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violetrainbow412-blog · 1 year

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Hearts [S. R] part 2

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 3.9k

part 1!

summary: morning coffees become the special moments between you and Spencer, but you also discover that he may have more competition for his love than you expected.

N/A: I never thought this would be so well received and I honestly feel so happy! I am very grateful to all the people who requested a second part, I hope you like it and if you want to tell me something in the comments I will read it with pleasure!

people who might be interested: @c-m-stuff @no-soy-fer @synthsescape @bella-fics @cynbx

That morning Spencer came to his desk with coffee in hand and set it carefully to one side, the sight of his scrawled name looming large throughout.

Spencer <3

What did that mean? It was his name, that's obvious, but it was written with such a careful and clean line that it was very beautiful to admire and the heart drawn next to it was what didn’t quite add up in the whole thing. Reid knew that it was an ideogram used to express the idea of affection or love, so the most logical conclusion was that you were trying to communicate a feeling of that kind, but then he wondered: was it affection between friends? a simple show of affection, he supposed. Nothing further, surely it could not be anything else.

There were days when you and he barely saw each other, as the team had to go out to handle cases in the field and you stayed behind to do literally whatever you could do to complete your service hours, but every morning without fail you looked for him to deliver the long-awaited coffee. You were keeping your promise and for three days you arrived with two cups on the tray, one clean and the other labeled for him: Reid, Spence, Doctor R., all titles followed by a drawing of a heart. When Friday rolled around and you handed him what he thought would be his last cup, you decided to propose a deal.

"Today I was thinking that I could buy your coffee permanently, if you want” you exclaimed kindly, while you watched him from the chair that you had pulled to sit next to him. Some mornings when there wasn’t so much movement you would stay there to drink a few shots of your coffee and share a small moment of the day "It's on my way here and it's obvious that you like it"

“Oh, I… I couldn't even think about it, no. I would take too much advantage of you"

“You're going to pay me back, Reid. I'll just bring it” you laughed, watching him turn red to the ears while he drank a little to try to mask it.

"Then, I'd love to," he exclaimed with a tight-lipped smile. He was a little excited to continue having excuses to talk to you every day and, above all, to drink the delicious coffee that he had already gotten used to.

"Although I'm running out of ideas, to be honest," you said amused, because that day the cup didn’t have any inscription due to that lack of creativity. But as by the work of fate, an idea came to your mind, so you smiled from ear to ear while you took a black marker from your friend's desk and took the cup from his hand. Spencer looked at you carefully and curiously while you were writing and just when you finished Hotch called you from the other side of the tables "I have to go, don't miss me too much" you murmured, handing him the glass and then winking at the boy, who in response only awkwardly raised his hand.

Once you left, he looked at what you had written, less neatly than the other times, and felt himself grinning like a fool:

My fav agent and again that damn heart.

“Y/N”

"Yeah?" you asked, looking up at another of your fellow interns. You had a room where everyone could stay for a while to work on their own business, but on this occasion, curiously, only women had gathered at the table, there were about five of you in the entire building. Among them Jennifer, a girl you liked very much and with whom you could presume to have something like a friendship, and for some strange reason there was also Victoria.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Huh… yeah, I guess" you muttered a bit confused, and even though you didn't know the girl she smiled in your direction.

“Is that brown-haired guy you talk to every morning your boyfriend?”

“Spencer?” you asked, widening your eyes at the surprise with which the question had taken you. You expected her to ask what band you listened to the most, your favorite food, or some other stupid thing, but not that. Now all the girls' attention was on you, including Victoria's inquisitive scowl and Jennifer's amused look “I wouldn't say that”

"And do you think you can introduce me?" she said with more enthusiasm than she intended, and they all laughed collectively.

“I get second in line”

"Girls, girls..." Jennifer intervened and you knew that from that moment the topics of the internship would take a back seat “He may not be her boyfriend now, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want him to be”

"Jenn!"

"Am I lying?" she sneered “You smile every time you see him and you two look so in love whispering to each other every morning. Also, a week ago I saw you go out together at night”

"Jenn," you insisted, muttering to her in the hope that she would notice that you wanted her to shut up. It wasn't that you were ashamed of being associated with him, you just didn't want to spread wrong rumors that might embarrass him.

“How come he's already an agent? He looks very young”

“It's because he's a prodigy, duh. He’s as attractive as he’s intelligent”

"I imagine that being such a smart man he knows perfectly the weak points of a woman" another girl murmured, joining the conversation "If you know what I mean"

“For now we are just friends. That's all" you said trying to end the conversation, completely embarrassed that such a personal matter had ended up as the talk of all the female interns of the FBI. It was supposed to be a serious job and you guys looked like gossipy high school girls.

"Maybe he's waiting for someone better," Victoria said into the air, a venomous tone permeating every word.

"Anyway, if you give up, can you get me his number?" insisted the first girl. You nodded just so as not to break his illusion, but you knew very well that Spencer didn't use a phone beyond what was necessary for work.

Even though you yourself had told him that surely many girls liked him, you didn't expect that he really had admirers so close and to be honest a pang of jealousy invaded you. Victoria was the most obvious of them all, but you knew that being college girls they were more likely to admire the masculine charm of perhaps the youngest member of the FBI. They too were young and beautiful, but you chose to trust that you had the upper hand in winning the man's affections.

You tried as hard as you could to concentrate on your tasks, but now that his name had come up it was hard to think of anything but him. Spencer wasn't a very expressive guy, but you knew that he was comfortable with you or else he wouldn't seek you out or agree to talk to you like you did, although clearly that didn't ensure that he was attracted to you. Maybe he just saw you as a good friend.

At night, when you were about to go home, you tried to look for him so you could see him again with the excuse of saying goodbye, but you were surprised when you saw that he was talking to Victoria in an already empty section. Curiosity to know what they were talking about invaded you and you stood where you were, squinting your eyes to try to read their lips. Reid wasn't participating too much in the chat, you'd even say he looked awkward, but she was shamelessly flirting with him. Perhaps the sudden change in attitude that she had had was what your friend had missed so much and just when you thought of approaching to go save him from the situation, she stood on her toes and crashed her lips against his, leaving you standing just in your place and completely in shock.

You didn't expect her to dare to do something like that, but the reaction he had left you even more surprised, because, although it wasn't so favorable, he didn't seem bothered by the show of affection he had just received either. He just stood in front of her, looking her up and down as if he were analyzing her.

You didn't want to stay there any longer and almost instantly you turned around to walk out the front door, hoping that this had meant absolutely nothing to him and the next day you could look him in the face without feeling the jealousy boiling in your veins.

It was almost time for dismissal when Spencer remembered that he had a file to go through that he'd ignored all morning, and he cursed himself a little for leaving things until the last minute. His coworkers told him that he could finish it the next morning, but he knew that if he did that he probably wouldn't have time to drink coffee with you so he preferred to stay a little later there.

Little by little the offices emptied and when there was almost no one left, he finally finished, feeling the discomfort of the recurring pain in his back due to the bad position in which he sat. He put his things away, put on his coat, and slung his briefcase over his shoulder, ready to go back to his apartment, but a person got in the way when he was about to cross the hall. Due to exhaustion and seeing that it was a female body he assumed it would be you, but when he paid more attention, he noticed that it wasn’t even remotely possible that the ironed black hair was yours.

"Doctor Reid"

"Miss Evans" he greeted her, without losing cordiality, but not with too much emotion either.

"What are you doing here so night?"

"Job. There's nothing else to do around here at this hour,” he said without looking at her. But the girl was determined to get that one-night stand that she was sure you had, lie as it was.

“It's a shame, but I know a bar near here that you might like if you want to have a little fun”

“Bars are noisy and are one of the biggest sources of infection that can exist. Sweat, alcohol, and unknown fluids permeate the environment and it is very probable that the consumption of drugs affects not only those who consume them but also those who are close to them, so I prefer to decline your invitation" he exclaimed, hoping that this explanation would be enough to make it clear to this woman that he wasn't interested.

“So you're more of hanging out in the apartment? I have a lot of great things in mine, including a jacuzzi."

“Jacuzzies are unsanitary” he insisted. If he proposed, he would know that he would find a valid excuse for whatever plan she might suggest.

"What a killjoy, Agent Reid” she giggled, but he wasn't too amused by any of it. "Do you ever have fun?"

"I think my concept of fun and yours diverge a lot" he murmured, still not looking at her directly and ready to end the conversation.

Spencer was about to leave when she raised herself to his height and in a quick movement that caught him off guard, she smashed her lips against his. As she turned away from her the man froze completely in his place, looking at her from head to toe as if she were some strange natural specimen.

"What if I promise there will be more of that?" she asked, in a last-ditch attempt, faking a honeyed voice. He was going to respond when there was something that forced him to look in the direction of the exit door, where someone else was already walking. From the pattern of colored stripes on the jacket he knew it was definitely you and if it was you then you probably witnessed the entire exchange. He felt the urge to run after you to justify himself for something he hadn't even done, not knowing why he was embarrassed or worried that you'd seen that. “Come on, are you really going to say no to all this?”

"Listen to me, Victoria. I understand if having power over others gives you pleasure because you are the least noticed and recognized member of the family, or if you enjoy saying hurtful things to people to feed your own insecurities, but I ask that you please stay away from me and stop trying whatever you're trying. I don't like you, you're a bad person and I won't allow you to kiss me without my wanting it, or to make your sexual advances that won't get you anywhere. So again, I say don't bother me again” he said and without waiting for any answer he walked out of sight of her. Even if he had stayed, Victoria had her ego so hurt that she didn't think of anything to say back and instead she just let helpless tears fill her eyes, followed by a gesture of a tantrum.

When Spencer came downstairs he couldn't find you anywhere and the anxiety in his stomach only increased, wishing he had misrecognized the person who had left so it wasn't about you. The matter didn't keep him awake, of course, but when he noticed the next morning that you weren't at his desk, he thought it was reason enough to worry. Worse still when he noticed that you had left a lonely cup on the table, with absolutely no adorable titles decorating it. It made him feel so guilty, like he somehow knew that you were upset because you'd seen Victoria kiss him the night before and he wasn't worthy of your affection anymore.

Even Hotch noticed that he was more distracted than usual and although he had already seen your exchanges, he thought it would be better not to intervene in anything that had to do with young love. Being a cupid was a more difficult task than the one he already fulfilled at the BAU. So when night came and he didn't look at you anywhere, anxiety was already eating him to the ground, wishing he could have your phone number to at least comfort himself with hearing your voice. Going to your apartment was something he considered, but then it became unthinkable because he didn't even know how you would react.

Victoria became less of a concern as she seemed to get the message perfectly and every time during the day that he crossed her path she just looked away, totally offended.

But when the same situation arose twice, he felt that something was wrong and he wasn't going to endure a third time. It was then that Spencer left the house early that morning to stop by a bakery and buy a couple of fresh sweet buns, hoping that this time you were expecting him. But his disappointment was greater when he saw that once again there was only the bare cup of coffee.

"Didn't you see Y/N?" he asked Elle when he arrived, nervously fiddling with the paper bag he was holding in his hands.

“No, she just left your coffee and left, but I don't know where. She seemed pretty rushed”

Spencer inwardly cursed and sighed in frustration, until a few seconds later he caught sight of you on the other side of the building, carrying a stack of folders and talking on the phone. He didn't hesitate for a moment before running (at first, then he slowed down a bit as he remembered the incessant times Hotch had scolded him for it) towards you so he could finally talk to you.

“Y/N,” he said softly as he reached your side, and he took the bright smile you gave him as you turned to look at him as a good sign.

"Wait a minute" you mouthed, still answering the call you had on the line, and when you hung up you finally turned your attention to him "Hey, Reid. Good morning"

"I bought you this" he murmured, showing you the bag with food inside, and you almost moaned with happiness.

“Food is what I need most to survive the day”

"What are you doing?"

“Two days ago, your boss Gideon thought it was a good idea to make me his personal secretary. So right now, I'll do everything he asks me to do” you snorted, obviously exhausted by the work you had done and by the ones you surely would have to do.

It clicked in the boy's mind and then he understood that this was the reason you hadn't seen it, not because you were angry. Relief ran down the length of his spine.

"Really?"

“I don't even think that's legal, you know? I'm an intern, they don't pay me a penny and they take advantage of me like I earn the same as the fucking president” you complained. Until then he noticed that you were struggling to hold the papers and he decided to stretch out his hands to help you carry them, like a real gentleman "Thank you"

“Where should you take them? I'll accompany you” he offered. You led him through the halls to a file store that even he doubted he knew about, and explained that your job for the next several weeks would be to sort and categorize the case files for a more efficient process of future searches.

“I'm seriously thinking about giving this whole damn thing up and selling hotdogs in some park or whatever. I would be happier and I would earn almost the same” you joked, raising your arms to stretch your back a bit like a cat that had just woken up. The place was completely alone, silent and the lighting was so dim that it even looked gloomy “Did you get my coffees?"

"Yes, I did," he muttered, "I thought you were mad at me though”

"Why?"

"Because..." he hesitated for a moment if it would be wise to mention what he thought was the reason for your anger, until he realized that saying it out loud would simply sound absurd. There shouldn't be a reaction on your part to the facts “you weren't there. And you didn't write anything”

"Oh, I was in a hurry. I'm sorry,” you sincerely apologized. While you were talking to him you thought that you could start to categorize the documents that you would have just brought and you got to it, hoping that he wouldn't interpret that as a sign that you wanted him to leave; luckily Spencer rushed to your side to help you as soon as he could.

"Alright. I'm glad to know you're not upset."

"If I had known that you loved my notes so much, it would have taken me a few seconds" you smiled and when you turned your head you noticed that you were too close to him, or he to you, rather.

You were silent for a few moments until he couldn't take it anymore. He needed to know your opinion about what you had or hadn't seen that night.

"Victoria looked me up the other day," he said disinterestedly. You smiled victoriously for not having to be the first to mention it, even though the matter was slowly burning inside you.

“Oh, I know. I looked at you talking to her” you exclaimed bitterly, without taking your eyes off the files.

"And she too... huh..."

"Calm down" you interrupted him, taking a bunch that were already ordered and moving away from him to take them to a filing cabinet "I saw that too"

“It was so strange”

"It was pathetic," you said without any embarrassment. You finally looked up and noticed some fear in him, as if he thought you meant that he was pathetic "It wasn't even a good kiss"

"And what would one be like?" he replied without thinking. You stifled a laugh and looked at him kindly.

“That's not something I can explain to you, Reid. I would have to show you"

“Well…” he said, finally breaking away from your gaze and staring at you with those big beautiful hazel eyes.

You were surprised that he wasn't averse to it because you honestly didn't expect to achieve anything with that sentence, you just wanted to tease him a bit. Spencer kept looking at you in silence for a few seconds and you knew what that look meant, or at least you thought you did. Those pleading eyes only screamed one thing: show me. Kiss me.

You walked enough steps to close the distance and stand right in front of him, looking down at him with a smile of pure mischief.

“Well, what?"

“Nothing, nothing, I just… I thought you could enlighten me a bit on the subject. As unbelievable as it may seem, I am very uninformed about the standard of what is considered a good or bad kiss” he admitted. Even flirting he sounded like a walking book.

