"He's still bradycardic," Aurora muttered to herself, her eyes scanning the monitors as the rest of the team worked swiftly around the patient. Aurora looked down at her shoes and noticed the blood that was pooling under the stretcher. " he's bleeding from somewhere," she added, her gaze shifting to the man's sides.

"Can we roll him over?" Aurora looked up, meeting Harry's gaze with determination.

Harry nodded in agreement, quickly commanding the nurses to assist.

"I'll help," Autumn, another intern, offered, stepping forward to join Aurora.

Together, they carefully maneuvered the patient onto his side, revealing the source of the bleeding. There, in the fourth intercostal space, was a large and ominous laceration. The sight sent a jolt of urgency through the team as they assessed the severity of the injury and prepared to take swift action.

As the patient's vital signs continued to plummet, Harry's urgency grew palpable. "Dr. Madden, were you able to intubate?" he pressed, his gaze fixed on the worsening situation.

"Just give me a second," Dr. Madden muttered, his focus intent on getting a clear view of the vocal cords.

"We don't have a second, Dr. Madden. Did you do it or not?!" Harry's voice rose with frustration as Aurora and Autumn applied pressure to the wound. "Dr. Madden!"

"I-I..." Dr. Madden hesitated, faltering under the pressure of the tense situation.

Harry wasted no time. With decisive action, he stepped in and pushed Dr. Madden aside, taking control of the intubation process himself. In a matter of moments, the patient was successfully intubated, the urgency of the situation leaving no room for hesitation.

"Let's get him to the operating room," Harry declared, his voice commanding as the team mobilized to move the patient to the next phase of treatment.

The tension in the room was palpable as the chaos of the moment began to subside. It felt as though a storm had swept through, leaving behind an eerie calmness in its wake. All five interns remained rooted to their spots, their expressions a mixture of shock and disbelief.

"He absolutely despises us," Autumn broke the silence, her voice tinged with frustration as she began to remove her gloves.

"Speak for yourself. He hates me," Milo sighed, his tone resigned. "I just couldn't get a clear view."

"At least he didn't offer to draw it out for you," Aurora quipped, attempting to inject a bit of levity into the tense atmosphere. The others chuckled nervously, their laughter quickly fading as they realized Harry had come back into the room.

Aurora, unaware of his presence behind her, continued to face away, while Autumn's eyes widened in apprehension. The realization dawned on them that their mentor had witnessed their candid conversation, adding another layer of tension to the already fraught situation.

"As soon as you're changed, I'll meet you all in the operating room," Harry announced, his pager interrupting the moment. Once the door closed behind him, a collective sigh of relief filled the room.

"Shit," Aurora thought to herself, the weight of the situation settling heavily on her shoulders.

"Good morning, everyone," Harry greeted as he entered the operating room. Aurora lingered in the back, blending into the crowd, attempting to mask her rising anxiety. Despite her efforts, she couldn't shake the nagging fear that Harry might use her comment to have her expelled from the program.

As Harry began to address the team, Aurora's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with worry. She had worked tirelessly to earn her place in the program, but one wrong move, one mistake, and it could all be taken away.

She watched as Harry moved about the room with confidence, his presence commanding attention from everyone present. His expertise was undeniable, his reputation as a skilled surgeon preceding him.

Aurora couldn't help but feel a pang of inadequacy as she compared herself to him. She was still learning, still finding her footing in the high-pressure environment of the operating room. The thought of disappointing him, of failing to meet his expectations, filled her with dread.

As the surgery got underway, Aurora focused on her tasks, trying to block out the persistent voice of doubt in her mind. She knew she had to prove herself, to show Harry and the rest of the team that she was capable, that she belonged here.

But with each passing moment, the weight of her anxiety grew heavier, threatening to overwhelm her. She couldn't afford to make a mistake, not now, not when so much was at stake.

"Dr. Knight," he called out, his voice cutting through her reverie. "Could you come here and hold the retractor?"

Aurora quietly extricated herself from the crowd, making her way to the table. With the assistance of a nurse, she put on gloves and a gown before positioning herself at the table.

"Here," he said, his hand extending the instrument towards her.

Their fingers brushed briefly as she accepted the tool. She couldn't help but notice the warmth of his hand compared to her own chill. Pushing aside any distractions, she focused on the task at hand, determined to carry out her duties with precision and professionalism.

She could only see his eyes and that was enough to make her nervous.

She tried to push aside the fluttering in her stomach and the way her heart seemed to skip a beat every time their eyes met. This wasn't the time or place for distractions. She had a job to do, a patient relying on her steady hands and focused mind.

With each passing moment, Aurora found herself slipping further into the rhythm of the surgery. The sounds of the operating room faded into the background as she concentrated on her task, her movements precise and calculated.

"Alright, that's all," Harry declared as he completed the final stitch. "Thank you, everyone." With that, he was the first to leave the room.

Aurora hesitated, waiting until Harry had exited before entering herself. Alone with him, she couldn't shake the sudden surge of apprehension. Despite her nerves, she couldn't fathom why he had specifically called upon her to assist him.

"Dr. Knight. A moment," he intercepted her as soon as she emerged from the scrub room. She swallowed hard, her heart pounding, and obediently followed him.

Harry led her outside of the hospital to a small coffee cart situated right by the entrance.

"Dr. Styles, I—"

"Latte or Americano?" He cut her off before she could finish, his question unexpected.

"Latte," she nervously replied as he ordered an Americano for himself and a latte for her.

"Dr. Styles, I just wanted to apologize for my comment. I want you to know that it won't happen again," she confessed, her words rushed and tinged with remorse.

"I wanted to apologize. I didn't mean to underestimate you in any way, Dr. Knight," he began after handing her the coffee and settling the bill with the vendor. "I'm certain that you're more than capable of handling not just an EKG, but any task thrown your way." He paid the woman and handed her drink. "I suppose I let the situation get the best of me. Just keep working as diligently as you have been, and you'll go far," he concluded before disappearing into the hospital.

Aurora remained behind, stunned by his words. As she processed his unexpected encouragement, she felt a newfound confidence settle within her.

Two months had passed since they began their tenure at the hospital. In that time, Aurora had forged strong bonds with Milo, Autumn, Daniel, and Abigail. However, Greyson had proven to be a persistent issue from day one. His reluctance to collaborate made him a challenge in a profession where teamwork was paramount.

As for Harry, he had remained standoffish. Since their last encounter, he hadn't directly addressed Aurora. Known for his impartiality and lack of favoritism, Harry maintained a neutral stance, assessing everyone solely on their ability to perform and execute.

“Right. Who will be assisting me today?” Harry asked as he looked around the operating room. His patient was being intervene due to a gun wound. He had already started operating, but though it would be a good idea to allow them to stitch up. “Milo and Aurora”.

Most of them had assisted him in the days prior, and today, Harry wanted both Milo and Aurora to have the opportunity to experience stitching up cardiac muscle.

Aurora silently recited the steps she had meticulously studied from textbooks and articles before entering the operating room. She made a conscious effort to recall every detail, anticipating that Harry might quiz them verbally. The nurse assisted Aurora in donning a gown and gloves, mirroring the nervous expression worn by Milo.

They positioned themselves opposite to Harry around the patient, they awaited instructions.

"Dr. Madden, could you assist me with this stitch?" Harry directed, prompting Milo to retrieve the necessary tools from the instrumental nurse. With careful precision, Milo attempted the stitch, mindful of Harry's guidance to ensure it held securely without compromising blood supply.

"I think that should do it," Milo ventured uncertainly, recalling Harry's recent advice on the importance of confidence in one's work.

"Very well. Dr. Knight, if you would?" Harry indicated to Aurora. Milo stepped aside, allowing her to take her turn. Aurora's task involved suturing the left coronary artery, a delicate procedure made more challenging by its angle relative to the heart. With a steady hand, Aurora cautiously slipped her fingers into the chest cavity, her nerves palpable.

Harry's reassuring voice broke through her anxiety. "Don't let it intimidate you," he encouraged, their eyes meeting in a moment of shared determination.

Aurora nodded silently, her focus returning to the intricate network of arteries illuminated by her headlamp. With determination, she began stitching, her concentration unyielding. The heart before them was far from healthy, but the man on the table had a family anxiously awaiting good news - a wife and two children relying on their expertise.

Suddenly, the monitor's alarming beep shattered the tense silence. Aurora's heart raced as she looked up, instantly gripped by nerves.

"What's happening?" Harry demanded, his voice sharp with urgency as he leaned over the cavity. "What did you do?" His tone rose with concern as he hurried to assist her in exploring the cavity.

