#Spare car key with chip | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marvelwitchergilmore · 9 months ago

Text

Medical Emergency

Summary: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Fe!Reader -> When Jake gets a call asking to pick you up from the hospital, it's safe to say he's confused. Especially considering neither of you were known for getting along with the other.

Disclaimer: Enemies to lovers, brother's best friend, descriptions of being ill (nothing fully specified, just fainting a lot, low blood sugar and hormones), swearing, fluff, steamy moments, he takes care of you. This has been in my w.i.p for a while now so it's kinda a long one. Not Proof Read.

It was safe to say Jake was confused to find out he was your emergency contact.

It was known to most people in the town that you and Jake weren’t exactly the best of friends. The hatred started all back when he was brought into Top Gun the first time round. Before he suddenly became the best, of the best of the best. And each year he came back, it only got worse.

Neither of you would be surprised if everyone in San Diego knew about how much you and Jake didn’t get along.

So, yeah. Getting a call from a Nurse called Emma telling him he needed to come and pick you up from the hospital…he was confused.

He’d spent most of the day training the new recruits at Top Gun. He was on base when he got the call, but twenty minutes later, he was parked outside the hospital and was being shown to your room.

“She’s to take two of these every six hours for the next three days. If she has any drastic changes; dizziness, nausea, vomiting, etc. Bring her back. But she should be okay.”

He hadn’t even been told what had happened.

Then he saw you.

On a typical day, your hair was either up or down. You typically wore bright colours since the kids in your class like to point them out and name them. And even at the end of the week when you’d walk into the Hard Deck, Penny already having your drink waiting for you, and you’d look tired and ready to go to bed, you were still…bright. Put together.

But from where he was standing, you were dressed in grey sweats and a Top-Gun hoodie. Most likely, you thought it was your brother’s. But from the worn hole around the edge of it let Jake know it was his. One your brother had never returned to him.

You looked…like you needed to be comforted.

Your hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail at the base of your skull. Any hints of make-up had been long washed away. Your nail polish was chipped, if not already peeled from your nails.

Finally slipping your shoes on, you stood slowly. You looked like you needed to sleep for a year, and maybe take another nap for eight months.

“Just sign here and here and then you’re free to go.”

Jake watched as the nurse’s words just about registered in your ears before you slowly picked the pen up from her hand and signed your name at the bottom of the paper.

Reaching to grab the rest of your stuff, Jake almost swooped forwards. “I’ve got it.”

You just nodded. “Thanks.”

Any other day, you would have told him you could do it yourself and tell him to fuck off.

He picked up your overnight bag and, with a hand at the bottom of your back, led you out of the hospital.

“This way.”

You followed him back to his car and once he knew you were safe inside the passenger seat, he rounded the car and got into his seat.

“I did tell them just to call me a cab. You can just drop me off down the road. You don’t need to-”

“I’m not letting you walk home.” He told you. “What’s your address?”

Part of Jake wished you’d fight him more about walking home. At least that way he’d know you were actually okay. He still would have driven you home, but…he wanted you back.

Typing your address into his phone, he followed the sat-nav.

By the time he pulled up outside your house, you were asleep. He waited for five minutes, letting you sleep whilst he researched and read the prescription you’d been given.

Then he looked up at your house. You had to have a spare key.

Carefully, he left his car and walked up your path. He looked in all the typical places until he found a small patch of wood from your porch coming loose. Inside was your key.

So, opening your door and carrying your things inside, he came back for you.

Unbuckling your seatbelt, he placed one of your arms around his neck before placing his own arms around your back and under your legs.

“It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

And you did.

Shutting the door to his car with his back, he carried you into your house, shutting your front door with his foot before taking you into your bedroom and laying you on top of your sheets. Looking around, he found a basket of blankets just under your window.

However, as he covered you up, he checked your temp with the back of his hand. You seemed okay.

Then you reached for him.

It was only for a few seconds, but you held his hand before your body fell back to sleep.

Before he left your room, Jake got you a glass of water and left your window on a latch. And then he stayed.

Kicking off his boots by the door, he locked everything up around your home before laying down on top of the guest bed with a million and one questions circling around his head.

Why was he your emergency contact? What had happened? Why didn’t anyone else tell him you were in the hospital for, clearly, more than a couple of hours?

You spent the next two days in and out of consciousness. The hospital told Jake not to worry and that it was a good sign you were sleeping. He’d wake you every couple of hours and give you your tablets.

And each time, you’d wake up with the same confusion of how and why he was in your house. And then you’d remember. And apologise. And thank him. Before he’d tell you to lay back down and get some rest.

By the time you came round, you woke up to texts pinging on your phone.

How could you not tell me you were dating someone?

We SERIOUSLY need to catch up about this when you’re back in.

Your boyfriend called the school. Why is this how I’m finding out you’re sick?

Get better soon, honey xoxo

Also, don’t worry about the kids. I’ve got your class covered.

One of your fellow-teacher best friends. You and her had joined the school as teachers in the same year. She had been away on a cruise for the last two weeks.

Slowly, everything that had happened over the last two days came flooding back to you. They had called Jake. He had come to get you at the hospital. He kept waking you up. Had he stayed that whole time? Was he the one to call your school?

Pulling yourself from your bed and heading to the bathroom, you caught a look of yourself in the mirror. You looked…rough. And also the exact same as you had when you’d left the hospital. Maybe there was a little more colour in your cheeks.

And you did feel better.

The room felt still and you didn’t feel like throwing up all your insides out, despite being unable to do so.

Drying your hands on the towel, you made your way through your home. Things were…tidy. Militarily so. The last time your place, although tidy, had looked militarily tidy had been when your brother had visited you before he got deployed again.

So, either, he was here now. Jake was still here. Or you had a ghost haunting your house that just so happened to be in the Navy.

Walking down the stairs, you found a pair of boots at the bottom of your stairs. They definitely weren’t yours.

Then you heard someone in the kitchen. The smell of fresh bread and chicken noodle soup wafted through your home.

It was a minute or two before Jake spotted you. It felt like a fever dream, watching him in your kitchen, dressed normally, a towel slung over his shoulder as he slid the bread buns from the tray to a cooling rack.

“Oh, hey. You’re awake.”

You nodded. “Did you cook?”

“How are you feeling?” Jake made his way over to you, his hand coming to touch your forehead and cheeks. You swatted his hands away. You could have sworn you saw him smile after you did it.

“Get off me, I’m fine.”

Jake smiled as he watched you make your way to sit down on the opposite side of the kitchen island. You looked way better than you had done when he saw you in the hospital.

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday.” He told you, continuing to slide all but one of the bread buns onto the cooling back. The final one, he dropped onto a plate before dishing out a bowl of the soup.

“Eat up. You’re gonna need your strength.”

You looked at the food in front of you. “You made this?”

“I made it.”

You looked at him sceptically. “Is this how you plan to kill me? She was weak, your honour. I just wanted to help her.”

“Why would I take care of you for three days and then kill you? It’d be easier if I did it in three days.”

“So you did think about it.”

Jake rolled his eyes and handed you a fork. “Just eat.”

You couldn’t lie, it was one of the best meal’s you’d had in a long time. And as you ate, you looked around your home. Your books had been tidied away and back onto your shelves. All except two. One you were part way through reading and one that was…almost finished. But not by you.

You didn’t notice as Jake watched you take everything in. Your books, your pots of pens. You dish towels, your spices and other baking ingredients. Some had even been put into the jars you had been meaning to fill back up. Then you noticed the smaller things. Like how he’d put up the wooden signs in your kitchen you’d been planning to do for months, and how he’d cleaned…everything.

It looked like he’d done a complete renovation of your place whilst you’d been knocked out.

Then you noticed the pile of papers on your kitchen counter.

The English and maths tests you’d given to your class a few weeks ago. You hadn’t finished marking them.

But Jake had.

You took the top paper and looked it over.

“Did you mark these?” You flipped through the pages. Not only were they marked, but they were marked correctly. They even had a sticker on each of “well done” or “great stuff”.

You heard Jake chuckle. “I am a teacher, too, you know.”

“You’re a…Top Gun instructor. Not a third-grade teacher.”

“I do suppose I am over qualified to help but-”

You shook your head. You hadn’t meant for it to sound so insulting.

“No, I-I mean, thank you. But you didn’t have to do this. Any of this.” You gestured around your home. “You already did enough bringing me home.”

“I wanted to ask you about that. Why was it me that brought you home? Surely you have people who you actually like, to be your emergency contact?”

Tyler watched as you fell silent and searched for the words to tell him.

“You’re…not.” Taking a breath, you looked up at him. “They…they tried a couple of people. They couldn’t make it. One of the nurses knows Penny so called and asked if she had anyone’s number who I knew. I did try and tell them to just call me a cab.”

He let your words settle over him.

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who else did you call? Who didn’t pick up?”

You listed them off. Most were people in your family and a couple of friends.

“I would have fought them on it but-”

“I’m glad you called me.” Jake admitted you. And it struck you. “Give me your phone.”

You slid it over to him. And he called his number from your phone.

“If anything like that happens again, I want you to call me.”

“Jake-”

He shook his head. “You’re not fighting me on this. Fight me on everything else. Anything else. But not this. Call me.”

So you just nodded. “Okay.”

“Good. And eat up, too.”

You did. “You say that as if we’ve got some place to be.”

“We do.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see.”

Twenty minutes later he practically shoved you into your bathroom en-suit telling you to shower and get changed.

“I thought my nurse was meant to be kind.”

“I am kind!” He said. “And I’m not a nurse. And I’m a friend.”

You laughed a little at that one.

“I’ve seen the inside of your junk drawer. I’m your friend. I have to be, or else I don’t have a word for it.”

He did have a point on that. Your junk drawer…even you hadn’t seen the inside of that thing in at least a year.

So, after getting dressed, taking the last of your antibiotic and forcing some kind of health smoothie Hangman had made you with the blender he found at the back of your cupboard, you found yourself back in the passenger seat of his car.

“Where are we going?”

He said nothing, just smiled and pulled the aviators from his collar and put them on before starting his engine and for a moment you wondered if that was what he did when he got into his jet. Flash his million-dollar smile before starting his jet engine and taking off into the sky. For a moment you wondered what it would be like to watch him land and look over at you just like he did.

But then you forced yourself back to reality.

This was Jake Seresin, aka Hangman. Given that name because he hangs his team out to dry.

But he didn’t leave you.

In fact, he was the only one to show up.

And the first to stay.

You read the road signs as best as you could until you realised where he was taking you.

“You know there is a beach like ten minutes from my house.”

He nodded. “I know. But you’re there all the time. You’ve seen that patch a thousand times. This is different.”

“How? Isn’t all sand the same?”

He shrugged, still smiling. “Maybe. But they always say the beach can work a thousand miracles. Come on.”

It was a five minute walk to the bottom.

“Is it usually this empty?”

He looked around. “There’s usually a couple more people, but yeah. This is usually it. Not many people drive this far down. They think it’s not the best but to me…couldn’t be more perfect.”

“Huh.”

“What?” Jake asked, looking at you.

You continued looking out to the water. You shook your head. “No, nothing. Just…never thought you’d be the sentimental type.”

“Well…I’m not.”

You looked at him.

“To most people.”

It was at that moment you felt a small crackle. Either in your chest or your gut, something crackled. And you felt the blanket of hatred you had for Jake Seresin start to fade.

His call sign might be ‘Hangman’, but you had a strong feeling that when it came to those he cared about…he tried his best to stick around. And even if he couldn’t, he’d make a memory of them to last a lifetime.

For the rest of the day, you spent most of your time lying on the beach watching the waves or reading your book, which he had packed. And it was…one of the best days you’d had in a long time.

“Why are you doing this?”

“What?” Moving the book from his face, Jake looked at you from beneath his shades as you lay on your stomach beside him.

“This? Less than a week ago I’m pretty sure people would have made money on you and I killing each other. Why are you helping me?”

“Because you need it. And I’m pretty sure anyone else would believe you when you say that you don’t.”

“And you don’t believe me?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know you.”

You scoffed. “What do you mean you know me?”

You watched as he smiled and tried to kill the butterflies in your stomach.

“Y/n.”

You were still getting used to the fact he was using your first name. Usually it was your last, or some sweet nickname like ‘Sweetheart’ that would grate through your entire body.

“You spend most of your time making sure everyone feels okay and is doing okay. The only time you actually let your feelings know is when you’re taking shit to me. You deserve a break. You deserve to take one before your body forces you to have one.”

Hearing his words as he spoke, you slowly sat up until your back was to the water and you were fully facing him.

“Plus, your brother asked me to look out for you. And I’d rather not suffer his wrath again.”

Okay, that had to be complete bull. Your brother’s wrath when it came to protecting you, that was true. But why ask Jake of all people given he knew your history and track record with him.

And what did he mean by again?

You barely had time to ask all of your questions before you watched him stand up, throwing his book closed to the ground. You mentally scolded yourself for letting your eyes wander all over him.

You weren’t blind to the fact Hangman looked, well, like him. A daring smile, enough charm to charm even the most sourest of people and the body to go with it. But before today, you had been immune. At least, you considered yourself immune since the blanket of hatred that you held for him seemed to block plenty out.

Worst of all, he caught you.

You knew he caught you because of the smirk on his face and the chuckle that escaped his broad chest.

“Shut up.” You groaned, forcing yourself to stand. “I’ve been in the hospital. My immune system is temporarily weakened.”

“It isn’t the first time I’ve caught you, Sweetheart.” Seresin drawled just as you looked at him both annoyed and confused. And maybe slightly offended that he thought you had, before today, purposefully checked him out.

But he just laughed. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

“But what about our stuff?”

“It’ll be safe. I know most of the people on this beach, they’ll make sure nothing happens to it.”

Taking your hand in his, he led you down the beach, under a small cove and through to the otherside where some rocks were covered in seaweed and sand.

And for a while, you and Jake explored the place. You’d never been this far down the beach so finding out it existed was a bonus. Finding seaweed to pop and watching the crabs crawl across some of the rocks was fun.

You’d never stop to take a break. Straight out of college, you’d begun teaching. It had been in your home town until your brother got accepted into Top Gun. And, with an internalised fear of losing him, you moved out to San Diego. You knew after a while he’d be stationed somewhere else, but you’d managed to find a home there. And when your brother was stationed not too far from his Top Gun base, the rest of your family moved closer.

Since then, it has been helping them get settled, tutoring their children after spending all day teaching. It was sleepless nights spent alone at home, living off the quickest food you could make because you simply didn’t have time to cook. It was running yourself so far into the ground that the one person who you never thought would even step foot into your home was the only one to show up and give you enough space to actually relax.

So watching crabs walk along the rocks was fun.

And hearing your name, and calling out his name above the waves, without hatred or malice behind it, was fun, too.

“Come and look at this.”

Carefully, you made your way over the rocks, trying your best not to slip and hit your head. And you did so, until the last rock before you joined him.

Letting out a small yell as you reached out to try and catch yourself, he threw out his hand and caught you.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Can you stand?”

You lowered yourself to a lower rock, still holding onto his arms before letting go and allowing yourself to take his hand and help you up the rest of the way.

“What am I looking at?”

It was a starfish.

The rest of the day, you and Jake explored the shore, skipped rocks on the calming water, sunbathed and even took a swim in the water.

By the time the sun had set, you found yourself sitting with him on the hood of his car, a pizza box between you both, watching the planes fly from the airport.

A week ago, if anyone had told you that you would have done any of this, especially with Hangman, you would never have believed them.

“Thank you, for your help.” You blurted out as you watched another plane fly into the sky.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Yes, I do.” You wanted him to listen to you. “Given our track record for being nice to each other, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you didn’t turn up at the hospital to bring me home. But you did. And you made sure I didn’t fall into some kind of coma after it. And today you gave me the first day, I think, ever, where I’ve not done a thousand things for somebody else and enjoyed what I was doing. So, I do need to thank you for that.”

“Are you saying…you…like me?”

You couldn’t stop the smile on your face, but you tried to force it away. “Okay.”

“No, no. I mean, this is a miracle.”

“You’re tolerable.” You corrected him.

Smiling, he took another slice of pizza. “You like me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You like me. I am now your friend. We are now friends.”

You shook your head, holding in a laugh. “Just shut up and eat your pizza.”

It was safe to say after that, that everyone was shocked at the dynamic between both you and Hangman.

They had all gotten so used to the insults and borderline flirty comments you’d both sling each other's way, it had become like white noise. So, when it was gone and replaced with laughter and smiling, it gave everyone a terrified feeling.

“I’m guessing they’re not here yet.”

Penny shook her head as she poured another pint. With a smile, she nodded over to the other end of the bar. “They’re over there.”

Twenty minutes later, it had become like a social study for everyone in the bar to watch you and Jake.

“Do you think they fucked? Got all that pent up energy out?”

Coyote shook his head. “No, he would have told me. How long have they been like this? Maybe they’ve been hypnotised into liking each other?”

Rooster shook his head. “The hypnotist left like three months ago. Maybe they’re…faking it. Do you think they heard us talking about them last week? About who would kill who first? Maybe they’re teaming up so nobody wins?”

Penny shook her head as she wiped down the bar. “Well, whatever it is, it’s a nice change. She looks a lot happier. They both do. Who knows, maybe next we’ll be holding a wedding here.”

“Not their wedding?” Rooster seemed shocked. “Penny, they were about three insults away from killing each other three weeks ago.”

“Love is blind, as they say.”

For the rest of the night, people watched you and Jake sat together. Seresin and Y/l/n. Hangman and Sweetheart.

And then they watched as you walked home.

Together.

It was safe to say everyone was shocked to their core. For the first time ever, there had been a night where both you and Jake had not only been in the bar at the same time but had also sat together for the whole night, and not once killed each other.

Verbally or otherwise.

“You know, you’re not as big of a dick as I thought you were Seresin. Tonight was a nice change.”

“I have been known to be kind once in a while.”

“Keep this up, you might be fit to see another day.”

“So might you.” Jake replied as he watched you climb the steps of your front porch. “I meant what I said, about taking a break. You deserve one, Y/n.”

You took in what he said with a small nod before adding. “You know, it’s still freaking me out, you even know my first name.”

“If it helps, the nurse had to tell me.” He said. “Guess I’ve called you by your last name so much, I forgot your first.”

“Is that why you keep saying it? So you don’t forget?”

He shrugged, a slight smirk on his face. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You know, it is okay if you forget it once in a while.”

Jake smiled a little at that. “How could I forget the name of the woman who once dumped three shots of tabasco sauce into my drink?”

“Hey, you can’t prove that was me.”

“Hey, the bottle was in your hand.”

You unlocked your door. “I still plead not guilty.”

“Whatever you say, Sweetheart. Sure you’re okay on your own?”

You nodded. “I’ll be fine. Besides, don’t you have an early start in the morning?”

He nodded. “Even so. Call me.”

“Goodnight, Jake.”

“Night, Sweetheart.”

He waited for you to lock your doors before he got into his car and drove back home.

The following weeks continued the same way. If anybody who was anybody saw you and Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin together, in the same room, talking. They would stop and watch.

Never in a million years did anyone expect you and Jake to talk, never mind actually become friends.

Each Friday, you met each other at the bar. You both have a drink. You’d both sit and talk. Maybe some of your old ways were still there with each other, but there was less “25 to life” about it and more “affection” in the words you both said.

However, it nearly gave people an aneurysm when they thought you were both actually dating.

Two people who were thirty seconds away from physically fighting each other every day had gone from, well, that, to…to…to dating?

It couldn’t be…could it?

And the rumours that had been spread by one of the bar regulars, after she’d spotted both of you grocery shopping together before spotting Jake’s car leave from the top of your road hours later, were only fueled when they heard about what happened at the school.

It had been months since you fainted and you had been getting better. You felt better, you felt like you had more energy. And with Jake’s help you started to feel like a person again. A person who wasn’t wholly consumed by their work constantly, whether they were ten miles from the building or not.

Except, one morning, you woke up and felt…off.

Something wasn’t right. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something didn’t feel right. Maybe your period was coming early. It has been doing that lately. Surprising you when you least expected or wanted it.

Just a few weeks ago, it had arrived early once again. And the pain you’d felt in the days before nearly floored you. And when you hadn’t showed up at the bar like you’d agreed to with Jake, he came looking for you. That night he’d taken a quick trip to the grocery store after you told him what happened. He looked after you. Made sure you were okay. The next day, he drove you back to the store and you stocked up on supplies and snacks.

It was also later that night when he surprised you by making dinner.

Opening up your fridge, you took one of the healthy smoothies that Jake had left you the last time he’d come round, before packing it into your bag and heading to work.

Your queasy feelings only got worse. And then…you felt it.

Sticking on a documentary for your class, you took your phone and slowly made your way towards the teachers bathroom, stopping off at the next class.

“Can you keep an eye on them for a couple of minutes?”

Your best friend nodded. “Course’ honey.” Before asking her TA to go next door.

“You okay?”

You tried your best to look okay, despite everything you were feeling inside.

“Yeah. Yeah. I will be.”

As the TA headed next door, you made your way towards the bathroom, then dialled his number.

“Hey,” Jake said as he answered. “Just about to call you. They’ve got a showing of The Wizard of Oz tonight at the theatre, if you wanted to go-”

“Jake.”

“Are you okay? What’s happened? Is everything okay? Is it your brother-”

“Every…” You swallowed thickly before carefully lowering yourself onto the floor with your back against the wall, and unlocking the door. “Everything’s okay, it’s just…”

Jake had a strong feeling he knew what was happening. “I’m on my way. Where are you?”

“School bathroom. Teacher’s.”

“Okay.” You could hear him leaving his office and getting into his car. “Is the door unlocked?”

You didn’t answer.

“Y/n.”

“I’m here.”

Jake breathed. “Y/n, Sweetheart. Is the door unlocked to the bathroom?”

“Yes.”

“Does anyone else know you’re there?”

You explained what happened as best as you could.

“Just, please get here soon?”

“I will, Sweetheart. I promise. I’m almost there.”

You didn’t know how long had passed but it wasn’t long before you heard your name being called out by Jake.

Pulling the door open a little from the floor, Jake ran towards it and peeked inside. There you were, sat with your knees close to your chest, against the wall.

He stepped inside before crouching down.

“I-I’m sorry I called. I just-”

Checking you over, Jake cupped your face. “Hey, no. No. I’m glad you called me. You can always call me. How are you feeling?”

“Dizzy. It’s better now but still like the room is spinning. And I’m not harnessed in.”

“Okay. Do you think you can stand?”

You gave a small nod. “Maybe.”

Helping you up, Jake took your hands in his and you stood up.

“Come on, we’re getting you checked out at the ER.”

You would have fought him on it but considering the last time it happened they kept you in overnight, you went willingly.

Thankfully, you didn’t pass out even when the dizziness and the nausea felt like they were getting worse.

By the time the doctor saw you, she did all of the routine checks before turning and looking at Jake and back to you.

“Is there a possibility you could be pregnant? I’ve seen a lot of couples come in here with similar symptoms and-”

Oh shit.

“Oh, no. I-I’m not. And he’s not-”

“We’re- We’re not together.”

A few more awkward moments like that filled the next couple of hours until both yourself and Jake seemed to give up on correcting people.

By the time they discharged you, they told you your blood sugar levels had dropped and your hormones were beginning to change with your cycle. Along with the advice to try and reduce stress.

Driving you home that night, Jake made a detour. Towards the diner and then towards the beach along The Hard Deck.

It was quiet for a Tuesday evening, but yourself and Jake just sat and ate dinner whilst watching the water push in and pull out constantly across the sand until eventually, laying your head on his shoulder, he placed his arm around your own.

“Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.”

“Thank you for calling me. Are you feeling any better?”

You nodded, gratefully. “Just a little tired, that's all.”

“I’ll drop you off at home, soon, if you’d like.”

You nodded then looked at him. And before you could stop yourself, you asked him; “Would you stay with me? Tonight? If you can’t- or if you don’t want to-”

“I’ll stay.”

“A-are you…sure?”

Jake nodded, a faint smile on his lips. “I’ll stay with you.”

You didn’t know what else to say other than thank you, so pressing a light kiss to his cheek, you said as much. “Thank you.”

You could have sworn you saw him blush as he smiled and looked down. “Anytime.”

It was odd really, laying beside the man you thought you’d be telling your kids about when you were older. About how much you hated him and how much he hated you, and why neither of you could sit next to each other at the Thanksgiving table every year.

Jake had decided to stay in your guest bedroom, but the minute you heard him lay down in his bed, you felt…awake. Not wide awake. You were still tired. But you weren’t settled. Something inside of you wanted to be closer to him.

So, after an hour of laying on your back, staring at your ceiling and listening to the distant shore line, with the odd rumble of a car’s engine running up and down the road every now and again, you got up.

Jake had left his door open. If you shouted for him, or needed him, he would be able to hear you. Usually, he’d be out like a light, waking up at the smallest of noises. But this time, he couldn’t sleep.

Instead, his mind was going over the fact you had called him when you were at work. And the fact that he enjoyed it when you were with him. That he was the one you chose to lean on. And the fact that he wished he was down the hall with you at that moment, then lay alone in the dark in your guest bedroom.

Then he heard you.

From the dim, moonlit hallway, he saw you.

“Hey, everything-”

“Can I stay with you?”

Already half way up, Jake paused for a second. Then nodded. “‘Course. Come ‘ere.”

Walking over, Jake pulled the covers back and you climbed under them before feeling his arm wrap around you. And your arms came around him, one over his shoulder and round his neck, the other by his side.