You weren't going to give him time to regret it so you took him by the lapels of his formal shirt and with a yank you pulled him to you. Spencer's breath caught at how sudden the contact had been, and you heard him release the trapped air over your lips, giving you the chance to deepen the kiss. At first he was tense, but after a few seconds you felt his shoulders relax considerably and that's when you slid your hands down the length of his neck until you reached to hold his cheeks. One of your hands left that position only to guide the man's hands to your waist and once you were in this way you took the opportunity to push your body against his a little more, with your torso attached to his. There was no mention of how the tip of your tongue experimentally flicked across his lips and made him sigh audibly.

Spencer nearly whimpered as the heat from your body left his.

“We just shared approximately 80 million bacteria” you blurted out, but he was too flushed and shocked to corroborate denying the information. Just to play with him you decided to give him another kiss, shorter and louder than the previous one "And you just had a good kiss"

You didn't wait for any reaction before separating completely and that made him come out of the trance he was in, still not believing what had just happened. He couldn't even say anything before your phone started ringing with a call.

"I'll see you later?"

"It's up to you," you said with a smile. Spencer nodded and not knowing what else to do he decided to walk out before he could embarrass himself "Oh, and Spence…”

"Yeah?" he answered, trying not to let you notice how it affected him that you called him that way.

“Do you remember the other day when I told you that surely hundreds of girls liked you?” you asked and when he nodded a couple of hairs got messy "Although I'm sure it's true, on that occasion I was only talking about me" you confessed. You couldn't ignore the ringing sound any longer or you'd lose it, so you picked up the hook and started a business conversation, but not before winking at him as a farewell.

Spencer came out of it trying to look as normal as possible, but he still couldn't figure out how he'd have the strength to work objectively for the rest of the day when he'd just gotten such a good kiss from the prettiest girl he'd ever met.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía

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norrisleclercf1 · 1 year

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Insecurities

Pairing: Husband!Charles x Wife!Reader

Rating: Pg-17

Warnings: Angst, Misunderstanding trope, parental anxiety, fear of child loss, talks of divorce, good ending

Requested: Yes/No

Request: hey can you do something with charles where the reader and he had a baby a few months ago and she is super insecure with her body, thinking that he is no longer attracted to her, there may be some misunderstanding in which she interprets the wrong things and draws these conclusions

Part One: It's Too Early

A/N: Made this Pt.2 to It’s Too Early

It's not supposed to be easy being a parent; being a parent is giving up this part of your life and becoming this whole new person, whose in charge of this little life. It petrified you beyond belief. Pierre was born at 26 weeks old. While you never told anyone, you were worried something would go wrong, and he'd be taken from you.

You were nervous and terrified to hold your son, afraid you'd hurt him somehow, not even meaning to. Charles....god, Charles was perfect. He took everything thrown at him and acted like it never affected him, he was excellent with Pierre, and some of you hated it. Why couldn't you be natural like your husband?

Charles was patient with you, but you could tell his patience was wearing thin but he wasn't home 24/7. Of course, he'd be happy to wake up in the middle of the night to soothe his crying son. He wants to do everything while he's there. But you were always there, and it wasn't helping you. It was breaking you down; you loved your son unconditionally, but a small part of you that went through all those negative tests you were terrified that if you got too close, the universe would play some cruel joke and take him away.

Charles could see how being home always with Pierre dragged you down and how you've changed; you even refuse his touch. That's what hurt him more. You didn't want to be intimate anymore, he knew it took a while for a woman to heal after giving birth, but he wasn't going to push it and started to provide you with space. You didn't want space; you just couldn't figure out how to talk to Charles about all your insecurities.

"Baby, let's go out for dinner tonight; Pierre can watch the baby, and we can....talk," Charles says, stepping back from you when you step near him.

You feel your chest grow tight with the rejection from your husband; he hasn't touched you since Pierre was born, and you know it was because your body was no longer its usual self. You nod your head in agreement and walk to your shared bedroom, thinking about what you should wear, but everything is either too form-fitting or shows off too much skin, and you can't even feel comfortable in your own skin. Why would you show it off?

You shower and try hard to make yourself somewhat.....sexy, trying hard to get your husband's attention back. You walk down the hall wearing only a robe since you need to breastfeed Pierre before you leave, but you freeze, hearing Charles's voice talking to someone on the phone.

"Nothing is where it is anymore; is that normal?" He asks the person, and you freeze, looking down at your chest. You knew that breastfeeding would change your breasts, but you didn't think that Charles would care so much about it enough to talk to someone over the phone about it.

"Yeah....but why can't it go back to normal? It's such a turnoff." He groans. Hearing that, you swallow back the tears and shake your head; walking into view, Charles turns and smiles at you brightly, acting like he is happy to see you. It was a slap to the face to see him putting on such an act when he was talking about you in such a way.

Picking up Pierre, you take him to his nursery, confusing Charles. You loved feeding Pierre in that little den corner, where the sun hit perfectly, and you could watch the sea and people below. He took a picture one day of you two together. It was the 2nd day home, and that's been his wallpaper for about 4 months. He loved that picture and used it to show this perfect family to fans and others.

The doorbell rings, and you come out wearing a loose dress that covers you but is still pretty; it is a gorgeous light purple color, and Charles wanted nothing more than to kiss you, but he knew you didn't want to be touched. Pierre comes through the door with a bunch of presents, making you laugh, and without thinking, you hug adult Pierre, causing Charles to stutter in his steps. His wife, who rejects his touches, is happier to touch someone else than him? He didn't know what to do.

"We should get going," Charles grumbles, patting his buddy on the back, who nods at him, and you list everything off, and how you pumped, and there was breastmilk in the fridge if he gets hungry. Pierre finally has to shove you out the door, Charles and you standing outside your home like you were strangers to one another. People who didn't even know each other or how to talk, you're married and have a baby together. Why would it be this way?

Walking to the restaurant, you keep your hands busy with your handbag, which would typically be wrapped in Charles's hands. But he kept his in the pockets of his suit jacket, both silent as you walked to the restaurant. You feel your breath leave when you come face to face with Brasserie du Cafe de Paris Monte-Carlo.

It was your first date, your first anniversary, where he proposed to you, and you had dinner as a married couple. Jesus Christ, you went here after discovering you were pregnant to celebrate. Was this another slap to your face? To shove how much you and your body have changed since you gave birth if it was, Charles was much crueler than you ever thought possible.

"Ahhh, Mr. and Mrs. Leclerc, seeing you back after the baby is a pleasure. How is the little one?" The head waiter asks, having seen your family grow right before his eyes. You both were perfect and an actual image of true love to him. But tonight, the couple in front of him was not the one he was used to; instead, it was almost like shells of the couple.

"He's doing wonderful, Benoit. Thank you for asking." You smile as he leads you to your favorite seat. It was the one overlooking the famous Monte Carlo casino, you loved this view, and Charles saw your old smile. He swore he could see the old memories playing across your eyes.

"Well, please enjoy," Benoit says, laying down the two menus and walking off but keeping a close eye on his favorite couple.

"I wouldn't drink wine." Charles cuts, making you look up, confusion on your face, and he clears his throat.

"You're still breastfeeding. Alcohol isn't wise while still doing it." He states, trying to start a conversation, but all it does is drive the knife deeper into your heart. Just another way for him to show off how he was a better parent than you.

You just hum in agreement, and Charles curses himself, knowing he just made things worse while trying to talk to you, his wife, the woman he loves more than life itself, and he can't even do that. You both order and sip on water while Charles sips on some old expensive liquor.

"Do you want a divorce?" You don't know why you blurted it out, but you did. Charles sucks his drink down and chokes on it. A sputter of coughs leaves his mouth while gently hitting his chest, trying to regulate his breaths.

"What?" He snarls, furious beyond means that you would even ask that.

"Do you want a divorce? Because clearly, you don't want me anymore." You lean back in your seat, refusing to even look at him.

"You ask me if I want a divorce, and you can't even look at me? Y/n." He hisses, anger and being scared shitless getting the best of him.

You turn and look at him, and his anger dies. Your eyes gave everything away, the hurt, sadness, rejections, everything was right there in front of him, but he was too wrapped up to notice how much you are hurting.

"Baby, Y/n. What's going on? You don't talk to me anymore or let me touch you, but you can touch other men. I have been patient with you; I know healing after birth takes a while, but....you just feel apart, and I'm trying hard to be strong for you, but I can't help you if we don't talk." He whispers, not wanting people to hear you.

"Am I a horrible mother? I ask myself that question all the time. Wanna know why? Because when I'm next to you or you tell me something, I feel like I'm a failure. I'm terrified that if I get too close to our gorgeous baby, the universe will just take him away, and I wake up every morning dreading the day it happens. What then, Charles?" Your throat tightens, trying hard not to cry in front of all these people.

Charles stares at you in shock before grabbing his drink and swallowing it now.

"Listen to me," He pleads and leans forward. "You...there is no one else in this entire world, fucking universe I would want to be Pierre's mother. You fought day and night to get him here, and he is. He's healthy and happy, and fuck, the way he looks at you like you're his whole world, is because you are. You're his mother; he loves you, feels protected by you, and craves to be near you. I know this because I have felt that same way every day since I met you. I married you and created a life with you because no one else could do it, and I would kill anyone who ever thought about taking you or Pierre away from me, Y/n." He whispers, tears forming in his eyes.

"You say all this but refuse to touch me, and I heard you earlier on the phone talking about how nothing is where it is anymore and how it's such a turnoff." You choke out, dabbing your eyes as the waiter brings you your food.

"Wha-" Charles clears his throat and looks at the waiter. "Thank you." The waiter scurries off, sensing the tension between you two. "Y/n, I was talking about my new steering wheel for the car." He explains, and you can't help the laughter that escapes your lips.

"What? Your damn steering wheel?" You curse, laughter getting louder while Charles rubs his temples.

"Yes, they moved all the buttons to different places. I was talking to one of the engineers. Putain." He curses, shaking his head.

"Then why won't....why won't you touch me anymore?' You whisper, cutting into your steak, mouth watering at the smell of spices and butter.

"You wouldn't touch me; I figured you didn't want to be.....intimate with you recovering, so this entire time, have we had one big misunderstanding?" He asks, cutting into his Lobster Bisque. You reflect on all your interactions and groan, nodding your head and making Charles chuckle.

"If being a parent was easy, love, the world would be perfect. It's not easy, and you know what? I want us to promise something." He bites into his food and nods at how it melts in his mouth, and you can't help but giggle at how he does that whenever he eats something he loves. He even did it to you for the first time; he went down on you. Still does.

"What's that, Char?" You ask, moving your free hand to grab his, and he smiles, lifting up and kissing your fingers.

"Once a month or whenever we feel we misunderstand each other, we breathe, sit, and talk. We can't keep this up. We have Pierre now, and maybe some...more in the future. We need to stay strong." Charles mumbles, kissing your wedding ring and then the palm of your hand.

"Char." You whisper, making your husband stare up at you, his thick lashes covering half of his eyes, giving those eyes that would make any woman naked.

"Check, please!" Charles yells, making you laugh and lean over, kissing him gently.

"Always be there for me?" You ask; glad to have this man in your life.

"Always." He whispers, unable to wait for the rest of his life with you.

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hollowed-theory-hall · 2 months

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Harry was never really Dumbledore's man

So, in HBP Harry says himself:

“Well, it is clear to me that he has done a very good job on you,” said Scrimgeour, his eyes cold and hard behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Dumbledore’s man through and through, aren’t you, Potter?” “Yeah, I am,” said Harry.

(HBP, 348)

But, I'm here to argue Harry actually has many many doubts and reservations about Dumbledore throughout all books (even HBP), and I find it interesting how Harry convinced the Wizarding world (and the readers) that he's Dumbledore's man when he isn't. Not really.

(Just makes me all the more annoyed at him calling his son Albus...)

I'm going to go through some examples of Harry showing his doubts about Dumbledore way before book 7. Because Harry is an abused, distrusting boy, and Dumbledore isn't actually an exception to that until very late into the books. And even when Harry chooses to trust Dumbledore's intentions, he never fully trusts his judgment.

“D’you think he meant you to do it?” said Ron. “Sending you your father’s cloak and everything?” “Well, ” Hermione exploded, “if he did — I mean to say that’s terrible — you could have been killed.” “No, it isn’t,” said Harry thoughtfully. “He’s a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don’t think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It’s almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could….”

(PS, 217)

This quote above is from the ending of Philosopher's Stone and the outlook Harry, Ron, and Hermione have on Dumbledore and his behavior is the same as seen in the later books. So I wanted to talk about each of them and how they see Dumbledore because this quote really sets the tone for the rest of the series.

Ron is doubtful and distrustful. The situation is odd, and he's clever, he analyzed the situation and came to a frightening conclusion — the whole ordeal seemed planned by Dumbledore. And Ron isn't scared of voicing this question.

Hermione, while not always a rule-follower, respects Dumbledore and his authority. A lot. So, she doesn't believe Dumbledore could've planned it as it would reflect badly on his character and authority. Hermione is a very loyal person, and once she decides she respects someone she is willfully blind to their flaws (we see it with her later in the series).

Harry, while he's clever enough to notice the same things Ron did and come to the same conclusion — that Dumbledore planned for an 11-year-old to face Voldemort — he attributes good intentions to Dumbledore. Harry sees the situation and draws his conclusions, but chooses to hope/believe Dumbledore's intentions were good ones.

Harry’s brain seemed to have jammed. He stared numbly at Riddle, at the orphaned boy who had grown up to murder Harry’s own parents, and so many others. . . . At last he forced himself to speak. “You’re not,” he said, his quiet voice full of hatred. “Not what?” snapped Riddle. “Not the greatest sorcerer in the world,” said Harry, breathing fast. “Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn’t dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you’re hiding these days —” The smile had gone from Riddle’s face, to be replaced by a very ugly look. “Dumbledore’s been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!” he hissed. “He’s not as gone as you might think!” Harry retorted. He was speaking at random, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing rather than believing it to be true —

(CoS, 282)

This is one of the scenes people call to to show how much faith Harry has in Dumbledore (even Dumbledore himself), the thing is, Harry says (in his mind) he's just saying things to try and scare Tom. To try and buy time, or unbalance Tom so he may have a chance at escape.

The important note is that Harry doesn't actually believe what he's saying to Tom. He's just saying what he thinks would bother Tom the most.

Harry had never shared this piece of information with anybody. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort’s wand was something it couldn’t help — rather as he couldn’t help being related to Aunt Petunia. However, he really hoped that Mr. Ollivander wasn’t about to tell the room about it. He had a funny feeling Rita Skeeter’s Quick-Quotes Quill might just explode with excitement if he did.

(GoF, 310)

This part about telling no one about his wand's connection to Voldemort is true. He never told anyone by that point in GoF. Not Ron, not Hermione, not Dumbledore, not even Sirius.

As I mentioned above, Harry is abused and distrustful. He's not at all Dumbledore's perfect soldier who trusts him with everything. In GoF, Harry decides against telling Dumbledore about his dreams and the pain in his scar:

“Your scar hurt? Harry, that’s really serious. . . . Write to Professor Dumbledore! And I’ll go and check Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions. . . . Maybe there’s something in there about curse scars. . . .” Yes, that would be Hermione’s advice: Go straight to the headmaster of Hogwarts, and in the meantime, consult a book. [...] As for informing the headmaster, Harry had no idea where Dumbledore went during the summer holidays. He amused himself for a moment, picturing Dumbledore, with his long silver beard, fulllength wizard’s robes, and pointed hat, stretched out on a beach somewhere, rubbing suntan lotion onto his long crooked nose. Wherever Dumbledore was, though, Harry was sure that Hedwig would be able to find him; Harry’s owl had never yet failed to deliver a letter to anyone, even without an address. But what would he write? Dear Professor Dumbledore, Sorry to bother you, but my scar hurt this morning. Yours sincerely, Harry Potter. Even inside his head the words sounded stupid.