"I didn't do anything!" Aurora protested, frantically searching for signs of bleeding around her stitches. "I followed the textbook guidelines," she muttered, her fear palpable.

Harry met her gaze, sensing her distress. "Find the source of the bleed," he instructed firmly, but the cavity was rapidly filling with blood. "Get a bag of O neg."

"I can't see anything," Aurora admitted, her panic mounting as she struggled to maintain composure.

"Think, Dr. Knight!" Harry urged, the urgency in his voice escalating. "The patient is crashing. What's your next move? Find the bleed!" His words reverberated in the operating room, but Aurora remained frozen in fear.

"Step away from the table, Dr. Knight," Harry commanded, his tone firm. "Leave the OR."

Feeling overwhelmed, Aurora hastily removed her gown and other attire, desperate for relief from the constriction. It was as if everything had become too tight, making it difficult to breathe or see clearly. Without a moment's hesitation, she fled the operating room and scrubbed out.

Navigating the hospital corridors, Aurora was acutely aware of the rising panic within her. Recognizing the signs of a panic attack, she sought solace in a nearby supply closet, allowing herself a moment of privacy to release her emotions. Though tears flowed freely, she couldn't shake the memory of her mother's advice never to cry in public, especially at work. Despite the overwhelming urge, Aurora remained composed, and like a good girl she followed the rules.

Twenty minutes elapsed before Harry emerged from the operating room. With a heavy sigh, he immediately noticed Aurora's absence, both outside the OR and in the scrub room. Removing his surgical cap, he made his way to the waiting room, his heart heavy with the weight of failure. Despite their efforts, the patient had succumbed to their condition, even after receiving extensive treatment with blood and adrenaline. Harry's attempts to resuscitate them had been in vain.

"I'll see you all in the conference room, and make sure the autopsy authorization is filled out by then," Harry commanded, addressing Milo, Autumn, Daniel, Greyson, and Abigail. "Where is Knight?" he inquired, noticing her absence. The interns remained silent, unsure of her whereabouts. "Regardless, proceed with requesting the autopsy."

After speaking with the family, Harry embarked on a search for Aurora. He scoured every corner of the hospital until he finally heard her sobbing in the supply room. Without hesitation, he used his key for access and entered, ensuring the door was closed behind him.

Aurora hastily wiped her tears and stood up from the floor as Harry entered.

"Dr. Styles," she managed to say between sobs, attempting to compose herself but unable to stop the tears from flowing. "I am sorry for what happened—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Harry's lips met hers. A rush of unexpected emotions flooded through him at the sight of her tears. He had always found her attractive, but he had maintained strict boundaries. Yet, in that moment, something shifted.

His fingers entwined in her hair as their kiss deepened. Initially taken aback, Aurora's confusion gave way to surrender. She allowed herself to be carried away by the intensity of the moment. Harry kissed her with a tenderness, but Aurora could feel the passion bruising her lips and swelling them.

As their kiss continued, time seemed to stand still. In that fleeting moment, Harry and Aurora were lost in each other, their worries and inhibitions fading into the background.

But just as quickly as it began, the reality of their situation came crashing back. Harry reluctantly pulled away, his fingers lingering on Aurora's cheek as they shared a silent, knowing look. They didn’t interchange any words. With a heavy heart, Harry turned and left the supply room, leaving Aurora alone with her thoughts and the echoes of their forbidden kiss.

"What happened to you? Are your interns driving you crazy already?" Niall inquired, joining Harry in the cafeteria where he sat with an untouched tray of food.

"Pretty much," Harry chuckled nervously, attempting to distract himself from the recent kiss he shared with Aurora.

"At least, there are some attactive ones," Niall added, digging into the burger he had ordered.

As Niall continued to talk about the interns, Harry found it increasingly difficult to focus on the conversation. Thoughts of Aurora and their momentary lapse in judgment lingered in his mind, casting a shadow over everything else.

"Yeah, they're certainly... interesting," Harry mumbled absentmindedly, his mind wandering back to the supply room where he had left Aurora.

Niall noticed the distraction in Harry's demeanor and raised an eyebrow. "Everything alright, mate?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

Harry shook his head slightly, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, just a lot on my mind, you know?" he replied vaguely, not wanting to delve into the details.

Niall nodded understandingly, but the concern in his eyes didn't waver. "Well, if you ever need to talk about it, I'm here," he offered, placing a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Thanks," Harry said sincerely, grateful for his friend's support. But even as he tried to push aside the tumultuous thoughts swirling in his mind, he couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to become even more complicated.

Harry contemplated confiding in Niall. He longed for advice, a listening ear to untangle the mess of emotions swirling inside him. But the fear of Niall inadvertently disclosing their conversation to the chief held him back. Despite his growing feelings for Aurora, Harry hesitated to jeopardize his career and reputation over a fleeting attraction.

He departed that day after assigning a substantial list of tasks that needed to be completed.

He had hoped that by leaving, he could silence the relentless thoughts racing through his mind. Yet, even after hitting the gym and attending pilates classes, nothing seemed to make a difference. Harry remained plagued by confusion over why he had walked away without a word.

Now, he realized he needed to have a conversation with her. He needed to explain why it had happened, to assure her that it was just a single mistake and nothing more.

The following day, Harry arrived at the hospital earlier than usual. After grabbing a coffee, he began his rounds, checking on his patients. However, just as he thought he would have some time alone and that Aurora wouldn't be around, he unexpectedly encountered her. She was seated on one of the vacant stretchers on the OR floor, engrossed in what appeared to be studying.

Not wanting to interrupt her concentration, Harry debated whether to approach. Yet, he knew he needed to pass by her to reach his destination.

"Dr. Knight," he addressed her, making a conscious decision to acknowledge her presence. Continuing on his path without expecting a response, he felt a surge of nervousness. His heart raced, pounding in his chest as if it might burst. Despite his expertise in cardiovascular surgery, his palms sweated profusely, giving the sensation of a heart attack to someone less accustomed to such symptoms.

"Dr. Styles, could I speak with you, please?" Her soft voice caught him off guard from behind.

"Sure," he replied, attempting to appear composed though his nerves were anything but. "Follow me." Leading her upstairs to the rooftop, Harry sought solace in his refuge during the most challenging times.

"Listen, Dr. Knight. I know that I was completely—"

"Dr. Styles, I just wanted to apologize for what happened in the OR—"

Their words collided as they spoke simultaneously, their apologies hanging in the air between them.

"I crossed a boundary yesterday, and I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm your superior, and I'm supposed to be your teacher instead of..." Harry rushed out, "It won't happen again."

Aurora was taken aback. She wasn't inclined to apologize for the kiss; in fact, she had quite enjoyed it. Nor did she want him to apologize for it. The realization that it wouldn't be repeated left her feeling disappointed.

"Yeah, alright, Dr. Styles," Aurora nodded, feeling as though her apology for the incident in the OR had been rendered unnecessary and brushed aside. Disappointed, she managed a small smile before leaving, too disheartened to continue the conversation or remain in his presence.

Harry remained upstairs, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him like an eternity. Suddenly, he heard the door open, accompanied by the sound of giggles. Glancing over his shoulder, he instantly recognized the couple: Niall with a third-year intern. Harry recalled her; he had been her advisor during her second year. They shared a kiss, and as Niall pulled away, his eyes met with Harry's.

Upon noticing Harry on the roof, the intern hastily retreated, eager to vacate the scene. Niall allowed her to run out before he approached Harry.

"Why are you here?" Niall asked, standing beside him, his embarrassment and nervousness palpable. He wasn't ashamed of their relationship, but he understood the potential consequences if they were discovered and reported.

"Just getting some air. You?" Harry replied casually.

"Look, Harry—" Niall began, but Harry interrupted him.

"No need to explain, Niall. I won't say anything," Harry reassured him. Even if he hadn't kissed Aurora, he wouldn't have exposed Niall's secret. "Is it worth it?"

"She is," Niall replied after a moment of silence. "Not everything is about work. We all need to enjoy life a little. What kind of life would it be if we never took any risks?"

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Harry admitted after a few moments. Life had grown mundane and routine lately. However, since Aurora had entered his life, things had become more exciting. Now, he found himself looking forward to going to the hospital.

As Harry reflected on the newfound excitement Aurora had brought into his life, he couldn't help but acknowledge the subtle shifts in his routine. Each day at the hospital held the promise of unexpected moments, whether it was a challenging surgery, a meaningful interaction with a patient, or even the briefest exchange with Aurora herself.