Instinctively, he pulled one of your legs across him and held it there whilst his other arm remained securely around your back, holding you to him.

“Is this okay?”

He felt you nod and he nervously swallowed.

“Are you okay, Sweetheart?”

In a quiet voice, your breath against his neck, you answered. “Better now.”

Pressing a kiss to your head, you nuzzled into each other.

“Good.”

Not too long after that, you both fell asleep.

And when you both woke up, neither of you wanted to move.

If this had somehow happened six months ago, you probably would have thrown each other to the other side of the room. But it wasn’t six months ago. And you’d come to know Jake as…Jake. Who took care of his friends, and made sure everyone was okay and was kind and caring and…a lot of other things you didn’t want to think about at six o’clock in the morning.

And the way he was looking at you at that moment made you think about other things that you didn’t want to think about.

“What are you thinking about?” Jake asked after a few moments of watching you study him.

“That you need to stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you…like me.”

Jake smiled. “I do like you, Sweetheart.”

“Jake.”

Then, for a moment, everything felt…serious. His tired smile dropped a little from his lips as he looked at you.

“Do you trust me?”

You felt your heartbeat pick up in your chest and for a moment, you wondered if he could hear it.

“Yes.”

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you felt him cup your cheek. “Y/n…”

He seemed nervous.

“Can I kiss you?”

If you had let yourself think about it long enough, you never would have guessed Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, who went after whatever, and usually whoever he wanted, would ask if he could kiss. You’d always assumed that he was so confident in life and with women that he’d know. That he’d see the small signals. Or even the loud ones. And just…kiss a girl.

But no.

He asked.

And something in your gut jumped.

So you answered; “Yes.”

Nervously, he licked his lips before he leaned in. And kissing him felt…weird. Because it felt…normal. Unlike anything else you’d felt in your life.

You managed to pull him closer, until he was leaning above you. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

From there, the softer, searching kisses slowly faded away and turned into something more. More wanting, more needing. Feeling his hands move down your body before he gripped your hips, and pulled you closer to him and carefully slid them back up until the fabric of your t-shirt began to bunch together.

Feeling him press into your thigh, you let out a small noise that was only swallowed by his kiss. Swiftly, he pulled you across him, your legs straddling his lap before he sat up. Once more, he pushed the hair from your face and took you in, in the rising daylight.

No words were spoken out loud, but everything was said.

Leaning down, you kissed him again before letting your own hands move down his chest and towards the hem of his t-shirt. Except, just as he pulled you closer by your waist, his hips rocking into you, you both jolted at the sound of his alarm.

“Sorry.” Jake quickly turned and switched it off. You were both going to be late for work.

“If we don’t get ready now, we’re gonna be late.”

Looking at him, you didn’t know fully what to say. It had just been the hottest make out session of your life, with a guy six months ago people would have bet money on you killing. And you’d both been cock-blocked by his alarm.

“I’ll meet you here, after work?”

That made you smile. “Okay.”

Then he did, too. “Okay.” Before throwing his phone to the side and pulling you down to kiss him. But as you pulled away, he groaned, trying to pull you back to continue but you walked a good three feet away from the bed.

“Can’t be late, Hangman. You’ve got pilots to teach.”

With a coy smile, he was standing in front of you within seconds before lifting you onto the dresser behind you. This time, it was you trying to pull him back when he stopped kissing you. But he just stood back and let out a small chuckle.

“We’ve both got students to teach, Sweetheart. We stay here any longer, they’re both gonna miss us.”

One final kiss to your lips, he stood back and practically ran away before you could grab hold of him.

Twenty minutes later, he was showered and dressed for the day and had poured you a coffee to-go as well as packed you another smoothie and grabbed your lunch for you before you’d come downstairs, dressed and began loading the last of the exam papers into your bags.

He dropped you back off at work, however, when you realised he was waiting in the parking lot for you to enter, you left your bags by the pillar and walked back. With his window already being down, you leaned in and kissed him, feeling his hand cup the back of your head.

“See you tonight?”

“See you tonight.”

The day for either of you couldn’t have felt longer. And by the time Jake came walking through your back door, dropping his bag onto one of the pantry hooks, he couldn’t have been more relieved to see you.

And for a moment, he just watched you as you sat on the sofa with crossed legs, flipping through a textbook and making notes. Softly, he approached you from behind before wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

You smiled.

“Hey, Sweetheart.”

“You’re back.”

You felt him relax against you. “Finally.”

“There’s some food. I made you a plate in the oven.”

He pressed a kiss to your head before walking towards the kitchen. “I would have cooked.”

“I know, but I needed the distraction.”

Waltzing back inside holding onto the warm plate, he smirked as he popped a fork-full of veg into his mouth. You could already feel your cheeks heating and from the look on his face, he could see it clear as day.

“Distraction from what?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“Nothing, huh?”

At some point, he put down his plate and rounded back to the sofa, standing behind you before pressing soft kisses into the side of your neck.

“Jake.”

The way you said his name went straight to his dick.

As he moved your hair, you leaned to grant him more access. A satisfied smirk came to his lips as he watched your legs move to straighten out.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, Sweetheart.”

Eventually, you felt Jake move away but he appeared again, lowering himself in front of you. Taking the textbooks and notes from you and placing them on the coffee table behind him, he leaned forward and pulled you in to kiss him.

“Have you been thinking about me?”

Feeling his hand move up your thigh and towards your shorts, you leaned in closer. “Have you, Sweetheart?”

“Yes,” your voice came out breathy.

“Is this okay?”

You nodded.

“I need words, darlin’.”

“Yes. Yes, it’s okay.”

As time passed, the small part of you that was still able to function started to ask questions. Like why you had hated him so much in the first place? And how you almost missed…him.

And by the time you woke up in the morning, Jake practically wrapped around you like a boa constrictor, you had come to a new conclusion.

You didn’t hate him anymore.

You hadn’t hated him for a long time.

All opinions you had of him, especially after a night of mindblowing sex, had been shot out of the water.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was no longer the man you thought he was. The man you had come to know and lo-

The man you had come to know was a man that showed up. And stayed. He was someone that took care of the people he cared about. He was someone that would fix things in your home without you asking. He was someone that cooked meals, even if it was almost one o’clock in the morning and you were craving a grilled cheese. He was someone that, even after sex, took care of you in a way nobody had ever even thought about doing before. He was someone that you could trust and respect, and did so.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was a man that had proved your theories wrong and he was a man that you realised you were falling for.

And in some ways, that scared you. And in some ways, it didn’t.

Because, for as much as he could be so sure of himself. So bold. So confident, it bordered on cocky. You were also sure of him. Sure that, if he was feeling the same things you felt, that he wouldn’t let you hurt yourself when you fell, but rather he’d catch you.

And it, surprisingly, didn’t take him very long.

By the time you woke up in the morning and headed downstairs, freshly dressed in a worn Top Gun hoodie and a pair of sleep shorts, you started making breakfast. However, as you stood at the stove, flipping the bacon, you felt a newly familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind.

Dropping his chin to your shoulder, Jake pulled you close to his chest.

“Good morning.”

“Morning’.” He drawled. “Whatcha’ cookin’?”

“Bacon and eggs. There’s also toast in the toaster.”

With a smile, Jake pressed a kiss to your exposed collar which caused you to let out a small giggle before quickly turning the stove off.

“You’ve gotta be careful, Hangman. You’ll make me burn breakfast.”

He hummed a response. “I had a couple other meals in mind.”

“Oh really? Like what?”

With his hands on your hips and his lips on your neck where you suspected he’d just left another hickey, he slowly turned you around. “I can think of one.”

Finally facing him, he kissed you as you fumbled with the last temperature gauge and turned it off. Picking you up, he carried you away from the counter near the stove to the one complete opposite.

“You’re driving me insane dressed like this.” He mumbled against your kiss. “Wearing my shirt.”

“Your shirt?” You asked as his lips moved to your neck.

Looking at you for a moment, half drunk on your kiss, he nodded. “Didn’t you know, Sweetheart? This here is mine.” Pinching some of the fabric between his fingers he shook it as he told you so.

You laughed. “No it’s not.”

He nodded. “God's honest truth. Your brother stayed at mine one night after he’d gone out drinking. Lost his shirt, don’t ask me how. Stole one of my hoodies. Never got it back.”

“How do you know this is yours?”

With a smile, Jake showed you the small hole that you’d made a little bigger over the years from when you’d get nervous. “This right here. Loose thread got caught in a cabinet I was fixing in my room. Pulled at it too hard. And…”

Jake watched as your expression changed a little, hungry for more of his touches, as he pushed his hand slowly up the inside of your- his hoodie.

A slight smirk, he pulled at the side tag and showed you. And it baffled you how you’d never noticed before.

J.H.S

“See. But, I have to say, Sweetheart. It looks better on you than it ever did me.”

And as he was looking at you, he asked you something else. “Let me take you out on a date. A real one. You know, seeing you like this…I never want to see anyone else like this but you.”

“Jake…”

“I’m being serious. Sweetheart, I want you. And not just temporarily.” Then he looked away as he said the next part. “I’d get it…if you didn’t want that. God knows you and I don’t have the best history when it comes to even getting along but-”

“I want to date you.”

He looked up at you.

“I want to date you,” you repeated. “Believe me, half of the time I don’t get it myself. How we’ve gone from one extreme to the other, but I know…I know I want you around.”

“I want you around, too.”

“So, yes.”

Jake smiled. “Yes?”

You smiled back. “Yes. Take me out on a date, Jake Seresin.”

Leaning forwards, he kissed you. And before long, your hands started to feel for the hem of his shirt before pulling it over his head.

It was safe to say, when you and Jake walked into The Hard Deck in the evening after your official first date, hand in hand before he pressed a kiss to your lips, a lot of people were shocked.

And lost a lot of money.

But Penny won it all.

She knew the minute Jake saw you, and your brother scolded him, that something would happen. After all, Hangman was known for going after what he wanted. She just never expected to have to be the one to force you to be in the same room and for that room to be a hospital.

3K notes · View notes

dazedantics · 14 days ago

Text

By Chance - Bob Floyd x Reader

You accidentally stumbled upon your perfect man and keep running into him all day

It was a nice day.

The type where the sky is clear and blue. Sun high, dousing everything in a warm yellow glow. People perusing the town, all circle skirts and button downs, sandals in hand, towels over shoulders. Buggies bumbling down the streets.

A perfect day really.

Your spirits were high as you entered the station, car parked by the pump.

A quick pit stop before you were on your way to the beach with your friends.

You were just supposed to grab a few snacks, pay for your gas, then head out. Finish your sightseeing then continue your fun time with your two besties, no attention to the time or locals around you. Just you guys and the sea.

They had finally got the the time to come visit you for the weekend. Months of planning and rescheduling needed right before you could all get on the same page.

You missed them, you were excited.

This weekend your full attention would be on them. You swore it.

So why were you so focused on the stranger who walked into the station after you?

He was tall and simply dressed, plain shirt and shorts. Posture not completely shelled off with discomfort but not exactly oozing confidence either. And maybe those double bridge glasses were a red herring, too common a stereotype to be real, but this man may have been just about the most nervous person you'd ever seen.

Focused on grabbing whatever it was he came in to get, arms full with chip bags and sodas, following behind people who seemed to be his friends. Quiet.

Noting what aisles had people in it and opting to circle around a few times before entering the same spot once it was empty.

He seemed to want to avoid everyone if he could help it.

So it may have been your fault when he nearly ran into you.

Freezing in place, eyes round as a deer when he saw you. Looking at you briefly before quickly averting his eyes to the floor. Lips quirking up nervously as he gestured in front of him. "Sorry, go ahead."

You smiled polite and excused yourself, walking ahead to join your friends over at the slushie counter. Head turning back subtly every few seconds to keep looking at him.

He was cute.

God he was cute. Strong jaw, neat hair, clean shaven, smooth lips. On the slim side but muscle visible where the hem of his clothes cut out. And he seemed to have manners. The exact image mothers have in mind for their children when they say they want you to find a good man.

You'd probably never see him again.

An unfortunate truth most likely.

But for the best.

I mean, you were already breaking you promise by keeping your focus on him as he moved about the station. Not hearing a thing your own friends were giggling about.

And even more when you nearly ran into each other again at the checkout.

You looked at each other. Paused. He looked away. Nodding ahead.

"You can go ahead."

"No, no, it's fine. Sorry about that."

"You have less things anyway. I insist."

A smile. Then off to pay for your gas. Eyes wanting to follow him as you headed out.

And that was it.

An event you could think about later when night fell, imagining what could have happened. Not exactly envisioning a whole future with him. But enough to smile dopily at the possibilities.

Seated and buckled into the car, then you were back on track.

Laughing and singing off key to the radio as you made your way down to the beach.

And the day was perfect again.

Sea salt lingering in the air, sun soaking into your skin. Splashing and diving under the waves, pulling each other under.

Sand got everywhere.

Going to the bathroom to wipe everything down didn't help much, but at least you'd brought spare clothes.

You're not sure which of you suggested going to the bathroom, but you went together, bundles of clothes tucked under your arms.

Some more jokes.

You were distracted, smile on your face, body turned to them as you walked, focusing on their words.

Until suddenly you weren't.

"Oh ... sorry. Go ahead."

The same guy again.

Except this time he'd actually bumped into you. Or rather you bumped into him. Except this time you really hadn't tried to.

He was wet now, clothes a darker shade than before, curls wisping from their neat do, droplets streaking down his lenses.

Same awkward smile, eyes down.

You stared at him much longer than necessary.

Till your arm was tugged, dragging you past him. Head still swiveling around to watch as he made his way across the sand.

You didn't expect to see him again after you walked out of the bathroom.

Of course you still looked around, checking for the nerdy print on his plain shirt among the waves of bare chests.

That was a mistake.

Cause when you all returned to lounge on your towels, sharing drama of what happened while you were apart?

You spotted the man and his group.

Playing football and wrestling where the foam pooled on the shore. The only party to be wearing so much. Hovering just on the outskirts of the group, watching them, waiting, only jumping in when the ball was thrown his way.

Your friends caught your stare this time.

Playfully arguing about how fake you were for ignoring them. But then going on to stare with you, the men surrounding your guy catching their eyes. They probably thought you were ogling their muscles too. Talk all of a sudden becoming about how there's no good looking men who they meet. Teasing how they may as well get with a Navy man during their visit.

This is San Diego after all. You could catch a guy in uniform walking down these streets any day.

You just smiled and nodded along.

By the time the sun was setting, a chill wind rustling your hair, you drove home.

A pit stop again.

One to change into something a little more "showy" for a night out.

Then back to the center around the beach.

Walking the streets with arms looped, checking out the unique stores, watching the little performances on your way to the bar.

And then?

You danced the night away. Grinning and goofing, singing to the music, swaying into each other's arms with small stumbles.

It was nice.

And you would've forgotten all about the man had you not run into him again.

This time, neither of you were paying attention though. Shoulders knocking, peanuts scattering all along the floor. Splashing of cups being lifting up before a drink could spill.

Another, "s-sorry!"

He dropped onto one knee, scooping up the shells, eyes down.

This couldn't be a coincidence you decided.

Three times in one day? In the places you didn't frequent without reason? The same time and duration you were there?

Sure, maybe he didn't intend it, but perhaps something greater did?

You knelt down, placing a hand over his.

His head whipped up fast, a lost expression in his wide eyes, mouth rounded to a clean "o."

You planned on giving him your name.

But the first thing that came out was, "you have blue eyes."

"Um ... yeah?" A nervous chuckle, lips curling up on one side.

Your gaze darted to the crowd, where your friends were still busy dancing. Then back. To his fresh clothes, straight slacks and a button down, a change from before.

Boy ... he could even clean up nice.

You bit your tongue and looked around. Cup lined roof, rag dried bar top, clattered pool tables, pens in a cup behind the counter.

How convenient.

You stood, boy's hand still in yours and made your way towards the stool wrapped bar. Reaching your hand over and taking a pen out, you missed the soundless gaping he gave you, eyes darting around, looking back and forth between you and the peanuts.

You bit off the cap and turned his palm over in your hand.

God ... his hands were warm and larger than yours, weathered but only just. You wonder what he did?

His fingers twitched when you brought the nib down, blue ink sinking into the creases of his palm.

A number.

Then your name.

You put the pen away before facing him once again. Curled his fingers inward over his palm.

"I can't talk to you much tonight, I promised myself I wouldn't. But, I'll be free in about two days so ... give me a call then?"

"I- Uh ...? What?"

You looked back at your friends heads bobbing in the crowd. How long had you been away?

"Sorry, I gotta go now. But if you're ever in town again, I'd love to meet up."

That expression on his face as you turned back to him again was something.

Pure shock, as if he still wasn't quite hearing what you'd said.

You looked him over once again, memorizing his image so you could fantasize about him when you got home. You almost didn't want to let him go.

But you bit your lip and squeezed his hand once before backing away, only turning around till his hand fell from your grasp.

And you didn't look back.

Dear God you couldn't look back. You had no clue what he was thinking, maybe you were too forward for him. If he was using that sanitizer on the counter to wipe away the writing you would just about die.

Instead you kept your head up, heart pumping as you weaved your way back to your friends. Trying not to let your eyes wander around for him for the rest of the night.

Bob meanwhile was frozen in place. Dazed and confused, staring ahead at nothing for a while, his brain trying to catch up to reality.

Then he looked down at his palm, fingers curling open to reveal your writing.

And he stared some more, unconsciously committing each stroke to memory.

A rosy hue dusting it's way across his cheeks. Trying to fight the small smile forcing its way across his lips.

To be honest, he had no idea how he got here, but he sure wasn't gonna complain.

He'd been busy trying to not seem threatening by looking down each time you ran by. But now?

Now he let his eyes follow you around the room, smile getting bigger, heart feeling a little warmer. And he immediately made plans to contact you on the given day.

Were you a local? He hoped so. That would make running into you some more a whole lot easier.

But ... he really didn't know what he did! He wasn't the one who got people talking to him like this. The one that got numbers. He hadn't been trying right now. Or at all.

How the heck was he supposed to keep this up?

God ... he hoped he doesn't mess up.

#So I've said this was made because I met a guy who looked and acted exactly like Bob #crazy thing is that i met him in a place called Maverick #what are the odds guys #bob floyd #x reader #bob floyd x reader #top gun #robert floyd #top gun maverick

694 notes · View notes

nouearth · 1 year ago

Text

red right hand.

pairing. henry cavill x male reader.

word count. 7.3k.

summary. if there was one thing to give your dad credit for (other than helping create your very existence), it was that he has an insanely hot best friend. it was a universal admiration your neighborhood shared with one another. though, how many actively feasted upon their fantasies regarding that hunk of a man? probably only you, because mr. cavill was more than a crush, he was an addiction. and on one summer day, mr. cavill realized that so were you.

content warning. college!reader, dad's best friend!henry, neighbor!henry, age gap, blowjob (r!giving), degrading, throat-fucking, choking, gagging, spitting, kissing, humiliation, body and muscle worship, rough-play, size difference, dirty talk, verbal, praising, size kink.

The warm wind fanned the sweat off your forehead when you slid your window open. The ledge stained your fingers with particles of dust. Grimacing at the fuzz and simultaneous stickiness, it also provoked a storm of laziness as steel reminders from your dad got caught up in the commotion: CLEAN THE HOUSE.

CAR MAINTENANCE.

STOP ORDERING TAKE-OUT AND COOK.

SORT THE ATTIC.

TIDY GARAGE.

CHECK STOVE IGNITIONS BEFORE LEAVING THE HOUSE.

LOCK THE DOORS.

Ya-dah, ya-dah…

Honestly, how could you check-off any of these tasks with this heatwave currently going on? You were sweating bullets, been sweating enough to bathe in your own salt for days now—which you technically were already doing. It was summer, the long-awaited season after the agony of allergies. A temporary relief to your studies as well, until the humidity hit you like a truck and made you realize that living back in a dorm wasn’t so bad.

At least the building had a functional air-conditioner.

“Uh-huh, yep.” Your dad’s voice was going in one ear and out the other as you rummaged through your cabinets for a snack. Cereal; stale. Canned meat; too heavy. Potato chips; not heavy enough. “Dad, you know you’ve gone on business trips before, right? This isn’t the first time I’ve been alone.”

“I know, but I’m just making sure. It’s a new house, and I’ve been watching these true crime documentaries about men leaving clubs and—“

“Well, the first mistake was going to a sketchy club in the first place…” You muttered, peering into the fridge, and then lingering, because refrigerator air has never felt so cooling against your skin. You duck your head to puzzle yourself into the cold box, dumbfounded that the heat had gotten you irritated enough to claim a bag of deli meat as your bunkmate for the time being. The sound of your dad’s frustrated sigh on the other line curled your frown into a smile, and you laughed, “I’m a big boy. Stop worrying, and go enjoy—Ow!“ You bumped your head against the door on your way out.

“How can I not worry when you just referred to yourself as a ‘big boy?’ Not even a man?!” You never realized how theatric the man was. It was like his presence never left the house, exaggerated hand movements and all wafting the smell of his homemade meals whenever he would scold you in his favorite place: the kitchen. You smiled at the fond memories.

“Good point—“ Though they were made at your old house, you were sure that once he’d returned, your dad wouldn’t be opposed to creating new memories of scolding your ass off on whatever trouble you’d get into. If you do, that is. You’ve grown since then, finding yourself too tired to socialize.

“Remember, spare key’s in the birdhouse. There’s a compartment at the side of it. Hopefully birds haven’t evolved enough to pick it open.”

“If they have, they’d be picking at our locks right now to kidnap me and probably feast on my body.” Luckily, the fridge was stocked before your dad had left. You crucified him for being overly-prepared at times, but for this month, it was an exception. You picked at a slice of deli meat and cheese, and stuffed it down your mouth.

“Not funny, (M/N).”

“I’m kidding, Dad. Lighten up! I know you’re nervous about presenting, but they invited you to talk to an audience for a reason. They like you. Just be yourself, and remember not to speak so fast. Have some water on standby too.” And speaking of the devil, you gulped down a glass of iced water to cool down your body as your dad chuckled in your ear.

“I know, I know, thanks.” A muffled sound on the other end filled the silence, sounds of people passing and cars honking passing through your ear. “Alright, my ride’s here. I’ll call as soon as I get to the hotel, okay? You better answer—Oh! I forgot to tell you! Henry’s coming over later to look at the car.”

“Henry—Oh, Mr. Cavill? He’s in the neighborhood?” The name rattled a familiar feeling inside of your stomach. Something rather warm, suddenly ravenous when you thought about the last time you saw him.

“Actually, he was the one that told me about this house! He lives down the street. But tool’s in the garage if he asks for them, okay?”

“Y-yeah, okay. Got it.” You hadn’t seen him many times. Only when you’d come home from semester breaks, yet the mere mention of his name had you flustered as if he was a long-lost friend or something.

“Okay, gotta go. Love you, and remember, lock your doors! Bye!”

“I will! Bye…” Your phone blinked back to your previous app after ending the call.

You knew he was your dad’s best friend; a divorced father and a bachelor unsurprisngly made a match in heaven.

He was someone that shared your father’s interest in tabletop games and comic books. A replacement for yourself you thought earlier on, but he was way more knowledgeable about those interest than you ever were. You grew up on your dad’s nostalgia. For Mr. Cavill and your dad? These memories altered them who they would be in the future.

He was a friend that would help your dad out on building projects, like that birdhouse he had mentioned. He was a charming man that built the PC you currently use after hearing you complain about the previous laptop you had. And best of all, his looks were as abundant as his kindness. Standing over six feet tall, with a chiseled face that matched an equally sculpted body; he’d been a little crush since you first met him, being the only man who was capable of rendering you utterly speechless.

And in present, the only man who had the power to tighten your briefs and shorts with only a passing thought of his body; muscular and athletic in all the right places. If only your dad could somehow muster up a beach day before summer ended. Either way, the image of his bare body excited you, the blood flow immediately rushing south in agreement. Your dick kissed your shorts at the thought water cascading off his hulking body like meltwater over an ice shelf, freezing you in your place to not-so-subtly gawk.

“Jesus…” Your body couldn’t catch a break, could it? With the ramping heat and the constant sweating, your erection only added fuel to the bonfire that was the pores of your skin. Your cock pulsed madly within the constraint of your briefs, teasing yet begging to be released, to be sheathed from its slick, because it knew you had the key to its relief.

Or rather, Mr. Cavill did.

It was pathetic. You’d been at this for a year now. As much as you were unfamiliar with Mr. Cavill’s disposition, it was certainly the opposite regarding his physical appearance. Though it hadn’t exactly occur to you when this crush of yours had been tiptoeing along the lines of obsession.

Wait, was it an obsession..? No, no, it was just a crush.

You hadn’t done anything wrong. All you had done was browse through his social media—he did follow you, and you mutually pursued—and stalked—no—scrolled through his posts. Thank god, he was an avid poster. Pictures of his selfies, his knack for grilling, his love for his pet dogs, his pride over his geeky hobbies, his friendship with your dad and mutual buddies—all of these pieces attributed to allowing you to get to know him more as you were rotting away on campus, missing life back at home. Like clockwork, looking at his feed brought a sense of comfort, a hope that maybe you could be part of his life as well.

“God, what I’d do to ride that mustache…” You blurted out your thoughts, hyper-aware that you were alone in the house. You’d been waiting for this. You’d been surrounded by your roommates 24/7, and then once break started, your dad wanted to insert himself into your schedules as much as he could before the next semester starts.