(GoF, 21)

Harry doesn't wish to share secrets with Dumbledore, nor does he feel comfortable to go to him with his troubles (his go-to adult while Sirius was around was always Sirius). Again, Hermione is mentioned as the one who trusts Dumbledore's authority, in Harry's head, but he's right, he knows her well.

Harry actually spends a good portion of the series purposefully trying to hide information from Dumbledore. (I'm saying 'trying ' because Dumbledore always found out, but not because Harry told him).

“He seemed to think it was best,” said Hermione rather breathlessly. “Dumbledore, I mean.” “Right,” said Harry. He noticed that her hands too bore the marks of Hedwig’s beak and found that he was not at all sorry. “I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles —” Ron began. “Yeah?” said Harry, raising his eyebrows. “Have either of you been attacked by dementors this summer?” “Well, no — but that’s why he’s had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time -” Harry felt a great jolt in his guts as though he had just missed a step going downstairs. So everyone had known he was being followed except him. “Didn’t work that well, though, did it?” said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his voice even. “Had to look after myself after all, didn’t I?” “He was so angry,” said Hermione in an almost awestruck voice. “Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary.” “Well, I’m glad he left,” Harry said coldly. “If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer.”

(OotP, 63)

Harry is angry here, true, but he doubts Dumbledore's idea of what's "safe" for him. He's actually glad for the dementors because he doubts Dumbledore would've brought him over if it wasn't an emergency.

And Harry is right to be doubtful and suspicious. He's right that he's less safe at the Dursleys than at Grimmauld Place. He's right to feel angry and betrayed at literally everyone knowing he's being followed except for him. He's right Dumbledore probably wouldn't have brought him if it wasn't for the dementor attack. Harry is correct in each and every one of his assessments of Dumbledore's character and decisions here.

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It’s more like . . . his mood, I suppose. I’m just getting flashes of what mood he’s in. . . . Dumbledore said something like this was happening last year. . . . He said that when Voldemort was near me, or when he was feeling hatred, I could tell. Well, now I’m feeling it when he’s pleased too. . . .” There was a pause. The wind and rain lashed at the building. “You’ve got to tell someone,” said Ron. “I told Sirius last time.” “Well, tell him about this time!” “Can’t, can I?” said Harry grimly. “Umbridge is watching the owls and the fires, remember?” “Well then, Dumbledore —” “I’ve just told you, he already knows,” said Harry shortly, getting to his feet, taking his cloak off his peg, and swinging it around himself. “There’s no point telling him again.” Ron did up the fastening of his own cloak, watching Harry thoughtfully. “Dumbledore’d want to know,” he said. Harry shrugged. “C’mon . . . we’ve still got Silencing Charms to practice . . .”

(OotP, 382)

Remember I mentioned Harry hiding things from Dumbledore? This is one of such occasions. There are more in GoF that I didn't copy, but this is an example of Voldemort-related, dangerous information Harry is hiding from Dumbledore because he doesn't trust him and doesn't feel comfortable telling him things.

“It’s lessons with Snape that are making it worse,” said Harry flatly. “I’m getting sick of my scar hurting, and I’m getting bored walking down that corridor every night.” He rubbed his forehead angrily. “I just wish the door would open, I’m sick of standing staring at it —” “That’s not funny,” said Hermione sharply. “Dumbledore doesn’t want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn’t have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You’re just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons.” “I am working!” said Harry, nettled. “You try it sometime, Snape trying to get inside your head, it’s not a bundle of laughs, you know!” “Maybe . . .” said Ron slowly. “Maybe what?” said Hermione rather snappishly. “Maybe it’s not Harry’s fault he can’t close his mind,” said Ron darkly. “What do you mean?” said Hermione. “Well, maybe Snape isn’t really trying to help Harry. . . .” Harry and Hermione stared at him. Ron looked darkly and meaningfully from one to the other. “Maybe,” he said again in a lower voice, “he’s actually trying to open Harry’s mind a bit wider . . . make it easier for You-Know —” “Shut up, Ron,” said Hermione angrily. “How many times have you suspected Snape, and when have you ever been right? Dumbledore trusts him, he works for the Order, that ought to be enough.” “He used to be a Death Eater,” said Ron stubbornly. “And we’ve never seen proof that he really swapped sides. . . .” “Dumbledore trusts him,” Hermione repeated. “And if we can’t trust Dumbledore, we can’t trust anyone.”

(OotP, 554)

Again we see the same exact dynamic from first year. Hermione is loyal to Dumbledore, not even considering he might be wrong about something, or not have their best interests at heart. Ron and Harry on the other hand, are both open to the possibility that things aren't so simple. They don't think Dumbledore is intentionally harming Harry, but they think he's wrong about Snape. Something Hermione, Arthur and Molly would never consider.

(This is actually the most annoying thing in Hermione's character for me, her unshakable faith in Dumbledore, who doesn't deserve her trust)

“. . . so you see what this means?” Harry finished at a gallop. “Dumbledore won’t be here tonight, so Malfoy’s going to have another clear shot at whatever he’s up to. No, listen to me!” he hissed angrily, as both Ron and Hermione showed every sign of interrupting. “I know it was Malfoy celebrating in the Room of Requirement. Here —” He shoved the Marauder’s Map into Hermione’s hands. “You’ve got to watch him and you’ve got to watch Snape too. Use anyone else who you can rustle up from the D.A., Hermione, those contact Galleons will still work, right? Dumbledore says he’s put extra protection in the school, but if Snape’s involved, he’ll know what Dumbledore’s protection is, and how to avoid it — but he won’t be expecting you lot to be on the watch, will he?” “Harry —” began Hermione, her eyes huge with fear.

(HBP, 552)

Even in book 6, the book Harry grows the most comfortable and trusting towards Dumbledore, even then, he doesn't trust Dumbledore. He thinks (and somewhat rightly so because he doesn't know of Snape and Dumbledore's plan) that Dumbledore is wrong about Snape. that Dumbledore is wrong about Malfoy. Harry doesn't trust that whatever protections Dumbledore would leave would be enough (and they weren't).

Even at the end of HBP, the point in the series where Harry has the most faith in Dumbledore, Harry still doesn't trust Dumbledore's judgment or his ability to protect the school. Even after Dumbledore calls Harry out on it, telling him the safety of the students is important to him, Harry still tells Ron and Hermione to get the DA to protect the school without notifying Dumbledore.

And Dumbledore raised Harry to feel responsible for the school's safety, Harry is doing what he was "bred" to do. But he does it behind Dumbledore's back, because like every adult, Harry deep down expects to be let down. After all, he's used to saving the school himself.

So, no, Harry never really trusted Dumbledore fully. At least, not Dumbledore's judgment. Harry does believe Dumbledore's intentions are good for the most part, even if ineffective.

“He never told me his sister was a Squib,” said Harry, without thinking, still cold inside. “And why on earth would he tell you?” screeched Muriel, swaying a little in her seat as she attempted to focus upon Harry [...] Where was saintly Albus while Ariana was locked in the cellar? Off being brilliant at Hogwarts, and never mind what was going on in his own house!” “What d’you mean, locked in the cellar?” asked Harry. “What is this?” Doge looked wretched. Auntie Muriel cackled again and answered Harry. [...] Numbly Harry thought of how the Dursleys had once shut him up, locked him away, kept him out of sight, all for the crime of being a wizard. Had Dumbledore’s sister suffered the same fate in reverse: imprisoned for her lack of magic? Had Dumbledore truly left her to her fate while he went off to Hogwarts to prove himself brilliant and talented?

(DH, 135-137)

And in Deathley Hollows, Harry is very quick to start questioning and doubting Dumbledore. Especially when compared to Hermione:

“Harry—” But he shook his head. Some inner certainty had crashed down inside him; it was exactly as he had felt after Ron left. He had trusted Dumbledore, believed him the embodiment of goodness and wisdom. All was ashes: How much more could he lose? Ron, Dumbledore, the phoenix wand . . . “Harry.” She seemed to have heard his thoughts. “Listen to me. It—it doesn’t make very nice reading—” “Yeah, you could say that—” “—but don’t forget, Harry this is Rita Skeeter writing.” “You did read that letter to Grindelwald, didn’t you?” “Yes, I—I did.” She hesitated, looking upset, cradling her tea in her cold hands.

(DH, 311)

Harry is hurt, he feels betrayed, because while he never 100% trusted Dumbledore's judgment, he trusted his intentions. He trusted Dumbledore was good and cared for him. He feels cold and betrayed, showing trust in his intentions. But his readiness to accept Skeeter's and Muriel's accusations so quickly shows he always had his doubts about Dumbledore and they never really left, even if he wanted to trust him, he never did, not fully.

Hermione, on the other hand, who was always loyal and trusted Dumbledore (both his intentions and judgment) 100%, tries to rationalize Dumbledore's actions and convince herself everyone who says bad things about him is lying.

Harry doesn't. Because out of the Golden Trio, Hermione was always Dumbledore's woman, Ron and Harry... not really. Not as much.

“That old berk,” muttered Aberforth, taking another swig of mead. “Thought the sun shone out of my brother’s every office, he did. Well, so did plenty of people, you three included, by the looks of it.” Harry kept quiet. He did not want to express the doubts and uncertainties about Dumbledore that had riddled him for months now. He had made his choice while he dug Dobby’s grave, he had decided to continue along the winding, dangerous path indicated for him by Albus Dumbledore, to accept that he had not been told everything that he wanted to know, but simply to trust. He had no desire to doubt again; he did not want to hear anything that would deflect him from his purpose. He met Aberforth’s gaze, which was so strikingly like his brothers’: The bright blue eyes gave the same impression that they were X-raying the object of their scrutiny, and Harry thought that Aberforth knew what he was thinking and despised him for it. “Professor Dumbledore cared about Harry, very much,” said Hermione in a low voice. “Did he now?” said Aberforth. “Funny thing how many of the people my brother cared about very much ended up in a worse state than if he’d left ’em well alone.”

(DH, 478)

More of how Harry thinks about Dumbledore, showing, again, how he always had his doubts and reservations but he chooses to trust Dumbledore's intentions because otherwise, he doesn't think he has any hope to defeat Voldemort. He chooses to keep following Dumbledore's path because he has no real choice but to trust what he sees as the only path that'll lead to Voldemort's destruction. But Harry has plenty of doubts about Dumbledore.

Hermione, on the other hand, has little to no doubts. She doesn't allow herself to doubt.

And this pattern, of Harry doubting Dumbledore again and again, never truly trusting him, just trusting his plan will kill Voldemort... like, how does that lead Harry to want to name his kid 'Albus'? I just don't get it...

TL;DR

Harry likes to say he's Dumbledore's man, but he always had his reservations, even when he choose to ignore them since trusting Dumbledore's plan felt like his only chance at survival. Hermione is much more trusting of Dumbledore than Harry is.

#harry potter #hp #harry potter thoughts #hp thoughts #harry potter meta #hp meta #hollowedtheory #hp theory #harry james potter #harry potter analysis #albus dumbledore

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katyswrites · 8 months

Text

don't call me 'baby'

PART 10 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, SMUT (18+), angst, mentions of pregnancy/a pregnancy scare, mentions of food and alcohol, unprotected p in v, daddy kink, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, ddlg dynamics, swearing, alcohol use, smoking, age gap, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 10.4K

A sugar daddy modern AU, a whirlwind summer romance in Italy, and two people from completely different walks of life, somehow finding each other in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But, what will happen when summer ends?

PART 10 | meet me in the afterglow

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Your walk to work was chilly enough to warrant a coat. That was perhaps the thing you missed least about home in the U.S. - even though the winters certainly got cold here, it was nowhere near the sub-zero temperatures you had grown up with during the coldest time of year. Maybe the only thing you missed was snow - in all of your time living here, you had only gotten a brief dusting once, and it had melted by the following day.

Still, a week out from Christmas, you now needed to wrap something warm around yourself as you walked down the street, heading closer to the city center as your shift was due to start.

You were technically two minutes late to your shift, the coffee shop busy enough to have a line going out the door when you arrived. Yet, your manager Francesco said nothing - a small spark of joy in your day.

You didn’t necessarily need to go back to work - Steve’s money had yet to run out. But, you felt good about earning your own money - and, the less you had to draw on his remaining funds, the less you had to think about him.

You hadn’t seen or spoken to Steve since the night of your argument. Well, that was only partially true - you had received one piece of communication from him. It came a few days later - you had been moping in your apartment, having barely left your room for days, when an envelope arrived. It had his familiar writing and wax seal, with another wad of cash and a letter made out to you:

I promise this is the last you’ll hear from me. I am a man of my word, so I promise to help provide for you until you’re finished with school. I’ll be transferring enough money to your account to cover all of your expenses, so no need to worry about your rent, food, anything of the sort… I really do want you to be able to focus on school, okay? So, please don’t protest, or try to send the money back. Please feel free to use the credit card if you need to.

I’m sorry it ended this way. We both knew it was going to, but I apologize if I said anything out of line the other night. I truly do wish you the best.

Take care,

Steve

Reading it had been a punch to the gut. The formality of it, the finality of it… you would’ve rather that you never heard from him again. You had stashed the letter in a box under your bed, and not looked at it since.

A few weeks after that, you had pregnancy scare. It was silly, really - but, your period was late, and if was the first conclusion your mind had jumped to. You had called Robin in a panic, begging her to come home - she did, with four different brands of pregnancy tests. Those 15 minutes of waiting for results were the most agonizing of your life - then, upon seeing them all negative, you fell to your knees and burst into tears.

“It’s okay,” Robin had cooed, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “You’re good it was a false alarm - you’re probably just late because of stress -”

“I know,” you sobbed. “I just -”

“What is it?”

You then had sat up, chest heaving as you sobbed.

“He’s really gone isn’t he?”

Robin held you in her arms that night as you cried yourself to sleep.

To your knowledge now, he had gone back to the U.S. - was he still in Chicago? Or, did he go back to New York? You realized it was better for you to not ask these questions, or to think of him at all. As the weeks had turned into months, you found yourself thinking of him a little less each day - but you still thought of him. You saw him in the passersby as you walked down the street, in every car window, in every businessman walking through the door to order a coffee. Sometimes, you’d hear a laugh, or get a brief whiff of cigarette smoke, and swear it was him. But it never was - it never would be again.

The days had dragged on, but luckily, you often found yourself too busy to dwell too much on thoughts of Steve. Between work and school, your plate was pretty full. With graduation in mere weeks, you had spent the entire term studying and working on your thesis. Steve’s remaining money, at least, allowed you to work far less hours than you had before - a small blessing, you supposed.

The day was moving pretty quickly, the morning rush busy enough that two hours flew by without much notice. It was only during the afternoon lull that you found yourself able to look up from the espresso machine - only to lock eyes with a familiar face through the window.

Eddie smiled back at you, waving. You couldn’t help but grin, and beckoned him to come inside. He bounded through the glass doors, bursting into the coffee shop with the infectious, chaotic energy he always carries with him.

“Bella, how are you?” he asked, leaning over the counter with a big grin.

“I’m okay,” you said, shrugging.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Just okay?”

“Oh well - you know, a bit stressed with the end of term and all. But, that’ll all be over soon.”