Despite the complications and risks inherent in their budding relationship, Harry felt a renewed sense of vitality and purpose. Perhaps taking a chance on love was worth the potential consequences. After all, life was meant to be lived fully, even if it meant stepping outside the boundaries of what was considered safe and predictable.

In the bustling atmosphere downstairs, Aurora found herself engrossed in the tasks of tending to outpatient consults and suturing wounds in the emergency room. It was a deliberate effort on her part to refine her skills; the prospect of returning to the operating room filled her with trepidation. Despite her best efforts to dissect every detail of the previous surgery in her mind, she remained uncertain about what had gone awry. Tempted to lay blame on Harry and the intense exchanges they had shared across the operating table, she struggled to shake off the lingering doubts.

Just as she was completing the discharge process for a woman who had sustained a laceration to her eyebrow, Aurora's pager buzzed urgently, summoning her to the cardiology wing. With a sense of urgency, she set aside her current tasks and hastened towards her next destination.

Much to her surprise, when Aurora arrived, Harry had summoned everyone.

"The autopsy has been completed. I thought it would be a good exercise to review it and identify where we may have gone wrong," Harry announced as she entered the room. "Dr. Knight, please take a seat," he instructed, handing a copy of the autopsy report to each person present.

Nervously, Aurora settled between Milo and Autumn, her apprehension palpable.

"Dr. Madden, please begin," Harry prompted, and the group delved into dissecting every detail of the report.

"So, what was the issue? Where did we go wrong?" Harry inquired after they had finished scrutinizing the final word.

Silence filled the room as everyone hesitated to speak. Aurora knew what had transpired, but she hesitated to voice her thoughts; she was reluctant to assign blame to anyone.

Silence lingered in the room as Harry's question echoed, met only by the sound of his watch ticking away the seconds. He glanced at the time, realizing his own time constraints. "I don’t have all day," he stated firmly, casting a discerning gaze over the assembled group. Among them, Aurora's eyes met his, devoid of the confusion evident in the others. He hesitated to call on her, torn between the desire for her insight and the fear of alienating her.

Before he could make a decision, Milo spoke up, his tone tinged with shame. "My stitches came undone, causing the cavity to fill with blood," he admitted, eyes downcast. Harry nodded, a plan forming in his mind.

"I'll arrange practice sessions for each of you next week to work on your skills. You're all dismissed. Dr. Knight, a word," he instructed as the others filed out of the room without protest. Once they were gone, Harry locked the door behind them.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face Aurora, his demeanor softening. "I don't regret our kiss," he confessed, a wistful smile playing at the corners of his lips. "If it were up to me, I'd spend the whole day doing just that."

Despite her efforts to conceal it, her smile threatened to reveal her true feelings, while the blush creeping up her cheeks betrayed her nervousness. Stepping closer to him, Aurora closed the distance between them, her arms encircling his neck as Harry's hands found their way to her hips. He pressed a kiss to her forearm, his gaze locked with hers, and in that moment, the world seemed to fade away around them.

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace, the tension between them palpable, Harry couldn't help but feel a rush of conflicting emotions. He knew the risks involved in pursuing anything beyond a professional relationship with Aurora, yet he found himself unable to resist her magnetic pull.

Taking a deep breath, Harry leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from hers. In that moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of them, lost in the intensity of their shared desire.

Aurora's hands deftly slid Harry's white coat off his broad shoulders, a sense of urgency in her touch. Harry reciprocated, lifting her effortlessly off the floor as their lips met in a fervent kiss. With a swift motion, he gently placed her on the nearby table, his hands moving with purpose to rid her of her scrubs.

"God, I've been craving this moment since the day we met," he murmured breathlessly, the heat between them igniting with his words. Every touch, every caress sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body, building a fire of desire that threatened to consume them both.

As Harry peeled off her top, Aurora's breath caught in her throat at the sight that greeted her. She hadn't expected to find intricate tattoos adorning his skin, each one a testament to a hidden side of him she longed to explore.

Aware of the ticking clock, Harry felt a sense of urgency creeping in. He understood the fleeting nature of the moment, knowing his beeper could disrupt their intimacy at any instant. With a swift motion, he lowered his pants just enough to free himself, his focus fixed on savoring every second.

As his lips trailed down her body, Harry uncovered her breasts, his mouth eagerly seeking out the tender breasts. With delicate precision, he lavished attention on each voluptuous, perky nipple, relishing the taste and texture beneath his touch.

"We're running out of time," she moaned, urgency lacing her words as she struggled to discard her pants. "I need you, now," she pleaded, her desire palpable. Harry's smile deepened as he peppered kisses along her neck, swiftly removing her pants with eager hands.

With a sense of determination, he pushed aside her underwear, his touch eliciting a shiver of anticipation. Slowly, he teased her wet folds with his head, each caress heightening her arousal. Finally, he entered her, their synchronized moans echoing in the room as they became one.

Their union was a symphony of passion and desire, the intensity building with each rhythmic thrust. Harry's movements were primal, driven by an unquenchable hunger for her. Aurora arched into him, her nails digging into his skin as waves of pleasure washed over her.

Lost in the sounds of ecstasy, they surrendered to the moment, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. Every touch, every kiss, ignited a fire within them, consuming them with a raw, primal need.

As their climax approached, the world around them faded into oblivion, leaving only the pulsating rhythm of their entwined bodies. In that fleeting moment, they were consumed by an overwhelming sense of bliss.

As they reached their climax of pleasure, they let out a simultaneous cry of release, their souls intertwining in a moment of pure bliss.

But as the echoes of their passion faded into the night, reality came crashing back, reminding them of the world outside their cocoon of desire. With gentle kisses and whispered promises, they held onto each other, knowing that their love would endure whatever challenges lay ahead. Because even though Harry was risking his entire career by having sex with her in a conference room at the hospital, it was all worth it to him because he finally felt like he was living again.

[squoxle]

hayy can I request Heeseung and yn hotel sex

Sex is always better in someone else’s bed, especially when you don’t have to clean up afterwards…

Who’s in the mood for a spicy hotel hookup? I know I am…

Room #216 ~ L.HS

𐙚pairing: stranger!heeseung x fm!reader | 𐙚wc: 950 | 𐙚plot: one night stand with Heeseung. | 𐙚cw:🔞MDNI!! SMUT!!! unprotected sex and dirty talk (hint of fluff at the end)

“Here’s your room key,” the man said, holding out a key card for the room you had just paid for…well, technically the room Heeseung paid for.

You met him a few hours ago at the club about 15 minutes from the hotel. Though you were in the healing process after a messy breakup, you weren't looking for a hotel hookup...

But he was so fucking hot. And you were so fucking horny. How could you pass up an opportunity like this?

You didn't know much about him other than the fact that he was single and had a singing gig at a jazz club. Oh, and that he was hot...as if that wasn't clear enough.

He held your hand as you walked with him down the hallway to the room. With a gentle beep, the door opened as he waved the key in front of the touchpad.

You felt a cool breeze hit your face as the door swung open. He didn't say a single word as he slammed you against the door, closing it with the force of his body on top of yours. He grabbed your face, sucking your lips in as he scrambled to lock the door as he kissed you, tugging eagerly at your hips, pulling you in closer to him.

You moaned softly as he moved down to your neck, biting you as he groped your ass. He started to grind his hip into you, lifting your leg up to wrap it around his waist before lifting you off the ground completely.

He walked you over to the king-sized bed, throwing your body down as he tore your legs apart. He pressed his clothed dick against your pussy before unbuckling his pants. He leaned down to kiss you as he stepped out of his pants.

You looked down to see his dick twitching in excitement as precum seeped from the tip. He pulled his shirt over his head as he slid your panties to the side. You threw your head back as he pushed his dick into you.

"Mmm!" you winced, covering your mouth.

"You okay?" he paused to make sure you were okay.

"Mhm, yeah I'm--AHH!!" you moaned as he bottomed in you.

"Don't worry, baby. I'll make you feel good," he hummed as he fucked your sloppy wet cunt. He raised your legs over his shoulders as he pounded into you.

You moaned as he pumped himself into you, stretching your pussy open. "D'you like that, baby? You like it when I fuck you like this huh?" he cooed.

"Mhm," you hummed as you bit your lip.

"It feels good, doesn't it? I know how to make my baby feel so fucking good." He was so big that you could feel him hitting your cervix as he pushed every inch of his big dick inside of you.

He picked you up, flipping you on your stomach before pulling you up by the hips. He lined his dick up with your ass as he pushed into your dripping wet pussy. "Ugh, fuck," you moaned.

"Mmm fuck, baby. You're so fucking tight," he groaned. "Ngh! Fuck I can feel your pussy gripping my cock. Ugh, I'm gonna cum" he moaned as he fucked you faster before pulling his dick out to spray cum all over your ass.