As much as you loved them, you needed space. A space bigger than the privacy of your own room. You deserved the whole house to yourself after enduring months of agony from overdue assignments; stress from bickering roommates that led to chaos within the dorm. You haven’t jerked off properly in months, often resorting to a quick session that comforted you on the occasions you’d have to pull multiple all-nighters to get a project done.

You needed relief.

You needed pleasure.

“Fuck,” Your eyes had been fixated on Mr. Cavill’s social media feed as you stripped yourself free of clothing. On one hand, it helped your body cool off from the heat building in the house. On the other, you felt vulnerable, like someone could walk in on you any second, and god, was that a turn-on.

A grid of his life displayed happily before you, and your thumb scrolled aimlessly in pursuit of multiple pictures ingrained in your brain that had your cock throbbing in your palm. You laid flat on the couch, earbuds fit snug in the canals after briefly switching apps to play your favorite porn in the background of your search. Your stomach sunk deep when the man began moaning in your ears. Hot like the blistering sun outside; you can imagine Mr. Cavill breathing against you like that, as you took his cock in like the video you had playing. Your balls pulled when the man grunted, “Right there,” and you couldn’t help but pull at the ache of your cock, then at your balls to fondle at the loose stretch of skin.

“Right there,” you repeated when your thumb paused at the desired video of Mr. Cavill. Another major part of his lifestyle was working out. Strength training, cardio, marathons. You name it, Mr. Cavill did it all, exceptionally well, and the crème de la crème of it all was that he bared his torso for most of his videos. “Fuck, you’re so big… Fuck, fuck…”

It was like watching a warrior prepare for battle. Sweat dripped off the holiest parts of his body as he pumped his muscles with heavy weights. Grunts, heavy and lewd sounds filled your ears while Mr. Cavill powered through his body’s resistance. You wondered to yourself if he could take you like that. Force you to take him with brute strength like the weights in his muscular, veiny hands. You were stroking yourself to him, every part of him, palm slick with sweat and spit. Two fingers would get the job done, stretching you out in preparation for his cock. Though, you knew deep down that it would take more than that. Three, or maybe even four, considering the hunk of a man was seemingly built from metal. The video replayed multiple times before you remembered that he had more than enough content for you to jerk off to. You were barely five minutes in, but this was already more pleasurable than whatever you had endured back at the dorms. Your cock felt pleased, spitting out dribbles of thick pre-cum that loosened the stick of your palm as donation to your generosity.

“Fuck, Henry…” You rarely referred to him by his first name. It felt unusual. You were much younger than him. Addressing someone closer to your dad’s age felt rude, like you were trying to assert your dominance despite your age difference. You were many things, but disobedient was not one of them. However, you couldn’t lie. His name felt polishing to your tongue, something that could improve the taste of dreadful meals if one were to whisper it before taking a spoonful.

His name felt like a miracle.

Your sexual appetite was nourished by the frames of Mr Cavill’s second video. He was completely unaware he was bulging, free-balling in his sweaty shorts while he pursued his vitality through jumping jacks, lunges, toe-touches—cardio galore that made his heavy cock bounce in rhythm. You could tell he was large, gifted with insane girth to the point where you could make out the shape of his cock just from him stretching. And the smell; sweat sticking on thick curly hairs on his chest, and a happy trail that seemed to promise a world of musk if you ever had an opportunity to endeavor upon your curiosities. You were practically salivating for him, saliva pooling where your tongue sank, while your cock leaked. You pumped yourself quicker and harder at the frustration that your desire to taste Mr. Cavill’s cock would remain a pipe dream.

All that left you was your imagination, and your own musk. Pulling up at your glans, you squeezed out thick loads of pre-cum before swiping it with your thumb and tasting it off with a suck. Salty, bitterly pleasant on your tongue, and satiated enough to not let your libido falter at the disappointment that it wasn’t Mr. Cavill’s pre-cum, but rather smolder.

“Oh, fuck my mouth… I need that cock, Mr. Cavill. Please—“ The frames of the third video showcased him flexing his arms and torso. His body bursted with pride, veins surging through every fiber of muscle like they were charging him and his very existence. It was veiny too, wasn’t it? His cock. Large and veiny, like how you’d like it. You would struggle fitting him inside of your mouth while his cock veins pulsed with great pleasure knowing that it was Mr. Cavill’s kink that you couldn’t take him.

No one could.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—“ Your eyes rolled back. The slurping sounds from the porn increased by tenfold as you pumped the volume by a few decibels. Lewd, slick sounds you wished you could perform on Mr. Cavill himself violated your ear drums. Pleasure him. Thank him on your knees for being so kind to your father. For building your PC without compensation. For providing you temporarily relief while you were away on campus, and could only jerk off under the blanket. You were grateful for him. For Mr. Cavill. For his thick arms. For his veiny forearms. For his dashing good-looks. For his muscles. For his strong cock. You’d give yourself to him if you could. Worship every inch of his step, every inch of his body, and that still wouldn’t be enough to show your appreciation towards him.

Your fist tightened. Your other hand had grown limp by now, dropping your phone to the floor by mistake, but you were too fixated on the pleasure your cock was receiving to retrieve it back. You could watch it from where you were laying, just like this, slickly twisting and pumping your cock to the sound of the porn, to the sound of Mr. Cavill grunting simultaneously as if his thick cock was being feasted on like a hungry beast. “Mr. Cavill, please—I’m going to—“

One earbud slipped from the sweat building on your body, but you were close. So fucking close to coming. And when you do, you’d come on your phone.

All over Mr Cavill’s pecs. His abs. His crotch. His face. Anywhere, as long as it was your friendly neighbor, because—

“Enjoying yourself, (M/N)?”

A voice from behind you alerted your body to jolt and whip around upon instinct to defend yourself. Naked or not, you weren’t going to die, not in the hands of a burglar.

Though, as soon as you did, you regretted it. You felt like stone. Cold, hard stone as all signs of life seemingly felt like it had been sucked dry out of your body, with your erection taking up most of the produce surprisingly as you confronted the intruder.

The six-feet, muscular, handsome, and familiar man of an intruder.

“M-Mr. Cavill?! What—When did you—“ You were flustered. Radiant heat blooming like the season of Spring across several patches of your naked body. It also didn’t help that your porn could be heard from earbuds once you took the remaining one out, albeit a bit muffled. And your phone, it was facing the ceiling, looping the video of Mr. Cavill training over and over again. Right before him.

Your body was shaking, physically evident despite your efforts to conceal the tremors as the man stared you down, unfazed by the drama of it all. “Fuck—“ You didn’t know what to turn off first. The porn? The video of him working out? Or maybe dressing yourself should be a priority because—Mr. Cavill was still staring, blues lingering on your naked body, seemingly outlining every drop of sweat that followed the contours of your figure. There was movement that naturally caught your attention.

It was his hand, large and muscular over the center of his shorts. Rubbing, squeezing, fondling at an evidently large mass that made you dry-swallow. You mustered up the courage to finally pause the porn, then clicked your phone off. “H-how long have you been watching?”

“Since the beginning.” He chuckled, stating matter-of-factly. “Your dad told me to come look at your car. Your garage was open. Thought you did that for me, but I guess you really just forgot about closing it considering…” He nodded towards your cock, licking his lips when it acknowledged him with a throb. “Was coming to get you, and I found you like this.”

“And you just watched?!” You sputtered out in distress, hastily dressing yourself back into your clothes, stumbling over your feet in the process. Sweat always made it more difficult to put on clothes.

“Well, I did call you for while I was coming in. You didn’t hear me over your video, and…me, I suppose.” It was smug. Amusing to him that you were in this state of embarrassment after being caught red-handed. You groaned, burying your head into your knees after sitting back down on the couch. The heat was unbearable, but to face Mr. Cavill after being caught jerking off to his videos, you were overcome with horror at the ghastly spectacle of the situation.

“Don’t tell my dad about this,” Your fingers scraped through your scalp out of frustration, but also to keep your head pressed to your knees as they interlaced around you. You refused to even spare one more glance at the man when you felt him practically hovering over you, a gentle smile riding along the coattails of his composure. “…please.”

“I won’t,” Mr. Cavill’s voice sounded clearer, closer than before. Right above you, but still, you maintained your position despite the pleasant scent of his cologne almost breaking away your focus. “Just as long as you suck me off.”

Those final words hit you like a truck.

You were astounded, confused by the turn of the situation. It felt like a taunt, and it was treated as such because it worked. You whipped your head up upon Mr. Cavill’s demand, almost insulted because it was how guys on campus used to taunt you.

What you expected to grace your eyes with was his face; charming as ever with a mustache that was reliable in stirring immense feelings inside of you.

Instead, you were met with a face full of flesh, Mr Cavill’s heavy and large cock. It sported a strong curve, throbbing veins to prove its accelerating lust, with thick balls swinging low to entice you into a hypnotic state. If someone was to grade you upon your predictions, you’d score a perfect mark, because god damn, he was huge. Hairier than you’d expected, though just as arousing, if not more, because this was unexpected for Mr. Cavill as well. He would’ve cleaned himself a bit if he had a plan to meet you under these circumstances.

“I—You’re serious?” With the string of thick pre-cum dripping from the very slit of his head, it seemed like your question was answered. You could smell him. The musk of his pre-cum. It tingled your nostrils, enchanting you akin to what fresh pastries would’ve done for you on normal, non-libido provoking circumstances.

“Does it look like I’m kidding? Come on, I’m waiting. You didn’t even say ‘thank you’ to me in person when I built you that PC for Christmas. It’s the least you could do, right?” Without warning, he took ahold of his cock and tapped the center of your lips with it. Your orbs shook as you looked up at him, hesitant through the tremor of your lips as Mr. Cavill stared back, determined for you to accept his plea offer with some kind of answer—with your mouth preferably. “Been teasing me for so long… Think I didn’t notice the way you looked at me whenever I came over? How you kept massaging your cock under the table during dinner? Always in those shorts too… God, you were begging to be fucked with your thighs showing like that.”

“No—I-You’re my dad’s friend, I can’t—“ Your hand said otherwise with your fingers taking initiative on their own, wrapping over his large cock, right above Mr. Cavill’s fist. It was a two-hander, a fucking two-hander, yet your fingers struggled to close around his girth. “Fuck, you’re so…”

“Your dad doesn’t have to know, right? I won’t tell. You won’t either. We don’t want to hurt him, right?” One of his hands found its way to the back of your head while he took a step closer, bringing his cock closer to your face. Before you could pull away, there was true grit to the palm of Mr Cavill’s hand as he applied pressure to the back of your head, pressing your cheek flush to the underside of his cock. “Look at you, you don’t have the heart to say no, do you? You’re obsessed with my cock, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Cavill…” You were under his control. Locks of your hair bundled under a grip while he ground his cock against your supple skin, making you smell him; his musky cock, the sweat buried in the deep hairs of his pubic area. It was a glorious scene that returned your cock back to its original state of arousal by tenfold.

“You’re going to be a good boy and suck my cock off, right?” Almost in your mouth. You parted your lips open to trap his cock into your mouth with the way he maneuvered your head like a rag doll, a brute strength your nape now, pulling and pushing your head as his cock rubbed against your face, but Mr. Cavill pulled at the last minute, right when you were one lick away from tasting meaty flesh. “Close your mouth. You will open your mouth when I tell you so.”

“I—I—Yes, please...” You were pathetic. He held you still, head tilted upwards to face the ceiling and his towering body while his cock and balls laid over your face like a table runner, a perfect heater to warm his meat. A t-shirt remained on his body, and that was a true testament to his appeal, being able to get you off like this half-naked. You reached down, back to fondling at your sore cock, at the blue balls you’d given yourself earlier, sniffing, inhaling the heavy delightful scent of his sweaty cock. Guess his house was having air-conditioning difficulties too.

“I can use your mouth however I want?” He dragged his cock over your face, the head leaking out pre-cum in midst of its journey to introducing itself to every one of your facial features, saving your lips for last.

“Yes,” You gulped at his rousing speech, breathing in the drying musky pre-cum on the perimeter of your skin. “Please fuck my mouth, please—“

“If you’re good, then this can be a regular occurrence, yeah?” You slipped your shorts and briefs off again, jerking yourself off to simply the teasing taunt of his cock, tapping at your skin, brushing over your eyelids, pushing up against your nose. You felt humiliated. You’d been marked by Mr. Cavill, pathetically as it only took his huge cock to make you submit to him. “You’d like that? Sucking your dad’s best friend off?”

“F-fuck, yes…” His cock was a wand to your body. Every time Mr. Cavill was seemingly about to push into your mouth, you willingly opened it to no avail, even if it was obvious that he’d pull away. You could only get off on his scent for so long. He’d draw your tongue out when he squeezed pre-cum out the tip of his cock, right above your pink flesh. It would sink, drip, slowly like syrup, in thick strings, until it wasn’t anymore with the sudden obstruction of Mr. Cavill’s finger swooping in to nick the sticky web, and letting it waste away on the carpet. “Please, Mr. Cavill… I-I’ll be good…”

It was amusing to him, watching you desperately try to taste and watch him in any way you can, to the point of going cross-eyed as he would center his cock in your vision. He waved his cock like a flag as if he had conquered you. Humiliated you with several heavy slaps to your face, thick smacks that you took in whimpering grace because Mr. Cavill had stolen the resources to your insanity.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Mr. Cavill didn’t waste a single second for you to prepare yourself. The pressure on your nape steeled, bruising to make you open your mouth and whimper, and maybe that was the point, because he seized the opportunity to charge his cock inside of your mouth without warning, making you gag on your own desperation. It was a forewarning. A brief prologue on how you should take his cock as he quickly pulled himself out to properly prepare yourself. In the meantime, he slapped your cheek multiple times with the spit you had already layered him with, cooing at how incredible hard and big he was against your dazed face.

“Fuck, your mouth is so warm. That’s it, you can take it. Good boy.” Saliva spilled out of your mouth like a popped water balloon when he pushed himself inside of your mouth again. You couldn’t control it. You couldn’t control what Mr. Cavill had stripped away from you with the strength he had on your neck. Not to mention, the mass of flesh gagging you into oblivion, leaving you completely incapable of stopping him, as if you wanted him to. “Come on, use your hands too. Don’t be lazy.”

“Mm-mmf…” A compliance that was muffled by a slur of slick sounds, but Mr. Cavill knew what you meant. Amusement played on the corner of his lips as you struggled to fit a hand around the base of his sticky cock, sloppily stroking what was left neglected by your mouth, or rather your inability to take in. You suckled on the head of his cock, plump and heavy on your tongue as it throbbed with every lick you provided him. Stroking its slit with the tip of your tongue, you then dug and slobbered over the salty taste of his pre-cum. “So big… Just like I’d imagined.”

You pulled away to marvel at the size of his cock, taking your time to lube his cock with your spit from tip to shaft before your fist flushed to his pelvis to slap his meaty cock on the pouch of your tongue, lewdly flinging your spit in the air. It was your favorite move, often reliable in coercing a reaction out of the men you’d sucked off previously. The roll of his eyes, the flex of his muscles, the grunt from his gut; you slobbered all over his cock, worshipping every inch with your mouth, polishing the cock knob clean with your tongue and stroking what you couldn’t with two deft hands. Mr. Cavill was no different, he was a man with needs like you, with needs like the rest of the men you’d given head to, and you exploited the hell out of it. You loved making them feel in power, making them feel like you were worth time out of their day, despite their original pleas to use your mouth.

He briefly pulled back to rest a kiss on your lips, one that you’d treasure for the rest of your life. Not only was it because it was your first kiss was him, but because of how delicate he was with you. Warm and inviting like he usually was, his large hands cupped at the end of your jaw, holding you as if you were made of porcelain. “Making me so proud right now, fuck. Take in more of my cock, would you? I like it when you gag.”

“Mm-hmm…” They always do. You mumbled against his lips, no longer needing his guidance to finish what you’d started. Your eyes were glued to Mr. Cavill, aroused by the look he was giving you. A famished stare that demanded to be satiated, by means of sheer persistence as you knew it was going to be difficult to down him with your throat.

Mr. Cavill drove a hand into your hair, cuffing the strands to keep you still, to keep you from pulling away, to dominate you. He watched you without an ounce of kindness, muscles flexing, cock and balls hanging obscenely as you found a better position on your knees with a throw pillow guarding you from bruising. “Want you to throat-fuck me, Mr. Cavill.”

“Fuck, who knew you had such a mouth on you…” He sturdied his stance, spreading his strong legs while manhandling your head between them. You licked a stripe over his balls, then the underside of his cock until your tongue reached the scorching skin of his precum-slicked tip. Approaching the end of the journey, your mouth opened wide to welcome Mr. Cavill back into your mouth, and like tugging on a loose knot, you drew out moans from within his gut, his body loosening in turn of your hot mouth. “Fuck, just like that…”

With a thundering heart, and a building pleasure so morbidly big, you sunk and lowered your head lower, taking in Mr. Cavill’s horse-cock like a fleshlight. Crimson rose to your cheeks, to your neck, as you strained to maintain him inside of your mouth. He was too big. You’ve utilized all the tactics you’ve learned on campus, on a few buddies, on your roommates. Breathe through your nose, relax your tongue and jaw, let your saliva drip out. Yet you’d barely taken a few inches more than you had done prior before a couple of gags alerted you to take a breather. Your head pulled back, but it was met with violent opposition as Mr. Cavill brought your head back down to further shove himself down your throat.

“Mmm—gggrgh!” Your body jolted in defense, stiffening your body into an upright position when you couldn’t refrain from gagging on his cock. Your hands braced on his strong thighs for balance, squeezing at the muscly flesh of skin to distract yourself from the uncomfortable stretch your mouth was receiving.

“Fuck, yeah. Fuck, fuck, just like that. You’re taking it like a good boy.” You were making him proud, so fucking proud. You coughed, gagging, almost choked on your own spit, but the stuffing of Mr. Cavill’s large cock simultaneously emptied your mouth of saliva as it all came flooding down your mouth in lewd webs. “Shit, look at that. I’m making your mouth water, aren’t I? Fuck, what a waste.”

He yanked your head back, pulling him out of your throat, and you had never felt such relief. Breathing, exhaling and inhaling deep to compensate for the prediction that Mr. Cavill wasn’t going to let you spare a second of abandoning his cock like that. Your eyes watered, reddened from straining your muscles to make him fit inside of your mouth. You knew there was a shift in the room when you looked up at him like that, glossy in the eyes, tremors involuntarily making your knees unsteady, coughing as you held onto his thighs. He towered over you, you were beneath him, beneath the ravenous gaze he simultaneously terrified and seduced you with. You couldn’t complain now. You did your job. You made him feel powerful like you’d wanted. Dominating, as his cock leaked in your spit, and spit your saliva back onto your face.

“You were fucking hungry for my cock, weren’t you? Look at you. You’re a bloody mess…” With one swipe, he gathered the layers of spit you had generously supplemented his cock with, and smeared it across your face. You took his humiliation with good grace, moaning at your loss of pride with every smear. It deducted the more he messily layered your face with your own spit, but as demeaning as it was, there was immense merit to the satisfaction on Mr. Cavill’s face. “Open up.”

“M-mm, ah—“ Your mouth opened with a vulgar sound. If Mr. Cavill had something to compare it to, it would be like sticking a spoon into a cup of jello, and then scooping its content out. Sweet and glorious to his ears, salty to your mouth as he bought your head forward again, and plunged his cock back down your throat, deeper, and further within the confines of your throat. You squeezed around him, eyes clenched tight while he brought your face flushed to his pelvis, the hairy bush of his public area gentle abrasive against your nose. He smelled as delectable as he tasted. A hint of spice, sweat, salt, you could lick at it if it was made into a popsicle, lap it up if it was in a bowl and you were on all fours, bowing to his feet.

Your cheeks bulged as your mouth churned internally to produce more slime to seemingly ease the slide of Mr. Cavill’s cock thrusting inside of you now. He was careless, half-bent over your head to lock you into a tight embrace while his spit-polished cock rubbed at either side of your cheeks, rut against the roof of your mouth, then thrust himself into the depth of your warm throat. You couldn’t have escaped if you had wanted to. He was too strong. Two hands unrelenting around your head while he packed his large cock deep into your mouth, pelting into your gags and whimpers with fast, sharp thrusts, the sound of his wet dick choking you mutually turning you and Mr. Cavill on. You want to quit, yet he was choking you too good. Water streamed down your cheeks. Whether it was your own spit, sweat, or tears, you couldn’t comprehend it because Mr. Cavill was uncompromising, refusing to yield for your comfort.

You were fucking grateful. That was what had been missing from your college experience. A man. Someone taking charge for once. Someone utilizing you like the whore you made yourself out to be. Mr. Cavill saw right through you, through your taunts from several breaks ago, and he was fucking furious for making him wait.

“Shit, I’m close,” Fucking your mouth furiously. You could get off like this. Fuck, no. You were getting off to this. Fucking your cock with your fist, doing your best to match the pace of Mr. Cavill’s hips. You wanted to look up, to watch his face morph from admiration to animalistic desire as he utilized your throat at his own disposal.

You blinked away your tears, even if they had stung, and gawked at how captivating Mr. Cavill was for being selfish, thrusting into your mouth with one hand keeping your face free of your hair from obstructing his view. A frown permanently framed his mustache, and his dark brows furrowed at the approaching climax. He wasn’t looking at you. Rather, he was scrutinizing your wet mouth as it was jam-packed with his cock. How could a mouth look so pretty while doing something absolutely obscene? How could a throat feel so tight, so addictive, even after piping his cock down its drain several times? How could you let him treat you like this, a complete stranger, completely violate and humiliate you on your knees, like a broken doll whose purpose was to fulfill a man’s deepest desires? Maybe he needed to have a talk with your father. Talk about how broken you were, and that you needed fixing. Spend a nights with him at his house, and he would help you rewire your brain. He’d fix you. Fix you with his cock. With his lips. With his hands. With his body. Your eyes rolled back at the thought, fisting your cock faster, twisting to his heavy grunts as he was nearing closer and closer to the edge of his insanity.

“Mfghm!” Your throat felt raw, the subtlest whimper scratching at your throat like claws on chalkboard. But you persisted, pumping your shaft vigorously, your ears lapping up Mr. Cavill’s constant appraisal for your performance. Good boy. That’s it. You’re taking my cock like how I want it. You want your reward? Fuck, sloppier. Spit on it. Spit on my dick. I like it sloppy.

Sweat pebbled every inch of your skin. You couldn’t take it. It was coming. Your stomach sank and steeled upon the sudden rise of fulfillment, and you quickly released your grip after a final stroke before coming into the air. Thick ropes catapulted upwards, your cock throbbing with every pulse, and your balls emptying itself more and more with a bounce, a twitch, and a jolt. “F-fuck, ugh…”

“Fuck, yeah. Look at all of that cum. Fuck. You came that much just from my cock, look at that…“ Your body spasmed as the carpet soaked up your semen. His voice gruff yet gentle at the same time, making your cock twitch once more before softening.

“Come on, not done yet. Suck me off.” He spat out, tugging your head forward after a quick breather.

Something in you clicked, and you began sucking his cock off like it was your job. Twisting, stroking at the slick shaft while nipping at the head while you caught up to your breath. Suddenly saltier on your tongue as some of your cum had landed on your hand before it was smeared across Mr. Cavill’s dick. You’ve never tasted yourself before, but it was a found contentment you didn’t expect to turn you on.

Then, you took one last breath, cleared your throat, and charged forward. Long, thick inches slid into your throat once more, and you’d hold yourself there upon his final warning, mouth agape, lips pressed into the fur of his pubic hair. Your tongue flattened at the underside of his veiny cock, and your nails dug into the back of his thighs as you felt a thick warmth rush down and coat the inside of your throat. His cock throbbed, and Mr. Cavill’s grunts emptied from his gut with every spill. You could feel every heavy pulse as Mr. Cavill came down your throat in heavy, creamy spurts. You didn’t want to swallow. Not yet. You wanted to savor him. Savor the taste of his cum. You’d pined for it for so long, for all you could know, this could be your last opportunity to properly taste him. Slowly, but surely, his loads rose and pooled in the back of your throat upon barricading it with a tighten of your trachea. The rest of his spurts emptied on your tongue as he pulled himself out, and milked himself to completion.

“Don’t swallow yet.”

You nodded, panting, awaiting for his nuts to be emptied as he flung his cock a few times, hurling drips of cum and your spit over your tongue and face. When he was seemingly emptied out, his gaze fixated on his cum pooled in the back of your throat; semi-translucent and filthily swimming with your own spit, and then Mr. Cavill’s own saliva, as he then spat into your crowded mouth.

“Now swallow.”

You whimpered at the vulgarity of this affair, yet you were highly-aroused by this shame you were feeling. Mr. Cavill’s gaze stilled, anticipating with calm amusement while petting at your cheek. With one clean gulp, you downed your guilt, scrunching your nose when the salty taste of his spunk throttled your tastebuds, and sighed in satisfaction.

“Does your throat hurt?” He was on his haunches, carefully examining your throat as if he had his hand around you from the outside. It was a surprising return to his normal self, at least, the man that you knew as your dad’s best friend. Caring and patient, as he tended to your neck with apologetic kisses, and a gentle massage around your nape, where he must’ve gripped too hard upon your jolted reaction.

“A little… Didn’t take you were one to be rough like that.” Your knees gave out, letting yourself fall back onto your butt knowing that the couch would catch your position.