“I’m almost done, too - just finishing up my exams, all of that nonsense.”

“Do you have someone for your thesis?”

You nodded. “Professor Hopper - he’s always had a soft spot for me,” you said, smiling fondly, thinking of the seemingly-gruff.

“I have Clarke - I don’t actually know how much he knows about photography, he teaches chemistry for godsake, but apparently it’s a hobby or something, so he’ll sign off on whatever I do,” Eddie said, laughing.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you - I actually have my own studio space now.”

“What? Eddie, that’s amazing!”

He grinned. “Thanks - I mean, I’m still technically freelance, but I’m hoping once I’m fully graduated more work will start coming in. But for now, I don’t mind having some spare time to practice with the band.”

You did your best to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“Right - don’t forget me when you make it as a big rockstar, Eddie.”

He let out a hearty laugh at that, the infectious kind that had you joining in - you hadn’t laughed like that in quite some time.

“You know, you should come by later to check it out,” Eddie said. “I mean, if you want -”

You thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Sure, why not - I get off in about a half hour -”

“Perfect,” he cried, clapping his hands together. “I’ll just wait around then - and, uh, can I get an espresso? Since I’m already here and all.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile.

“Yeah, sure thing Munson - I’ll take my sweet time with it, just for you.”

The end of your shift flew by, and soon enough you were pulling off your apron, linking your arm in Eddie’s as he led you out the door and through the city.

The studio, as it turned out, was only a few blocks away. The space was small, but nice - a big glass storefront allowed plenty of light in, even with the fading sun, indicative of the short days of winter. Some of Eddie’s work hung framed on the walls - city scenes, candids of people on the street, bands in action at his favorite club… and even a few of you, from the project you posed for a few years ago.

“Wow - this is amazing, Eddie!” you exclaimed, glancing around the studio with genuine pride for your friend. You knew this was always the goal for him, what he always wanted to do.

“Grazie mille,” he said, beaming.

“Do you have anything lined up?”

He nodded.

“Some - nothing too interesting. A few weddings, graduation photoshoots, things like that. Oh, do you want to see the photo lab?”

You let him lead the way into the back room, passing through a dimly-lit room with machines and equipment that you were sure you had no idea how to use. Newly developed photos were hanging around on clothespins, or spread across the table in the middle.

“Back there is the darkroom,” Eddie said, gesturing to a small door on the other side of the room. “But yeah, this is where the magic happens.”

“You develop all your pictures this way?” you asked, examining a few laid across the table.

He shook his head. “Not exactly - only the stuff I shoot on film. A lot of what I do is digital, and I edit that on my computer but… I really do love shooting film. I only really do that for specific things. Oh, which reminds me!”

He turned his back to you, rummaging through a filing cabinet until he produced a large manila envelope, extending it to you. You furrowed your brow, confused. You turned it to examine it properly - the only thing written on it was your name and a date, in Eddie’s telltale scrawl.

“What -”

“It’s those pictures I owe you, from your birthday party - sorry, it took me a while to get around to developing them.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you said quietly, gripping the envelope a bit tighter. “Uh, thanks - that was really nice of you, Eddie.”

You were still staring down at the parcel in your hands, your hands shaking a bit - you had completely forgotten that Eddie had been taking pictures all night. Most likely because you had been a bit distracted at the time. But now…

“I think they turned out pretty nice, if you ask me,” Eddie said. “But, you can be the judge of that yourself.”

You pressed your mouth into a tight line, nearly feigning a smile as you finally met his eyes again. He was looking back expectantly, and you realized he wanted you to look at them now.

“Oh, yeah,” you mumbled. “I guess I’ll just -”

You opened it up, sliding out the stack of photos - they were slightly bigger than the ones you had seen from a digital camera, on a beautiful matte paper that you knew must have not been cheap. This, you realized, was Eddie’s belated birthday gift to you.

You thumbed through the pictures - the first few were just candids of your friends on the dancefloor, or deep in conversation around the bar. There were a few of you and Robin, arms thrown around each other and smiling ear-to-ear.

There were quite a few solo shots of you, raising a glass to the camera, mid-laugh, or dancing - somehow, he had made it look like you truly were the center of attention, as if to tell people this is who we were there for!

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, laughing quietly at a few of the shots, including one of Robin flipping off the camera as she kisses Vickie. Then, your smile dropped, because there he was.

Steve, looking as handsome as you remembered, but somehow also a stranger, or like a figment of your imagination. Somehow, a small part of your subconscious had convinced you over the last few months that perhaps he wasn’t real, a true figment of your imagination that had been too good to be true. But there he was, large as life, his arm wrapped around you as you smiled into the camera. You were smiling in his arms, a girl completely unrecognizable in some ways. In another photo, he’s pressing a kiss to your cheek as you laugh - you remembered that one being taken, that’s for sure. You gently trailed your fingers across the picture, as if you were hoping to reach in and pull that happy girl out, just to shake a bit of sense into her. You didn’t even realize you were crying until a fat wet teardrop his the page, rolling down and off the edge.

“Whoa - are you alright?” Eddie asked, his voice tinged with worry.

You jumped, having nearly forgotten that he was there at all. How long had you been staring at the pictures of Steve? For a few minutes, or hours? There was no way to know.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said, the thickness in your voice betraying you. You pressed the heels of your hands under your eyes, willing the gentle tears to stop, sniffling.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asked softly.

You laughed dryly, more hot tears welling up as you did.

“Nothing! I - they’re beautiful, Eddie. Really - thank you. You - you’ve really got a talent.”

Your voice wobbled a bit at the end, and you sniffled.

“I’m sorry, I - it’s nothing to do with you,” you assured him. “I just - I’ve been having a hard time lately.”

Eddie cocked his head, confused. Then, his eyes flitted down to the picture in your hands.

“Oh - I’m sorry, I - is this about him?” Eddie asked quietly, gesturing to the photos. You just nodded, avoiding his gaze again as you stuffed them back into the envelope.

“I didn’t know you two had broken up, I’m sorry -”

“We didn’t break up!” you snapped, harsher than intended. “Fuck, I - sorry, that came out wrong. We didn’t break up, because we were never exactly together. It’s just complicated.”

Eddie furrowed his brow. “Yeah, okay - well, I’m sorry to hear about your not-breakup. I guess I’m just a little surprised.”

“Why’s that?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I spent a long time looking at all of those when I was developing them - you know how they say pictures tell a thousand words?”

You nodded.

“Well - I take pictures of a lot of couples - weddings, engagement shoots, all of that… and I’ve never seen two people more in love than you two.”

You felt your chest tighten - maybe you were being a lovesick idiot at your party, but Steve?

You shook your head. “No - Eddie, it… it wasn’t like that. I can promise you that.”

Steve made that perfectly clear.

Eddie shrugged again. “I’m just telling you what I observed, that’s all.”

“Well maybe you should mind your business,” you grumbled.

Fuck. You shouldn’t have said that.

Eddie’s face fell a bit, and he slowly took a step back, hands shoved in his pockets.

“My apologies,” he whispered. He was hurt, that much was obvious. You mentally kicked yourself.

“No Eddie - I’m sorry, I didn’t -”

You sighed, frustrated.

“Things have been, like, really weird the last few months and… it doesn’t matter.”

“I could tell,” he said, voice quiet. “You’ve been.. Distant.”

You nodded, the awkwardness filling the space between you two. You had fucked this up too, somehow.

“So,” you said, clearing your throat. “Uh, it’s getting late, and dark… I probably should head home.”

“Yeah, okay - good idea, I have some stuff to work on anyway.”

You both nodded, avoiding eye contact as you both headed out back into the studio.

It wasn’t until you were at the door that you turned to face Eddie again.

“The place really is beautiful… I’m proud of you,” you said sincerely. He offered a small smile in return.

“Thanks.”

“I also - the pictures are beautiful. Thank you for these, I - they’re great.”

“I’m sorry if they -”

“Don’t apologize,” you said firmly. “They’re great - you’ve really got a gift, you know.”

You could tell Eddie was fighting a real smile, a small win in your book.

“C’mon, you know my ego’s just fine on its own.”

You laughed, and without thinking, pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry I lost it a little earlier,” you whispered.

“It’s alright,” he said, pulling away. “Heartbreak is funny like that.”

You decided not to bother protesting his assessment this time, too tired to start a fight again just to feel something.

“Right, okay.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take out the photos with… him?” Eddie asked, gesturing down to the envelope.

“No, that’s alright - I’m a big girl, I can go through them. I’m definitely going to hang a few of these up though, so thanks again.”

“Take good care of yourself darling, alright? And come by any time - for any reason.”

It was an olive branch, an assurance that things were okay. You forced a smile, nodding.

“Thanks, Eddie - you’re a great friend, you know.”

You bid your farewells, and left the studio with a strange feeling settling within you. You pulled your coat a little tighter around you, stuffing the envelope underneath as you charged through the chilly evening air to the nearest bus stop.

You didn’t get home until nearly 6pm, the winter sky fully dark by then. By the time you walked a few blocks and up the stairs to your apartment, your face was stinging from the cold, the wind picking up more since that afternoon.

Robin was on the couch, a rerun of Friends playing on the TV.

“Hey! You’re back kind of late,” she remarked.

“Yeah - I ran into Eddie, funnily enough,” you replied, hoping you sounded nonchalant.

“Oh really? How is he? I miss him - we should really make a plan to hang out with him soon -”

“Yeah, for sure,” you said, kicking off your shoes and hanging your coat on the rack. “He’s good - I saw his new studio, it’s nice.”

“Oh, no way! That’s great - I need to go sometime -”

“Yeah, totally,” you said, absentminded. “Uh, I’ve got some stuff to do, but I’ll be out here later -”

“Maybe we can get takeout or something -”

“Yeah, perfect -” you tittered, closing your bedroom door behind you, eyes on the envelope in your hands.

You bit your lip, debating what to do. Part of you considered finding all of the pictures of Steve, and burning them. But, that felt a bit dramatic. You pulled out the stack again, sifting through until you found the shots of him. You couldn’t help but smile, looking at how happy the girl in the photos was - if only she knew how quickly things would fall apart that night. The photo of Steve kissing you cheek was your favorite - it was just full of pure, unbridled joy. The one after that was the one you stared at for quite some time, though. You were looking into the camera, grinning widely. Steve, however, wasn’t - no, he was looking at you. You stared at him for quite some time - and remembered Eddie’s words.

I’ve never seen two people more in love than you two.

You had thought it was crazy - but, in the picture, Steve was looking at you like you’d hung the stars. Like, if he didn’t have you, he’d be lost. He was looking at you with eyes full of love - you just hadn’t been looking.

You gasped, realizing what Eddie had seen that you couldn’t - maybe everything had meant more to Steve than he had let on. No, that was crazy - wasn’t it?

What happened next didn’t have much explanation - it was probably crazy. You found yourself Googling Steve’s company headquarters in Chicago - it couldn’t be this easy, could it? But it was.

A quick call through the directory brought you to his secretary, a bubbly woman who was more than happy to help. You pretended to be the secretary of a business partner you had remembered Steve mentioning, saying how you wanted to send a thank-you gift - it had been too easy to get his home address, really. And, a confirmation that he was back in Chicago.

The next morning, you sent out an envelope, sticking on international postage. You debated not putting your name on the return address, but ultimately decided to include it - he’d recognize the address anyway. When you dropped it at the post office, you walked away feeling a sense of relief - and, perhaps, just a bit unhinged. TIme would tell if anything came of it. But, at the very least, it felt like finally closing the chapter of your life that had been defined by Steve Harrington. And, that was a good thing… right?

********

The day before Christmas Eve, you received great news: confirmation that you had passed all of your exams, your thesis receiving glowing feedback from the professors in your department. Your degree, which studied Art History and Travel and Tourism Management, meant that you would actually be able to stay here - you hoped to work in tourism in some way right here in Rome, or perhaps work in one of the city’s many museums - being bilingual would help, and more importantly, it meant you never had to set foot back in the United States again, if you didn’t want.

Christmas brought its usual cheer and celebration, complete with mulled wine and a potluck dinner you and Robin held for some of the other foreign students you were friendly with, knowing they didn’t have families to go to for the holidays. Your graduation only brought extra festivities, including a speech prepared by Robin given as a toast at dinner, saying how proud she was of you (and, how jealous she was that you didn’t have to worry about schoolwork anymore). It was silly yet sincere enough to make you tear up and pull her into a big hug. Eddie and Jonathan even swung by for a bit, joining in on the celebration until the wee hours of the morning. Robin and Vickie were all over each otherYou ate and drank to your heart’s content before stumbling to bed, leaving cleanup in the kitchen for the morning.

The morning of Boxing Day, it turned out, was actually the afternoon, with you and Robin oversleeping. You, to your own relief, felt tired, but not too hungover - the same couldn’t be said for Robin and Vickie, who stumbled into the kitchen with grimaces on their faces and grumbles as a greeting.

You spent most of the day cleaning up from the last two days’ festivities, washing dishes and clearing away wrapping paper, wiping countertops and vacuuming just enough until your home felt semi-in order.

You were still in your pajamas as it was getting dark again in the evening, a rarity these days. When Robin said she was heading out to dinner with Vickie and likely would be staying at her place that night, you bid her farewell, looking forward to some time alone to fully relax and unwind.

It was several hours later, after scrounging together a dinner of Christmas leftovers and half-dozing on the couch while a movie played, that your doorbell rang. You sat up with a start, your heart jumping at the unexpected intrusion. You stumbled to the door, grumbling about who could possibly be here at this hour - maybe Robin decided to come back after all, and got locked out again? You were ready to playfully ridicule her when you opened the door. But when you saw who was standing on the other side, you froze.

Steve Harrington was there on your doorstep, barely illuminated in the dim light. His chest was heaving, his hair just a bit disheveled. His eyes widened when he saw you, and you imagined you did the same. Your heart plummeted to your stomach at the sight of him, so real and alive in front of you. Were you dreaming? Was this some sick prank?

Neither of you said anything for a moment, two mouths hanging open, searching for the words.

“It’s Christmas,” you blurted out, the first words you’ve said to him in over four months.

“It’s December 26th,” he replied, simply and casually.

“I - well, it’s still a holiday, kind of.”

“Yeah, I know - do you know how hard it is to catch a last-minute flight on Christmas?”

You just stood there in the doorway, unable to think of anything else to say - what the fuck?

“What are you doing here?” you asked, words biting. You were lashing out a bit, but you didn’t care - this moment right now reminded you of a similar one over the summer, when he came to your doorstep to explain how he wasn’t engaged. What was his excuse now?

“Why did you send me this?” he asked, holding up a familiar envelope - the photo.

Why did you? You weren’t certain of that answer yourself. So, you went with the first explanation that came to your head.

“It’s a good picture of you,” you said quietly.

He rolled his eyes.

“Do not - I don’t hear from you for months, then I get this in the mail - on Christmas Eve, mind you -”

“I’m sorry, were you supposed to hear from me?”

“I don’t know!” he cried. “Maybe?”

You scoffed. “You can’t be serious - you made it very clear that you never wanted to see me again.”

“I - what?”

“I wish you well? Take care? We ended things, Steve - what else was I meant to think?”

He sighed, his shoulders sagging.

“I don’t know. I guess part of me - it doesn’t matter. But, what am I supposed to make of this?” he asks, waving the envelope.

“I - Eddie gave me a bunch of pictures he took at my birthday party… I thought maybe you’d want that one.”