He climbed off the bed and walked around to the other side to shove his dick into your mouth. "Suck my dick like a good girl," he hummed as your head bobbed.

You gasped for air as he pulled his dick out. It was coated in your saliva and a stream of saliva kept you connected. "C'mere," he whispered as he climbed onto the bed. "I want you to ride me."

You climbed on top of him, slowly lowering onto his dick, feeling every inch going deep into your pussy. He threw his head back as you bounced on his cock.

You reached down to stimulate your clit as you rode him. You were coming closer to your high as he pressed his thumbs into your core. You could feel his dick even better with the added pressure. He was so thick, you felt him stretching you open as your pussy tightened around him.

You leaned back as you felt yourself getting ready to finish. "Uh uh, I wanna feel you cum on my cock," he groaned as he pulled you forward. You placed your hands on his chest, balancing your posture as he bucked his hips into you.

You whined as he fucked your cervix, breathing heavily as you lost all control. "That's it, good girl," he hummed as he gripped onto your ass. You fell onto his chest as he flipped you over onto your back.

Your legs hung over his shoulders as he pounded into you, making you cum all over his thighs.

This is usually the part where you fall asleep next to each other and wake up alone, never to see the other person again, but this was different.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open to see the sheets pushed to your side, covering your nudeness. You looked around, wondering if he was still there only to find a small brown bag and a note on the bedside table.

"Hey, sorry I had to leave you in bed like that...completely forgot I had work this morning. Anyways, I picked you up some breakfast. Hopefully you like donuts. And here's my number," You looked down to see his phone number written at the bottom of the paper.

"Maybe we can meet up again sometime. I really enjoyed hanging out with you last night," you held the paper to your chest as you opened the bag to see a pink-sprinkled donut and a few napkins.

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

❀ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @chlorinecake @mimikittysblog @nikisvanillaccola @wonbinisbabygurl @mrswolfhard3 @laylasbunbunny @sussyjake @furious-eagle @cherrriesss @abbyizzy @weyukinluv @addictedtohobi @thatonenoona @wavykook @givemeyourtmihyun @jaeljn @hoonmywk @valennshit @19-yunalyn @hoonbby @frostedblankets @hoonsyo @no-mannerism @perfectxserendipity @chubbibish @ihrtlix @bunniesforsoobin @thereadersparadise @thatbooknerdfr @aiden2001 @belongstoheeseung @jakeybabe @donut-crazs @rizzhee @nikimeows @woonieees @uarmyxtae @rebecca-johnson-28 @they2luv1naia @isa-2007 @silcry @riverscafe @pearlwhitesoul @nikohiroshi @thatbooknerdfr @wonniewonwon @sughoonieeee @babyy-bambii @adrika04 @sehunsharpasseyebrows @wtfyangjungwon @fr-3-akn-4-stymf @rikiloversworld @shawyle @sunoosrightbuttcheek @uarmyxtae @lovesickxmina @urfavberry @urauntiefaye @breadlover01 @taehyunsfavmoa

[seoulzie]

kissed and missed

WHEREIN: a misplaced kiss and lost keys lead to a fluttering moment

彡 pairing: bf!soobin x gn!reader 彡 genre: fluff fluff fluff !! 彡 warnings: pet names ( angel , baby )

mornings in your apartment were a whirlwind of activity. the sound of your alarm clock's persistent beeping was the first challenge of the day, pulling you from the comfort of your bed. you dragged yourself up, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. today was going to be a busy day at work, and you needed to be on time.

you hurried around, grabbing your bag and slipping on your shoes while mentally ticking off everything you needed. soobin, your ever-supportive boyfriend, was already up, lounging on the couch with a book in his hand. he glanced up at you occasionally, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched your frantic preparation.

"angel, did you forget anything?" he called out just as you reached for the door handle.

you paused, your heart doing a little flip at his words. soobin had a way of making even the simplest questions sound like they had a hidden meaning. you quickly ran through your mental checklist—bag, phone, wallet, shoes. everything seemed in order. but then, it hit you. maybe he wasn't talking about your belongings. maybe he was hinting at something else.

a soft smile spread across your face as you turned back to him. soobin's eyes widened slightly in surprise as you walked over to him. "of course not," you said, your voice warm with affection.

you leaned down, cupping his face gently in your hands. soobin's eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. you closed the distance, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. his reaction was immediate and adorable—his eyes fluttered shut, and a rosy blush spread across his cheeks. when you pulled back, he looked up at you, his expression a mix of surprise and delight.

"thanks," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. the blush on his cheeks deepened, and he bit his lower lip, looking shy yet pleased.

you grinned, feeling a rush of affection for him. "you're welcome," you replied softly.

just as you were about to straighten up and head out again, soobin cleared his throat, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. he slowly opened his hand, revealing your keys resting in his palm. "but i meant this," he said, his blush turning a deeper shade of red. "you forgot your keys."

realization washed over you, and you couldn't help but laugh at your mistake. "oh my god, i really am all over the place today," you chuckled, taking the keys from his hand. "thanks, baby. i really needed that."

he laughed along with you, the initial shyness giving way to his usual playful demeanor. "anytime," he replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

feeling a mixture of embarrassment and endearment, you leaned in to give him one more peck on the cheek. "i guess i forgot both things, huh?" you teased, brushing your thumb gently against his cheek.

soobin grinned, his dimples making an appearance. "just don't forget to come back home later," he said playfully, a soft warmth in his gaze.

with a final smile, you dashed out the door, your keys now securely in hand. as you headed to work, you couldn't help but replay the cute moment in your mind. soobin's shy smile, his adorable blush, and the way he always managed to make you feel cherished and loved in the simplest ways. you felt a little lighter, knowing that no matter how hectic your day got, you had someone as wonderful as soobin waiting for you at home.

2024 seoulzie

[accioscarheadthings]

ULTRAMINE ~ CHAPTER 4

kenji sato x reader

summary: kenji finds you awake in the room. so he offers to help you relax

pairings: kenji sato x fem!student!reader

warning: smut 18+ (tmi), so minors DNI, praise kink, wound kissing (?), oral (f receiving), hair pulling, soft!switch!kenji, mention of pubic hair, dirty talk

masterlist !

you leaned back on your chair, palm reaching back to massage the pain at the back of your neck. the light from the laptop flashed in your face, you had to complete a report, but your limbs were starting to give up, brain slowly shutting down.

there was a set of knocks on your guest room door and you uttered a 'come in'.

kenji stepped in with an awkward smile, raising his hand to wave at you, "hi,"

you rubbed your eyes with your fists, yawning, "kenji? what're you doing here?"

he let out a breath of fatigue, "couldn't sleep. emi blew a hole in my room and i could hear her stupid song playing. she wouldn't turn the volume down,"

"yikes," you grinned, getting to your feet and walking to him.

kenji noticed the exhaustion painted on your face, "tired, are you?"

"i still have this report to finish. ugh! i must look pathetic," you groaned in embarrassment, pressing your palms against your cheeks.

"still beautiful as ever," he stated, tipping his head to the side with a charming smile, eyes scanning your features.

"ken," you chided softly, "you've gotta stop that," the way he had with words would be the death of you.

"or what?" he stepped directly in front of you, teasing and leaning forward.

you stared up at him, "i-" you cleared your throat, feeling it close up, "kenji we shouldn't I'm her for professional reasons,"

"i know," he held your gaze, "but i have been watching you ever since you marched up my house to help emi and all i can think about is you," he fessed up, "i see the way you look at me. and it is not helping at all," he let out a breath, shaking his head lightly, "that one night we shared... it was everything to me. i ran like a coward then, because i was so afraid. but i won't this time," his breath came shallow as he bared his heart to you.

you could feel his hands sliding along your back, his touch sending shivers down your spine, "this is wrong, kenji,"

but the illogical part of you wanted it.

"his breath was hot against your ear as he whispered, "then why are you leaning into me?"

you stilled when you realized you had curved into his hold, letting him hold you while your hands rested on his shoulder.

"you're tense, baby. lemme take care of you," kenji dragged his hand up the side of your body, stopping at the side to swipe under the curve of your breasts.

you raised your brows at him, catching onto what he was hinting, "with everything on our plates right now? and with your father in the house?"

"the rooms are soundproofed," his hands settled down on your hips, thumbs circling, "dad's two corridors away,"

you stilled, looking up at him in a contemplating manner.