“Not usually, no… You just… happen to rile me up for some reason.” He was smiling, joining you on the floor, and nuzzling his furry mustache into the crook of your neck as if he wasn’t choking you with his cock a few minutes ago. It was unusual, yet charming. “Seriously, don’t tell your dad, okay?” He whispered into your ear before turning your cheek to look deep in his eyes.

A meaningful stare, a beat of silence, before you spoke, “Only if you promise me something.”

“What’s that?” Mr. Cavill pressed a kiss to your swollen lips, another apology for stretching your mouth without much warning.

“You really meant it that this would be a regular thing if I did a good job?” Mr. Cavill scoffed at first. It was almost embarrassing. Were you being naive? Was this too good to be true? Your cheeks flushed red, and you solemnly casted your gaze downwards, defeated because that was that it felt like. The sound of rejection always came with a scoff, everyone knew that.

“Well, it was going to be a regular thing even if you had accidentally bit my dick off.” He suddenly laughed at how susceptible you were by the smallest actions, and at this moment, you were surprised that maybe this crush wasn’t so one-sided after all. He teased at your frown, kissing the corner of your mouth until it was a smile, and then prodding at your sides when you resisted. “Come on, you couldn’t possibly think this was a one-time thing.”

“Tempting…” You snuck a head in between his thighs, reaching for a certain tool that had brought in so much pleasure and pain to your body. “I don’t know… we don’t talk much. I don’t know you that well.”

“Don’t.” Mr. Cavill teasingly warned, stopping you by taking ahold of your wrist. Though, one step too late, as you already cupped his flaccid cock, tormenting his balls with a few tugs and squeeze of your palm as an act of revenge for your throat. “Well… then let’s get to know each other. No problem doing that, right?”

“Mm-mm, guess not.” Pursing your lips, you nodded, feeling placated by his words.

He sighed into your mouth, kissing you again, licking at the inside of your mouth, tasting your tongue and then your cheek, to soothe his selfish stain on your body with the work of his mouth.

“First, I want to hear you say ‘thank you’ for building that PC of yours before I promise you anything.”

“Jesus, we’re still on this?”

“Yes! Do you know how long that took me?”

“I didn’t ask you to build me one—“

“God, you’re an ungrateful brat.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#henry cavill x male reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x m!reader #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fic #male reader #x male reader #henry cavill fanfiction #x m!reader #gay reader #bottom male reader #male reader insert #nou.fics

2K notes · View notes

fuckitupfelix · 11 days ago

Note

Jimu X MALE READER and they cuddle

YES i am all for normal boyfriend jinu antics AAGJHA

summer lovin

jinu saja x male reader

wc: 0.9k

after a long, hot day, you want nothing more than to relax at home with a fan in your face. unfortunately, your boyfriend has a key to your apartment.

fem aligned DNI

You don't know why you never expected this.

The sun was scorching, and after a shift at the cafe you worked at dealing with Karens and general idiots, you wanted to take a nice cold shower and collapse onto your couch and watch shitty reality TV with your boyfriend. You slid your apron off, wiped the sweat off of your forehead, walked to the bus stop, and listened to music on the ride back to your apartment. You climbed the stairs, said hi to your neighbour leaving to walk her dog, and reached into your pocket to find your keys. But when you reached to turn the handle, you noticed that the door was... already unlocked?

Jinu is inside, in your kitchen, eating your chips out of your bowl, with your AC on max. He glances up at your arrival, a warm smile spreading on his face.

"Hello, my love," He chuckles, walking over to kiss the top of your head. "How was work?"

"...Good," You say slowly, shutting the door behind you. You glance around your apartment; nothing seems wrong, so you slide your shoes off and tuck them into the corner. "why are you here? And why are you eating my food without me?" You scoff, grabbing a handful of chips and shoving them in your mouth. Real smooth.

"I just wanted to see you." Jinu shrugs. He turns to put the bowl onto the counter, and then wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close. "Is that a crime?" He murmurs.

"Breaking and entering is. I need to take my spare key from you, I swear." You snort. You wipe the back of your hand against your forehead, swiping some of the sweat away.

"I did no breaking, only entering, [Name]." He says seriously, holding a finger up. You just roll your eyes and lean up to press a soft kiss to his lips. That was your first mistake. Jinu smirked, bending forward to chase your lips for another kiss.

That lead you to being shoved down and smothered on your couch by your boyfriend in the sweltering heat. The both of you are lying, chest-to-chest, Jinu's arms wrapped snug around your waist.

"Jinu-ah," You groan. You reach for the back of his shirt, and sticks to his skin, drenched in sweat. "Get off. It's too hot for this."

He props himself up with his elbows and just smiles down at you. "I've been waiting all day to see you, though. So, since somebody couldn't visit me during my break today, I'm taking this as compensation for my boyfriend deprivation."

"I couldn't come because I was busy! And your building is an hour and a half away by bus!" You sputter.

"Get a car, then." He shrugs. It takes all of your willpower to not grab him by the neck and choke him. He's an idiot sometimes.

"I'm a barista, Jinu."

"And?" He tilts his head.

"And you think I can afford a car? Are you crazy?" You say.

"You might be," He says lightly, fighting the smile creeping up his face. It quickly falls once he sees your expression. "Kidding! But I would like to see you more, [Name]," He hums. With that, he leans back onto you, effectively sandwiching you between him and your sofa.

"I'm fine with you visiting," You wheeze, "but do you need to be lying on me right now? I can literally see the sweat on your face."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Jinu says, and when you blink, he looks perfect— no sweat, his hair parted so perfectly that he looks like he's hopped off of a Saja Boys billboard.

"...Idiot," You sigh. Accepting your defeat, you wrap your arms over his— no longer sweaty— shoulders, and pull him closer, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. Your eyes flutter closed.

"Wanna watch a movie?" He asks quietly, his breath tickling your ear as he speaks.

You nod, letting out a small hum. Not bothering to open your eyes, you reach over and blindly grab around for the TV remote, clicking it on.

"Let's watch—"

"Nope." You cut him off, finally turning your head to actually see the screen. "You've been too much of a pain. You're losing movie-choosing privileges."

"What? Nooo," He groans, wrapping his arms around you tighter. "What if I was going to choose Surf's Up?"

That makes you pause. You turn to look at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "...Really? The penguin one?" You ask. Did you hear him correctly?

"Yeah. I like the baby penguins that get interviewed. They're cute." Jinu says matter-of-factly. As if that was the most logical reason for his suggestion.

"Idiot." You murmur, flicking his forehead. "Why am I dating you?"

He lets out an indignant noise at that. "Excuse me? You should be thankful one of the others didn't ask you out. Imagine if it was Abby."

You grimace at the thought. "Eugh. Not my type, would've rejected him anyways. He practically thinks with his dick. Or his abs. Potentially both."

"Exactly. You're welcome." Jinu says. You roll your eyes, smiling nonetheless.

"Whatever, lover boy," You chuckle, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. You adjust your position so that you're sitting up and can properly see the TV screen. One arm is still wrapped around Jinu. "Lets watch your stupid penguin movie."

"It's not stupid! It's extremely motivational, actually—"

"Oh, shut up." You grab the remote and turn the volume up, finally starting the movie.

you cant tell me jinu would actually understand the economy in 2025 cause I dont understand it either LMAO

#(⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆ lix writes !!#jinu x male reader #jinu saja x reader #jinu x reader #jinu saja boys #kpdh #jinu kpdh #kpdh x male reader #kpdh x reader #x male reader #x reader #x reader fluff #fluff #saja boys x male reader #saja boys x reader #x you #saja boys x you #kpdh x you #mlm fanfic

224 notes · View notes

abbotjack · 2 months ago

Note

Hi babes!

For your series TLWG, do you think there is a moment or specific time where Jack realized Reader is ‘the one’? Like he knew he had to buy a ring, sort out a proposal, plan his life around her?? Sending you the best vibes today!!! 💕💕

⭐ Send me an ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story, section of a story, or set of lines! ⭐

Jack Abbot doesn’t let things bloom.

He lets them function. Survive. Get triaged and stitched and tucked into corners where no one’s going to bleed on the paperwork. He’s a man who operates in utility—his emotions are rationed like hospital inventory, and everything that matters most to him lives in the margins: the off-hours, the aftershocks, the things no one else notices but him. In The Life We Grew, Jack doesn’t get swept up. He gets cornered by clarity.

He’s not afraid of pain. He’s afraid of what comes after it—what people expect when you survive. What they ask you to become. And love? Love has always felt like one more hand reaching for him, asking him to be more than he has left. Until her.

The Reader doesn’t demand his light. She doesn’t try to fix the dark. She walks into the wreckage of his life, clears a desk, and starts building. Her love is infrastructural. It’s the way she annotates his trauma reroute binder with timestamps and follow-up questions. The way she touches him without expectation, and leaves the silence intact when he’s not ready to talk. She is not a solution. She’s the first variable he doesn’t want to cancel out.

Weather is never just weather, every storm is a symbol. And in Jack’s world, love is a slow hurricane. It doesn’t rip off the roof. It loosens the foundation, quietly, over time. Until he looks up and realizes the whole house has shifted. That he's been living in a space where love has already happened, where it’s already holding.

But the moment Jack knows—really knows—isn’t in the trauma bay, or the night she patches his grief without blinking. It’s not in the spreadsheets or the audits.

It’s in a moment that isn’t loud. But is undeniably real.

Setting: Sunday afternoon. Summer heat. Their shared house in Pittsburgh—half-renovated, half-lived in. Quiet. Lived-in. Real.

He’s just come in—took the long way home through a storm that broke the heat like a promise—and now the kitchen smells like damp cotton, cracked pepper, and the faint floral trace of whatever lotion she used last. Not fresh flowers. Just her. Skin and comfort and lemon-something from a half-used bottle on her nightstand.

Upstairs, she’s talking to herself. Sorting receipts again. Muttering about misfiled statements and IRS deadlines while half-laughing at her own frustration. Her voice carries down the staircase like static through an old radio—tinny, soft, familiar in a way that guts him.

Jack stands there with one hand on the fridge handle, forehead pressed to the cool metal, not moving. Not even breathing.

Because here it is.

The realization.

Not the dramatic kind. Not the gut-punch, lightning-strike, sweat-soaked-in-the-trauma-bay kind. No. This one’s quieter. Slower. It arrives like a muscle unclenching after a decade-long cramp. It arrives in the hum of appliances and the sight of her receipts laid out across the table in color-coded order.

It arrives when he sees the junk drawer. The one near the sink.

She’d left it open again.

And there—jammed between a roll of Scotch tape, two capless pens, and a miniature stapler—is her spare car key. The ugly one. The one with the chipped unlock button and the Steelers keychain her brother gave her when she first moved to Pittsburgh. It lives here now. Not just in the house, but in their house. In their drawer. A drawer that, if it were only his place, would’ve held nothing but expired batteries, a few rogue screws, and a half-melted pack of mints he forgot to toss after Afghanistan. But now—now it holds her.

He stares at it for a long time.

That key doesn’t belong to a guest. It doesn’t belong to someone passing through. That key says: I plan on staying. And the drawer staying open? That says: I don’t need to apologize for that anymore.

And Jesus Christ, he loves her.

Not the kind of love that burns. Not the kind he used to chase like a fix, like pain with prettier branding. This is the kind that settles in his joints. The kind that smells like burnt toast and Target candles and the warm press of her knee against his under the covers when she’s already half-asleep and still somehow leans into him.

This is the kind of love he already lives inside.

She calls down to him—something about needing her W-2 from last year, the one she meant to scan and never did, the one she’s sure she tucked into the manila folder labeled “2022: DO NOT LOSE”—and he clears his throat, sharp and low, like the sound alone might be enough to shove the weight in his chest back into place.

“I got it,” he calls back, already moving.

She hums. Trusts him to find it. Doesn’t get up. That’s love, too.

He walks to the hallway where she keeps the fireproof box, alphabetized, of course—and kneels beside it. She’s highlighted the document in question. Just in case. He smiles like a man who’s halfway undone.

And when he stands, he sees it again.

That junk drawer.

That key.

That future.

And he doesn’t make a decision. Not right there. Not consciously. But something inside him stops resisting.

Not because it’s time. Not because it’s the next step. But because this is the house they chose together—every wall color, every drawer pull, every creaking floorboard under bare feet. Her laughter lives in the hallway by the linen closet, and her spare car key is tucked into their junk drawer like it’s always belonged. She built this life with him. And somewhere along the way, without either of them saying it out loud—so did his heart.

He won’t buy the ring tomorrow. He’ll wait. He’ll watch. He’ll make sure the feeling doesn’t fade, doesn’t calcify into gratitude or comfort mistaken for permanence. But he already knows it won’t. Because every time he opens that drawer, it’ll be there. The evidence. The symbol.

It’s a declaration.

It’s a door left open.

He won’t pull her into the living room. He won’t plan some big gesture or scripted thing with string lights and speeches. That’s never been how they work.

But he’ll remember this moment—the junk drawer. The rain. The way her receipts are still spread across the kitchen table like she owns the place. Because she does.

Because this was the night he looked around the house they built together and realized he’d stopped surviving beside her and started building with her. No ceremony. No timeline. Just… her. In every drawer. Every corner. Every part of him.

#jack abbot x reader #the life we grew #tlwg #ask #la-vie-est-une-fleur29

250 notes · View notes

kyunghwannie · 3 months ago

Text

"The Silent Room"

Myoui Mina x Male Reader

➤Word Count: 13666

➤ Tags: Psychological Horror, Acknowledgement and Desire Isolation, Hallucination or Reality?, Possession, Twisted Romance, Angst, Ballet, Is it even considered supernatural?

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

The realtor called it a “charming fixer-upper.” I called it affordable isolation. The roof creaked with age, the wallpaper peeled like old skin, and dust clung to the floorboards like it had nowhere else to go. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t running toward anything—I was running away.

They told me the countryside would be quiet. Peaceful, even.

They never mentioned the kind of silence that crawls up your spine and sits behind your ears—like it's waiting.

I unpacked the essentials—laptop, instant coffee, a few half-read books I told myself I’d finally finish. The rest stayed boxed. I didn’t plan to stay long. I just wanted to breathe somewhere people couldn’t reach me. Somewhere I could forget the noise, the deadlines, the expectations.

Then I found the room.

At the end of the narrow hallway, a door stood quietly shut. Just sealed, like it had been forgotten on purpose. I knocked once, like a fool. No answer, of course. I should’ve let it be. I should’ve walked away. But something about it... unsettled me. Like it didn’t belong to the house—but the house belonged to it.

The night was uneventful. The second—just wind against the windows and my own breathing.

But by then, I heard it.

A piano. Soft. Distant. And unmistakably coming from that locked room.

The melody was delicate, like a memory trying not to fade. I pressed my ear to the door and listened. No lyrics. No voice. Just aching ivory keys and a sadness that didn’t feel like mine—but somehow was.

I couldn’t sleep after that.

Then the dreams started.

A woman

====================

Part I – Arrival

The gravel crunched beneath the tires as I pulled up to the house, the sound strangely loud in the hush of the countryside. I killed the engine and sat for a moment, staring at the crooked silhouette of the place through my windshield. Old, weather-worn, and quiet—like the house itself had been waiting, just like I had been.

The wind moved through the trees in slow waves, the kind that made the leaves rustle like whispers. I stepped out, slamming the car door behind me, and was greeted by the scent of damp wood, overgrown grass, and something faintly sweet—maybe lavender, though I hadn’t seen a flowerbed on the property listing.

My boots sank a little into the muddy path leading up to the porch. The wood creaked as I stepped on it, worn and soft under my weight. I found the spare key tucked exactly where the realtor said it’d be—beneath the third loose plank beside the door. Cheap, easy, forgettable. Just like the man who’d sold me the place.

The key turned with resistance. The door opened reluctantly.

Inside, the house greeted me with a sigh.

Dust floated through shafts of light from half-covered windows. The air was heavy—like a sealed room finally breathing again. My footsteps echoed dully on the old wooden floors as I stepped inside.

It wasn’t grand, just old. Lived-in. The kind of place that had soaked up decades of memories and then been abandoned by them. Wallpaper peeled in lazy curls down the hallway, and the walls were stained with the slow, patient work of time.

But there was something comforting in the stillness.

I told myself that’s why I came here—to escape. To disappear from the deadlines, the noise, the constant expectation to be someone. Maybe that’s why the silence didn’t scare me. At least not at first.

I walked through each room, half out of curiosity, half out of obligation. A narrow kitchen with a cracked tile floor. A sitting room with an ancient fireplace and a mirror too fogged to reflect anything properly. Two bedrooms upstairs—empty but not cold.

And then, at the end of the hallway near the stairs, a door.

It was different.

Where the other doors were chipped and loose at the hinges, this one was almost pristine. Darker wood, smooth and without a handle. Just... sealed. Like it wasn’t made to open. Like it never had.

It just was.

I stood in front of it for longer than I meant to.

No breeze. No sound. No draft under the door.

I told myself it was nothing. An old house quirk. Probably locked from the other side. Maybe storage. Maybe just... forgotten.

Still, I didn’t like how it felt. Like it knew I was standing there.

I turned away.

My first night was quiet. I unpacked the essentials—two bags of clothes, my laptop, a coffee maker, and a stack of journals I hadn’t touched in months. I made a bed out of the couch cushions and covered it with a thin blanket. It was enough.

The sun set early here. By seven, the house had gone dim, and by eight, the shadows seemed to stretch longer than they should. I lit a candle more out of instinct than need. Electricity worked fine, but I didn’t like how bright the bulbs were in this place. Like they exposed things better left hidden.

I sat by the window with a lukewarm cup of coffee, watching the woods breathe in the wind. Everything felt slower. Calmer. Detached.

And yet...

Even as I tried to unwind, I couldn’t stop glancing toward the hallway.

Toward that door.

There was something unnatural in the way the shadows curved toward it, like gravity itself bent slightly around that one part of the house. It wasn’t fear. Not yet. It was more like curiosity—wrapped in something colder.

Still, I told myself it didn’t matter. Not tonight. I hadn’t come here to chase ghosts or haunted doors. I’d come here for silence, and the house was more than happy to give it.

I lay down on the makeshift bed, the soft hum of the countryside wrapping around me like a blanket. No cars. No neighbors. Just the sound of the wind and my own thoughts.

I closed my eyes.

And for the first time in a long while, I slept.

I dreamed of nothing.

But the silence felt... full.

Like someone else was dreaming with me.

Part II – The Town Whispers

The next morning greeted me with dew-streaked windows and the soft chirp of birds I couldn’t name. I hadn’t heard an alarm clock, hadn’t needed one. My body woke up naturally—as if it knew it didn’t need to rush anymore.

Still, I felt restless.

There was no food in the house except a can of instant coffee and some expired tea bags left in a dusty cupboard. So after a quick wash with lukewarm water and a glance at the strange, sealed door—still untouched, still quiet—I grabbed my jacket and headed into town.

The road was narrow, flanked by tall trees that arched overhead like they were protecting the path. The walk was quiet, peaceful. The kind of silence that almost felt staged, like a set made to look natural but missing one critical detail. Still, it soothed the tension in my chest.

The town was small, more like a cluster of buildings than a proper village. A post office, a hardware store, a few cafes. The kind of place where everyone probably knew each other by name, and any stranger stood out like a drop of ink in water.

I found a little general store tucked between a pottery shop and a local bakery. Its sign read “Yoon’s Mart,” hand-painted and faded, but charming in its own way.

The door jingled as I stepped inside.

“Oh, hello there,” came a warm voice from behind the counter.

An older woman looked up from a crossword puzzle, her silver hair tied in a loose bun. Her face lit up the moment she saw me, eyes crinkling with curiosity rather than suspicion.

“New face. You must be staying in the old Hanseong house, aren’t you?”

I blinked. “Yeah… just moved in yesterday. Didn’t know it had a name.”

“Oh, it does. All old homes here do. That one’s been empty for... goodness, it must be over fifteen years now.”

I offered a polite nod and started collecting some essentials—instant rice, bottled water, toiletries. Her eyes followed me with a soft smile as I moved about.

“You here to work? Or just... running from something?”

I froze for a second before chuckling nervously. “Maybe both.”

She laughed, not unkindly, and began ringing up the items.

“Most folks who stay there don’t last more than a week. They always complain about the noise, or the cold, or... other things.”

I tilted my head. “Other things?”

She hesitated, fingers pausing over a pack of ramen.

“You didn’t hear any piano right?”

My stomach dropped slightly.

“…No,” I lied.

She studied me quietly. Then smiled again, this time more wistfully.

“There was a girl once. A dancer. Used to live in that house before everything went quiet. Gorgeous thing—skin like porcelain, voice softer than wind. Always wore her hair in a bun, always humming ballet melodies when she walked into town.”

“…What happened to her?” I asked, the question leaving my mouth slower than I intended.

“No one knows for sure. They said she practiced endlessly. That she was meant to be something big. The next great ballerina. She lived alone after her parents passed, and then one day... she just disappeared.”

She leaned closer, lowering her voice though the store was empty.

“Some say she went mad. Others say the house turned on her. But a few... a few believe she never left.”

The air inside the store seemed colder all of a sudden.

I tried to keep my voice level. “Is there a name?”

The woman nodded slowly. “Mina. Myoui Mina.”

A pause stretched between us like a held breath.

Then she laughed softly, shaking her head. “Of course, it’s just an old story. Small towns cling to ghosts like cats to sunbeams. But you’ll be fine, dear. Just don’t listen too closely at night. And if you hear the music… don’t follow it.”

She handed me the bag of groceries with a smile too gentle to be a warning.

“Enjoy your stay, alright? Let the house rest, and it’ll let you rest. That’s the deal.”

I stepped outside, the bells above the door chiming one last time behind me.

The walk back felt longer somehow. The trees denser. The wind heavier.

I kept replaying her words in my mind.

“Myoui Mina.”

It sounded familiar in a way I couldn’t explain. Like a melody I hadn’t heard but already knew how to hum.

When I reached the house, I placed the groceries on the counter and stood at the edge of the hallway, staring down at that sealed door again.

And this time, I could’ve sworn—Somewhere deep behind it...

I heard the faintest note of a piano.

Myoui Mina.

Soft. Lonely. Calling.

The name lingered in my mind like smoke in still air—fragile, but impossible to ignore. It rolled off the tongue delicately, like silk across skin. There was something foreign about it, something that didn’t quite belong in this quiet Korean countryside. It didn’t sound local. No one in town had a name like that.

I carried the name with me as I unpacked the groceries, my thoughts spiraling around it like moths drawn to flame. The ahjumma’s story should’ve been just that—an old tale passed around to make outsiders feel uneasy. Yet the way she said it… like she still saw Mina in that house. Like she believed it.

Japanese? Maybe. Probably.

But what would a Japanese ballerina be doing out here, tucked away in a creaky old house miles from anywhere?

And then there was the photo I’d found in the attic on my first night. The one I hadn’t told her about. The one of the ballerina frozen mid-pirouette, poised and elegant, with that hauntingly serene face. The resemblance was uncanny.

Could it really be her?

The piano. The photo. The sealed room.

No... coincidence doesn't string itself together this tightly.

There was something here. Something the town had buried beneath whispered warnings and polite smiles. And now the house had begun to speak—to sing. And in its notes, I heard her name.

Myoui Mina.

Not just a name anymore. A presence. A shadow clinging to the corners of every room I entered. And despite the chill crawling up my spine...

I wanted to see her.

Even if it meant losing something I hadn’t yet realized I was already offering:

Myself.

Part III – The One Who Stayed

The photo felt heavier in my hand than it should have. Faded along the edges, browned slightly at the corners, but the image remained intact—almost too intact. Her eyes didn’t blur. Her outline didn’t fade. Even the poise of her arms, suspended mid-turn like she’d never fallen, was preserved perfectly in time.

And now I knew her name.

Myoui Mina.

The air had grown sharp with cold by the time I found myself standing in front of Yoon’s Mart again. Most stores in Seoul would have shuttered hours ago, but here, in this sleepy town that refused to fully sleep, the light in the store still glowed a dim yellow. A lantern outside swung gently in the breeze.

I stepped inside. The bell jingled.

“Oh—you again, dear. Couldn’t stay away?”

The ahjumma looked up from a radio, her hands wrapped around a cup of barley tea.

I held up the photograph. “I found this. In the house. It’s her, isn’t it?”

She took it gently from me, the amusement in her face dropping away.

“Myoui Mina. Yes. That’s her. I haven’t seen this photo in… my goodness. Decades.” She traced the edges with a thumb, like it might bleed if she touched too hard. “Where’d you find it?”

“In the attic. Buried under an old suitcase. It just… it called to me, I guess.”

She smiled faintly. “She had that effect on people. Always quiet. Polite. But you couldn’t look away once she entered a room. And when she danced... people swore they could hear the world stop.”

I took the photo back, my fingers grazing hers.

“You said no one knows what happened to her. But didn’t anyone try to find her? Look into it?”

She exhaled. “They did. But there was never anything to find. Her things were still there. Her shoes, her costumes, the music box she loved. But she was just… gone. Like the wind swallowed her up.”

“What about her family?”

“Parents gone before her. No siblings. No fiancé. No friends, really. Mina lived in her world. Some thought she liked it that way.”

I hesitated. The cold that had started in my fingertips had now crept into my arms.

“I heard something. The first night. The piano. It was faint. Barely there, but... real.”

She looked at me long and hard. Her eyes no longer smiled.

“That’s the part I never understood.”

“What do you mean?”

She stood slowly, walking to a shelf behind the counter. After a moment, she returned—not with an object, but with a memory etched across her face.