He took a tentative step closer towards you, gauging your reaction. You held your ground, not breaking eye contact.

“Is that the only reason?” he asked, voice low.

You felt your heartbeat quicken, your palms clammy - he really was just so handsome. Still, there was something so boyish about him, something that reminded you of why you fell for him in the first place. He had cut his hair a bit, his summer tan faded - and he looked tired. Then again, you probably did too - you suddenly became conscious of the fact that you were in your pajamas, still looking like you had just woken up - you wished you could disappear, never to be perceived again.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “The only reason.”

He was close enough now that you could see his Adam’s Apple bob as he gulped, his eyes glancing up and down your form as he took a deep breath.

“Tell me that, when you sent this, there wasn’t at least a small part of you that hoped I’d respond - that, when you sent this, you hoped I’d call, or show up here. If there wasn’t, I’ll walk away right now, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

There it was - everything laid out on the table. So much was still unsaid - but, it was obvious that he also had been hurting the last few months, that he didn’t want this to end, maybe even nearly as much as you did.

“You really flew all the way here because I sent you a photo?” you whispered.

He nodded. “Of course I did.”

“You realize how crazy that is, right?”

He chuckled dryly.

“Well, they do say it makes you do crazy things.”

“...it?” you asked, voice wavering.

He nodded.

Oh.

“Come inside,” you murmured. “It’s pretty cold out there.”

As soon as the door was shut behind him, he began spiraling into a new explanation.

“I hope you know that I didn’t come here just to - you’re right, it is kind of crazy, but I didn’t know what else to do, after everything that happened -”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you said, cutting him off. “I don’t want to talk at all.”

You both stood there for a moment, eyes locked on eachother. Then, as if reading each other’s minds, you both moved at once - you crashed your lips into his, fast and desperate. He sighed against your lips, pulling you close as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

You felt like crying - you had missed him so much, more than you had realized - his voice, his warmth, his scent - it brought everything flooding back, the feelings you had buried in an attempt at self-preservation. But now, as you kissed him, you felt the tears well up, stinging your eyes as they rolled down your face, hot and fast.

“Whoa - baby, it’s okay - what’s wrong -”

Baby.

“Nothing,” you cried, wiping the tears away. “I just - I really fucking missed you.”

You felt stupid to admit it, but then again, didn’t he come close to confessing that himself just a few moments ago?

“I know, I know, baby - you have no fuckin’ idea -”

Another kiss, passionate and apologetic.

“I didn’t mean any of what I said that night,” you gasped, pulling him closer. “I was just so scared -”

“I know, me too, baby - m’sorry -”

Baby. Babybabybaby.

He was holding your face between his hands now, backing you up until you were pressed against the wall, his lips finding yours again. He titled his head down to nuzzle at your throat, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin there. You tipped your head back, giving him full access to do as he pleased. He kissed and nipped at your neck, until you were moaning and crying out his name, pulling at his coat until it fell off of his shoulders. You twisted your hands in his button-down, his hands squeezing tighter on your waist in response.

“Fuck, Steve,” you breathed. “I’m sorry -”

“Stop with that,” he said, firmly taking your face in his hands again, catching your lips in another gentle kiss. “You’re right, I just realy don’t want to talk anymore -”

Then he was kissing you again, swallowing your noises as you whined his name, fingers gripping his hair.

“Bedroom, now,” you told him. “Please -”

“Yeah, okay.”

He couldn’t keep his hands off of you, both of you stumbling down the small hallway and into your bedroom, Steve slamming the door closed behind him with his foot.

“No Robin?” he asked, lips finding your neck again.

“No - ah! She’s at Vickie’s tonight -”

“Thank Christ,” he growled. “I don’t know how quiet I’m capable of being right now.”

He was apparently as desperate as you were, lips finding yours hungrily as he pulled your oversized t-shirt over your head, eyes practically rolling to the back of his head when he saw your breasts.

“No bra?” he asked.

“I was lounging around, until you showed up -”

“Thank god,” he practically snarled, his hands finding the small of your back to pull you close.

You reached between yourselves, unbuttoning his shirt, fingers slipping as they shook with anticipation. He reached down to help you, until he eventually shrugged the shirt off. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your bare chest to his, nearly crying again from the contact.

“I really missed you,” he whispered, a man ruined. “I never thought I’d be able to have you like this again -”

“None of that,” you murmured, pressing a finger to his lips. “It’s alright.”

You just stared at him, running your hands down his chest as you took a deep breath.

“I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” he asked, face flickering with concern. “Oh god, are - are you seeing someone else? I didn’t even ask -”

“No! No, nothing like that,” you assured, biting your lip. “I just - do you remember the night of my birthday on our trip, on the rooftop?”

He nodded. “That was a really nice night.”

��I haven’t been totally honest with you,” you admitted, heart racing as you were ready to lay out the thing you had been terrified to admit aloud.

“About what?” he asked softly, cupping your cheek gently with his palm.

“Remember when I said something in Italian, and you asked what it meant? And I just said it meant I loved the gift, the star thing?”

He nodded. You took a deep, shuddering breath.

“That wasn’t exactly true. I - I said that I was in love with you,” you managed, voice quivering at the end. “That’s why I was so scared - I didn’t realize until I said it… I had broken our rule, our number one rule -”

“Hey, hey -” he cooed, shaking his head. “Did you mean it?”

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah - I still do.”

The few seconds that passed after that had your stomach doing somersaults - what if he still didn’t feel that way, and everything he had said in the doorway was bullshit? You thought you were going to be sick -

But his face softened, his eyes glistening - was he going to cry?

“Fuck the rules. I stopped following those a long time ago,” he said.

Your heart fluttered, your face heating.

“Are you saying -”

“How did you say it in Italian again?” he asked. “I’m sorry, I’ve been slacking on my lessons without you around.”

You laughed. “Oh, um, it’s sono innamorato di te. It translates directly as I’m in love with you, or I’m falling for you.”

He nodded. “Well then - sono innamorato di te.”

You felt like your chest was about to explode, and before you knew it, you were crying again. He was too, you realized, his cheeks glistening with tears as he choked a sob with laughter.

“We could’ve saved ourselves a lot of trouble if we both just said that in the first place,” he said, reaching to wipe away some of your tears.

“How long?” you asked.

“Since the night of the gala I brought you to. So… longer. I guess I win.”

You sobbed again, Steve swallowing the sound with another kiss. It’s wet and salty with tears, a mess of apologies and confessions.

“Steve - I -”

“I know, baby,” he whispered, kissing your salty cheeks. “It’s alright - I’m here now -”

The conversation truly stopped after that - you couldn’t keep your hands off of one another, shedding clothes until you were nude and devouring each other with desperation unlike anything you had ever felt before.

Steve was pressing his lips between your breasts when you asked, voice breathy and filled with need.

“Steve - I need you, please -”

“Mm - yeah, okay -”

Before he could move, you were reaching down to grasp his cock in your hand. He gasped, pupils blown as his head thumped back against the wall. The noise that came out of him was unholy, wrecked and ruined as you brushed your thumb along his leaking tip.

“Christ, baby -”

“Can I suck you off, please?” you asked, desperate to make him come undone.

“Honey - you can’t - I just, I wanna fuck you so bad… I won’t last if I let you get your mouth on me, baby.”

You pouted, even as your heart raced with the thrill of knowing you’d have him inside you again.

“Next time,” he said, “I swear.”

A promise of a next time, of a thousand more times - you started kissing him again, lips bruising his - losing yourself in any drink or drug would never compared to losing yourself in Steve Harrington, you decided.

“Get on the bed,” he muttered, gently pushing you back. You did as he asked, falling back onto the mattress gently as he joined you, face hovering inches from yours.

His hair was a mess, pupils blown and lips glossy. He just shook his head, as if in disbelief.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re just so beautiful,” he breathed.

You felt your face heat, and you buried your face in your hands.

“Shut up.”

“About you? Not likely.”

Before you could come up with a clever remark, he was kissing your neck again, his lips traveling down slowly between the valley of your breasts, taking his time - he was going to leave bruises, you already knew.

But he didn’t stop, traveling down, down, down -

“What are you -”

“I never said I didn’t want to taste you first,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I miss having my mouth on you so fuckin’ much -”

“Fuck,” you gasped. “You’re unreal -”

“Says you,” he retorted. Whatever you planned to say next died on your lips, anything resembling a coherent thought dissolving as his lips found your cunt.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, back arching as his tongue swirled around your clit.

“Just as fuckin’ sweet as I remembered,” he whispered, his breath against your pussy making your chest heave.

He licked a stripe along your slit, making your back arch off the bed, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Be loud for me, baby,” he murmured, lips finding your clit again. You did as he asked, moaning and crying out his name as he devoured your pussy, eliciting desperate sounds from you as your fingers wound themselves in his hair. He groaned as you pulled on his locks, encouraging you to continue doing so as he opted to slide a finger inside you.

“Fuck - Steve! Ohmygod, fuck -”

You felt him smile as he lapped and licked at your folds, adding a second finger and beginning to pump them in earnest, finding that spot inside of you too easily.

You were crying out, bucking your hips against Steve’s lips, like putty in his hands. For about ten minutes you were completely his, mind numb with pleasure as he took you apart with his mouth. You let him, feeling the blunt fingernails of his free hand digging into your thigh, pulling you as close as possible.

“Steve - I’m gonna - I’m so close, y’feel too good -”

Encouraged, he picked up the pace a bit, sending you completely over the edge. When you came, you saw stars, grinding down on Steve’s mouth and fingers. You were screaming, and he helped you through it, nuzzling against your core as you pulsed around his fingers. Your hand left his hair and found his temple, gently coaxing him closer as you rode out your orgasm.

You were still breathing heavily as he kissed his way slowly back up your body, worshiping every inch of skin he could find. YOu didn’t let your eyes open again until he was face-to-face with you, chin glistening with your release as he wore a smug grin.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmured. “Tasted so good… you came so hard for me -”

“Mm -” you hummed, pulling him down for a kiss. You tasted yourself on him, the sensation completely euphoric.

“Do you need some time?” he asked gently.

You ran a finger over your clit, still sensitive and puffy, and shook your head.

“No, I’m okay - I actually really need you to fuck me.”

“Thank god,” he said, exasperated. “I don’t think I can go another second without fucking you -”

“I know -”

“I would dream about you, you know - all the time. I’d wake up in the middle of the night with a hard-on, of a mess in my boxers like a fuckin’ teenager -”

“I know what you mean,” you admitted, recalling a few times you had thought of him as you touched yourself since he’d left.

“Please tell me you’re still on the fuckin’ pill -”

“Yeah, I am - God, Steve -”

“I know, I know - ready baby?”

You nodded, locking your eyes with his as he positioned himself above you, pushing inside of you ever so slowly. You could tell he was holding back, doing everything he could to not enter you in one rough movement. You winced at the stretch, nearly forgetting just how big he was. He kissed apologies across your face, gasping as he felt your warm walls envelope him.

“Fuck -” he groaned, burying his face in your neck. “I can’t believe I went so long without this - you feel so fuckin’ perfect, baby - such a tight, perfect pussy -”

“You feel so good,” you breathed, digging your fingernails into his shoulderblades. “Steve - I’m so full, please fuck me -”

He did as you asked, rolling his hips against yours, eliciting a groan from both of you. He was still holding back you could tell - but you didn’t have time for that, not after months of missing him, of missing this -

“Let go, baby,” you whispered. “Please -”

“What did you just call me?” he asked.

“I - baby,” you repeated. You realized you never had before - was that wrong?

“Say it again,” he breathed.

“Baby,” you breathed, gasping as he thrust into you a little harder.

“Baby, please - fuck me, let go,” you cried.

It became fast and hard quickly, the desperation you shared impossible to mask. The slapping of his hips against yours was positively dirty, Steve’s arms caging you underneath him as he pounded into you. Your hand snaked down between you, your own finger finding your clit.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, continuing his relentless pace. “Touch yourself for me, just like that - M’not gonan last long, I’m sorry, you just feel too good -”

“It’s okay,” you assured, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I want you to lose it.”

He groaned, the room filling with the sound of slapping skin and moans, your names on each other’s lips.

Nothing else mattered, not when Steve was making you feel like this, not when he had flown across an ocean on a whim, a desperate hope to just see you again, even if only for a moment. You suddenly became so overwhelmed with love for this man, this person who had turned your world upside down - it was indescribable, impossible to even express. So you just held him tight, burying your face into his shoulder.

“M’close - I need you to come with me, baby - can you do that? I know you can, you’re always so good for me -”

You nodded, unable to formulate words anymore.

“I fuckin’ love you,” he cried, hips stuttering, his thrusts growing sloppier. “So much, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you - I love you, baby -”

His words sent you over the edge, white-hot pleasure surging through your body as you screamed his name. The feeling of you clamping around him sending him into his own orgasm. He spilled inside of you, your name on his lips like a prayer. He practically collapsed on top of you, the feeling of his heartbeat against yours feeling like home, like it was always meant to be this way.

Your breaths were labored, sweet kisses peppered across skin. Neither of you spoke for quite some time. After he rolled off of you, he immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you as close as physically possible.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, slow and gentle. It was only when you pulled back, brushing some of his sweaty hair away from his face, that you broke the silence.

“I love you, too,” you murmured. You brushed your fingers along his face, and he caught your wrist, pressing kisses to your palm and knuckles, as if determined to worship you every chance he got.

“I want more than an arrangement,” he whispered. “I don’t want rules, or a deal, or -”

“Yeah, that was obvious,” you replied, chuckling. “And, me too.”

“And, you were right - you have school, and I never wanted you to think I just wanted you like a trophy or something - you have your own life, aspirations, and i know that - I just like spoiling you, but I never wanted you to give up who you are,” he said, face soft. “I need you to know that.”

“I do,” you murmured.

You really did.

“Besides, I graduated.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What? When?”

“Officially? A few days ago.”

He smiled, soft and sincere - part of you was worried he might cry again.

“Congratulations - I’ll have to take you out to celebrate.”

“Mm - sounds good to me. How long - when are you here until?”

There was still life to reckon with, after all - living on two different continents, jobs, obligations - the kind of thing that could ruin this. But, he just shook his head.

“I bought an open-ended ticket. So, until whenever you want.”

“I - what? What about work?”

He shrugged. “Turns out, when you run the place, you can get away with that stuff.”

Your jaw dropped.

“What? Are you serious?”

He nodded. “Brenner’s out. I’m in - youngest CEO in the company’s history.”

You laughed, pressing your palm to your forehead as you stared at the ceiling in disbelief.

“Steve - that’s amazing. But how -”

“Shhh - we’ll figure everything out later. But, let’s at least ring in the new year together, yeah?”

You nodded cautiously - he really was here, now, and wanted to make it work.

“Okay,” you said. “Sounds good.”

“Hey - you know what’s really pissing me off, though?”

“What?” you asked, wary as a pit of dread formed in your gut.

“I have to thank Eddie fucking Munson for fixing this.”

You laughed, a real, hearty laugh, and in that moment, you realized things were going to be okay.

******

That night, you slept better than you had in months, safe and warm in Steve’s arms. That was, until you woke to Robin’s scream the next morning, both of you shooting up in bed with a start.

“WHAT IS HE DOING IN YOUR BED?” she cried, shielding her eyes. “God - I wish I could bleach my eyes - motherfucker -”

Then, the door was slamming shut, Robin bemoaning her luck as she bolted down the hall to her own room.