"besides, we're exhausted. we could use some unwinding," he sighed when your face was still muddled in indecisiveness, "look, this doesn't have to mean anything. not right now," he added immediately, seeing the offensive frown on your forehead.

the watch on your wrist beeped with a new message, but you slapped it off, putting all of your attention on the man in front of you.

"we can take it slow," kenji lifted your arm with the watch, gingerly unclasping it, "but if you don't want it, i can walk out of the room right now. just say the words," he pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist where the watch had been strapped.

he was right. you were exhausted and you could use some unwinding, but...

"one rule then, no kissing on the lips," you stated strongly, eyes falling to his mouth.

kenji grinned, tipping your chin back with his finger, "i can work with that,"

his touch was slow and deliberate, memorizing every curve. he avoided your lips, his mouth lingering just millimeters away from yours, as he pressed his mouth to your cheek.

kenji guided you back to sit on the edge of the bed and laid you back softly. He settled his body between your legs, "i want you to relax," he caressed the top of your head, "can you do that for me?"

you raised a hand to his face, thumbing his cheek.

he relished your touch, gently grasping your fingers and pressing a kiss to each knuckle, "and i promise I'll make you feel so good,"

he moved down your body, tugging up your shirt to press a kiss to your soft stomach, moving further down.

you inhaled at the feel of his lips against your skin. but you stilled when a thought hit you, realizing:

no one has ever gone down on you

you pushed yourself up to your elbows, "uh, kenji wait!"

kenji was at the waistband of your sweatpants. he looked up at you through his hair, pupils dilated, "what's wrong? are you uncomfortable? should i stop?"

"no," you said bashfully, looking anywhere but at him, "the thing is i've never been- y'know," you widened your eyes in emphasis, hoping he'd catch on.

but ever the clueless, kenji blinked, "what? i don't get it,"

"i've never had someone go down on me," you winced, hearing how crude it sounded.

kenji's eyes nearly bulged out at the absurdity of your admission, "never?"

"never," you admitted, shrinking under his gaze.

"well, that's just pathetic," he rolled his eyes with a scoff, "such a pretty little pussy, never gone down on. tsk, tsk, what a shame," he pressed a kiss to your pussy over your sweatpants, feeling the heat from it, "but that just means i'll have you all to myself,"

you sighed at the feel, his lips giving the right amount of pressure as your pussy clenched around nothing.

you spoke again, "also kenji, i haven't exactly shaved.... so it's not gonna be pleasant-"

his lustful look morphed into confusion, "What makes you think that'll stop me? I don't care about it," he reached up a palm to cup your sex harshly through your sweats, creating the needed friction, making you gasp, "I don't find your pussy 'pleasant'. Such a mundane word," he tutted, "I find her absolutely delicious. And who does your pussy belong to baby?" his voice switched to commanding and domination.

"y-you," you complied, heart fluttering at his words, "you, kenji,"

"good girl," kenji kissed down your body, pausing to suck bruises on your hips. he slowly pulled down your sweatpants along with your underwear, finding you already wet with need.

he raised your legs slowly, resting your thighs on your shoulders, and dove between your legs.

you cried out when you felt his tongue plunge into your pussy, his lips mouthing, "fuckk," you cried out at this new feeling, body arching into his face.

your hand instinctively went to grab at his hair, tugging on it needily, "kenji..."

he hummed appreciatively at your actions, snuggling further into your pussy as he fucked his tongue in and out.

he missed touching you so much. that one night messed with his head so much that he couldn't take it anymore. he had to have you.

his thumb caught on your swollen bud just right and before you knew it, you were coming on his tongue. the man lapped it up greedily, riding you down from your high.

but he didn't stop there. he was eating pussy for his own pleasure, not to just please you. his hands were wound around your thighs, pressing his face to your puffy folds and leaving no room for escape.

at one point, a dull pain began to spread down your legs and you were beginning to feel sore.

"ken- i can't. s'too much," you reached for his hair, pulling his face away from your heat.

kenji looked up at you, absolutely sex-drunk, a string of cum stretching from your heat to his mouth, his chin glistening. 

you nearly came undone again at the sight of him. Blissed out as he worshipped your pussy, "kenji..."

"please, please, please, darlin'"  he struggled against you and dived between your legs, "just wanna taste-"

This man was begging to go down on you. To get a taste of you. 

un-fucking-believable.

kenji pressed his open mouth against your pussy, sucking your clit into his mouth. his tongue slathered over your arousal, gathering them in his mouth as he licked up the mess on your inner thighs.

you cried out in pleasure, "kenji, i can't-" and yet you felt another strong wave of pleasure build up in you.

"one more, love," he kissed your inner thigh, biting down gently, "gimme one more,"

he lowered his face to your sopping heat, and flattened his tongue on your clit, earning a moan of encouragement.

your thighs wound around his head, trapping him as you humped into his face. 

You came hard with a loud moan, your thighs going slack on his shoulders.

"tastes so good- mmm," he pressed kisses on your throbbing pussy, tumbling incoherent praises.

you pushed yourself to sit up; kenji lowered your legs from his broad shoulders, kissing from your ankles to your knees, caressing the soft skin. he was on his knees in between your legs.

ah, you could get used to this sight.

you traced a hand over his ear; his face leaned to your touch, a lazy grin stretching his handsome face.

he leaned in, mouth parted and his eyes fluttered close.

"kenji?"

"hm?" he was close to your lips. you could feel his breath on your cheeks.

"no kissing on the lips, remember?" you slurred at him, a bit dazed from your orgasms.

"mmhmm," kenji's eyes dropped to your plump lips, the way your pink tongue darted out to wet them.

"kenji," you called his name again, silently begging him to do the opposite. you wanted to kiss those damn pink lips of his.

his gaze snapped back to yours, taking in how you were undone in front of him, chest heaving as his hands slid up and down your thighs, gripping the flesh.

"oh, fuck it," he pressed his mouth against yours, shoving his tongue in.

"oh thank fuck," you sighed, moaning as you tasted yourself and sucked his tongue languidly.

you gripped his face with one hand, squishing his cheeks lightly, and bit down on his lower lip, causing him to moan into your mouth.

"filthy girl," kenji tutted, his belly did a flip, fully giving into your control.

that triggered something primal in you.

you looped a finger through his necklace, pulling him closer and closing your knees around him.

"did i make you feel good, baby?" he stared up at you in a trance.

"s'good," you mumbled, eyes drooping, "so fucking good. such a good boy," you cooed, holding his face between both your palms.

kenji felt his body shiver at being called 'good boy', his eyes locking on yours with a mixture of desire and submission, "fuckk sweetheart," he groaned, "you know just how to rile me up,"

"apologies for intruding, but emi is waking up," mina spoke, interrupting your moment.

"mmph!" he whined, not wanting to leave just yet, "just one more kiss-one more, baby," kenji mumbled, open-mouth pressed against yours.

the smiles on your faces grew wider, and your kisses became infused with a sense of playfulness; it was as though sunshine was coursing through your veins, warming your bodies.

with a final peck, you pulled back, making him chase after your lips.

he huffed in frustration, his expression only getting worse when you chuckled at him.

"go!" you shoved his shoulder lightly, thumbing his chin affectionately.

"fine!" kenji stood, kissing your forehead, reaching for a washcloth to clean you up. he was careful to be gentle, pressing a smooch when you hissed at the sensitivity.

he tossed the cloth in the bathroom, helping you back into your underwear and sweatpants. after, his hands caressed the length of your thighs, groping your ass firmly as he landed a smack on one side.

you yelped, gaining a pleased laugh from him.

kenji rose to his feet, "i'll be back for more, sweetheart!" he announced in a whisper-shout, "bye!" he reached the door of your room, blowing a kiss before he closed it after him.

"bye," you waved your fingers at him, a soft smile spreading on your face.

you dipped your head shyly, heat filling your cheeks at what had just happened.

"oh wait," you began to search for your watch, tossing and throwing away the blankets, but you couldn't find them.

just then, your laptop screen binged with a notification and you leaned forward to get a look.

"project surrogate?" you read the words with a frown.

walking towards his room, kenji felt something beep in his pocket and reached into it. he pulled out what looked like your watch and realized he must have pocketed it when he took it off your wrist. he spun around to return to your room, but when he saw the message on it, his whole world turned upside down:

───────────────────

Kaiju Defense Force (KDF)

second defense force

highly sensitive information

xxxx

[PROJECT SURROGATE]

─────────────────���──

TAGLIST !