“Others moved into that house. Not many, but a few. None stayed long. They said it was too quiet. Too cold. Some were even angry—said they’d been tricked, that the town exaggerated its charm. But what they really meant was... the house wouldn’t let them in.”

She leaned in. “No matter how calm they tried to be, no matter how open their hearts… no one ever heard a note. Not even the smallest sound.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“That room stayed silent. Completely. Like it was waiting. Or watching. Or mourning. But never playing.”

I felt the weight of her words fall across my chest like a snowfall too quiet to notice until you’re buried beneath it.

“So why did I hear it?” I asked.

She said nothing for a long while. Then finally:

“Maybe she finally found someone worth playing for.”

I wanted to laugh. To wave it off. But the weight in her voice wasn’t superstition—it was certainty. And in that moment, the warmth of the store felt like a shield between me and something far colder, waiting just down the road.

“Do you think she’s still alive?”

The ahjumma’s eyes searched mine. Her voice, when it came, was too soft to echo.

“I don’t think she ever left.”

The walk home was colder than before. Not the weather—just the feel of the world around me. The trees seemed taller, their limbs creaking in protest as wind swept between them. The moon followed me in patches of silver and cloud.

I pushed the door open slowly, stepping into a house that felt like it had been holding its breath.

My steps were deliberate. I turned the photo over in my hand. No date. No name written on the back. Just her image—frozen in time.

The groceries still sat untouched on the counter. I passed them, heading straight for the hallway.

The sealed door waited. Still shut. Still heavy with silence.

I stared at it for what felt like an eternity. And then…

A note. One. Soft. Lingering. Just behind the wood. Not loud. Not urgent. Just… there. Faint as a sigh. Clear as day.

My fingers curled around the edge of the photo.

“Mina…?”

No reply. But the note played again. A second. A third. Building into something tender. Mourning. Calling.

But from whom?

I stepped back slowly, my heartbeat too loud in my ears.

Everyone said she was gone. Everyone assumed. But no one knew. Not really.

And tonight—under this old roof with no answers and a room that sang when it should’ve slept—I realized something terrible.

Maybe she hadn’t been asking anyone to listen. Maybe she was waiting for someone to hear.

And somehow… I had.

Part IV – Beneath the Door

The house had sunk into silence again. A silence that wasn’t natural—too absolute, too deliberate. Like something was waiting to breathe, but hadn’t yet decided if I was worth exhaling for.

I stood there, unmoving, groceries still untouched on the counter behind me. The hallway stretched before me like a tunnel carved from shadow, ending at that door—the one that hadn’t so much as creaked since I arrived.

But something had changed.

That sound. That note.

I wasn’t even sure it had happened. It was like hearing your name in a dream—uncertain if it was real or just memory playing tricks. But even now, I could feel the cold of it nestled just behind my ears, like a phantom whisper.

I should’ve left it alone. Should’ve done what the others did. Leave. Pack up. Run like hell.

But instead…

Instead, I walked slowly to the locked door and sat down beside it.

Back against the wall. Legs pulled up, arms resting across my knees. I didn’t knock. Didn’t call out.

I just sat there. A quiet offering.

Why?

I couldn’t tell you. Maybe it was foolishness. Maybe loneliness. Or maybe… my fucking stupid heart was too soft.

A part of me wanted to believe. To believe that someone—she—might still be there. That she might be waiting for someone to sit with her, instead of fearing her.

The wood of the door was old, warped by years of weather and time, but it felt strangely warm against my shoulder. And beyond it—quiet.

No wind. No breathing. No music. Just silence again. But not empty.

It was the kind of silence that feels like it’s watching you. A listening silence.

I swallowed hard and whispered before I could stop myself.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

No answer. My voice felt out of place here—like it didn’t belong in the atmosphere, like even sound was foreign to these halls.

Still, I sat there.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. I checked the time only once, then gave up. Time didn’t move normally in this place. It curled and folded and crept sideways.

Eventually, I whispered again.

“I know everyone left. I know no one stayed.”

“But I’m not them.”

My voice was soft. Measured. Like I was speaking to a wound, not a person. “You don’t have to come out. You don’t have to say anything.”

“I just… I just wanted you to know you’re not forgotten.”

Still nothing. I leaned my head against the door and let my eyes close, just for a moment.

That’s when the cold came. Sudden. Sharp. Piercing. It didn’t sweep in like a breeze—it invaded, crawling up my spine like a skeletal hand. I gasped softly, breath turning to fog in the air.

But I didn’t move.

I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But something in me stayed rooted there. Maybe I was still waiting. Maybe I was hoping. Or maybe…

Maybe I just wanted her to feel something other than fear for once.

Another minute passed.

Then—

Thud.

My heart stopped.

It wasn’t loud. Just a small sound. Like something lightly tapping the floor on the other side of the door.

I held my breath.

Tap... Tap…

It was rhythmic. Deliberate.

Then, faintly, as if someone were moving with incredible care, I heard something that made my throat tighten—

A sigh. A human sigh. Fragile. Barely audible.

“…Hello?” I breathed.

No answer. But the tap-tap continued. And with it, an image bloomed in my mind—bare feet moving across wooden floors, slow, elegant steps… a dancer’s rhythm.

I whispered again. “Mina…?”

Then—

A single piano note. Clear. Beautiful. Cold.

It floated through the door like fog, curling into my bones. It was impossible, and yet it rang so true. Not like an old recording. Not like a dream. It was there.

I flinched, instinctively leaning away—but something held me in place. A feeling, or maybe something more. Not quite a hand. Not quite a voice. Just… presence.

Then, like a response to my stillness, another note followed. Then another.

The melody was sad. Not tragic, but quiet. A song played for no audience, no applause. A lullaby for empty rooms.

And for a moment—just a breath—I wasn’t scared.

My chest hurt in a way I couldn’t explain. Like my ribs were wrapped in thread, tightening with each note.

She was still here. Not in the way people stay. Not with flesh and voice and names.

But in feeling. In the ach In the way my presence wasn’t pushed away.e of the air. In the sorrow that creaked through the walls.

I whispered again, barely audible. “…I’m sorry it took someone this long to sit with you.”

The music paused. One long moment. Then a final note rang out—sharper than the others. High, isolated. Like a tear hitting a frozen lake.

And then—nothing. Gone. The air warmed again. Slightly. The frost in my lungs melted. I blinked, realizing how long I’d been holding still.

I stood up slowly. Knees stiff. Back aching. But I didn’t feel regret.

Was it dumb and reckless? Yes.

Was it scary? God, yes.

Was it worth it? I still don’t know.

But something in me… felt a little less hollow.

I turned back toward the kitchen, casting one last glance at the sealed door. It didn’t look different. But it felt different. And that was enough—for now.

Part V – Through the Glass

Nightfall crawled across the windows like ink in water—slow, deliberate, suffocating.

The kind of dark that doesn’t just replace the light, but swallows it.

I turned off the last light in the kitchen. Not by choice. The bulb fizzled and died with a soft hiss, like it had given up. I didn’t bother replacing it. Somehow, it felt… wrong to try.

Instead, I let the darkness take over.

There was comfort in letting it surround me now. It wasn’t the same darkness I feared before. This one felt more like… company.

I poured a glass of water and stood at the sink, sipping slowly, eyes trained on the large window across from me.

That’s when I saw it. Movement. Just a flicker. Not outside the house. No. That would’ve made sense. But inside the reflection.

My heart paused. The kitchen was empty. I hadn’t moved. But the reflection—something behind me. A silhouette. Thin. Feminine. Still. Right behind me.

I turned. Nothing. Just the chair I always forget to push in and the counter I hadn’t wiped down yet. No one there.

But when I looked back at the window, my throat went dry.

She was still there. In the glass. A girl. Hair dark and straight, soaked in shadow. Bare feet. Pale skin. Just standing. Looking at me.

Not through the window— From inside it.

My hands trembled, but I couldn’t look away. There was no scream, no cinematic panic. Just… stillness.

Then, her head tilted slightly. Like a question My breath caught. And something—not sound, not speech— moved through my mind like a thought that wasn’t mine.

“Why… didn’t you leave?”

It wasn’t words. But it had meaning. Intent. Like a feeling wrapped in frost.

I stepped closer to the window. “Because…” I whispered, “you shouldn’t have been left alone in the first place.”

Her eyes didn’t change. Not softer. Not angry. Just… watching. Like she was trying to decide if I meant it.

Then slowly, her hand lifted—barely visible in the darkened reflection—and pressed to the glass. Palm first.

A gentle touch. Tentative. A test.

I stared at it. My pulse thundered. I should’ve walked away. I should’ve run to my room and locked the door and prayed for daylight.

Instead…

I raised my hand and pressed it gently to the glass from my side.

A breathless moment passed. And then, the kitchen lights flickered on again. All of them. Flashing. Sparking. Buzzing.

I yelped, stumbling backward as the bulbs above surged and died in one violent burst, plunging the house into darkness once more.

When I looked back at the window, she was gone. Completely. No trace. No fog. No silhouette. Just my own reflection—wide-eyed, pale, shaken.

I collapsed into the nearest chair, gripping the edge of the table like it was the only real thing in the house. My breath came in sharp pulls, like I’d just escaped drowning.

What the hell had I just seen?

Was I losing it? Or was she trying to reach out?

And if she was… why?

A soft knock broke the silence. Not from the front door. Not from the hallway.

From the living room mirror.

I stood slowly. Unwilling. But my feet moved anyway. Drawn like thread pulled through fabric.

The mirror over the mantle—a tall, ornate thing that came with the house—reflected nothing out of the ordinary. Just the empty couch, the cold fireplace, and me.

But then—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three distinct knocks. From inside the mirror. I took a step closer. The air around it was colder now. As if the glass itself was breathing frost.

And there she was again. This time, not a full body.

Just her face, that delicate neck and collarbone so beautiful my heart stuttered. She was closer as if touching the inside of mirror

Her eyes were softer now. Sad. Lonely. Mouth unmoving, but again, I felt it. A message that wasn’t spoken: “Do you see me?”

I nodded before I could stop myself. “I do.”

The reflection blinked. Her lips parted, trembling. Another wave of thought, like a scream trapped behind silk: “Don’t forget me.”

My chest ached. Before I could answer—before I could say anything—the mirror shattered. No sound. No shards. Just… gone. Like it had never existed at all. Just empty wall behind the mantle.

I staggered back, breath caught in my throat. This wasn’t a haunting. It was a reminder. She wasn’t trying to hurt me. She just didn’t want to be forgotten. And somehow, she chose me to remember.

I sank to the floor, trembling. Not from fear. From the weight of it. She had been here. Once. Alive. Human. With music, and breath, and hope.

And now—just echoes. Reflections. And the desperate need to be seen.

The clock struck midnight.

And I sat there, alone again, staring at where the mirror used to be. Whispering to the empty room: “I won’t forget.”

And deep in the bones of the house, I swear I heard a note on the piano. Soft. Grateful.

Part V – The Wake-Up Call

I woke up gasping.

The sheets twisted around me like ropes, sticky with sweat. My chest heaved and my mind screamed with confusion. Was it a nightmare? A dream? Or… something worse?

The room was too quiet. Too dark.

My heartbeat thudded like a warning drum in my ears.

The smell of cold wood and dust clung to the air, heavier than usual. And that cold… that unnatural chill that always lingered near the locked door at the end of the hall.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, fingers trembling. My eyes darted around the ceiling, the shadows shifting like they had a life of their own.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something that couldn’t be explained by sleep paralysis or nightmares.

Especially that door. The Silent Room.

Earlier today—or maybe it was yesterday—I had been sitting in the small convenience store, Yoon’s Mart, clutching that faded photo of Mina.

The old ahjumma had looked at it as if holding a piece of her own soul. Her voice had dropped, her eyes clouded with memories she’d buried deep.

“No one stayed long in that house,” she said, her hands trembling slightly as she poured barley tea into a chipped cup.

“The room… the Silent Room… it doesn’t just lock out sound. It locks out people’s hearts.”

I had wanted to ask more, but she only shook her head.

“Maybe Mina was the one who stayed. Maybe she was the one the room waited for.”

Her words echoed inside me, heavier than the humid air outside.

Back in the house, the hallway felt colder than usual. The photo still in my pocket, I’d walked past the groceries I’d forgotten to put away, past the dim lightbulbs that flickered every few seconds.

And then I stopped.

The door. I stood in front of it and pressed my palm flat against the cool wood. The silence inside was so deep it roared in my ears. That’s when I thought I heard it. A note. A single, trembling note.

The faintest sound of piano keys—soft, sorrowful, like a voice barely clinging to the edge of hearing.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat.

“Mina?” I whispered.

The note came again—longer this time. A slow, aching melody. Calling. Waiting.

I wanted to run. But I stayed.

Because maybe… just maybe… she wasn’t alone in there anymore. I didn’t have the answers. Hell, I didn’t even understand the questions.

But something inside me had shifted. I was no longer just a stranger in this house. I was part of the story. And the house wanted me to listen.

Now, awake in the dark, I glanced at the clock by the bedside.

3:17 AM.

Too early to be this haunted. Too early to lose myself to shadows. Yet my eyes wouldn’t close again.

I rolled out of bed, still trembling, and pulled on a hoodie.

I had to know. I had to see if that note—the piano—was real or just a trick of my fraying mind. The air was thick with cold, heavier with each step. The hallway stretched endlessly before me, the door at the end still shut, ominous.

I placed my hand on the door again. This time, the note played louder. Clearer.

Like the keys were pressed just on the other side, but no sound escaped. The house was holding its breath.

I pressed my ear to the wood. Then, with a soft exhale, I put my shoulder against the door and pushed. Locked. Again.

But it wasn’t just a lock—it felt like resistance. Like the house itself was telling me no.

My heart thudded harder.

What was I getting myself into?

I stepped back.

And that’s when I noticed the small glint on the floor near the doorframe. A key. Rusty. Almost invisible beneath layers of dust and grime. I picked it up carefully. A chill ran down my spine.

I slid it into the lock.

It fit. Slowly, reluctantly, I turned the key. The lock clicked. The door creaked open.

A breath escaped my lungs.

Inside was darkness deeper than any shadow I’d ever seen. A room that didn’t just swallow light but time.

I flicked on my phone’s flashlight and stepped inside.

Dust motes danced in the beam, hanging like ghosts in the stale air.

And then I saw it. The piano. Old. Covered in a thick veil of dust. Its keys yellowed, some chipped. But the strings were silent.

Until I heard it. A faint vibration. Like the breath of a forgotten song.

I moved closer. Touched the keys. And the note came again. Soft. Mournful. Like It was Mina’s voice, still trapped in these walls.

I closed my eyes. For a moment, I wasn’t just in the Room.

I was with her.

In a place outside time. Where music and memory tangled. The weight of her loneliness pressed down on me.

I whispered, almost afraid the sound would shatter the fragile moment— “I’m here. I hear you.”

The room responded. Not with sound. But with a warmth. A pulse. A promise.

And I knew, then, I wasn’t alone. That night, the house didn’t feel so empty anymore.

Why was I so drawn to her?

I came here to escape—from the noise, from the weight of everything back home. I wanted quiet mornings, forgettable afternoons, peace so empty it could swallow all the things I didn’t want to face.

But instead, I found her.

A name. A photograph. A room that shouldn’t sing but did.

And now I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Myoui Mina. A woman I’ve never met, whose face was frozen in time, yet somehow breathed in my mind. Why?

Why did the story of her disappearance grip me tighter than it should’ve?

Was it pity? The kind you feel when you hear a tragic tale over coffee and sigh at the unfairness of the world?

Or was it something deeper—something older? A thread that had always been there, tugging silently beneath my skin, waiting for this moment, this house, this melody… to pull.

Why did I want to be her comfort?

Why did the idea of her loneliness ache like it was my own?

I don’t know. But it didn’t feel like chance. It felt like… I’d been found.

Part VI – The Key That Wasn’t There

I managed to sleep—barely.

Not restfully. Not deeply. Just enough to escape for a few hours, if only to let my body recharge while my mind never stopped spinning. The night was quiet, but it wasn’t peaceful. Every creak of the floorboard. Every sigh of wind brushing against the old windowpanes. I heard it all. Felt it in my spine.

And still, somehow, I woke up.

But with more questions than I’d ever had before.

Because that door—that damned door—wasn’t supposed to be opened.

The ahjumma said no one ever had. That it was sealed, like the house had swallowed it whole. That people had tried, failed, given up. That the silence behind it had stayed untouched for decades.

Then why... why did I find the key?

It was too specific. Too intentional. It wasn’t hidden under floorboards or tucked behind some obscure drawer. It was in the back of the old piano stool, rusted but waiting. Waiting for someone. For me?

Was I overthinking it?

Maybe. Maybe I was just exhausted. Maybe grief and isolation and all the pent-up anxiety I’d packed in my bags when I left the city was boiling over, warping reality into fantasy.

But it felt real.

So real that I couldn’t just sit here in this suffocating house anymore.

Later that afternoon, I rushed through the sleepy streets and found myself standing outside Yoon’s Mart again, heart racing like I’d just run a marathon. The soft ring of the bell above the door was almost too normal for the storm twisting inside me.

The ahjumma looked up from behind the counter, wiping her hands with a dish towel. Her expression shifted the moment she saw my face—frantic, pale, wide-eyed.

“Oh dear. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Maybe I had. I didn’t even wait for her to offer tea or small talk. “You said no one ever opened the door. Right? You said it couldn’t be. That it was sealed. That no one even heard the piano because it stayed silent.”

She blinked at me, slow and careful, like I was suddenly speaking in riddles. “That’s right. No one ever did. The house didn’t let them.”

“Then what is this?” I pulled the key from my pocket—still cold despite being so close to me all day—and laid it on the counter.

She stared at it like it didn’t belong in this world. Like I didn’t belong in this world. “Where did you get that?”

“It was in the piano stool. In the room with the old upright. Hidden in the back latch. I thought it was nothing at first, just junk. But I tried it. And it—” I swallowed. “It opened the door.”

Her expression didn’t change immediately. But something about the air shifted. Heavier now. Like even the store had started holding its breath.

She leaned down slightly, examining the key as though it would disappear.

Then, finally, she whispered, “That... that shouldn’t be possible.”

“But it happened. I swear to you. I opened the door. And inside—” I hesitated. “It wasn’t what I expected. I don’t even know what I expected. But I heard the music again. And the mirror... it was cold. Fogged, even though there wasn’t any heat. Something was off.”

The ahjumma looked at me like I had just told her time bent backward.

But then, something softened in her face.

Maybe she saw the way my hands trembled. Maybe she heard the desperation in my voice—the raw kind that couldn’t be faked. She gave a quiet sigh and moved toward a shelf near the back, pulling down a small thermos and bowl.

“Come. Sit. You’re shaking.”

She poured a steaming ladle of her handmade soup into a chipped ceramic bowl and set it in front of me. The scent hit me first—something earthy, nostalgic. Like winter nights in a home that no longer existed.

“Eat. You need warmth, whatever this is.”

I didn’t argue. I let the heat of the soup calm the tremble in my fingers as I brought it to my lips.

She sat across from me, folding her hands. “Maybe it was just your imagination, dear. Stress, loneliness. The mind plays tricks when we’re tired, when we want something so badly to mean something. Maybe... it’s just that.”

I nodded slowly, politely. I knew she meant well. But I couldn’t make myself believe it. It wasn’t just in my head. It couldn’t be.

“You said others tried and failed. But what if the house chose who could open it? What if the silence wasn’t rejection—but waiting?”

Her eyes flicked to the key again. And for a flicker of a moment, I saw it—fear. Real, quiet, restrained fear. “Then be careful, son. Because if something was waiting... you need to ask yourself why. And what it wants from you.”

I swallowed the rest of the soup, warmth crawling into my chest, but it couldn’t chase away the chill that still curled in my ribs.

Because that was the problem. I didn’t know what it wanted.

I walked back slower that evening. The sun was setting now, painting the clouds in streaks of blood-orange and rose gold, but I didn’t really see it.

All I could hear was her voice again, like breath in the music. All I could see was the key in my hand and the look in the ahjumma’s eyes—disbelief barely masking dread.

Back at the house, I stood before the door once more. The key was still in my hand. Still cool. Still rusted. Still real.

Why me? Why had I found it? Why did it feel like something ancient and lonely had waited just for me to walk through that door? Was it pity that bound me to this ethereal woman named Myoui Mina? Or something far more dangerous—far more personal?

Maybe I was just a fool, craving connection in the wrong place. Maybe I was a moth, fluttering closer to a flame I didn’t understand.

But even if it was reckless… my heart didn’t feel scared.

It felt called. And that was the scariest part of all.

Part VII – The One Who Waited

I didn’t remember unlocking the door again.

I didn’t even remember setting my shoes aside or climbing the stairs. My hands moved on their own, drawn by something I couldn’t name—an instinct, a thread, a breath.

All I knew was that I returned home, walked into that room, and fell deeper into a kind of horror I didn’t know how to name.

Because this time, she was there. Not in a dream. Not as a sound behind the mirror or a warmth in the dust.

She was there.

Myoui Mina.

Or someone who looked like her.

Someone who moved like her, who breathed as if her lungs still carried the weight of air. Someone whose eyes met mine like they had always been waiting to.

And I froze. Because logic told me she couldn’t be real.

Because the world outside told me Mina was a memory, a tragedy, a forgotten song tied to a sealed room in a creaking house no one wanted to remember.

But none of that mattered. Not when I could see her now. Not when I could feel her.

Her presence was soft but certain, like a slow ripple in still water. She didn’t blink in confusion or smile like a specter. She stood by the piano, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the bench. Waiting.

Her eyes met mine like she already knew my name. Like she’d been watching from the other side of that door long before I ever stepped foot in this place.

And I… I didn’t run. I didn’t scream or question or tear the room apart looking for wires, tricks, illusions. Because none of it mattered. Because I could feel her.

I walked closer, careful, like approaching a deer in the woods. Like one sudden movement would make her vanish into dust and silence again.

“...Who are you?” I whispered, but it wasn’t the question I needed to ask.

Because I already knew who she was. I’d seen her photo. Heard her melody. Read the dust-covered sorrow stitched into this house. The better question—the one clawing at my throat—was why me? Why now?

But she tilted her head, a ghost of a smile curling at her lips. And when she spoke, it wasn’t in riddles or echoes. It was real. Tangible.

“You came back.”

Her voice was light, almost childlike in its awe. She stepped forward, one slow movement at a time, like we were stuck in a world that moved slower than the rest. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

I swallowed. “...I didn’t know I would.”

Silence settled between us. Not awkward. Just full. Like we’d stepped into a conversation that had started long ago and paused only until now.

She glanced toward the mirror behind the piano—now spotless, glowing faintly in the dim light. No fog. No dust. Just clarity.

“I tried to reach you,” she said, “when you were here the first time.”

My heart pounded.

“That was you... in the music?”

She nodded once. “It was all I had. The song… it remembers. Even when the walls forget.”

My throat was dry. “What are you?”

She looked at me for a long time, as if weighing whether the answer would help me—or shatter me.

“I don’t know anymore,” she finally said, voice soft, “but I know I’m not a dream.”

Her fingers reached out then, brushing against mine. Warm. Soft. Solid. Not like mist. Not like memory. Real.

I felt my breath hitch. And suddenly it wasn’t about ghosts or spirits or haunted houses anymore. It was about her. This woman with sad eyes and a voice like a lullaby. This mystery with a presence I couldn’t turn away from.

I didn’t care if logic spat in my face and said I’d gone mad. I didn’t care if tomorrow I woke up and none of this was true. Because right now, she was standing in front of me.

And my soul felt like it recognized her.

“Why me?” I asked again, quieter this time.

She hesitated. Looked down, then back at me. “I don’t know. I just know… the house chose you. Or maybe I did.”

I blinked. “You wanted to see me?”

She gave the faintest smile. “Not see. Know.”

I don’t know what it was, but something in me cracked.

This entire time, I thought I’d come here to escape. To run from life. From pressure. From expectations and chaos.

But here was this woman—this presence—saying she wanted to know me, and something about that broke open a door inside me I didn’t even know existed.

“I don’t understand any of this,” I admitted. “And maybe I’m not supposed to. But when I saw your photo… when I heard your music…”

My voice trembled. “...I wanted to be your comfort.”

Her breath caught. I saw it—just barely—but it was there.

A ripple. A real reaction.

“Was it pity?” I whispered. “Or something else...?”

She stepped closer. And her hand cupped my cheek. Her fingers were trembling.

But they were real. And so was her gaze—melancholy, wonder, and something deeper swimming just below the surface.

“I don’t care what you call it,” she said. “Just don’t leave.”

The words weren’t desperate. They weren’t commands. They were pleas.

A quiet hope wrapped in years of silence and waiting. And for once… I didn’t want to run.

Part VIII – The Ballerina and the Watcher

I don’t know how long we stood there.

The weight of the silence didn’t crush me like it did before. It wrapped around us instead—gentle, reverent. Like the house itself knew not to interrupt.

And maybe I should’ve asked her more questions. Pressed her on what she was. How she was.

But none of it mattered.

Not when she looked like this.

A ballerina.

No—something beyond that.

There was eerie grace in every tilt of her head, in the way her hands floated at her sides like petals on water. The woman in the photo was beautiful, yes—but the photo hadn’t captured this stillness. This living, breathing contradiction of fragility and power.

And in that moment, all I could do was stare.

As if sensing the worship in my gaze, she turned her head, expression soft. Curious.