You felt your face heat with embarrassment, sinking under the covers.

“Well - I guess I owe her an explanation -”

“Later,” Steve saidly, shaking his head incredulously. “For Christmas, I’m getting you a fucking industrial lock for that door!”

Then you were laughing, blissful and unable to control yourself, Steve joining you. He kissed the giggles away, pulling your body to his, and not much talking happened after that.

It didn’t matter what real life held after this - because Steve was here, and he was yours. Wherever you ended up, you realized, if you were with Steve, you would be home.

He was here to stay.

author's note: Hi y'all - thanks for your patience! This story isn't quite done - there will be an epilogue posted tomorrow. But, that's essentially the conclusion of don't call me 'baby' - I told you it would be a happy ending! Shoutout to @is-writing for some help with this. And of course as always, Em, without whom this fic wouldn't have happened. Comments, reblogs, and messages are always welcome - keep an eye out for the epilogue!

#steve harrington #steve harrington/reader smut #steve harrington/you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington smut #steve harrington/reader angst #steve harrington/fem!reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x reader #dcmb fic

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walliedarling · 1 year

Text

You are transported into an unfamiliar, colour-soaked world, with nothing except the clothes covering your skin and a pounding headache. When you stray into the first village you find, you look nothing like the people there. But though you think your body and your ways must seem monstrous to them, they take you in with nothing except acceptance.

Or: You are transported to Home as a human, and the rest of the inhabitants are puppets.

Frank is always frustrated when he’s as stumped by something as the rest of his neighbours. He’s supposed to be the one with the answers, after all. But no matter how hard he tries, he simply cannot classify you into a single genus existing in this world. Your bodies are, at least in general shapes, similar enough. And yet, the texture of your skins are entirely different, and you have things in your mouth you refer to as ‘teeth’ that he is entirely unfamiliar with. The fact that you call yourself an adult, and yet have parts of your body that are still growing, is strange to him as well. Even if it’s just your hair and ‘nails’, none of their bodies do anything similar. After the realization that your closest match would be a tree, rather than anything talking, he simply gives up on coming up with a conclusive answer. You deserve a category of your own.

The first noticeable difference is, of course, the differing amount of fingers. Julie decides, lightheartedly, that this gives you an unfair advantage in arts and crafts! So many things are easier... She’d like to have an extra finger to crochet with as well, really!! Besides that, she’s absolutely fascinated with your hair and how it feels- She’ll want to try doing all kinds of different things with it.

You’re going to be glomped by Sally more times than you can count. It’s much easier for her to do so with you, you’re one of the few who doesn’t immediately topple over! There might have been the risk of one of the points of her stars poking you but, fortunately, they aren’t sharp at all. She tells everyone about how squishy you are and, soon enough, you’ve given almost everyone a hug.

Barnaby, for a day or two, makes it his life’s mission to try and lift you up. But though he towers over you in height, he simply can’t lift you off of the ground at all! (It doesn’t matter how much you weigh. It’s simply impossible for people made out of fleece, stuffing and foam to lift a person of flesh and blood.) He asks you whether you’re filled with rocks or not, and while you say that you aren’t, you’re not sure if he entirely believes you. Every resident has their own theory of what’s ‘inside’ of you, you think.

Wally is the one of who is most curious about you, though. He asks you lots and lots of questions, and is especially fascinated by the way you eat. He won’t stop staring. One of the first few things that he’ll ask you if he can draw you. He’s more intrigued by the sound of your heartbeat than he’ll ever directly tell you, and he tries to press his ear to your chest when he gives you a hug. After seeing you get a minor cut once, Wally has become convinced that one of the things that makes up your body is red paint. Perhaps he’ll ask you if he can use some to draw with, one day.

#i have more specific ideas abt wally with this scenario specifically i might make a seperate post abt that <3 #welcome home x reader #welcome home arg x reader #welcome home #welcome home arg #wally darling #sally starlet #barnaby b beagle #julie joyful #frank frankly

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frenchublog · 3 months

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Question: can you think of which art style you’d like to pursue before improving in your fundamentals? Like let’s say you love cartoony art and then you improve on the human anatomy before you can develop the style your aiming for. If that makes sense.

Okay I'll try to give a proper answer. I can only talk about my experience, my style traveled. That's what I tell my friends, it traveled. It went to hyper-realistic. Didn't work. Cartoony ? Not completely satisfied. Anime ? I was shamed (and told anime wasn't real art) I was on a rollercoaster ride for a long time and every single time it didn't work for two reasons : my fundementals were clunky, not strong enough and there comes a point where bullshitting your way through doesn't work. Second reason is that I was trying to do something that I didn't like, just for the sake of fitting in.

Learn basics, style will follow. Style will be constructed. Again it all depends of your inspirations, your favourite artists, your influences.

Maybe showing you would be more telling.

And these are a few minuscule examples I could think of right now, but I could also tell you about how Leyendecker and Norman Rockwell have been huge inspo recently. What I mean is, as an artist, there's this constant growth/evolution (I'm trying to acquire more knowledge and have a more solid fundation) but there are also movies I watch, TV shows that will catch my attention, artists I will see online and kinda go "Hey, that thing is cool. Let's add that into my cart. We'll try to include that cool element in our next art." Think yourself as a sponge, absorbing all the things you like, and making it your own.

I've wanted to draw in a super hyper realistic way when I was younger, that was the pinnacle of artistry but now I prefer simpler stuff. The reverse can also happen, I don't believe it's a regression, I've seen artist master their style to the point that it looks easy but there's so much calculation behind.

Again I don't know if I answered your question, but my conclusion is you don't neglect fundamentals and enjoy exploring, experimenting. That's part of the journey.

#ask box #anon ask #to be deleted later #personal #once again i'm trying to explain but im afraid im not very good at that #sorry if i missed the point

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fantasy-anatomy-analyst · 5 months

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Making Humanoids Less Human

I did make a small post on this, but now I've got the art for a much bigger and more detailed post! so here we go.

I had several anonymous asks that all came in quick succession weeks ago. Every single one of them was basically just a variation on "how would you take (typically humanoid) fantasy being, and make them look less human?"

This blog does not exist for me to just give people original designs for free, my goal is to show off my own personal thoughts about fantasy design and help people figure out how to adjust their own designs to fit their vision better. That means when people ask me questions about how to do something, I want to give them things to think about so they can come to their own conclusion. I don't mind making original designs to illustrate concepts, but a whole flood of "show me how to make this specific thing look different" all at once like that was too much. I'm not answering them all individually, it's just not what I want to do.

But what I can do is show my own thoughts and ideas about how to take any fantasy design and push it further away from "human", and you all can look at my ideas and figure out your own way to do things!

So here are the main 4 methods I've come up with to make humanoids look less human.

(image description: a simplified drawing of a humanoid face surrounded by four altered versions of the same face. clockwise starting from the top left, they are:

Speculative, drawn as a cat person. Additive, drawn with horns, pointy ears, sharp teeth, and a second pair of eyes. Subtractive, drawn with blank eyes, no nose, and no eyebrows. Exaggerative, drawn with a long face and huge eyes, as well as a wide mouth, narrow nose, and big ears.

end description)

I am personally a fan of the speculative route, which means exploring an alternate root of evolution to create a new design. Through this method, I've created monkey elves, frog goblins, and pig orcs.

the additive option is the most common, I think. adding new feature or doubled features to a humanoid form is a very intuitive way to change the design and make it look less human. you see this in most fantasy and scifi designs, like star trek aliens and the dnd player races.

subtractive and evaggerative are the most common options for people that like the uncanny valley. it's really easy to make uncomfortable designs by removing or exaggerating recognizable features, and they're often used together. Slenderman, for example, removes all facial features and skin color but also exaggerates the limbs and body.

Combining the four methods will give you a really interesting design as well! So for practice I decided to explore an alternate design for Tieflings, the part-demon player race in dnd.

(image description: four examples of differnt tiefling designs using the previously described methods. the additive example is just offical dnd art of a tiefling woman with purple skin, horns, and a long tail.

the subtractive sketch looks very alien, with a bald head, empty eyes, and no other facial featuers aside from a small mouth. it has three fingers per hand and two toe per foot.

the exaggerative sketch shows a hunched humanoid figure with huge eyes and big ears. the neck, limbs, and digits are all long with claws at the ends of the fingers and toes, and the limbs are also quite muscular.

the speculative sketch shows a bipedal figure with features similar to a giraffe, including a long neck, ossicones, and hooves.

end description)

now, because tielflings have such a distinct look to them, obviously my new sketches don't really look like tieflings, do they? the only one that comes close is the giraffe. relying only on one type of alteration to the human form has left the designs rather empty and lacking in the more iconic traits of the original concept. so i tried a sketch that combined my ideas! it came out looking like a completely different creature lol, like it could be a kobold or something, still not really a tiefling.

(image description: a sketch of a creature with a giraffe-like head, long tongue, and sharp teeth. it appears to be roaring at something and stands in a half-crouch. it has long limbs with hoof feet and clawed hands, as well as a long tufted tail curled behind it. end description.)

didn't work out. too far into the animal side of the speculative evolution, I think. so I tried again and got a design I liked much better!

(image description: a digital painting of a tiefling leaping back and casting a glowing orange spell. she is wearing a tunic with a corset and detached sleeves, as well as several pieces of jewelry. Her skin is purple with dark patches like a giraffe's spots, and she has a giraffe's ossicones as well as hoof-like hands and two-toed hoof feet. Her tail is long with a tuft at the end. She has glowing eyes and a flat nose, and there is a single sharp tooth visible poking out of the side of her mouth. end description.)

Brought the face back into slightly more human proportions and that helped a lot. Sometimes designs just take a few tries! that's normal.

and hopefully this is helpful to all of you! there are so many ways to alter humanoid designs to come up with something original and unique to you!

#humanoids #making humanoids less human #altered humanoids #non primate humanoids #tiefling #long post #my designs #and btw ai cannot do this #does not matter how detailed you prompt it #it can't really get things to look this original and unique #it can't really blend different features like this in a way that makes sense #you have this power #the computers cannot replicate it

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castiwls · 2 months

Text

tolerate it pt2 - d.w

Paring; dean x reader

Prompt;

Requested; anon

Notes;highly requested sorry its taken so long.

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

In the days since Dean had left, you’d spent most of your time thinking. You’d gone over and over your conversation with Dean until you were pretty sure you’d analysed every single word a few times over.

You’d come to the conclusion that upon Dean’s return, he was gonna have a choice to make. It killed you inside to even think in this way but you knew something had to be done. Living life locked away in a bunker was nothing you’d imagined, nor wanted. Before the bunker your life had been filled with long car rides and late-night conversations whispered under the covers of old motel rooms.

You’d never bothered much about Dean’s protectiveness back then because you’d still had the freedom of exploring new towns and finding small hidden treasures. You’d loved the whirlwind of moving from town to town. State to state. Until it had stopped. Until you’d found yourself trapped in a metal prison.

By no means were you kept here forcefully. You could leave at any point but you didn’t want to. Walking around the same town on your own was only entertaining for a certain amount of time before it grew repetitive. While before Dean used to join you as you’d both explore the new towns, now he barely left the bunker unless he was hunting.

Even when he was here he’d always have a reason to stay behind while you adventured out for supplies.

Which is what brought you to now. What brought you to sit on your bed, a duffle bag in hand as you slowly worked up the courage to begin the task of packing. It almost broke your heart in two reaching from the draw and slowly opening it. Pulling out the first piece of clothing felt like you were poking small holes in your heart.

You loved Dean, you truly did but you couldn’t live like this any longer.

“What are you doing?” You jumped slightly at the voice, dropping the top you’d been holding. “Your back.” You quickly picked up the top before turning to face Dean who stood staring at you. His eyes darted between the bag and your open draw before back to you. A small look of fear crossed his face for a moment before quickly disappearing. You were leaving?!

“Sweetheart.” He slowly began walking towards you, his arms reaching out to grasp your own. “What are you doing?” He repeated.

“Giving you a choice.” You responded simply, keeping your expression calm. “You let me come with you every so often, or I leave. For good.”

Dean faltered for a moment. His grip on your arms tightens. “You..you can’t leave. Sweetheart why would you…no.” He shook his head as his mind raced a mile a minute. “I can’t keep doing this.” A small frown pulled on your lips as you softened your gaze. “It’s not fair on me. I feel useless here Dean! You never let me help anymore!”

“I’m trying to keep you safe! Why can’t you see that.” He threw his arms up turning his back to you before running a hand through his hair. “You being here is the safest place you can be.”

You shook your head. “What’s the point of this relationship if you're never here and I'm constantly sitting here doing nothing? I spend my time worrying that one day Sam will walk through that door and you won’t be with him!” Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes as you tried to reason with him. “I can’t keep doing this Dean.” You pressed a hand to your mouth taking in a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Either start letting me help or I’m leaving.”

You held your breath, feeling your heart beat faster in your chest as he stayed silent before turning back to face you. His heart beat in his ears as he considered his options for a moment. Losing you would break him, but seeing you in harm's way would also break him.

He felt stuck between a rock and a hard place as he stared at you. Taking his silence as an answer you nodded, pushing the tears back. “Fine.” You turned back to the draw beginning to throw things into your bag.

The feel of arms wrapping around your waist stalled you slightly. “Stay, please. I can’t lose you.” His lips pressed against the side of your head before he nuzzled his face against your neck. “We can compromise. I’ll teach you how to hunt but on my terms.” He turned you in his arms allowing you both to come face to face.

“I'm so sorry.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before repeating himself. “We can fix this. I promise.” You nodded slightly. It was a start. Him even considered the idea of training you was a step up from before.

“You better keep that promise.” You nodded towards the bag. “Or I really will leave, I swear.” Dean nodded before pulling you impossibly closer, his hand caressing the back of your head.

“I promise.”

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darlingdarkly · 4 months

Text

New Year, New You Part 8

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Personal Trainer AU

9k words

CW: dubcon!, dark fic, dark content, obsessive behavior, dirty talk, explicit language, E rated, NSFW, smut, 18+, mature themes, gaslighting

Part 1, 7, 9

You grill him with questions, demanding him to explain to you what he’s talking about. It seems obvious to you that he knows something he’s not letting on. The words fly from your mouth in a panic. “What do you mean it’s not safe? What are you talking about, Johnny? Explain!”

You see him get a little heated, a reaction you hadn’t expected, in fact the whole exchange following your inquisitions is so out of left field that it renders you speechless.

“Obviously hen, ye were a victim of a crime last night. Do ye nae see that?” You hadn’t seen that, it was so hard to remember anything about last night that drawing any kind of conclusion had so far been beyond you.

He sees it starting to click and continues, striking while the irons hot. “How many times in the past have ye gotten black out drunk, bonnie?” You have certainly had your fair share of ragers but black out drunk? To the point of almost total memory loss? Never.

“Did ye really think wakin’ up an’ nae bein’ able tae remember a damn thing was normal? Open yer eyes, lass.” He did this so well it seemed, had a way of breaking you down and making you feel small just to build you back up how he saw fit, cutting through the walls and all the bullshit to speak directly to you in a way no one before him had. It was humiliating and liberating all at once.

He sees he’s made his point. “Ah’m nae kiddin’, lass. I think ye were drugged las’ night an’ ah’d say yer awful lucky ah showed up when ah did.” His voice had taken on a kind of verbal growl, Scottish accent deepening so that it was almost hard to understand. He seemed genuinely upset, more than you could seem to get even though you were the victim, but you could feel it settling into your bones now, the unease.