@earth-to-mee @sassy-cat-in-town @breaddippedinorangejuice @nuhteyam @gameboigyu @byunpum @jennypenny-19 @doublebunv @moonjellyfishie @m00nd0v3 @despacito-uwu16 @reivelmin @seyoran @warlike-morning @crimson-mage-02 @b3e-sat0 @miffysoo @t4naiis @lovingyeet  @imsimping4life @mmeerraa @btszn @jusmango-shak @yobriisstuff @goldenpoison @fruchtgeschmack @iateurdad16 @bandolls @iv-vee @awfulsoup @lunaryasha @graham-mckrackers @hoshi-hoshot @choco-vibing @fcheung750 @bl0osclues

[tojisth3rdwife]

“Bout time you answered the damn phone..”

You wrinkle your nose at the hint of attitude in Toji’s deep voice, finding it a little cute since you knew that just his personality.

With your phone tucked between your ear and shoulder, you continued working down the mountain of laundry in the basket on your living room floor.

“Uhm, rude?” you snort, tossing a freshly folded towel to join its appropriate pile before picking up another.

“What ever happened to ‘hello’ or ‘hey big booty’ ?”

“I reserve those types of greetings for girlfriends that pick up the first time I call.”

At that you roll your eyes, snatching up another towel.

“Girlfriends? So theres others?” you begin folding it. The faint sound of echoe’d music and a muffled voice requesting assistance in the frangrance department let you know Toji was out and about, more than likely at some convenience store.

The big nasty was probably restocking on condoms and that special brand of lube he used on you a while back. The one that resulted in you needing to change your bed sheets.

Twice.

“See, I could play your game and say there are others just to fuck with you....’xcuse me...” he pauses to say to an older woman he squeezed past in the aisle.

“...but you cant take a damn joke and I plan on getting some tonight.”

You pert your lips at the statement but dont argue. Even in the several months you and Toji became exclusive, it was true that his sense of humor surpassed yours when it came to him and other women. You werent nearly as possessive or jealous as he was (usually), but he knew better than to test it.

“Smart. Im glad you value your life. Talk to me nice.” you respond in the most brattish way, making your boyfriend chuckle dryly on the other end of the phone.

“Shut up. Anyway, what kind of soap do you use again? I vaguely remember what it looks like but theres 5 bottles that match what I see in my brain.”

“Soap? Like to wash my body?” you furrow your brow distractedly, continuing to fold clothes.

“Naw to wash your dog.” he tosses back sarcasticaly. If there was a camera crew in your house, you’d be glancing at them with a deadpanned look of annoyance.

You didnt have a dog.

“Would it be so hard just to answer a question? I swear I dont like you sometimes.” you mutter, flapping out the pair of pants you were about to fold and Toji’s smirk is as audidle as his snickering.

“But you love me all the time. Now stay focused. Soap. The kind you wash your ass with.”

You sigh in exasperation at the simple question. And it was for sure simple ,but as many times as Toji had been in your shower, sometimes with you, he should be able to know which damn soap you used.

Old ass..

“Dr.Bronner’s babe. Unscented..”

“The light blue one. See, I knew I remembered it.”

Toji snatches the largest bottle of pure castile soap from the shelves. His massive hand grasps it effortlessly as he made his way to another aisle, squinting at a display of electric shavers curiously.

“Well alright. Thats all I wanted. Carry on cheating or whatever you doing..”

You let out a loud breath, tossing the pair of pants aside.

“Why are you like this? That’s not funny, you know?”

“What?” Toji strolls leisurely down the shave aisle now, eyeing the array of products.

“You saying shit like that. Accusing me of cheating every time I don’t pick up or text back fast. Its irritating..” you huff, aggressively flapping out another pair of sweats that you immediately knew belonged to Toji.

“Is it?”

“Is it?” You mock him, balling up his oversized joggers scornfully and throwing them on the floor. God he was annoying. If he werent so fine, and tall, and big..

And fit.

And sexy.

And intimidating.

And..

What were we talking about?

A breathy chuckle vibrates against your ear, as well as the echoing *beep* of the cashiers growing louder, both yanking you off your tangent.

“Aww, mama. Don’t be like that. I only say it as a joke. I know you’d never cheat on me ‘cuz my dick’s too big.” Toji remarks all too casually, not even acknowledging the way an old man shoots him a disgustingly surprised look at his crudeness out loud as he walked past him.

You snort in amusement and shake your head.

“True. But don’t be so sure. Theres plenty of trees in the forest.” You remark cheekily, glad that you weren’t in front of him after saying that. Part of you wished you were though. Watching those pretty beady eyes of his shrink with his glare was equal parts scary and arousing. To your surprise, Toji finds your rebuttal funny enough to laugh.

“You must really want me to fold your ass like a futon, huh? Just wait, I’ll be by there later.”

Toji turns to get in line at a check out lane. A little girl standing with her mother behind him stares up at his back with wide eyes, probably never seeing a man of his size and stature. Ya boy was scraping at 6’3 barefoot, so in shoes he was surely around 6’4. Even you would find yourself gaping up at him when he stood in front of you.

“Yeah? What you gon do?

*beep*

Toji shuffles forward, the scarred corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk.

“Fold you like a futon. Duh. You want candy?” He quickly changes the subject distractedly, falling victim to the mini wall of chocolate bars and gum.

The threat makes your core flutter while his subtle way of always keeping you in mind had you biting down on your grin as you continued folding laundry.

“Nooo, Baby. I don’t want candy. Thank you though.” You giggle, rolling your eyes.

“Well dont ask for some of mine ‘cuz I aint sharing..” Toji grumbles, still picking up two candy bars.

“Mmhmm.”

Having folded the final article of clothing and setting it aside, you sink back into the couch cushions with a huff, lifting your hand to untuck your phone and hold it against your ear.

“So wait, thats why you were blowing me up? Over soap?”

“Basically. I wanted you to have your own for when you stay with me. I know you have sensitive skin and shit…” he responds before reciprocating the cashiers greeting as he set his items on the belt.

“Awwww DaddyBear, how considerate of you. I wanna kiss you now, instead of slapping your face”

“Youre too easy to impress woman. Its just soap. You leave shit at my apartment anyway so I figured you’d wanna have something to shower with too.”

“I know but it’s still sweet. Come over now so I kiss on you and touch your butt.”

Toji snorts at your antics, knowing damn well he wasn’t letting your hands go anywhere near his ass.

“Yeah yeah. I gotta swing by Shui’s to pick up some money then Im gonna head your way.”

“Ok. But wait, you still could have just texted me that. Why call and make a fuss?”

“Damn. Maybe I also just like hearing your whiny ass voice y’know?”

You sigh, your giddiness fading immediately.

“Just hurry up and come over, ass.”

“See? Can never take a joke.”

“Bye Toji.”

“See you later Big Booty..”

<call ended>

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

Hi hi hii! I hope all is well with you :3 I really enjoy your Boothill fics, they bring me so much joy! If it's possible, could I request something?

I've had this idea in my mind about mechanic!reader overworking themselves, not eating, sleeping, or hydrating as they should be as they can forget to tend to their own needs at times...(sadly you can't solely sustain yourself on candy and sugar)

Then Boothill comes to visit them and finds mechanic!reader in an exhausted state, basically forcing them to eat actual food and rest up.

a/n: 1.8k w.count - cw!!: mentions of being awake a long time and not eating!!

boothill just finished up two different jobs he was on, one solo and another pitching in to help a pal that was conveniently in the area. after such hard and capable work, he figures he's owed a quick pass by your shop. that, and something in the back of his head was nagging at him to swing by- and it wasn't because of his neuro-chip.

stepping through the shop's entrance, the door pushes open and the bell above the door chimes. before he can open his jaw and call out to you, searching you out in the premise, he instead starts yelling in shocked noises.

from above, a small mass of something emerges from the shadows of the ceiling. the exposed pipes that line the walls are the perfect place for something small, like critters or rodents, to trek and hide on.

the cowboy half expected a racoon or something to land on his head. what he didn't expect was the feeling of metal bashing into his face instead of a mass of fur and talons.

"son of a-!" he almost fully curses. taking two steps back in lieu of the 'attack', he raises his hand and grabs the metal clinging onto his face and hair. "get offa' me!" he hisses.

the sound of familiar beeps has him using his grip a bit more carefully. working on cooling down his insides that had been fired up into a friendzy, boothill successfully pulls ore off of his face to look at him properly.

"the hell do you think you're doin', eh lil fella?" the little assistant robot that usually stuck to you like glue flails in the air as boothill holds him between his finger and thumb by the sides of his rectangular head.

the expression the robot has on its face was accompanied by it's flinging arms and legs: [＞﹏＜]!!