“Do you want to watch ballet?” she asked, like it was the most natural question in the world.

I nodded before I even registered it, slow and mesmerized. My body answered for me.

She smiled. That same, infuriating, maddening, breathtaking smile.

“Then watch me.”

She stepped back, light as a whisper, and I sat down on the faded chaise without breaking eye contact.

The music started—her music. Somehow the piano played itself. Or perhaps her presence played it. Perhaps the melody lived in the walls, awakened by her.

I didn’t know. And I didn’t care. Because then she moved. Spun. Lifted.

She didn’t dance like the world was watching. She danced like only I was watching. Like she had been waiting all this time for an audience of one.

I barely breathed.

Her arms curved through the air, every motion smooth, measured, deliberate. The grace was unreal—but she was real. Too real. Her feet landed like falling feathers, her body defied gravity, but the air shifted with every step. I could feel her presence stir the dust, command the silence.

She wasn’t just dancing. She was existing. And I watched like a man spellbound by divinity.

“You’re beautiful…” The words fell from my lips before I could stop them.

She didn’t pause or falter. But she smiled, faintly, while twirling, as if she’d heard them perfectly. “You say that like it’s hard to believe.”

“No,” I murmured, “I say it like it hurts to believe.”

She paused at the edge of her turn, light resting on her profile. A portrait of movement frozen in reverence. “Why does it hurt?”

I hesitated. Then told the truth. “Because you’re not supposed to be here. None of this is.”

“But I am here.”

“I know. That’s what scares me.”

Her eyes softened as she took a step closer. “You fear what you don’t understand?”

“No.” My voice was lower now. “I fear what I’ll never deserve.”

She blinked, surprised. And I immediately regretted saying it. But it was too late. The truth had cracked open. I’d said what had been lodged in my throat since the first time I saw her.

She stood still for a heartbeat. Then walked to me—slow, sure, quiet as moonlight.

When she reached me, she leaned forward slightly. Our faces only inches apart.

“You’re not here by mistake,” she whispered.

I looked into her eyes—those sad, starlit eyes that felt like they’d seen a hundred lifetimes of solitude. And I whispered back. “Then what am I doing here?”

“Seeing me.” Her voice was velvet and silence wrapped together. “When no one else ever could.”

I swallowed hard. “Because they were scared of you?”

She shook her head slowly. “Because they never tried. Impatient. Filled with expectations to see me”

We stared at each other for a moment, something raw and quiet passing between us. Not love. Not yet. But understanding. That aching, dangerous pull that lives between strangers who aren’t strangers anymore.

“Why did you choose me?” I asked, voice cracking slightly.

She looked away, almost shy. “Because you didn’t treat me like a secret.”

The words pierced something soft in me. I stood without thinking. Now we were eye-level. My hand raised slowly—not to touch her, just to exist in the space near her.

And for the first time, she let herself look at me fully. Not as a ghost. Not as a memory. But as a woman.

“You watch me like I’m more than I am,” she said.

I exhaled slowly. “And you move like you’re more than real.”

A silence.bThen a faint laugh slipped from her lips. Not mocking. Just… warm. Like she hadn’t laughed in a long, long time.

“What do I look like to you?”

I didn’t know how to answer. So I didn’t. I just looked. Every inch of her was poetry—the kind of beauty that a man could live a hundred years and still never write properly.

Her presence filled the space with something sacred. And maybe it was worship. Not the kind bound to religion. But the kind that blooms in quiet admiration. In awe.

In the way a man watches a ballerina dancing in a room the world forgot.

Part IX – The Ballerina’s Story

It was after her dance that I finally dared to ask.

The room had quieted again, save for the soft echo of her presence still lingering in the corners. She had returned to her seat on the old velvet stool by the window, her silhouette a living portrait framed by moonlight.

I watched her fingers gently trail along the edge of the cracked wooden sill, her expression unreadable.

I swallowed, hesitant. “Mina… can I ask you something?”

She glanced at me, eyes calm but alert. Like she already knew what I was about to say.

“You want to know what happened to me.”

“I do,” I admitted. “I heard some things. The townsfolk… the ahjumma at the store. They said you were always dancing. Like you were training for something. Something big.”

She smiled faintly, as if the memory tasted distant on her tongue.

“I was.”

“What was it for?”

She looked back out the window.

“A future that never came.”

I felt something sink in my chest.

“They said you came here with your parents. Rich family. Art-lovers. They bought this place for peace. Quiet.”

She nodded slowly.

“They loved nature. Old homes. Silence.” She paused. “And me.”

“They passed early?” I asked gently.

She turned her head, that smile no longer warm. Just soft. Distant.

“Too early. Car accident. I was seventeen.”

I exhaled sharply, guilt crawling in my stomach.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She folded her hands on her lap. “They were kind. And they left me everything. The house. The funds. The dreams.”

“You were going to perform internationally?”

“That was the plan.” She tilted her head. “Paris. Moscow. London. Stages I used to dream about as a child.”

She stood then, walked to the bookshelf in the corner. Ran her fingers along the worn spines of forgotten novels.

“But then…” she trailed off.

I waited. But she didn’t finish.

“You disappeared,” I said quietly.

She faced me again. “I did.”

“Why?”

Another pause.

Then her voice, a whisper: “Because I was forgotten.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer directly.

Instead, she crossed the room and sat across from me, close enough that I could see the faint shimmer in her eyes. She looked so real in that moment. Not a ghost. Not a vision. Just a woman with a story she wasn’t ready to fully tell.

“You ask about what happened to me,” she said softly. “But you never asked why I let you find me.”

I blinked. “You let me?”

She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over mine. The touch was cool—but solid. Present. Real.

“You came here to escape something,” she whispered. “You think I didn’t notice? The way your hands shake at night? The way your eyes look like they’re always searching for peace?”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

“You think you found me by accident?” Her eyes bore into mine. “No. You came here because you needed to.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Then why won’t you just tell me what happened to you?”

She leaned in slightly. “Because if I told you everything… you might let go.”

That made me freeze.

“What?”

“You’re focusing so hard on my story,” she said, voice barely above a whisper, “but you don’t see what I see.”

“And what’s that?” I asked slowly.

She smiled—but it didn’t reach her eyes this time.

“You’re falling.”

My breath caught.

“Falling?”

“Into me.” Her hand was still gently resting atop mine. “And I want you to.”

The room felt suddenly smaller.

More intimate. Or maybe just more honest.

“That’s why you’re being vague,” I said, realization dawning. “You want me to stay… not because of your story. But because of you.”

“Is that so bad?”

Her voice held no manipulation. No malice.

Just truth.

And longing.

I pulled my hand away slightly, not because I didn’t want the contact—but because I needed space to think.

To breathe.

“I don’t know what this is,” I said, quietly.

She looked down at her lap.

“Neither do I.”

“You were… gone for years. No one knew where you went.”

“And yet you found me,” she said softly.

I stared at her, at the curve of her jaw, the quiet ache in her eyes.

“I was supposed to come here for peace. For rest. To be alone.”

“So was I,” she replied.

And that silence fell between us again.

Except now it was heavier. More honest.

I stood, pacing slightly to the other side of the room.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough to be haunted by someone like you,” I confessed.

“What if I’m not here to haunt you?”

I turned to look at her. “Then what are you here for?”

She stood slowly, approaching me. No sound. Just presence.

When she reached me, she looked up, and for once there was no mystery in her expression.

Just softness.

“To be seen. To be remembered. To be loved.”

The air seemed to still.

I searched her face for a sign.

A lie. A trick. Some ghostly veil to lift.

But all I found was her. The girl in the photo. The woman who danced alone in a house no one remembered. The soul who had waited for something—someone—to make her more than a memory.

“And you think I’m that someone?” I asked, unsure if I was terrified or honored.

“You already are.”

My heart was hammering.

Not from fear.

But from something far more dangerous.

The beginning of surrender.

Part X – The Beginning of Surrender

That night, I didn’t sleep.

Not from fear. Not anymore.

But from a restlessness I couldn’t name. A presence under my skin, whispering, humming—Mina.

I kept going back to her words, to the way she looked at me.

“You already are.”

I was never meant to stay here long. A few weeks. A month. Just enough time to breathe, write, recover from the chaos of the life I’d been drowning in. But now… time felt slippery here. Days passed without rhythm. The line between dream and waking had thinned.

I couldn’t tell how many nights had passed since I found the key. Since I opened the room that was never supposed to be opened.

I stood in the hallway now, outside that very door. My hand on the knob.

I didn’t knock anymore.

She always knew when I was coming.

And she was always waiting.

The door creaked open.

There she was.

Standing in the middle of the room barefoot, her arms crossed in front of her chest lightly, dressed in a soft cream gown that shimmered like mist. Her long black hair was tied in a low ribbon, swaying gently as she turned to me.

She smiled.

And I was already falling again.

“You look tired,” she said.

“I didn’t sleep,” I admitted.

“Because of me?”

“Because of everything.”

She walked to me without a sound, took my hand like it belonged to her.

“Then let me help you forget.”

I didn’t ask what she meant.

Because I didn’t care.

I let her pull me into the room, the air scented faintly with old wood and dried rose petals. She guided me to sit on the edge of the couch near the fireplace—the one that hadn't been lit in years but still somehow gave warmth.

Then she sat beside me, barely an inch between us.

She didn’t speak at first.

Neither did I.

It was enough that we were here.

After a while, she turned to me.

“Do you believe people can return from pain?”

I looked at her, startled.

“What do you mean?”

“Not physically. Not from injury. I mean… when something invisible breaks inside you.”

I swallowed.

“I think that’s harder than healing anything physical.”

She nodded slowly.

“That’s what I thought too. Until you came.”

My throat tightened.

“Mina…”

She leaned her head on my shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to understand me,” she whispered. “You’re just supposed to feel me.”

And I did.

Everything about her was subtle intensity. A slow burning candle in a pitch-black room. She wasn’t loud. Or demanding. But she was everywhere.

My every thought, every heartbeat.

“I came here to be alone,” I said, not looking at her.

“So did I.”

“And now?”

She paused.

“Now, I don’t want to disappear again.”

“Is that what happened to you? You disappeared?”

She closed her eyes.

“Or maybe the world just stopped seeing me.”

We sat in silence again, her weight warm and real against my side.

I didn’t know what time it was. I didn’t care.

“Are you… real?” I finally asked, the question haunting me every day since that first night.

She pulled back, met my eyes.

“Does it matter?”

I wanted to say yes.

That I needed answers. Clarity. That I couldn’t fall for something if it wasn’t tangible. If it wasn’t grounded in reality.

But I didn’t say anything.

Because the truth was… I was already in too deep.

“You feel real.”

“That’s enough.”

I stared at her.

Her eyes. Her lips. Her existence.

My mind screamed for logic. My body begged for closeness.

“You’re dangerous,” I murmured.

She smiled.

“So are you.”

Then she leaned forward. Gently. Carefully. Giving me space to move back.

I didn’t.

Her forehead touched mine.

And suddenly, the world didn’t matter.

Not the town.

Not the house.

Not the years she’d been missing.

Just her. Just now.

I closed my eyes, breathing her in.

“I don’t know what this is,” I whispered.

“Neither do I.”

“I should walk away.”

“But you won’t.”

I opened my eyes.

She was already looking into me, as if searching for a place to belong.

And she found it.

In me.

“Stay tonight,” she said softly. “Don’t leave this room.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to do anything. Just stay.”

I should’ve said no.

I should’ve run.

But all I did was nod.

And when she took my hand and led me to the floor where she laid out soft blankets and pillows that hadn’t been there before, I let her.

We lay beside each other, not touching, but so close I could hear her breathing.

“Will you be here in the morning?” I asked.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she whispered:

“Will you?”

Part XI – Where Morning Feels Like a Dream

I woke up with a chill tracing the nape of my neck.

Not from cold.

From breath.

Her breath.

Soft. Measured. Almost deliberate.

I opened my eyes.

She was there.

Lying beside me on her side, her face inches from mine, eyes wide open, watching me.

And smiling.

Not in the way lovers smile. Not warm, not teasing. It was… reverent. Curious. As if she’d been watching me sleep for hours, memorizing the subtle twitches in my face. The rise and fall of my chest.

“You don’t snore,” she whispered.

My voice cracked when I tried to respond.

“Were you watching me all night?”

She blinked. Once. Slowly.

“I didn’t want to miss a single second of you being real.”

Something about that should’ve terrified me.

Instead, it sent goosebumps crawling down my arms.

She sat up, gracefully, her hair a cascade of night. The light was soft this morning, seeping in through drawn curtains like milk through water. She was barely glowing in it. Still unreal. Still ethereal.

Still Mina.

She stretched, her back arched, eyes closed in serenity. Her bare feet slid against the wooden floor with no sound.

I sat up slowly.

The room smelled different.

Like crushed lavender and candle wax. Not from the night before.

Like it had been… tended to while I slept.

“Did you leave?” I asked.

“Only for a moment,” she said, already twirling slowly in the space between us. Her gown fluttered around her like mist.

“Where did you go?”

She stopped mid-spin.

“To make tea.”

I hadn’t heard a kettle. No clinking. Nothing.

She turned back to me, tilting her head.

“I wanted your first morning here to feel like a dream.”

I swallowed.

“It already does.”

She smiled wider at that.

I noticed something then—subtle but sharp.

Her hands.

Red along the edges. Faint marks.

As if pressed too long into something solid. Like she'd gripped a railing too hard. Or pulled herself from somewhere heavy.

I didn’t ask.

I didn’t want to break whatever spell this was.

She stepped closer, barefoot and silent.

“You stayed.”

“You asked me to.”

“Most don’t.”

That stopped me.

“What do you mean… ‘most’?”

She just looked at me.

And then leaned down, her face a breath away from mine again.

“Don’t ask questions you aren’t ready to understand.”

The room pulsed with quiet. A tension, not threatening but… electric. Every second that passed with her near felt like temptation personified. Not lust. Not desire. Something deeper. Like if I said the wrong thing, she’d disappear forever. Or worse—never leave.

She sat beside me again, brushing hair behind her ear.

“You asked me once if I was real.”

“I remember.”

“You never asked if you were.”

I froze.

“What are you trying to say?”

She tilted her head again, watching me with that impossible calm.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re just something I dreamed up when I got too lonely.”

My heart stuttered.

“But I found the key. I came here. I—”

She placed a finger over my lips.

“Shh.”

Silence pressed in. Only the sound of the wind tapping gently against the old windows. No birds. No traffic. No time.

She whispered, as if confessing to herself:

“I used to dance every morning. Even after they were gone. Even when the curtains stayed closed and the floorboards creaked like ghosts. I danced until I forgot what silence meant.”

She looked at me, eyes glassy.

“And then one day… I stopped. And the world stopped with me.”

I reached for her hand.

It was cold.

But not dead.

Not lifeless.

Just… waiting for warmth.

“I’m here now,” I said softly.

She smiled at that. A real smile this time.

Soft. Fragile.

“Then don’t be in a rush to wake up.”

And for once, I wasn’t.

Part XII – If I Am Dead, Tell Me When

There was a point where my mind stopped asking questions.

Not because I had the answers.

But because I was afraid of what they might be.

That morning, as Mina’s fingers gently traced the rim of a porcelain teacup, I sat across from her… breathing, blinking, pretending everything was fine.

But deep down, something kept whispering to me.

What if I’m not alive?

What if this—this house, this silence, this hauntingly beautiful woman—isn’t a dream at all… but the end?

I didn’t remember dying. But how could you? Wouldn’t death feel like sleep if you weren’t looking?

Had I crashed on the road coming here? Slipped in the woods and hit my head? Never made it past the threshold of the house?

Is that why I could see her?

Because I’d crossed some invisible line between memory and spirit?

I watched her lips move as she spoke softly about tea leaves and dreams, but I wasn’t hearing the words anymore. I was stuck.

Inside my own mind.

“You’re quiet,” she said, tilting her head with that eerie elegance.

“Just thinking,” I answered, managing a tight smile.

“That sounds dangerous,” she teased, and smiled. “Don’t get lost in that mind of yours. You’ll forget how to return.”

Her words hit too close.

Too precisely.

Was that a warning?

Was this all some trick my brain was playing on me—a hallucination? Some elaborate mental theater born from loneliness and grief? The photo. The ahjumma’s stories. The locked door. The aura of this house. The silence.

Had I conjured her out of a desperate need to be held by something that wouldn’t abandon me?

Was I so broken that I gave that need a face?

Her face?

I gripped the teacup harder.

It was warm. Real.

But dreams felt real too. And so did death, I imagined.

I looked at her again. Her features flawless, symmetrical, too soft for reality. Like an oil painting that stepped down from the canvas to whisper your name.

“Mina.”

She looked up, her eyes catching the gold streaks of morning light.

“Yes?”

“Are you… real?”

She didn’t react with offense or confusion. Instead, she placed the teacup down gently, and stood up with the grace of moonlight itself.

Then she came to me.

And sat down beside me.

Her fingers touched my jaw, and turned my face toward hers.

“If I wasn’t, would it change the way you feel about me?”

I swallowed.

She leaned closer.

“You want answers. But you never ask yourself the right question.”

“And what is that?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Why does it matter?”

That stopped me.

“Because I need to know what’s happening to me.”

“You’re falling in love,” she said plainly, almost sadly.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

I stared into her eyes. There were galaxies in them. Pain. Centuries of longing. And something else… a strange reflection of me.

Was she even capable of lying?

Or was this my mind’s way of dressing up the truth in a gown?

I stood up, pacing slightly.

“What if I’m dead, Mina?” I asked, voice rising just enough. “What if that’s why I can see you?”

She didn’t answer.

“Tell me—when did I die? Was it the moment I walked into this house? Was it before? Did I just imagine everything after that?”

Still, she said nothing.

I turned to her.

“Or worse… What if you’re the one who’s dead? What if I’m losing my mind and you’re just a story I wanted to save so badly, I made you real?”

Silence.

Mina rose slowly.

And walked toward me.

She didn’t touch me.

Not this time.

She just stood in front of me. Close. Still.

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes every difference.”

“Then tell me,” she said, voice trembling now. “If I’m just a story, why do I remember your touch? Why does my heart race when you look at me like that?”

I stared.

She took a step closer.

“Why do I feel jealous of the world you left behind? Why do I fear the moment you’ll leave me too?”

I reached for her hand.

It wasn’t cold this time.

It was trembling.

Just like mine.

Our fingers interlaced.

And something in me cracked.

Maybe I was alive. Maybe I was not.

Maybe she was a ghost.

Maybe I was.

But standing there, holding her… I didn’t care.

Because she felt.

Because I felt.

And that had to mean something.

She rested her forehead against mine, eyes fluttering closed.

“Don’t ask me if I’m real,” she whispered. “Ask yourself why you don’t want to leave.”

And I knew, at last, what terrified me the most.

It wasn’t the mystery.

It wasn’t death.

It wasn’t even the idea that she was a hallucination born of grief and obsession.

It was that none of it mattered anymore.

I didn’t want to wake up.

Because this haunting… was the only thing that had ever made me feel seen.

Part XIII – The One Who Watched Me Dance

That evening, the house was quieter than usual.

No wind.

No creaking.

No shadows dancing at the edges of my sight.

Only her.

Mina.

Standing by the old record player, her fingers ghosting over its surface, as if recalling songs she hadn’t heard in decades.

I sat on the worn velvet chair, staring.

Still unsure what realm I was in, still unsure if the ground beneath me was real or if my own longing had pulled me into a dream I never wanted to wake up from.

But then, she turned.

And the moment our eyes met, I felt it again.

That stillness.

That ache.

She walked toward me slowly, not like a ghost, but like someone burdened with something heavy… a truth maybe.

She stopped a step away.

“I never imagined I would be seen again.”

I opened my mouth, but no words came.

She smiled, faint and weary.

“But you saw me.”

I frowned.

“I didn’t know you. Not really.”

She shook her head gently.

“No. You didn’t. But you wanted to.”

Mina sat down on the armrest beside me, her fingers brushing through my hair with a touch too real for fiction.

“You didn’t fall for the woman in the photo. Not truly.”

I looked at her.

“Then what did I fall for?”

She leaned in, her voice the softest it had ever been.

“The story. The idea. The silent ballerina no one ever waited for. The girl who danced for no one. The girl who was left behind… until you.”

A lump built in my throat.

She took a breath—deep and shaking.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to be remembered? Not found, not pitied—but remembered. Wished for.”

She looked at me now. Not like a mystery. Not like a ghost. But as a woman with heart and ache.

“I felt it. The moment you stepped into this house. I felt your longing. Like it was calling out to me through the floorboards, through the cracked wallpaper and dust.”

“Mina…”

“I don’t know what I am anymore,” she admitted. “A spirit? A memory? A thought you made real?”

She looked down.

“But I know what you are.”

I blinked slowly.

“What?”

She pressed a hand against my chest, over my heart.

“You’re the one who didn’t need a reason to love me.”

Silence fell.

She was trembling now.

“You didn’t need my voice. You didn’t need my presence. You didn’t even need a full story. Just… a glimpse. A whisper. A photograph. And still… something inside you decided—‘I’ll stay. I’ll wait. I’ll watch.’”

My throat burned.

She smiled sadly.

“There’s something so pure about that.”

Tears welled in her eyes.

“No one waited for me. Not when the applause stopped. Not when my parents passed. Not when I danced until my feet bled in this house with no one to hear. They all forgot.”

She paused.

“But you—a stranger who never knew me—you stayed.”

She lowered her forehead to my shoulder now.

“And I don’t know if this is heaven or some cruel dream. But for the first time… I’m not alone.”

I wrapped my arms around her.

Not gently.

Not carefully.

But desperately.

As if holding her could stop time.

As if gripping her tightly enough would keep the truth from unraveling again.

“I didn’t know you,” I whispered against her hair. “But I knew that I wanted to.”

She looked up at me then, eyes shimmering with pain and something deeper.

Hope.

“Even if I was just a picture?”

“Even then.”

“Even if you only heard of me through stories?”

“Even then.”

“Even if I was never real?”

I cupped her face.

“Especially then.”

She smiled.

And I swear—for a moment—I saw her glow.

Like her body was lit from the inside by something no physics could explain.

A dancer’s soul reignited by love.

By longing.

By someone who simply wanted to watch her dance, even if it meant staying forever in a room where time no longer mattered.

She stood now, wordless.

And stepped into the center of the room.

The floor creaked gently as she took position.

No music played.

No applause waited.

But she began to move.

To dance.

And I—rooted to my chair—watched.

Because that’s what I came here for, didn’t I?

Not to be healed.

Not to find peace.

But to find her.

To witness something the world had forgotten.

And never let it be forgotten again.

Even if it took me a lifetime.

Even if it cost me one.

Part XIV – In the Grasp of Her Dance

Time blurred into something abstract—not measured in hours or days but in dances, kisses, and glances exchanged under dim light. I don’t remember when it started.

But she was always there. Mina. With that same ballerina grace. That same smile laced with secrets. That same voice that melted through silence like candle wax.

Every day, we danced. She showed me how to move like her, how to bend and twirl and fall into her rhythm. We laughed—sometimes so hard that it echoed through the hollow walls, as if the house itself had begun to breathe with us.

And in between, there were kisses. Gentle at first. Then deeper. Hungrier. Passionate in a way that felt sacred.

Her skin against mine felt like silk soaked in moonlight. Her voice, a lullaby and a curse. Love turned into something else. Something more. Something I couldn't name.

We danced until the floor creaked under our feet like it wanted to cry out. We kissed until the windows fogged, as if the house was too shy to witness our hunger. We touched each other like we were the only things left in a world that had forgotten everyone else.

But as the days passed, a slow, creeping fear began to slither under the surface of our paradise. Sometimes I would turn around, and she wouldn’t be there. Not vanished. Just... gone. Like she was never in the room at all. I’d call her name. No answer.

But then she would reappear behind me, smile softly and kiss me like nothing had changed. "You disappeared," I would say, breath shaky.

"Did I?" she would reply, serene.

"You're real, right?"

"I'm neither real nor unreal," she would whisper, lips brushing my ear. "I am what you need me to be."

There was something frightening about that. But I didn’t run. Because how could I run from something that felt this divine?

Mina became... more. Not just a woman. A presence. A force that wrapped around me. She became my routine, my oxygen, my reason to wake up and close my eyes. She began to ask me strange things.

"Would you follow me anywhere?" she asked one night, body pressed against mine, skin cold and fire at once.

"Would you let the world go?"

"Would you give up your name, your life, your memories—just to stay with me?"

Her words were sweet and terrifying. The kind of horror that seduces you while slowly swallowing your soul. And the worst part? I said yes. Every time. Without hesitation.

I didn’t know how long it’d been since I left the house. A week? A month? I only went out for food when I had to.

The city outside had become something foreign. People didn’t greet me anymore. Some didn’t even seem to notice me. As if I had become invisible. A shade walking among the living. But it didn’t matter.

Because she was there. Always waiting when I came back, standing barefoot in the hallway, smiling like she knew I’d never truly leave.

"They can’t see you now," she whispered once. "You're already mine."

I laughed it off at the time. But later that night, as I stared at the mirror and saw something pale and unfamiliar staring back, I wasn’t so sure.

Was I still me? Was I ever? Maybe the Silent Room had taken me in the same way it took her. Maybe I had been absorbed, swallowed into its floorboards, its memories.

Maybe Mina had me in her grasp. A ghost bride in an eternal pirouette. A curse. But to me? It wasn’t a curse. It was heaven.

She would cling to me in the middle of the night, whispering secrets in my ear I didn’t understand.