Your face must be a mask of your emotions because he starts to calm now that he feels he's gotten through to you and he takes your hand into both of his. “Ye need tae understand somethin’, hen.” He seems to be mulling over the words in his head, unsure of the next thing to say. “I care about ye, I want ye tae be safe an’ happy an’ I think ye should stay with me. It’s nae safe fer ye tae be livin’ on yer own.”

You feel a bit surprised at his candidness, a show of emotions you hadn’t expected and it sends a hot flare up from your stomach and heats your cheeks. “Johnny I can’t stay.” He forces his gaze to yours, holds you hostage with it. “Why nae?”

That’s a good question, one you didn’t have an answer for. Why couldn’t you stay with him? Would it really be so bad? You’d been living on your own for so long maybe you were afraid of that change.

You opened your mouth to answer but he stopped you before you could. “Jus’ think about it. I’ll ask ye again tonight an’ if ye dinnae want tae, ah willnae make ye.” He closed it with that, getting up off the bed to signal the talk was over. “Come on, time fer yer warm up.”

After changing, you followed him out the door and into unfamiliar territory, the rest of the house you’ve yet to see. He leads you into an open living area that blended into a nice big kitchen. The house looked like it could house a whole family let alone just the two of you. You followed as your head craned and took it all in. The rent must have been astronomical but it was still Johnny’s house and he didn’t bother with extravagancies. It was spacious but also sparsely decorated making it look huge in perspective.

You cut through the space and into another room. You hadn’t really expected him to have a personal home gym, since he worked at one you naturally assumed he’d just go to work to exercise. The middle of the room was empty and matted, heavy duty, black pads interlocked like puzzle pieces made a twelve by twelve square in the center. The walls of the room were lined with full weight racks, adjustable benches, a treadmill and a power tower.

He stops in the middle of the black square and motions for you to sit. You sit, criss cross applesauce, across from him and he motions for you to begin. You start to go through your warm ups, starting with your sit-ups. He holds your feet and keeps count for you, his grin widening as you progressed.

Today was different and in more ways than one, when you’d finished he had you sit up and hold his feet, meaning for this to be a joint session for the both of you instead of just one sided as it normally was. You had to sit with your knees on the toes of his feet to keep him weighted down and he went for three reps of twenty instead of ten. You could feel the strength he possessed, the power held in the corded muscles of his thighs and calves by just holding him down.

You moved through the first set and into the next, keeping count of his push ups and even clumsily crawling up on his back when he insisted on needing your added weight. While it’d only really been a week since you’d stopped, you found that you’d come to miss this. Partly the healthy routine you’d built with him and partly his presence itself. Slipping back into it was not only easy but welcoming and this new way of having him doing it right along with you was something you secretly found yourself falling in love with.

You practically floated through your warm ups, hardly feeling the burn of them. You sat on the mat with your legs stretched out in front of you in a V. Without any assistance from him you managed a full, complete split and you couldn’t quite hide the elation you felt when his eyes lit up and praise poured from his lips.

Limber and pliant you both rose up from the mat and he walked you over to the power tower, standing out from you as you positioned yourself underneath the pull up bar. You jumped and grabbed ahold of the cool metal. You began, pulling yourself up until your chin passed the bar and then dropping down again.

It was hard but you were determined to finish, huffing and puffing by the last rep but still able to pull yourself past the point without stopping. You caught your breath as he muscled through his. You had long recovered when he finally jumped down, making your measly three look like light work as he managed a solid fifteen before finally coming to a halt.

You knew the next portion was the treadmill but as you made to mount it he stopped you. “Let’s go fer a real run, what dae ye think?” You stopped to consider it. You’d always wanted to go for a real jog, much preferring the open air of outside to the confines of an automated conveyor belt but had been much too scared to attempt such a thing on your own.

You’d always heard stories of women going out on jogs and simply never returning, their bodies found weeks later floating in rivers or lying in ditches. As alluring as the idea was your fears had always kept you inside but with a man like Johnny by your side you could pretty much garuntee total safety.

The prospect of finally getting to do as you pleased excited you and you found yourself chomping at the bit to go. He grabbed his house keys and escorted you to the door, locking it tight behind him and stepping up beside you on the sidewalk. “Are ye ready?”

You smiled at him and nodded, it must have been contagious because one of his own sprung up on his face, lighting it up and making his blue eyes sparkle in the sun.

“There’s a park just doon the way. We’ll head there, do a lap an’ loop back.” You started at a light jog and was pleasantly surprised to see him keep the pace you’d set. You were a bit worried you’d be struggling to match him the whole way, although he did talk most of the way while you struggled to manage anything more than one word replies.

It was a beautiful day, the weather was mild and there was a cool breeze at your back like gentle fingers prodding you encouragingly along. You were suddenly glad for this strange turn of events, as troubling as it seemed at first. Feeling down all last week and then reluctant to go out with Nancy, the anxiety you’d felt in the drive to the club and then somehow ending up in Johnny’s bed the next morning.

Somehow even unable to remember any of the events from the night before, something that, in all reality should leave you mortified and sick left you only feeling a strange sense of calm, like in the end it had all worked out how it was meant to be. You found yourself thinking about this morning and how he’d been almost mad at you for not being more concerned about last night, but you just couldn’t feel it.

There was eventually an underlying sense of unease that he’d practically forced onto you but it was only fleeting, like someone who’s fallen asleep at the wheel only to wake up in the hospital and be informed that you were lucky to be alive. It was hard to understand the reality of your danger when you’d walked away unscathed and without really having experienced it.

Maybe it was shell shock and you just weren’t completely grasping the reality of the situation but you weren’t holding your breath, and as far as taking him up on his offer you just weren’t all that convinced. While it was, admittedly, a problem that you’d drank too much and been unable to make it home last night, you failed to see any real danger in living by yourself.

You’d been doing fine thus far and didn’t see why that should have reason to change. You decided then that you’d made up your mind, you’d spend the day with Johnny, as gratitude for taking such good care of you in a time of need and just to enjoy it as well, it was only early in the afternoon but it was turning out to be a pretty good day in your book. You’d tell him later on when he asked that there really was no reason for you to stay with him. He’d understand, you were sure.

“Lass?” You were pulled away from your thoughts and back to the present. “Hmm?”

“I said what do ye think about havin’ fer dinner. I make an ossobuco that’ll bring ye tae tears.” You had no idea what that was but just expressed your interest anyway as you turned off of the sidewalk and into the entrance to the park.

It was one you recognized, beautfiully landscaped and as old as the hills, this park had been around for as long as you could remember, although it’d been ages since you’d been. They’d updated the playground and had redone the bridge over the pond, there was a flock of geese preening themselves on the surface of the dark, calm water.

You came to a stop at the peak of the bridge, glancing down at your Fitbit and checking your pulse. Johnny leaned his forearms onto the railing and leaned down for a look into the pond as you both caught your breath. He broke the peaceful silence that had settled between the two of you.

“I brought me mum here once. She used tae love feedin’ the swans at the pond near our house when I was wee. Used tae take me over there on our morning walks and I used tae make her laugh tryin’ tae catch one. Ah’ve taken more than one swan nip tae the arse as a lad.” You couldn’t help but laugh imagining him chasing the birds that probably matched him in size as a kid and then laughed some more as you imagined them chasing him, angry and nipping at his heels.

He laughed with you and as you nestled in next to him to stare out on the pond, just as the fit settled he leaned in close, nudged up against your side. “Ye’ll meet her if ye stay long enough ye know. She’d love ye.”

You felt a pang of uncomfortable awkwardness as he brought up the idea of you staying again. You didn’t want to dissapoint him by ruining the moment but you didn’t want to lead him on either. “Johnny…”

He stopped you. “Nae. Dinnae say anything yet. Ah was jus’ sayin’.”

You fell back into silence, a much more uncomfortable one this time but he wouldn’t let it set in as he pushed you back into a jog and lead you over the end of the bridge. It looped back around to where you’d started and it was only a quick jog back to his place where you ended your session for the day.

You both go inside and head for the kitchen, he pulls a blender hidden in a cabinet and sets it up on the counter before pulling out a litany of fruits along with a knife and small cutting board. He chops as he talks, going over your progress and performance, comparing it to your starting time and pace and mooning over the results.

He stops talking as he dumps the fruit into the blender and turns it on, the concoction inside swirling into a deep green slurry. When it’s homogenous he stops and pulls two glasses from a different cupboard. The juice makes a wet plop as it fills the glass and he slides one your way after sticking a bright orange straw down into its depths.

You pull it in front of you and take a long sip, confident in his smoothie skills at this point and relish in the way the sweet cool drink slides over your tongue and down your throat, already working to rejuvenate you.

He downs his quickly, an amazing feat that would surely leave you numb with brain freeze. Setting the glass down in the sink he rounds the counter to you. “I’m goin’ tae take a quick shower and then it’s yer turn.” He slides up close, lean chest pressing into your back and placing a kiss on the back of your neck that sent chills down your spine. “Unless ye want tae join me, that is.”

You do want to, nothing sounds better but you’re still tired from your session and you’ve experienced Johnny in his fulty, intense and unrelenting. If you went at it now you may never recover so you decline, opting to finish your drink and wait your turn. He leaves you and you turn on the stool to take in the decor. The little there is of it seems to be concentrated on a shelf in the corner.

You hop off the stool and walk tentatively over to it, surveying the shelves. There’s a few trophies, the plaques on each read that they’re awarded from some gym for a weightlifting competition. His name and the years were engraved in the middle of the plaque, he’d won them three years consecutively.

The other shelves were adorned with photographs. You glanced at them one by one, picking out Johnny’s radiant smile in each. Here’s one with him on the bank of a river, huddled together with a bunch of people all wearing the same bright orange helmets and yellow vests in varying states of soaked, they’re all holding short stubby oars and smiling.

The next one is a much larger group of people, they’re all different ages but share similar qualities, their eyes and noses on different faces but seem to be shaped from the same clay by the same hands. They’re assembled in front of a sign that reads “MacTavish Family Reunion” and it takes you a moment to pick out Johnny from the crowd of baby blues and deep rich browns. You finally spot him clustered in the back with two other young men hanging off of his shoulders. They look like three of a rambunctious kind.

Beside that is Johnny in a long black robe and mortarboard, from the cap dangles a dark green tassel that hangs in the poofy frizz of long dark brown curls belonging to a shorter stout woman. Her eyes are so bright and shockingly blue they couldn’t belong to anyone other than Johnny’s mother. She looks soft and sweet but strong as she beams at the camera. Her face exudes nothing but pride and adoration for her son. Johnny looks young and happy, his eyes reflect the yet untapped potential of the start of his adult life.

“That’s mah mum an’ I at mah graduation.” His sudden presence startles you and you’re glad to have only been leaning in to observe the photographs instead of holding them, you’re certain you would have dropped them had it been the case.

“Jesus, Johnny. You scared me.” He smiles, a deep grin that you can tell he’s a bit satisfied to have been able to give you a start, despite his following apology. “Sorry lass, Dinnae mean tae make ye jump.”

There’s a small span of awkward silence and to cease it you ask him about the first picture, the one by the river.

He lets out a small hearty laugh and reaches past you to lift the frame off the shelf, bringing it closer like having it here in his hands will give him a better feel for the memories they contain.

“Ah used tae go white water raftin’ all the time. This was a group I joined when ah started. We had just cleared a class four river fer tha first time.” You smile as he reminisces, telling just by his eyes that he’s reliving it a little as he talks.

“Do you still do it? River raft?” He shakes his head and places the picture back on the shelf where it had been. “Nae anymore. Too dangerous.”

He sighs a little, the golden memory disappearing and perhaps leaving a plume of mild gloom in its place but if it had affected him too badly it didn’t show, as his ever radiant smile resurfaced like it’d never retreated.

“Yer turn, hen. The bathrooms in mah room it’s the far door on the left.” You make your way back towards his bedroom as he stations himself behind the sink and busies himself with the dishes.

You pick through the bag on the bed, hem hawing over what to wear when you just decide to bring the whole bag with you into the bathroom. You turn on the shower and let it warm as you retrieve your soap, shampoo and conditioner.

After quickly undressing you step into the warm jet and let it soak into your skin. There was a lot to think about and showers had always seemed like the best time to ponder things. You’re still, even now, in awe at just how things had turned in the past day. You certainly didn’t believe you’d be showering at his place at this time the day before. You poured some body wash into your palm, lathering it as you ruminated.

And then there was his offer, so out of the blue and generous of him. To stay at his place with him and for what? Why? Because you’d drank a little too much the night before and just couldn’t recall any of it? While it’d never been the case for you before now didn’t mean it was impossible for you to become black out drunk. It wasn’t an impossibility, you’d read somewhere that the body's chemical makeup changes roughly every seven years. People all the time grow out of and even develop new allergies as their life progressed. Meaning it was completely possible for your reactions to an influx of alcohol to change over time.

At least, that’s how you justified it to yourself as you rinsed the suds from your skin and began to wash your hair. It just didn’t make sense to jump to conclusions so hastily. And stay for how long? Certainly he didn’t mean to tell you that you were welcome to move in indefinitely. You don’t just extend that kind of an offer to someone like that, he barely knew you. Or did he?

It didn’t matter. For now you just couldn’t bring yourself to impose upon him like that, even if he did offer it up so willingly and insistent. After dinner, you’d gently and politely refuse. He did after all say he wouldn’t make you if you didn’t want to.

You rinse off and turn off the stream, letting most of the water drip off you before stepping out and wrapping yourself in a warm, fluffy towel from the rack. You finally pick out an outfit and stick with it, pulling it on and cleaning up after yourself as you finished, you’d rather not leave a mess for him to contend with later on top of everything he’d already done for you.

You close the door to his bedroom behind you as you step out into the open living room. You had expected him to be unwinding on the couch but instead he was up and pulling on jacket, he had his shoes on and keys in hand. As he spotted you he smiled and stepped towards you.

“Ah need a few things from the store fer dinner. Will ye join me fer a ride?” You smile and nod, turning back towards the room to put on some shoes and retrieve your phone and wallet before joining him to leave. It’s a short walk through the front entrance of his home to the garage. It’s barren save for a big red toolbox and a few boxes stacked in a far corner. His truck takes up the majority of the space, a fairly new dark blue Toyota Tundra. Totally on brand for him, clean and gleaming under the fluorescent lights overhead. He pulls open the passenger side door for you to climb in, which flusters you a bit.

You scurry to climb into it and sit back into the comfy seat as he shuts your door and rounds the vehicle to climb in on his side.

You ride in comfortable silence as he drives you a few blocks down the road to the little grocery mart you’d been to on occasion when you were in need of something on this side of town. He parks and you’re glad to scoot out of the door and join him before he has time to come around and open the door for you again. The chivalry was nice but always managed to make you feel awkward instead of special.

You’re taken by surprise as he takes your hand in his and both make your way towards the entrance. The warmth of his hand envelops yours, his thumb draws lazy, soothing circles on the back of your hand and the flustered feeling you’d been feeling, a combination of the new experience of being seen with him in public and him being so gentlemanly, eases.

You walk side by side out of the car park and into the brightly lit store. He picks up one of the little baskets from a metal cage and begins veering towards the back of the store. He seems to know exactly what he needs and where it all is so you just lose yourself a bit in the moment, looking at things on the shelves and watching him as he shops.