"ey, ey, ey, lil dude, chill out."

boothill marches to the desk that acts less like a reception desk and more like a display counter. setting ore down, its flailing stops but the squeezed expression stays put. the cyborg bend at the waist, laying one of his arms over the counter to get- more or less- eyelevel with the little helper with the other going to his hip.

"okay, what's the problem. where's your fixer?" boothill asks. its a joke between the two of you that you act more like ore's guardian than owner. so, in regard to your identity, to ore you became his 'fixer'. ore points one of its metal coated arms behind him and one of its legs stomps. "in that back?" ore nods. "alright, let's go check on 'em shall we?"

ore, instead of taking a ride on boothill's shoulder or being carried in his palm, hops from the counter and rushes around through the doorways that you always keep propped open during shop hours. boothill struts his way through the shop, leisurely following the fella.

as he makes his way through the shop, boothill finally notes the lack of noise he's so used to hearing. no knocking on metal, or drilling of tools. no hint of work, not even your murmuring echoed through the building. it was just quiet.

well now he's just starting to worry.

adding a half-step to his stride, boothill follows the beeping provided from ore and finds himself coming through the cracked doors of your far back work room.

ore is already up on your desk thanks to your installation of small metal-sheeted pullies you made for it. its standing by your head that rests on your arms, folded over your desktop. both of its arms push against your skull, fretting in digital sounds.

walking in, boothill makes his way to your back, placing a gentle touch to the space between your shoulders. his free hand pushes against your desktop, leaning over to try and see if your face was peeking out of your arm pillow situation at all. you were out like a light, but you should be sleeping in bed.

"ey, sugar," boothill softly calls. his hand rubs against your back, rustling your shirt to try gently coaxing you awake. it gets him no where. "hey," he tries again. with a bit of a harsher shake of your shoulder, you bolt upwards. with a gasp from both you and boothill, ore stumbles backward onto its metal backend from the force in which you eject him from your skull. you whip your head back and forth, blinking wearily and rapidly before you finally register boothill's arrival.

"the hell, when did you get here?" your voice is groggy and rushed, and if the ranger hadn't just jostled you awake from your desk, he'd find it pretty cute.

"does it matter? why the hell you sleepin' at your desk? you have a bed."

"what? oh, no, it's fine." you rub your palms into your eyes, blinking back the black splotches it causes when you pull them away. "i just dozed off in the middle of something."

"uh huh." boothill is unconvienced. "you wouldn't be neglectin' your needs just for some work, now would yah?"

"what? no. no, i'm fine. perfectly healthy."

"i didn't ask if you were healthy." you don't offer him anything more and he sighs. shifting his weight, he puts on hand on his hip. "ore," he beckons the robot and it answers with a beep. "when's the last time your fixer here took care of themself?" there's a spinning dial on his digital screened face before a number pops up.

[21 hours ago !!]

boothill's jaw drops in disbelief.

your jaw drops in betrayal.

you jump from your stool, palms against your worktable while ore's 'face' lights up with exclamation points [!!!!!] before scampering away from your ire.

"are you serious right now?" boothill bites as you look over your shoulder at him. his arms are crossed, and a frown settles on his lips. it's rare you're on the receiving end of a scolding since it's usually you telling him off for being reckless or the like when he comes in for repairs. you kind of hate it to be honest.

"it's fineee," you draw out, huffing as you run your hand over your face. you have a headache, and standing up so quickly didn't help.

boothill clicks his tongue. clearly you were in no mood to listen. it dawns on him that ore's little attack from the entrance was probably him trying to persuade potential clientele away so you could rest. but seeing boothill come through the doors, the robot instead took his arrival as his saving grace.

boothill is a hardened galaxy ranger. but he also happens to be a big softie too.

"have it your way," the cowboy shrugs before pushing you away from your workstation by your shoulder. getting just enough distance between you and your job, he bends at his knees, hooks one of his arms around your side and hoists you up. you find yourself face first against his back with his tattered, red scarf brushing your cheek.

you feel and hear the contraptions and hinges in his body hiss and work to accomodate your weight over his shoulder.

"boothill!" you push your palms against the dip of his back, pushing your body up as much as you can as he starts carting you off.

"ore, be a lil' helper and grab your fixer something to put in their stomach. one of them small shakes or somethin' will do." ore, with its marching orders, obeys and dashes off once again. you almost regret that you programmed ore to obey boothill too.

in truth, boothill would prefer food in your stomach, but ore is about 2 fists tall. a prepackaged supplement from your fridge will have to suffice.

you don't fight him as much as he expected as he marches to your room where he rolls you off his shoulder and onto your mattress. landing with a soft thud, you dont have time to recover before he's throwing a pillow from the floor at your face.

"umph! hey, quit it!" you hiss, pushing the pillow aside. the ranger takes a seat at the foot of your bed as you shuffle to sit up and bring your legs in so he doesn't crush them. his knees are perched apart and his arms crossed. he watches the door, saying nothing, waiting for ore to come in. "are you really upset about this?"

"do i seem happy?" he shoots back.

"you dont need to get lippy with me," you bite as he rolls his eyes.

"i apparently do. not taking care of yourself properly? you can't be doing that, sugar." his scolding tone softens the more he talks. seeing how high strung he is about this, you feel almost guilty. you start picking at the fabric of your shirt.

ore soon brings you in something to consume that's better than nothing at all and helps sooth the post-sleep irritation in your throat. you didn't realize how scratchy it felt until you were forced to.

you're not sure when it happens, but at some point boothill has you laying down properly in your bed with a new change of clothes. and not too much later, you're sleeping before you could even try to fight back.

ore takes the empty container that was once full of your meal substitute and trots off to discard of it. boothill sits at the edge of your bed, where he's been planted the whole time. the cowboy observes you from a lean, his elbows resting on his metal knees.

you're breathing easy, which is good, but he still grimaces at the tiredness gathered under your closed, relaxed eyes. with your face washed of muck and soot, he can see your fatigue clearer.

boothill groans quietly, lowering his head as one of his hands comes to brush the hair off the side of his face and ruffle the strands together, definitely knotting it up. when he brings his hand back down, he winces when some strands pull from his scalp- his whole head is sensitive, so he should've known better.

when it seems like you're down for the count and won't wake up the moment he leaves you alone, boothill stands from your bed. the blanket is rumpled from where he's been sitting, and the impression of his presence is visible to his one good eye. oddly, it's comforting.

lifting his hat, he swings it down off his head and sets it gently on your bed side table that's littered with all sorts of odd and ends. along with a barely working alarm clock that has one of the digital numbers flickering in and out. you'll have to rewire that soon. he leaves it with you as he dismisses himself to let you rest.

beyond your bedroom, ore beeps and bops with noises as boothill sits at the reception desk. his legs crossed at the ankles and propped up on the desk with his arms crossed as he... talks? with ore.

any customer that walks in is met with a mean glare and a harsh 'get out' before he's shooing them out the door.

his nine-mililmeter is only on the desk next to him for some.... extra incentive.

a/n pt.2: i tried incorporating a few of ore's expressions with emoticons. is that lame? too cheesy? who knows. i love that little robot tho. [anyways sorry this rq took so long anon hnnnnng]

[loki-cees-all]

🐊 headcanons…

Picture it: You’re an Avenger. And dating Loki.

Of course, Steve would call an ‘urgent’ meeting on your birthday, effectively interrupting your plans. Loki isn’t pleased.

How will he make sure you enjoy your special day?

The Interruption {Avengers!Loki x Avengers!Reader}

Cee's Loki Fic Masterlist / Cee and K's Glorious Birthday Bast Celebration Prompt List / AO3 Link

Pairing : Avengers!Loki x Avengers!Reader

Summary : It's your birthday, and Loki has one goal - to make sure you feel like the Queen that you are. So when Steve sends out a mysterious email about some kind of emergency, Loki decides to take care of it before you ever find out about it.

W/c : 2k words

Content/Warnings : Fluff, hints of smut, a smidgeon of angst.

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Loki always dreamt pleasantly while you were near. His bed was a sacred place because of you, where love blossomed and nightmares faded, when laughter replaced tears and groans of pain morphed into moans of pleasure. 

He always slept well while your naked bodies were tangled together, inhaling and exhaling in perfect sync, sharing warmth on cold nights in blissful uninterrupted slumber - except right now, an irritating beeping noise echoed against the walls over his dreams, incessantly increasing in volume and quickly becoming impossible to ignore. 

The sound pulled him from his dreams, and he stirred underneath the weight of your sleeping body against his. Loki liked you there, with your arm draped around his waist, one leg curled around one of his, and your cheek pressed against his chest, completely passed out and without a single care in the world; it made him feel wanted, necessary, alive. 