She would trace her fingers over my spine and say: "You feel like a man still holding onto something."

"Let it go. Let it die."

Her words were like silk wrapping tighter around my throat, and I didn’t resist.

Because what is life without love? What is sanity without someone to lose it for?

We danced in the dead of night. With no music. Just the sound of our heartbeats. Sometimes I would see her eyes glow faintly in the dark, and I would pretend not to notice. Sometimes she would hum a tune that I was sure hadn’t existed in decades, and I would hum along, pretending I knew it.

One night, mid-dance, she stopped and pressed her forehead to mine. "You’re mine now."

"Yes," I breathed.

"Even if I’m not real?"

"Especially then."

She kissed me then. And it was the kind of kiss that didn't belong in reality. The kind that unmade the walls around me. The kind that erased every voice but hers.

I forgot what my old life was. I couldn’t remember the last time I held my phone. My job, my bills, my name—all distant echoes in a theater where only she performed. And I applauded her. Over and over.

Because even if this was a hallucination, even if I had lost my mind completely, I wanted to remain in this madness. In her arms. In her world.

The lines between dream and waking were already dust. What mattered was that I could feel her. Touch her. Love her.

Even if she was bliss or malice. Even if I was no longer in the world I came from. Even if I was no longer me. Because she was everything.

And she had me. In her dance. In her grasp.

Forever.

#twice #mina #myoui mina #twice mina #myoui mina x reader #twice x male reader #twice x reader #nayeon #chaeyoung #jeongyeon #jihyo #sana #momo #tzuyu #twice smut #mina x reader

192 notes · View notes

adrienneleclerc · 7 months ago

Text

Any Kind of Guy

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x Reader

Summary: Logan Sargeant has a huge crush on his next door neighbor and will practically do anything to get close to her

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: based off the Big Time Rush song of the same name, Oscar Piastri and Logan are roommates in this and Logan is still in F1.

It all started when Logan and Oscar were coming back from playing golf with Alex and Lando and they a moving van parked in front of their building.

“Is someone moving in?” Oscar asked.

“Looks like it, but who moved out? Oh please be the cat lady from upstairs.” Logan said, crossing his fingers and Oscar hit his arm.

“Well let’s check who is our new neighbor.” Oscar said before they parked their car in their parking space. They walked out and saw someone carrying a box but the box was blocking their face.

“Excuse me, do you need help?” Logan asked and the person put the box down, revealing their face. Logan was in awe by the beauty of the girl.

“Oh yes please, this shit weighs a ton.” Y/N said.

“Oh, you’re a American too?” Logan asked,

“Yeah I am, I’m Y/N, I live in the apartment 13B.” Y/N introduced herself.

“I’m Logan, this is my friend Oscar, we live in 13C.” Logan said,

“Well looks like we’re neighbors.” Y/N said.

And they have been neighbors for months now. Over those few months, Logan has become good friends with Y/N and so has Oscar. Right now, Logan and Oscar decided to go out to Nando's with Y/N after the Singapore Grand Prix. When the waitress served their food, Y/N just stared at her food.

"You have lived here for months now, one would think you'd stop making faces at your food." Oscar said, eating a "chip".

"One would also think i'd start calling them chips, but they are fucking fries, my Aussie friend." Y/N said "What do y'all plan on doing during your break?"

"Why, you need help with something?" Logan asked, always eager to help Y/N in whatever she needs.

"Kinda. I have to get my fucking wisdom teeth removed tomorrow and I obviously don’t have a lot of friends here, I need someone to take me a pick me up because there’s no way I’m fucking driving when I’m on anesthesia. Do you think one of you can take me?" Y/N asked.

"Yeah, i can take you." Logan said and Oscar just stared at him.

"Are you sure, mate?” Oscar asked.

“Yeah, are you sure you’re not busy?” Y/N asked.

“Of course I’m sure. Besides, we’re neighbors, it will definitely be easier for me to take you after your wisdom teeth removal.” Logan said.

“Thanks, you’re the best. I have to go back to work, I’ll see you guys later.” Y/N salud, waving goodbye. Once Y/N was out of earshot, Oscar spoke.

“Mate, how whipped Can you be? You’re going to take her to the oral surgeon?” Oscar asked.

“I’ll do whatever she needs me to do. Now I gotta look up what you can eat after wisdom teeth removal.” Logan said and Oscar sighed.

“You’re doing husband things on a best friend budget, you’re actually crazy about her.” Oscar said.

“You bet I am, bitch.” Logan said.

“Why are you calling me a bitch?” Oscar asked.

“Dude, we’ve been watching supernatural together, you’re supposed to call me a jerk.” Logan.

“Fine, jerk.” Oscar said.

“Nope, moments gone. We need to do some grocery shopping after lunch.” Logan said.

“Y/N?” Oscar asked.

“Yeah, want to make sure she has everything for tomorrow.” Logan said.

Oscar sighed but ultimately accompanied Logan to do some grocery shopping, stocking up on gauze, her favorite yogurt, premade tomato bisque, ice cream, potatoes so Logan can make (either mashed potatoes or potato soup, I prefer potato soup), and whatever else she needs to eat after a wisdom teeth extraction. After Logan paid for groceries, he used his spare key to open Y/N’s apartment and place everything her brought in the fridge, pantry and medicine cabinet with Oscar’s help. He also left a note of what he did.

When Y/N got out of work, she saw the note Logan left and smiled. She then knocked on his door and was greeted by a shirtless Logan, who just got out of the shower.

“Oops, sorry, I should have called. But I wanted to thank you for buying groceries, you didn’t have to do that, you know.” Y/N said.

“Of course I do, I know the dentist provides some gauze but we have no idea how often you’ll need to change yours.” Logan said,

“Thank you. Since I can’t eat anything before my appointment, I’m going to eat so much tonight, enjoy my last regular meal for the next week. My appointment is in the morning so I’ll see you then.” Y/N said and kissed Logan’s cheek before going back to her apartment. Oscar observed the whole interaction.

“Ooh, she kissed you, how do you feel, mate?” Oscar asked, behind Logan. Logan jumped at the sound of his voice.

“How long were you there?” Logan asked,

“When you were explaining to her why you bought gauze. You should ask her out already, she clearly likes you if she kissed your cheek, you don’t have to do her all these favors.” Oscar said.

“My love language is acts of service, sue me.” Logan said.

It’s the next morning and Oscar was woken up by someone knocking on the door. He threw a pillow at Logan and he wakes up.

“What was that for?” Logan asked.

“Someone is knocking on the door, go get it.” Oscar mumbled, trying to get back to sleep. Logan rolled his eyes and walked to the front door, he opened it to reveal Y/N wearing jeans, sneakers, and a juicy couture sweater.

“Morning, my appointment is in an hour and I’m nervous as fuck.” Y/N said walking in as Logan opened the door wider. “I mean the last time I got my teeth taken out was when I was a kid so my braces would fit better and that shit was painful, they just numbed the area, what if this happens again?”

“Y/N, they’ll put you under anesthesia, you’ll be asleep the whole time, you won’t feel a thing, okay? Let me get dressed and we can leave, I’ll buy myself breakfast on the way.” Logan said and Y/N nodded, feeling a little better after Logan’s words. Once he was dressed, he said goodbye to Oscar before coming out, telling Y/N they can go.

Logan drove to a McDonald’s drive thru to get a breakfast sandwich and coffee before driving to the oral surgeon for Y/N. They waited 25 minutes before Y/N was called to get her teeth out. After what seems like forever, a doctor came out saying “Y/N’s friend” and Logan stood up to talk to him.

“She did really well, she can’t really eat anything right now, so just clear liquids like chicken broth. Make sure she doesn’t change the gauze for another hour, she’s a bit groggy from the anesthesia but all good. Here’s the list of foods she can eat and also the rules that follow this procedure.” The doctor said.

“Okay, can she walk?” Logan asked.

“I think it’s better for you to escort her out. The medication that she needs to take should be in her pharmacy by now.” The doctors said,

“Thanks, doc. Okay, let’s go, Y/N,” Logan said, getting closer to Y/N and grabbing her hand to pull her off the waiting chair.

“Mah fah hah.” Y/N mumbled.

“Canta understand you babe, you have gauze in your mouth.” Logan said and Y/N was about to move it but Logan moved her hand away, “you can’t take of the gauze, not yet.” And Y/N whined. “I know, I know, let’s go to the car.” Logan said.

They walked to the car and Logan drove to the pharmacy to pick up her medication and drove home. Y/N was touching her face and Logan opened her door.

“Mah chuh eh nuh.” Y/N said. Logan opened the door and walked Y/N in.

“Alright, just sleep on the couch, okay? It says here that your head needs to be elevated so…” Logan started ‘arranging’ Y/N so she can sleep comfortably on the couch and he can keep an eye on her and he heats up the chicken broth he bought yesterday. Can’t be too hot though, could cause more swelling. Y/N fell asleep and within 2 hours, she’s awake and her face no longer feels numb. “Great, you’re up, change the gauze in your mouth, yeah?” Logan asked, Y/N walked in the bathroom and changed the gauze, walking back out.

“That was nasty.” Y/N said, sounding a little muffled.

“Yeah, do you want to eat now or when you stop bleeding?” Logan asked, Y/N raised 2 fingers. “Second option? Okay, you’ll eat later then.” Logan said, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer to hold it gently against her face. “Minimize the swelling for tomorrow. Today you’re good, but tomorrow is when the pain truly kicks in” and Y/N stared at him. “Right, sorry, you won’t be in that much pain though, scout’s honor. Next time you change the gauze, take your pills before applying the new ones.

“Yes nurse Logan.” Y/N mumble in a teasing tone, making him laugh.

Next morning, Y/N woke up to the sound of Logan cooking.

“Morning Y/N, how do you feel?” Logan asked.

“The back of my mouth hurts like a mother but I am so glad I don’t need gauze anymore.” Y/N said and Logan pulled out the ice pack from the freezer for Y/N, wrapped it in a paper towel, and handed it to her, she smiles. “Thank you for being my home nurse.” Placing the ice pack against her cheek.

“No problem. Are you up for eating yogurt for breakfast?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, I can settle for yogurt. I would much rather have those eggs and bacon you’re cooking though.” Y/N said.

“No can do, princess, strictly soft food for you until next week.” Logan said.

“Yes nurse Logan.” Y/N teased.

“Anyway, I’ll be making you mashed potatoes/potato soup.” Logan said

“Wow, I get nurse Logan and chef Logan, what other titles do you have?” Y/N asked.

“Any kind of guy you want, princess, that’s the kind I’ll be.” Logan said.

“That was incredibly cheesy, but thank you.” Y/N said.

“Yeah. I was wondering when you’re feeling better, if you wanted to go out with me. Like the 2 of us.” Logan said, wiping his hands on his jeans from nervousness.

“Like a date? Yeah, I’d love to.” Y/N said.

“Cool, cool, it’s not because of this, right?” Logan gesturing to where he’s cooking. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me.”

“Logan, I’ve liked you for a while now. Since you helped me move in, actually. I just didn’t think you’d be into me since you’re a F1 driver and all.” Y/N said.

“You’re beautiful, I would be stupidest if I weren’t into you.” Logan said. Unbeknownst to both of them, Oscar was standing outside Y/N’s apartment, listening in on their conversation, using a glass cup.

“Finally.” Oscar whispered in relief, happy that his 2 friends are now going to date. He went back to his apartment to make himself breakfast, grinning at the fact Logan finally confessed.

The End

The original idea was totally different but since I got my wisdom teeth out on Wednesday, I figured why not make my character go through the same thing. I have been living on yogurt, milkshakes, potato soup, and rice noodles. I’m at work now and I am hungry

#f1 x reader #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant #logan sargeant fluff #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #oscar piastri

277 notes · View notes

mingtinys · 1 year ago

Text

" i'm not stopping until you smile "

pairing : lee seokmin x gn!reader

"13 ways to say "i love you" with seventeen"

warnings : none

word count : 0.6 k

a/n :still not sure how i feel about the ending on this one

Sometimes it feels like the universe is actively out to get you. Like for some reason, whatever Gods above have chosen you as the perfect target for their cruel jokes as a cure for their boredom.

Everything that could have possibly gone wrong, had.

Your coffee spilled first thing in the morning, scorching your skin and ruining your uniform. The back left tire of your car was flat, forcing you to take the morning train. Which you missed due to your coffee incident. Work was hectic, your boss on your ass about anything and everything, and for some reason, every customer came in with a personal vendetta against you and you alone. And to top it all off, some creep wouldn't stop making comments at you on the train back home.

You're so desperate to just curl up in bed and hide from the world that you forgo the thought of dinner or cleaning like you had planned all together.

For what feels like hours, you lay there. Until the sun falls in the sky and your room fades into darkness. Unwilling to move even an inch to flip a light on or check your phone. Your apartment stays dead silent. Eventually, you hear the front door open and shut, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching closer. They pause just outside your bedroom door.

"Baby, are you in there?" Comes a voice, one so soft you nearly burst into tears from the sound of it alone. "I'm coming in, okay?"

The knob turns and in comes Seokmin, illuminated by a halo of light that pours in from the hallway. He takes one look at you and frowns. "Are you okay?" He asks, setting your spare key and his phone on your dresser before sitting on the edge of your bed.

"I got really worried when you weren't answering after work," he continues. "What happened?"

"It's fine, Seok," you sigh, already feeling like a burden on him. "But it's been a long day and I just really want to handle it alone, okay? I'm sorry you came all the way here."

He just stares at you, sad eyes searching your face for some type of answer. You feel like you've just kicked a puppy asking him to leave, but it's best this way. Seokmin's heart is far too soft, ready to soak up every ounce of negative emotion it can for him to bear the weight of. And you hate seeing Seokmin sad.

"You don't have to handle it alone though, that's what I'm here for." You really wish you could return his cheery optimism and put him at ease, but instead, you simply turn in your cocoon so you won't have to face his disappointed expression. Yet somehow, that doesn't deter him.

Whereas anyone else probably would've up and left by now, Seokmin simply scoops you up into his arms, blankets and all. He starts pressing wet, sloppy kisses all over your face before you can voice a single protest. Even when you attempt to hide from the barrage of affection in his chest he doesn't let up.

"Seokmin!" You whine, palms coming up to shield your face. He just laughs and easily pulls your wrists away, looping them behind his neck before pressing two more pecks to each cheek. Seokmin leans back to examine your face.

"I'm not stopping until you smile."

"I appreciate you trying but–"

Yet another merciless attack befalls your face, this time with exaggerated mwuahs for good measure. Though every few kisses, Seokmin mutters small, sincere 'I love yous' that begin to chip away at the walls you'd so desperately tried to construct.

So when your boyfriend finally pulls back for a second time he begins to beam with pride at the lopsided smile ghosting your lips. "There it is," he coos, softly lifting your chin with his thumb. "Now tell me, what almost stole my favorite sight in this world from me?"

taglist: @matchahyuck @dontwannaexsist @minnieminshi @myfavoritedelusion @tanya596carat

822 notes · View notes

incorrectbatfam · 1 year ago

Note

It's movie night but they can't use the home cinema, what do they do?

[week 1]

Bruce: Thanks for letting us use your place for movie night while we fix that leak at home.

Dick: No problem. Besides, I have plenty of snacks and the director's cut of Dumbo.

Everyone: *gathers around*

Dick: *puts on the movie*

~ 10 minutes in ~

*beep* *beep* *beep* *beep*

Tim: My crime alert's going off.

Harper: Mine too.

Duke: Must be big.

Bruce: Suit up and rendezvous in three.

Dick: *sighs and pauses the movie*

Dick: Can't get one night in this damn city.

———————

[week 2]

Tim: Steph, why are we at a karaoke lounge?

Steph: I know the owner's cousin's hairdresser's dog walker's sister's girlfriend and I convinced them to let us use the party room. Don't worry, it's just like a TV screen.

Steph: *puts on Pitch Perfect*

Steph: Ooh, I love this part.

Steph: *grabs a mic and starts singing*

Everyone:

Damian: *stuffs napkins in his ears*

———————

[week 3]

Jason: Since we decided on Pride and Prejudice, I thought I could play it at my safehouse.

Dick: Sweet, thanks!

Jason: *unlocks the door*

Dick: *tries to step in*

Jason: *stops him*

Jason: I said I could play it. I never said you could come in. I don't want your you-ness all over my new stuff.

Bruce: Jason, be reasonable.

Harper: Yeah, you got this junk off the side of the road.

Jason: My junk, my rules.

Tim: Then what are we supposed to do?

Jason: Fire escape's around the back. You'll get a decent glance.

~ 20 minutes later ~

Dick: *leans his head in to hear better*

Jason: My air, my rules.

Jason: *closes the window*

———————

[week 4]

Bruce: Cass, it's your turn. Got the movie?

Cass: *nods and plays Rambo on her computer*

Barbara: Uh, why isn't there any sound?

Cass: Volume button broke. Just read lips.

Jason: Kinda hard to do that with the brightness at zero. Did that stop working too?

Duke: Looks fine to me.

Jason: Shut up, Flashlight.

———————

[week 5]

Tim: I brought my entire Star Wars collection.

Bruce, dodging a space laser: Not the time.

Tim: Okay.

Bruce: *punches an alien robot*

Tim: How about now?

———————

[week 6]

Barbara: Sorry I got a cold, but at least we can still have movie night on Zoom. I torrented a copy of The Matrix.

Barbara: *shares her screen*

*movie plays*

Barbara: *leaves herself unmuted*

Barbara: *starts crinkling Sun Chips*

———————

[week 7]

Everyone: *crowd around Damian's phone watching My Neighbor Totoro*

Bette: Why is your phone so small?

Damian: I have tiny hands.

———————

[week 8]

Harper: Because we're watching Cars this week, I thought I could put together an all-immersive experience.

Bruce: BY LOCKING US IN A RUNAWAY SEMI-TRUCK?!?

———————

[week 9]

Duke: I called this company and since we're heroes, they're letting us use their electronic billboard for this week's movie at a huge discount. Kill Bill should be coming on right about...

*movie starts playing*

Jason: Not bad, Narrows.

*billboard switches to an ad*

———————

[week 10]

Carrie: Since Steamboat Willie is now public domain, I thought we could do something different tonight.

Carrie: *pulls out a flipbook*

———————

[week 11]

Everyone: *watching Love, Simon in a dark living room*

*lights flick on*

Apollo and Midnighter: *standing there in date night outfits*

Steph: Um, Cullen, who are these guys?

Cullen: *laughs nervously*

Cullen: Everyone, meet Apollo and Midnighter. They're kinda-sorta my gay uncles and we're kinda-sorta in their apartment and I kinda-sorta didn't expect them to come back early.

Midnighter: Remind me why we gave you a spare key?

———————

[week 12]

Kate: *sets up a projector and plays Glass Onion*

Bruce: Kate, this is a crime scene.

Kate: The fun part's already done, let Gordon do cleanup this time.

———————

[week 13]

Alfred: Back in my day, we did not rely on scrupulous use of technology. Which is why I propose watching a classic Sherlock Holmes tale on a classic instrument.

Alfred: *pulls out a zoetrope*

Steph: Anyone know what that is?

Dick: Not a clue.

———————

[week 14]

Luke: Nothing like a good ol' drive-in movie. Great idea, Helena.

Helena: I know, and the Godfather is perfect for this.

*Batmobile crashes through the screen*

Steph: Sorry we're late.

Duke: I'm still figuring out the PRINDL.

———————

[week 15]

*TV playing the Aristocats*

Bruce, trying to flirt: I like what you've done with the curtains.

Selina: Thanks, but it was Snowball's after-dinner surprise.

*TV blinks off*

Tim: Hey, what gives?

Selina: *takes a chewed-up cord out of a cat's mouth*

Selina, sighing: This is why I married rich.

———————

[week 16]

Luke: May I present the ultimate Snakes On A Plane drone show!

*phone rings*

Luke: Hello? ... Yes, this is he. ... Mhm. ... Yep. ... Okay.

Luke: Never mind, the FAA says I can't.

———————

[week 17]

Everyone: *watching Legally Blonde at Bette's place*

*dogs barking*

*sirens*

*loud music*

*car honk*

*neighbors shouting*

Bette: Sorry, we have thin walls.

Bruce, shrugging: Eh, still not as bad as HOA.

———————

[week 18]

Damian: Where is movie night this time, Father?

Barbara: My money's on another crime scene.

Bruce: Actually, I rented out the theater just for us and they're playing a special edition of The Mark of Zorro. Everyone got their snacks?

Duke: Popcorn, check.

Cass: Licorice, check.

Steph: M&Ms are obviously the right answer by the way.

Dick: I got a slushee.

Jason: I got the slushee machine.

Bruce: Alright then, take your seats. The movie's about to begin.

*movie plays*

*Rogues break in, make a mess, and leave*

Bruce:

Bruce: I miss my parents.

525 notes · View notes

hillbillyoracle · 7 months ago

Text

Preparing for a Winter Storm

I thought I'd share what I'm doing to prepare for the winter storm that's supposed to blow through on Sunday evening into Monday morning in case it's helpful to anyone. I know a few people got a lot out of my post on tornados and the first winter storm I went through on my own really rattled me so I hope it helps someone.

This wound up being longer than I thought it would be so TL;DR is stay warm, stock up on foods that don't require cooking, know when and how to bail.

The Challenges

Snow and ice cause different but related problems. The ice totals are what look more nasty for my particular area so that's what I'll be focusing on.

With ice there's some key issues I've experienced in the past:

Power Outages - this impacts all aspects of the home, lighting, cooking, hot air, hot water, communication, etc.

Cell Phone Outages - this can make getting help in an emergency very difficult, can make it difficult to search for information you need as well

Pipes Freeze and Burst - pretty self explanatory and also hell

Damage to Cars - tree limbs falling on it, ice can build up and cause issues if there are gaps that allow it to get into internal components, can cause damage to gas lines, driving in hazardous conditions can lead to a wreck, etc.

Trees Falling - Can fall on house, power lines, car, people, etc.

Power Outage Prep

Food

Stock up on foods that don't require any cooking at all. Try to get 3 days worth. I'm getting things like crackers, chips, Bobo's PB&Js, dried fruit, fruit pouches, and peanut butter. You might consider trail mix, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, clementines, etc.

Get paper plates and plastic utensils if you'll be using a back up cooking method. Cleaning becomes infinitely more onerous in a winter storm so it's best to limit it. I'll be using my rice cooker plugged into my Jackery as a backup cooking method. Back up to the backup is an alcohol stove - which you might be able to find for pretty cheap at a camping store. Propane camp stoves are another good option you can find in most Walmarts.

Have a plan for your fridge and freezer. People not infrequently wind up with food poisoning after a power outage because they try to eat food in their fridges and freezers that they shouldn't. USDA recommends you discard all food in the fridge if the power is off for more then 4 hours - this is with not opening the door. For you freezer, the recommendation is 48 hours (for a full freezer). If the temperatures allow for it, you can place your frozen goods outside.

Heat

Layer, layer, layer. Find all the warm clothes in your wardrobe and be prepared to layer up. Socks and hats are particularly important. You do not want to sweat though! If you start sweating take something off.

Blankets galore. Make sure you've got plenty of blankets. If you've got a decent sleeping bag, even better. You can use sheets to help trap a little more air around you like a tent.

Know the signs of cold exposure and know when to call for help. Cold exposure involves more than I can get into here but it's one of those things that can kill very quickly and in a way where people are often too far gone before they notice. Basically if you are cold and having trouble staying awake - call for help.

Know where your local shelters will be. Emergency departments often put this information out on Facebook and Twitter. You can also call the non-emergency line and ask in most places. Keep in mind many won't accept pets.

Grab a spare heater if you can and know how to use it safely. I live in an area where woodstoves are common but my place doesn't have one (yet) so I have a propane heater (you can grab small ones for apartments even). If you have a spare heater, be sure to grab fuel if you're able (tends to go fast). I also have an air quality detector which is extremely important. A lot of ice storm deaths are from people dying of monoxide (and similar) poisoning.

Hot water bottles are a godsend. If you live in an area with propane for hot water, then you'll likely still have it if the power goes out. When I was younger we got through 8 days of no power in the middle of winter in part because of hot water bottles specifically. They're so handy.

Keep a fire extinguisher handy. Even if you're not using a heater honestly.

Power

Charge batteries and battery banks. Pretty self explanatory. If you're able to grab even a cheap back up battery, I would. So many people in past ice storms sat on their phones, drained it of battery, then didn't have it to call for help when they needed it. Even a small boost could be good in an emergency.

Know where your electrical box is. Sometimes power outages can cause issues with breakers. Know where it is in case you need to turn things off or back on.

Have a radio. I mention this all the time. With no power your radio is your lifeline to public emergency broadcasts, weather forecasts, and locating resources. Get a radio. A cheap one is better than nothing.

Lighting

Charge flashlights. One thing a lot of people don't realize about power outages in winter is just how much we've come to rely on artificial light. Have backups to your back ups if possible. They're a safety tool.

Consider a solar light. My solar lantern has saved my ass so many times not it's not even funny. They tend to be very energy efficient - so easy to recharge off of a battery bank - but the you have the option of charging them slowly in the sun you get during the day.

Turn a small light into a lantern. I've used this trick so many times I almost forgot to include this. If you need to take a small light and make it more of an area light, fill a bottle (ideally plastic and 1L+) with water and place the light right on the bottle. This works great for headlamps especially. It'll cast the light like a lamp instead of focusing it on one area, making it easier to do chores and play games in the dark.

Chores to do before the storm:

Laundry

Shower

Dishes

Take out trash

Cell Phone/Internet Outage Prep

Write down important numbers somewhere that isn't your phone or laptop. If you run out of power on either, you still might be able to borrow someone else's phone and call.

If you're unfamiliar with your area, print or buy a map. In the event you need to leave, you need to know your way around enough to get where you're going.

If you have a ham radio license and gear, make sure it's charged and has local repeaters programmed in. Check to see if any will be running any weather nets you can monitor. If you don't have a license, you are technically allowed to transmit if you're experiencing a true emergency so if you have access to that gear also make sure it's charged and you have an idea of how you'd do that.

When the power goes out, use the phone as a phone only. Something I see every ice storm ever since smart phones took over, is people having nothing to do so they sit on their phones and drain it of battery. Or everyone overloads the cell towers and they go down. I am begging you, please, if the power goes out, do not use your phone for anything other than calling for help or checking in with neighbors and loved ones (once or twice a day).

Create an entertainment box. Grab an box. Put in things you can do with absolutely zero power. I recommend playing cards, puzzles, board games, books you might want to read, art supplies, TTRPG (there are solo ones). This way when you start to get the itch to check your phone, you know where to look instead. I know it seems simple but having it prepped ahead of time saves you a lot of brainpower (believe me).

Water + Pipes Freezing Prep

Leave facets dripping and cabinet doors open. Vital you do both. They help prevent your pipes from freezing and bursting.

Find out where your water shut off is. I just found out mine is underneath my house in the crawl space - hurrah for me. Most apartments have much more easily accessible shut offs. Even if you're not certain you can shut it off yourself, know where it is so you can save time and direct someone who can. In the event a pipe bursts, shut the water off immediately and do not turn on water in the house until a professional can service it.

Find a number of a well reviewed plumber (or two) ahead of time. Sometimes cell service and internet goes out. Consider having these written down somewhere other than your phone or computer ahead of time.

Find out how you can flush your toilet with no power. Most people can add water to the back of the tank and still flush. So if you still have water you're good. Some places require a pump that runs on electricity. So find out beforehand. During power outages my family adopts the "if it's yellow, let it mellow, if it's brown, send it down" toilet rule to conserve water.

Consider grabbing a backup toilet option. I keep a five gallon bucket and extra trash bags for just such an occasion (and some cedar chips to help with smell but it's not strictly speaking necessary). Separating liquids from solids also helps with smell. I do this because if a pipe bursts, there's a good shot you won't be able to use your toilet any more. This is also important if your toilet runs on an electric pump and the power goes out.

Damage to Cars

Keep your car filled up to at least a half a tank. This protects the fuel lines and gives you enough gas to get out if you need to.

If you'll be traveling during the storm, make sure you have a winter car kit in the vehicle and know how to flag for help if you get stranded. It's beyond what I can cover here but there are a ton of great articles out there.

Check your levels and make sure nothing is running too low.

Have the number of your mechanic written down somewhere that's not your phone or laptop. Pretty self explanatory.

Trees Falling

I'm gonna be honest, I don't have a lot for this one given my disabilities. I have a plan with my neighbors who are in a better position to use it. You could consider grabbing some extra tarps in the event that you need to cover a window that gets damaged or similar. Basically, just have an idea of where your most vulnerable trees are and keep an ear out for them as the storm progresses.

Hope these spark some ideas for how to prep and stay safe out there!

#weather #wx #preparedness #adulting #winter storm #happy to answer questions #as best I'm able

104 notes · View notes

absolutelyterrifichonestly · 15 days ago

Text

Champagne

Pairing: Kate Stewart x F!reader

Fandom: Doctor Who

Warnings: explicit smut, explicit language, angst, friends with benefits, emotionally inept Kate, alcohol, smoking.

Description: You may be casual, but that doesn't mean Kate should make you feel it. Tensions boil over, and you decide to make up the only way you know how.

Word count: 4,397

The argument had started where it always did: Kate being Kate. And no, you absolutely would not back down.

"What else was I supposed to think, Kate?" you mumbled through gritted teeth, the muddled streetlights of Highgate rolling past the tinted windows of the car, giving way to neon signs and rain, rain, rain. "I just...I don't know. I thought you wanted me to go with you."

Kate's eyes moved from the glow of her phone screen and she gave you that look, the one she thought was sympathetic but just came across as pity.

"Y/N, it's a very exclusive dinner. Less than half a dozen suits. Highest reaches of government. They wouldn't let me bring a plus one even if I...if we were..."

She stopped herself, and you inhaled sharply, almost enjoying how her face fell when she realised the hole she was digging was only getting deeper.

"If we were what?" you pressed, hands gripping the seatbelt.

You saw a thousand answers parade behind her eyes before she settled on silence, her old favourite. She looked back at her phone, lips pinched.

Your cunt still throbbed from the day you'd spent with her: in her bed, then in her shower, then back to her bed. You'd stopped counting after the sixth orgasm - or was it the seventh? You could already hear Mel's voice when you'd inevitably tell her where you ended up after last night: bit excessive, innit?

All she had to do was send a text and you'd get on the Northern line like one of her UNIT mutts. You knew where she kept the spare key, right under the doormat, so obvious you were certain she only left it out for you. You would greet her at the top of the stairs, already half naked, always with that smirk. God, she was infuriating. You'd told yourself to stop fucking her, so many times. But the second her tongue met your clit, any modicum of reason evaporated with your shaky exhale.

Well, reason seemed to be having a smug laugh at your expense, the weight of your own naivety crashing down as you looked at your silk dress, donned so expectantly.

You'd put it on in her bedroom, in front of her full length mirror whilst she watched from the bed, her eyes tracing up and down your curves, looking rather like the cat that got the cream.

"Will I do?" you'd teased, spinning around in a rush of ruby red. Kate smiled, leaning back on her elbow as she beckoned you towards her with a finger. You took your time, hips swaying, knowing how much she loved it when she knew she had you so well trained. You'd straddled her, her hands cupping your ass, yours gently caressing her face.

"Oh, yes, you'll do..." she'd murmured, placing teasing kisses across your chest, chuckling when you rolled your hips against her. You'd sighed happily, sitting back slightly.

"I hope they have oysters at this place," you simpered. "Aphrodisiac, right?"

Kate had smirked, frowning a bit. "What place?"

"The restaurant. Tonight?" you pressed, stroking her hair. Her eyes widened slightly with realisation, her words hovering on her tongue as she stumbled.

"Oh, Y/N, I..."

Your face fell.

"You're joking."

You'd slipped yourself off her lap, embarrassed, whilst she'd garbled some awkward sentences that might have been mistaken for apologies if she had been literally anyone else.

"Look, I didn't think...I didn't think that you thought...I didn't actually invite you, Y/N..."

"Oh, that's nice, Kate, really!"

You'd fought whilst she got dressed, put on her make-up, sprayed her perfume. words chipped and sharp, icy little jabs, molten glares that settled in your stomach. You'd wanted to fuck her there and then, just so she'd have to redo her lipstick and make herself late.

Now, in the car, your body still hummed from resentment.

"I feel like a right tit," you grumbled, turning your body away from her as far as it would go.

"Well, you look gorgeous, if it's any consolation," she replied, not looking up. "I'll call you later, how about that?"

You frowned at your reflection in the window, not replying.

"Y/N?"

You ignored her.

She reached over and gently ran her hand up your silk-clad thigh. You shivered.

"You still got in the car, might I remind you," she said lightly. "So you can't be that cross with me."

You scoffed.

"It's the least you can do, giving me a lift into town. I'm not getting on the tube wearing this, getting it all creased. It would be a crime."

She let out an amused huff, her fingers drawing patterns on your hips. Despite your anger, you found yourself grinding against the expensive leather seat.

She undid her seatbelt with a gentle click, shifting herself towards you so she could hold you from behind, her lips pressed to your hair. Your eyes moved to the driver, who didn't react, his concentration firmly on the road.

"Kate..." you started, feeling her nip your earlobe. Her voice was breathy and hot against you, always so soft, decadent. Addictive.

"God, I want to peel this off you, sweetheart," she purred, her hand moving under the ruby silk to rest on your warm flesh. Heat pooled between your legs and you fought the urge to let them fall open instinctively. Her other hand slipped to cup your cheek, pulling you around to face her. Your gaze hardened, seeing her so expectant, anger still simmering in your chest. When she leaned in to kiss you, you pulled back, and her face fell.

"No," you said curtly. "Fuck off."

She recoiled like she'd just been stung, her expression a bemused combination of indignation and disappointment.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice pinched with annoyance.

"Unbelievable," you mumbled, pulling on your denim jacket, clutching your handbag to your chest. You cleared your throat loudly, making eye contact with the driver in the rear view mirror.

"Excuse me? Sorry, hi, can you let me out here, please?"

Kate guffawed, rolling her eyes as she retreated to her seat.

"Really, Y/N," she sighed. "don't be so dramatic."

The car pulled over next to a row of kebab shops, their sparkling signs illuminating the puddles on the pavement as you wiggled out of the car, face like stone. Kate leaned over, her eyes slightly concerned.

"Come on," she hissed. "Just let me drive you home, at least?"

"You're not driving me all the way to Stockwell, Kate, fuck that."

You buttoned up your jacket and adjusted your bag over your shoulder, starting to march away from the car. Kate called after you.

"Y/N!"

You didn't turn around, blood pounding in your temples. She called after you again.

"Y/N, for heaven's sake, it's raining. Just get back in the car."

You span around, fists clenched.

"I'm not getting in the car just so you can finger me and think that makes it all better, Kate."

A group of young men emerged from an off-license, spluttering with laughter as they overheard your words. Kate's face flushed.

"Y/N..." she tried again, her voice bordering on a plea. You shook your head, hands fumbling as you pulled out a cigarette from your bag, lighter snapping, flame flickering out in the cold wind. You groaned with frustration and Kate sighed, pulling out her own lighter, an elegant silver relic with her initials engraved.

"Let me," she said softly. "Please?"

Her face was calm, that same look, that damn look, the one you hated so much.

You glared, shoving the unlit cigarette back in your bag, furious.

"Just go drink your champagne and eat caviar and toast to state secrets or whatever you do at your exclusive fucking dinners. Leave me alone." you spat, turning on your heel and storming towards the tube station.

"Rough night, darlin'?" one of the young men called after you, face trim with amusement.

Kate glared at him.

"Don't even think about it," she simmered. His face fell, re-joining his mates, her eyes burning into the back of his head.

On the tube, you messaged Shirley and Mel, hands shaking: I need a drink, right now.

Half an hour later you were huddled around a small table, the racket of a central London Friday night ricocheting off the polished wooden interiors of the pub, the air thick with sweat, spilled beer and salted peanuts. Mel topped up your wine glass, eyebrows raised, whilst Shirley looked like she was trying not to laugh. You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing.

"You think I'm pathetic, don't you?" you murmured.

"No!" said Shirley.

"Yes." said Mel.

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. Mel tapped your wine glass with a manicured finger.

"Drink up, sweet," she said, her voice chipper. You took a resigned sip, the warming red liquid gradually making your shoulders drop. Shirley sighed.

"I just...look, I guess I just don't get why you keep doing this to yourself." she said, rubbing your arm. "Do you want to be a couple, is that it?"

You shake your head, lip twisting. "It wouldn't make any sense, would it? I mean, she's Kate. She's Kate. And I'm not exactly swimming in free time." you shrugged.

"So what's the issue? If she's driving you up the wall, stop sleeping with her." Mel said, leaning back in her seat, taking a lengthy sip of wine.

"It's not that easy, Mel," you sighed. "I wish it was."

Mel frowned. "Why not?"

Shirley smirked, reading your expression before you'd even uttered the words.

"Because she's hot!" you wailed. "She's so, so hot. Oh my God, she's so, fucking, hot."

You put your head back in your hands and groaned, Shirley and Mel giving each other exasperated looks. Mel rolled her eyes, tutting.

"I'm sorry, but she can't be that good," she mumbled. Your eyes shot to her, widening theatrically.

"Melanie Bush, I love you to the end of time, and I know she's your boss, but I promise you, Doctor as my witness," you gestured to the ceiling, making the sign of the cross. "I have never been fucked better."

Mel scoffed and you leaned forward, Shirley tactfully moving your glass before it spilled over.

"Imagine your g-spot has a g-spot. A g-spot within a g-spot, Mel, and she finds it. Every time."

Shirley cackled.

"I swear," you continued. "earlier today she had me levitating off the bed."

Mel held her hands up, grimacing. "Bloody hell, I wish I'd never said anything!"

You laughed, reaching for your glass, when your phone buzzed. Kate.

Brow furrowing, you opened the message. It was a photograph of a champagne flute, the unmistakable red of her lipstick staining the rim. Her message followed: I can still taste you on my tongue x

Your stomach flipped, your finger hovering over 'reply'. Shirley slapped your wrist, making you jump.

"Oi!" you said indignantly.

"Don't even think about replying. Besides, we need another bottle," she said, waving the empty shiraz vessel. You huffed, standing up and pushing your way through the crowd to the bar. As you waited to be served, you read the message again, your initial excitement replaced with irritation.

You pictured her at the dinner, tipsy, snapping that silly photo, wearing that smirk of hers, thinking it would coax a response from you even after the car journey. You ordered more wine and a round of shots, carting the tray back to your table with a triumphant grin whilst the girls cheered.

Halfway through the bottle, you'd all gone out for a smoke, leaning under the patio heater, when she messaged you again: Nightcap?

"Oh, fuck off, Kate." you mumbled under your breath, immediately swiping away. Mel chuckled, flicking her ash.

"Good on you, girl. Let her feel guilty for a bit."

You took a long drag, exhaling thoughtfully.

"That's just it, Mel, I don't think she knows how to feel guilty. Not about me, anyway."

"Well, let her be horny for a bit, then. Let her miss you. Or miss your fingers, whatever." Shirley quipped.

"Cheers, Shirl'." you said glumly.

"Anytime!"

When you finally got home, the sunrise was peeking over London, your head a foggy muddle of shiraz, your throat raw from laughing, your stomach still in a twist. Kate hadn't messaged you again, which was a blessing. You'd felt a bit mean leaving her on read, but you couldn't stop thinking about easily she'd messaged you, how she clearly assumed you'd fall right back into her lap, silk dress pulled up.

You stripped off and collapsed into bed, not surfacing until well into the afternoon. When you checked your phone you weren't sure why you felt disappointed not to have heard from her, and your finger hovered over her name, toying with the idea of an olive branch: How was your night? Good dinner? Did they have oysters?

You deleted each version of the message, feeling yourself cringe. She was online, you saw that, the little green dot by her name. You pictured her lounging around her house, eyes wandering over your photos, getting herself off over your curves in silk, and you smirked.

You were about to put your phone down, when it buzzed: I missed you last night.

Oh, bloody hell, Kate.

You sighed, closing your eyes, torn between screenshotting it for the girls or retreating to the shower, but your fingers were typing before you could stop yourself.

Missed you too x

"For God's sake." you hissed at yourself, burrowing your face in your musky smelling pillow. Your phone buzzed again, and you forced yourself to stay coiled for at least five minutes before you picked it up.

Come over? x

Christ. You stared at the message for a long time, eyes narrowed, looking at her display photo - one of her earliest attempts at a selfie, the angle slightly off, her expression perplexed, smile tight. She'd never bothered to update it. You smiled, stroking her pixelated cheek.

I'll be there later, get food from that Thai place again? x

You smirked as you hit send, finding a certain power in requesting king prawn green curry and sticky rice, your time of arrival ambivalent.

When you stood outside her front door two hours later, hair damp from your shower and swept back in a claw clip, face bare, you instinctively reached down for the spare key, but stopped yourself. Taking a deep breath, you rang the door bell.

The blonde shape approached the frosted glass and your breath hitched, fingers gripping the straps of your tote. Kate opened the door, dressed casually in black linen trousers and a cream cotton long sleeved top, bare feet on the hardwood floorboards, hair loose, eyes soft. She looked speechlessly beautiful and you pummelled down the urge to take her in your arms and kiss her until she moaned into your mouth.

"I thought you were the food delivery," she said softly, a smile playing across her lips. "Forget where the key was?"

You narrowed your eyes, your lips mimicking hers.

"I wanted you to greet me. Properly, I mean."

She raised an eyebrow, gesturing for you to go indoors. You kicked off your trainers, letting your bag drop to the floor. She led you to the living room, curling up on the sofa, her feet tucked underneath her as she sipped a cup of tea.

"So..." she uttered. You shrugged.

"So?"

Kate wet her lips, unable to meet your gaze. You shook your head, sighing fondly.

"Look, Kate..."

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

You blinked once, twice. She wrapped her hands tighter around her mug, tensing.

"For last night. How I acted. It wasn't...well, it was shit. So, I'm sorry."

Her voice was curt, like she was reading from a report at her desk, but her eyes remained lowered, those ridiculously gorgeous dark orbs betraying how difficult this was.

You nodded slowly.

"I appreciate that. Thanks, Kate."

"And, well, I'm sorry you felt like I wasn't clear about the dinner."

"Right. Thanks."

The silence in the room felt oppressive, like a ripple of ozone before a storm. Kate sipped her tea. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed, making you both jump. A few moments passed before Kate piped up.

"I don't know when the food will arrive, I only ordered when-"

"You know what I needed?" you cut in, eyes closed. "I just needed you to give a shit."

Kate frowned, placing her mug down on the coffee table. "Sorry?"

"Last night. It wasn't about the dinner. Well, it was, but...it wasn't. You know me, I don't care about going out and being on your arm or looking pretty for whoever you're trying to lord over, I just wanted you to care that you'd hurt me."

Kate looked perplexed, then crestfallen. Her mouth opened for a moment, then closed again.

"I didn't...I didn't think you were hurt."

"Well, I was! I was hurt, and then I was pissed off because you didn't realise, or you didn't care, or whatever. And then when we were in the car and you were trying it on like that's a magic reset button, and then later when you're sending me messages trying to get me into bed again even though you fucked me all day yesterday and you knew I was angry with you. It's shit, Kate, you were right. And I just wanted you to give a damn, I wanted you to care."

You flopped back on the sofa with an aggravated huff, rubbing your temples. Kate stared at you, her eyes boring into your side, and you didn't turn to face her because you knew the second you locked eyes with her you'd kiss her, and you needed her to understand, you needed her to see you. She crawled towards you, kneeling beside you, her fingertips reaching out to carefully stroke your jaw. You felt yourself melt, a shiver rippling through you.

"Sweetheart, I care," she whispered. "So much."

"Bloody show it then." you mumbled, brow furrowed, trying to ignore the way her touch made you feel. She cupped your face, pulling you towards her, your lips meeting hers so gently you felt yourself moan. She paused, her eyes searching yours, your hands moving to cover her wrists.

"Lie back," she whispered. "do that for me?"

You swallowed, searching her face, and she smiled. "Let me take care of you, hmm?"

Your breath hitched, only for a moment, your body instinctively doing what she asked. You laid back against the soft cushions of the sofa, wiggling your hips forward as she knelt in front of you, hands stroking your thighs. She looked at you with an earnestness you'd never seen before, her usual smirk replaced with a gentle need, her gaze seeming to ask for permission. You felt your heart flutter and you nodded, immediately wanting her touch, wanting her badly.

Her fingertips slipped into the waistband of your trousers, carefully pulling them down, pushing them to one side when they hit the floor. She placed soft kisses just above your knees, traveling upwards across your thighs, nipping at the sensitive flesh, slowing when you grinded against the sofa - she couldn't resist that, you'd never want her to resist it, that effortless command.

You moved your hands above your head and gripped the plush cushion, digging your fingers in as she moved your legs, your knees bending, her kisses tickling your inner thighs where they met your heat, nose brushing the soft fabric of your underwear. She breathed you in and you whimpered, dampness spreading across your crotch, her lips teasing you through the material.

It was the sweetest torture, her kisses delicate, yet lingering where you needed her the most, nipping your clit through the cotton fibres, making you gasp and thrust against her.

"So wet, darling..." she whispered, almost to herself, the lilt of her voice making you mewl.

"Please..." you whimpered, feeling yourself gush, desperate to feel her mouth on you, where you truly needed her. She hummed into your heat, fingertips tracing the waistband of your underwear, digging in when you tried to lift yourself off the sofa, encouraging her to strip you bare.

"Do that again and you're going to be waiting a very long time to come, sweetheart." she warned, her voice impossibly warm, never losing that sharp edge that you wanted to run across your body like a blade. You shuddered, willing yourself not to wriggle too much, desperate for her to touch you.

Her teeth sank into your soft inner thigh, sucking on the slick flesh, the sharp, delicious jolt of pain making you cry out. Her tongue soothed the spot when she was done, and you knew she'd left the prettiest bruise, an exquisite purple that you'd admire later in the vanity mirror whilst she sat behind you and held your legs apart. You were dripping through your underwear by now, and when she finally took pity on you and slipped them down, still torturously slow, the sudden cool breeze on your cunt made you gasp.

Kate left your underwear dangling off your ankle, her smirk returning for a moment when she saw how desperately you were looking at her, thighs marked, cunt cherry red from need, top riding up to show your soft stomach and breasts, nipples rock hard against your bra, your hands still gripping the sofa above your head for dear life.

"Please, Kate..." you mewled. She held your gaze, eyebrow arching and you wondered if that would be enough to finish you off.

"Please what?"

You swallowed dryly.

"Please fuck me, please, I need you..."

She smiled, leaning up to kiss you, and you tasted her peppermint lipbalm and the sweetness of her tongue as it danced with yours, her finger tracing your cunt as you fluttered around nothing.

"Good girl."

She sank back to her knees, her tongue casting teasing swirls across your folds, never quite where you needed her, knowing exactly where to press so that your body coiled with need. You felt yourself dripping into her mouth, a blush creeping up your neck and across your cheeks, the exposure and desperation making you whimper shakily, strands of hair falling loose from your clip as your threw your head back, gasping.

When she finally pressed her lips to your clit, you saw stars.

She knew the exact route to your pleasure, her hands gripping your hips, moving your body against her, making you ride each wave, your clit pulsing so intensely you were certain she could feel it in her body as if was her heartbeat. Holding you steady with one hand, she moved the other between your legs, carefully slipping a curled finger into your cunt, massaging your walls as you clenched around her, your body writhing desperately. She introduced a second digit, moving them together, curling upwards until she found your centre.

"Oh my God, Kate...oh, God..." you gasped. The intensity made your vision blur, your legs shaking, a deep heat rising in your stomach, almost overwhelming, and if it wasn't for Kate holding you firmly in place you're sure you would have slipped off the sofa completely.

"Kate, I'm gonna...oh, fuck..."

With a guttural cry, you squirted, soaking her fingers, her lips, her chin, her expensive sofa. Her tongue never left your clit, sucking the sensitive bud, and the release combined with the incessant, delirious throbbing made your entire body jerk as you came a second time, hips lifting up, terrified she'd stop, everything but her name leaving your mind as you collapsed against the cushions, whimpering, weeping.

You were faintly aware of Kate moving to sit beside you, pulling you against her, your legs moving over her lap so she could cradle you, holding your head against her chest as you trembled, the adrenaline making the room spin. She held you tightly, pressing kisses to your forehead, your temples, the top of your head.

After a while, you shivered, and she chuckled, running her hands up and down your bare arms.

"Okay?" she purred, tilting your chin, her brown eyes meeting yours. You blinked at her, still dazed, nodding slowly. She smiled, eyes creasing. You sighed, before looking down, eyes widening.

"Oh, God..."

"What's wrong?"

"I ruined your sofa!"

Kate followed your gaze, pausing in confusion before letting out a laugh, warm and brash, the one she so rarely used but you loved so dearly.

"Hardly the first time it's been ruined, darling, and I hope it won't be the last time you do."

You blushed deeply, nuzzling into her chest. She cuddled you closer.

"You did so, so well, Y/N," she whispered into your hair. You simpered, looking up at her.

"You meant it when you said 'take care of me', didn't you?"

"I know what you need, hmm?"

You rolled your eyes, nodding, her lips meeting yours again as you kissed dizzyingly.

The doorbell rang, making you both start. Kate looked up, eyes bright, carefully shifting you over as she stood up. You watched her walk to the door, accepting a bulging bag of Thai takeaway, thanking the courier with a curt sort of pleasantness, tipping generously.

You ate on the floor, straight from the boxes, sitting cross-legged, facing each other, a blanket underneath you both, Ella Fitzgerald singing her melodies from the record player in the corner. Kate watched you tackle an especially large king prawn, eyes fond as you spluttered with laughter, chewing at it like a little cat. She set down her fork, pausing, and you looked at her.

"Y/N?"

"Kate." you said, smiling, tone teasing, but your eyes sincere. She bit her lip for a moment.

"I really am sorry, you know, for..."

You raised your eyebrows.

"Well, for being a bit of a bellend." she stated flatly.

You laughed, green curry sauce spraying across your chest.

"Only a bit of a bellend? Yeah, fair enough." you grinned.

Kate rolled her eyes, but she held your gaze, looking hopeful. You wiped your mouth, smiling.

"We're good, Kate. You bellend."

She sighed, reaching over to slap you playfully on the knee. You ate the rest of your meal in comfortable silence, clearing away the mess only to return to the blanket as you lay her down, kissing your way from her neck to her crotch.

You would eat her for dessert, several times over.

#doctor who #kate stewart #kate lethbridge stewart #kate stewart x reader #jemma redgrave

29 notes · View notes