And you were in a particularly deep and divine slumber that morning, thanks to Loki’s ingenious plan of fucking you senseless the night before. But it went further than just the divinity of being intimate with the one he loved dearly, he just wanted to make sure that you slept long and well on the morning of your birthday. 

Beep, beep. His eyes finally flickered open when he realized it was your phone making that sound, threatening to ruin the first of many gifts he was planning to give you today. He’d reminded you the night before to make sure it was silenced, but somehow, some kind of message was still sneaking its way through. 

Cursing silently to himself, he stretched his arm out to grab the device from your nightstand, moving slowly and carefully in order to not rouse you. And just to be safe, Loki took his other hand and carefully threaded it through your hair to gently massage your scalp, hoping to keep you soothed, relaxed and unconscious. 

You let out an incoherent murmur against his chest as he moved, but continued sleeping peacefully, and so Loki brought your phone closer to examine it. He absolutely despised these things, but a long time ago you had insisted on adding his likeness as an Alternate Appearance to your phone, using the justification that it might come in handy someday. 

At the time he couldn’t imagine that it ever would - Loki suspected that you were just teasing him, trying to rile him up. But as his eyes scanned the preview on the screen, he was secretly grateful that you had: it was an electronic message from Steve Rogers, addressed to the entire Avengers team, to inform them of some kind of urgent matter that required a mandatory 8 am meeting.

A rage began to simmer deep in his soul. Regardless of what this “urgent matter” was - and Loki was sure that the Soldier was overreacting about it - it couldn’t have come at a worse time. Not when it was your birthday, and he had intended on spending the day worshiping you both in and out of his bed…

Loki returned the phone to the nightstand and wrapped both his arms around you, weighing his options. He could feign ignorance - neither of you saw the email because you were too busy loving each other. Or he could flat out tell Steve that neither of you were going to be available today. That it wasn’t your burden to bear…

But as his fingertips brushed against your soft skin and his lungs filled with the scent of your shampoo, Loki knew you wouldn’t be okay with that. You’d want to do your job, you’d want to help - no matter how inconvenient that was, or how much you deserved a break. 

And Loki adored that about you…which is why he ultimately decided he was going to have to fix the problem, whatever it was, before you ever found out about it. 

The phone had read 7:13 am before he put it back down, and Loki knew he had to work quickly. Pressing his lips to your temple and delicately cradling your head, he slowly rolled you over onto your back. You let out a groan of complaint as the movement gently stirred you awake. 

“No, don’t get out of bed yet…” you murmured, frowning slightly as you reached to pull him closer. 

Loki smiled as he settled his weight on top of you, loving the delicate but direct choice of words. He nudged his nose against yours as he spoke softly. “Ah, but I’ve got gifts that need their final touches in order to be perfect for you, darling…” 

You sighed peacefully as you brought your hands to thread through his dark hair. “I don’t want gifts. I just want you…”

“You say that now…” Loki chuckled before giving you a slow, lingering, sensual kiss - one that was designed to lull you into submission. “But you’ll be singing a different tune once you see them…” 

The kiss almost worked, but as your lips moved with his, Loki felt your fingernails gently dragging against his scalp and down the back of his neck. It was one of his weaknesses, never failing to immediately turn him on and get him going. 

He moaned softly, and it turned into a low growl as you wrapped your legs around his waist. His hips began to roll with yours, and there was nothing he wanted more than to spend it inside his bed, inside of you - but he had a mission to accomplish before that could happen. 

Loki steeled his nerves and grabbed your wrists, extracting them from his curls and pulling his lips away from yours. “Vixen…didn’t you get enough last night?” he hissed softly, eyes narrowed in a display of restraint even as he met your playful grin with one of his own. 

“You know I didn’t…” 

“Mmm. You never do, do you?” he murmured as he shifted his weight on the bed, lifting his hips from yours and pressing your wrists into the pillow above your head. 

Your lips parted to argue again, and Loki quickly placed his against your throat, exhaling heavily against your skin as he kissed and sucked. You whimpered in both pleasure and submission; Loki knew all of your weaknesses too. 

“Just give me a little time, darling,” he whispered softly, trailing his lips up to your ear. “Then I promise, I’ll give you everything you deserve today…” 

You nodded in agreement, and Loki smiled, pressing his lips to your temple. “Such a good girl, even on her birthday…” 

Your eyelids fluttered open and closed in a haze as Loki rose from the bed and began to get dressed, deciding to do it manually instead of using his seidr, and choosing casual gray sweatpants and a hoodie to further cement the idea that there was nothing to be alarmed about just yet. 

He could feel your gaze upon him as he moved, and he did his best to avoid looking back; he knew your naked form would be twisted enticingly in the silk sheets, your eyes half-lidded with desire as they usually were when you were alone. 

Loki loved that about you, that you wanted him so openly; it was impossible to resist - and that was exactly why he needed to fend off the Soldier’s urgent request for an emergency meeting; you deserved to be revered every day, but you especially deserved it today. 

“I suppose I’ll have to find some other ways of keeping myself entertained while you’re gone…” you sighed dramatically as Loki turned to reach for the door handle. 

He grinned and looked back at you, stiffening at the sight of the demure smile gracing your features and your fingertips dipping between your thighs. “You can certainly get started, dear, but don’t you dare finish until I return…” 

Loki winked before disappearing into the hallway, and he chuckled to himself as he heard you laugh and groan simultaneously. The door clicked shut, and he sighed heavily as shimmering emerald light descended from temple to toe, transforming the unconcerned clothing he had left wearing into his emerald and onyx battle leathers. 

He wasn’t above using whatever intimidation tactics necessary in order to intimidate the Soldier into admitting that he was most definitely overreacting about this so-called urgent matter. 

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Deep down you knew that your attempts to delay or distract Loki from leaving wouldn’t work, but it was worth the try; Loki needed someone to keep him on his toes, and you loved that you could do that for him. But now he was gone, off on some mysterious errand, and even though it was supposedly for your birthday, uncertainty was beginning to creep in. 

Loki was the God of Mischief, after all. Of Lies, and of Deceit. And even though you were sure he’d never do that to you, that he loved you deeply and truly, within every sense of the word, and to the point of needing to create new definitions for it - 

He’d still left you alone on your birthday. The one time you hated being alone, when every solitary insecurity roared its ugly head and threatened to swallow you whole - why was everyone paying so much attention to you today? Why weren’t more people fawning over you? 

How were you supposed to respond to the 20 birthday messages on your phone with genuine sincerity and gratitude? And why weren’t there 40 messages waiting for responses? 

Were you spending the day in a way that didn’t seem like a waste? Were you doing too much? Not enough? 

As tears filled your eyes, you tossed your phone back over to the nightstand. Telling yourself this was silly, you rolled over and pulled Loki’s silk sheets, still warm from his skin and drenched in his scent, tighter around your body and closed your eyes.

Loki would be back soon, you knew that. You were lying naked in his bed, left alone in his private sanctuary to wait for his return; that wasn’t insignificant to either of you. It meant something, it was important, and it was worth focusing on, but at some point it slipped away as you drifted between sleep and consciousness. 

Eventually, the mattress dipped down beside you, and two warm hands were stirring you awake as they pulled you onto your back. Loki’s scent was stronger now, and you sighed peacefully as his lips pressed lazily along your throat. 

“Mmm. You’re back…” you murmured with a smile as he settled his weight on top of you again. It felt so good to be cocooned with him, and you almost forgot that he’d even left in the first place. 

“You know I wouldn’t stay away for too long…” Loki chuckled as he guided your hands to tangle in his hair. “This is where all my favorite belongings are…”

You laughed out loud, and as Loki captured your lips with his, your laughter turned into a deep moan. Your fingers curled in his dark curls, and he kissed you like he’d been away for days instead of an hour, like somehow he wasn’t sure he’d ever make it back to you. 

And it was strange - his lips were cold, and he was shivering too; you’d never known him to shiver before…Your brow furrowed, and as if he sensed your confusion, his lips pulled away from yours. “Something wrong, love?” he murmured cautiously. 

You gazed up at him, studying the conflicting expression etched on his features with your fingertips. “I’m fine - but you’re shivering. Are you alright?” 

He smiled reassuringly, nodding his head towards the coffee table in the living area where two short taupe coffee cups and a small paper bag, presumably filled with cinnamon buns from The Clock Coffee Shop across the street, sat waiting on the coffee table for you. “Well, the café was quite hectic this morning, princess, and it is snowing outside. But I’ll try to be more efficient next year…” 

You smiled at the idea that Loki was already planning on spending next year’s birthday worshiping you again. 

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