Normally when you shop by yourself it’s a race. A race to get everything you need and get out as fast as humanly possible, it’s something about being out in public for too long that makes your skin crawl. But this. This is different. Something about being with Johnny puts you at an inexplicable ease. He’s confident and knowledgeable, and for once you don’t feel like your mind is moving a million miles a minute under the scrutiny of every other set of eyes in the building. You can just simply relax and be, let him take over.

In produce you watch him pick up three different onions that, to you, look no different but he rolls them in the palm of his hand and gives them each a light toss in the air. Somehow— that decides it and he puts two of them back and places the chosen one down in the basket.

Every time he lets go of your hand for something you’re sure that’s the end of it, just knowing the moment will be lost but he surprises you each time anew when he comes back to you and takes it again, leading you through the sections hand in hand.

You stop in the spirits aisle and grimace as he picks up a bottle of dry red wine. The front is embossed with a duck in a yellow slicker, an umbrella cocked jauntily and tucked securely under one white wing, shielding him from a shower of rain falling from a single dark cloud that looms over its head. In a bright gold scroll underneath this curious image are the words “Rain Duck”. The image is very reminiscent of the Morton salt girl you’d always seen in the spice cabinet of your childhood home.

He looks over and catches your look of disgust and laughs, a hearty cheerful sound that momentarily wipes the scowl from your face and threatens to send you into your own fit of meek giggles. “Dinnae worry hen, s’just fer the sauce. Will nae even taste it, ah promise.”

He sets it down in the basket and heads towards the front of the store to checkout. You stand in line and wait your turn until the cashier clears the person in front of you and Johnny begins to empty his basket onto the conveyor belt one item at a time.

By the time he’d finished, the cashier, a tall skinny man with dark rimmed glasses had already begun to ring you up and Johnny suddenly smacks the palm of his hand to his forehead. “Ahhhh shite. Ah forgot somethin’. Stay here with the groceries bonnie, I’ll be right back.”

He takes off in a power walk towards the back of the store and disappears around a shelf. You rock back and forth on your feet and pray that by the time the cashier is done Johnny will be back. You know if he’s not you’ll cave to the pressure of the people behind you and end up paying for everything yourself, just so you don’t hold the line.

You crane over the partitions of shelves that mark the separate checkout lanes in search of Johnny but your attention is redirected when the cashier clears his throat and calls out to you to get your attention. “Excuse me, miss.”

You turn, dreading the worst but there’s still a good amount of items left unscanned and he’s got the bottle of Rain Duck held past the scanner, looking to you attentively.

You let out a sigh of relief as you realize he only needs your ID to finish ringing up the wine. You pull your wallet from your purse and the relief you had felt instantly dissipates. The pleasantly relaxed state you’d been lulled into suddenly felt like the calm prelude to a horrifying nightmare. The clear plastic pane that normally covered your horrible ID photo was empty. You tipped it open, hoping for some horrible trick of the light or optical illusion but the sleeve was empty.

You quickly shuffled through the individual card sleeves, hoping against hope that you’d somehow slipped it into one of them by mistake but it wasn’t there. Your ID was missing. The panic sets in the pit of your stomach like a lead ball as Johnny squeezes up behind you holding a carton of heavy cream. His smile disappears when he sees your face.

He quickly sets the heavy cream down on the belt and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Bonnie, what is it? What’s wrong?”

The cashier calls out to him impatiently. “Sir?” Johnny looks up at him, with death glaring from his eyes before turning back to you. “Come on, lass. What’s the matter?” You whisper because it’s all you can muster, your vocal cords withered to nothing in fright.

“My ID. It’s gone.” The cashier tried again to get Johnny’s attention and you barely hear Johnny as he speaks very low and angrily at the man behind the counter. Johnny must have done as he asked though because soon enough you feel Johnny’s arms gently pulling you towards the exit. It makes you snap out of your horror for a moment and offer to help carry the bags back to his truck but he’s having none of it, insisting on carrying the whole load in two huge armloads all the way back himself.

You slip into the passenger seat as he puts the groceries in the back and only look up from staring at the lines in your denim jeans when the driver side door shuts and the cab is silent for a moment. He’s looking at you, very concerned and you realize he’s waiting for you to explain in more detail.

“My ID is gone. Completely gone.” He seems to think for a moment before he responds and asks if you’d checked your purse. You quickly do as he’d suggested and go through it but it’s not there either and the momentary hope you’d felt at his suggestion died almost as soon as it’d been born.

“Maybe I dropped it at the club.” A smile begins to form on your face as you grasp at anything other than the truth. “That’s it Johnny! We’ve gotta go back to the club. They’ll have found it cleaning up! And we can go get it and everything’s fine!” He doesn’t look convinced as you look over to him for validation.

“Lass, be honest with yerself fer a moment. How often do ye take yer ID out of yer wallet when ye need it?” Your smile began to fade, he was right. Anytime you needed it you just opened it and flashed it without ever taking it out of the slot, you’d bought that wallet specifically for that feature because you were so worried about losing it.

“I ken ye didnae want tae believe what happened tae ye, but there’s no denyin’ it now. Someone targeted ye last night. Picked ye out of the crowd and drugged yer drink when ye werenae lookin’ an’ they took yer ID in case they couldnae seal the deal right away. He’s got yer address an’ yer name an’ even yer picture.”

You listen to him talk as the cold, cruel hand of reality closes around your throat and the disgust of being violated in such a thorough way begins to worm its way under your skin. You can feel Johnny struggling to find words to comfort you from the seat next to you but he must not find any that are adequate because he starts the truck instead and drives you home in a silence that had on the way been comfortable and passive but now was pregnant with tension and doom.

You get back to his place and he unloads the truck as you sit inside and try not to panic at the situation you’ve found yourself in. You thank your lucky stars that Johnny had found you and brought you home now. If you’d somehow miraculously made it home without incident this mysterious man could have crept into your home while you were incapacitated and done any number of things to you. You imagined all the horrifying possibilities, each more daunting than the last as he unpacked and put everything away.

He must sense your spiraling thoughts because he calls you into the kitchen with him as he starts to cook. Chopping onions, heating shallow pools of oil in two different skillets, measuring out beef broth and flour and water in varying amounts as he practices the fine art of mise en place.

You try, really truly try not to let the fear of your predicament gnaw away at you too hard but it’s almost an act in futility. He looks up at you after cracking his third shot and missed joke while dredging the ox tails in flour and notices you staring down at your hands in deeply troubled thought.

He stops what he’s doing and comes over to the counter, bending down to lean over its sturdy surface and get your attention. You look up at him and feel your heart skip a little as he has no business being so damn attractive covered in flour like he is.

“Listen hen. I ken yer goin through it right now. Probably spooked right out of yer tree, but I promise ye yer in no danger here. I dare him tae walk through that door right now. I swear tae ye ill dismantle him with my flour covered hands before he even so much as touches a hair on yer bonnie head.”

You can’t help but smile as you imagine him wrecking your faceless oppressor, flour flying about in clouds as the impact of his blows knock it loose from his hands.

“There’s tha’ smile. Now be a doll an’ open mah wine fer me. I forgot before ah got all messy.”

You stand from your stool and open the drawer he directs you towards to locate the corkscrew. The rest of the preparation you do in a much better mood. While you had a brand new serious problem on your hands there was no need in sulking over it when there was nothing you could do at the moment and anytime spent with Johnny was hard not to enjoy.

He plated your portion and set you down across from him so he could watch your first bite. You wanted him to eat with you, a bit self conscious at him just watching you eat but he insisted he had to start on dessert before he could sit down to dinner.

You cut the big chunk of meat with your knife and fork and then dipped it down in the pool of sauce just as he’d instructed you to. He watched you intently as you brought the fork to your mouth and took your first bite.

Your eyes widen before half closing, you can’t help the soft moan that resounds as the tender meat and rich, savory sauce feel like they pull your taste buds into their arms and hug them soft and sweetly. It’s absolutely divine and you look up from your plate to see Johnny, smug as a bug grinning wolfily at your reactions.

“Told ye it’d bring ye tae tears.” You can’t even respond, just swallow and take another eager bite, this time with a little of the risotto from the bed that the meat is resting on. “Jesus Christ, Johnny. Where in the fuck did you learn to cook like this?”

His grin is so wide you’re worried it’ll be stuck that way and to your amusement you can tell his cheeks have reddened even under his nice, even tan. “Yer makin’ me blush, hen. S’just what ah’ve picked up along tha way. Ye could do it too. I could teach ye.”

You nod enthusiastically, you’d like that very much and you have a feeling so would he. You really dig into your meal in earnest as he works. His back is to you as he prepares dessert on the stove and you wonder just what it might be. Steam rises up in thin streams as he pours something into two ramekins and sticks them in the oven.

By the time you’re done he’s cracking into his own dinner as you begin working on the dishes. He protests but you stay firm that if he cooked the absolute least you could do was help clean up. He finally relented and let you work as he ate as quickly as he could so he could help dry the dishes at least.

By the time everything was done so was the dessert and he pulled it from the oven to cool as he leaned over the counter and held your gaze raptly with his. “It’s time, lass. What have ye decided?”

But with the way he’s staring you down it feels like he’s on the edge of his seat. Those blue eyes piercing yours and you know every second you don’t answer is killing him, you can read it all over his face so even though you’d made your mind up you told him you weren’t sure.

He looked a bit dejected but it wasn’t the broken disappointment you knew you’d have been graced with if you’d downright shut his proposition down. His eyes light up suddenly in a way you hadn’t been expecting like he’d just had the idea of a century.

“Play a game with me, lass.” You regarded him distrustfully. “What kind of game, Johnny?”

“I’ll show ye, come on.” You follow after him into the bedroom, a bit wary. He stops in front of the pull up bar and turns back towards you.

“Johnny you and I both know there’s no way I’m besting you in a pull up contest, I’d be mental to even try. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Ohhh no, hen. Nothing like tha’, yer right t’wouldnae be fair. All I want ye tae do is hang from the bar. Can ye do that?”

You jump up and grab the bar to see if you’ve got the right idea and he smiles and nods. “Jus’ like that, all ye’ve gotta do is not let go. Think ye can handle it?”

You eyed him suspiciously. “What’s the catch?” You felt like there was something hidden in this that he wasn’t revealing and you weren’t wrong.

“Well it would nae be a game if there was nae some kind of a catch now would it, hen?” You swallow hard and watch him saddle closer, pinning you back into the cool metal bars.

“Ye’ve got tae hold yerself up until ye come.” His smirk widens as your mouth drops open a little, at first for some kind of rebuttal but you can’t come up with anything to say so it just hangs open as your mind blanks.

You finally get a grip enough to ask him to explain. “Well, yer goin’ tae hang onto tha bar an’ ah’m goin’ tae try mah hardest tae make ye come. If ye can hold onto it just until then, then you win but if ye cannae do it, an’ ye let go then I win.”

You mull over his terms and he just leans back a bit and lets you, waiting for your answer. Instead of giving him one you inquire further. “What do I get if I win?”

His answer is another simple question. “What do ye want?” A simple question that was complicated to find an answer for. What did you want from him? After a moment's thought you answered. “I want you to tell me everything you remember about last night and I want you to help me find this guy that did this to me. I don’t want to live in fear like this. You take me up to the club and we ask if they found my ID and if not then we ask to see the video footage of that night.”

“Hen, there’s no garuntee—“ You stop him. “I know. Just promise me if I win you’ll help me.” He looks a bit troubled, like he hadn’t meant for this to take this kind of turn and you wonder for a moment if he’ll back out.

“If I win ye have tae tell me the real reason ye never came back to the gym an’ never texted me an’ just disappeared.” You go to answer when he adds. “And ye stay.”

You sort of knew he was going to play that and even though you’d anticipated it, it still manages to fluster you hearing it.

You think about it real hard, just being around him had you more or less worked up all day, you were fairly confident that you could come quickly, even now just having discussed the game with him you knew your panties were damp. But could you hold yourself up for that length of time?

Reluctantly, you accepted. You even felt sure enough to jest him a bit about how easy of a win this would be for you, it was a decision you came to regret as he leaned in close to your ear and whispered. “Ah’m goin’ tae make ye eat those words, hen.”

A shudder of anticipation passed through you as he kissed you on your neck, just below your ear with a pass of his velvet soft tongue, giving you a little taste of what was to come.

The game had apparently begun as he stooped down to help shed you of your jeans, pulling them down and kissing the skin revealed as he exposed it. Next came your panties and they were damp, a fact that tore a rumble of approval from his chest but he wouldn’t touch you yet.

“Cannae give ye too much of a head start now can we?” He patted the side of your thigh curtly. “Up up.”

You do as he says and it’s a little late to be self conscious now but you can’t help it as you dangle from the metal rod and he spreads your thighs so you’re open to him. You worry he’s going to cheat you a bit as he stares at your bare pussy and you begin to complain when it dies in your throat as his tongue licks a broad stripe up the length of your slit. “Shit!”

He chuckles a little and dives in, resting his hands in the crooks of your knees but offering no support as he begins to eat you out in earnest. You can’t help but moan, your eyes glossy and unfocused as you stare down at him feasting on you from below. It feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced, the strain in your arms adding an element of pain that scratches a hidden itch in the back of your brain.

You shift in his hold uncomfortably as his tongue darts into your entrance, collecting your juices on his tongue and drinking them down. You want, so desperately, to be able to grip him by the Mohawk and hold onto him for dear life but you can’t so you squeeze the bar in your grip and sweetly moan his name instead.

His tongue finds your clit and it just about throws you over the edge but proves to be not quite enough as you chase it in hopes of victory. His hands squeeze and grope the flesh of your thighs and ass as he eats. You thought at the start of this that you would have had this in the bag but the stretch of your arms was outweighing the pull of your pleasure.

It wasn’t for a lack of Johnny’s enthusiasm, his head stayed buried in the heat of your pussy the whole time as he drove you towards the edge as quickly and efficiently as possible. Despite the burn in your biceps you could feel your orgasm building to a boiling point, you had no doubt you’d be coming soon but would it be soon enough for you to win?

He suddenly began to run quick sharp circles over the top of your clit with the pad of his thumb, while his tongue laps at your entrance like a bear to a beehive hole. It’s so good you can’t help but moan, low and dragging as you careen towards the center of the nova of pleasure threatening to consume you whole.

Your wrists tremble and a cramp unlike any you’ve ever experienced begins to glow like a white hot coal in your armpit and it’s beyond you to be able to hold on any longer. Your pinky finger slips first and then the rest quickly follow. You squeal as you realize you’re going to fall but his arms push your legs up onto his shoulders and he catches you just as you let go.

A flood of relief flows through your aching arms and you realize you’ve lost but the sting of defeat plays second fiddle to the massive orgasm that takes you by the throat just an instant later. He holds you up with the strength in his arms alone as you come undone above him. He spins around as your thighs still tremble and gently places you on the bed.

You are still very sensitive and your thighs go to clench shut when they’re blocked by one wide knee. He wastes no time in slotting himself between them, his mouth crashing to yours as you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. He cages you beneath him, pulling off your lips to bite and suck at your neck. His hands roam you freely, pulling at your top until it’s up over your head and lifting you up for access to the clasp of your bra.

With it successfully pulled away from your breasts he dives down and devours them, lips wrapping around one pert nipple as the other he gropes with the full palm of his hand, trying to hold as much of it as possible. You nearly shriek with the overstimulation of it and he pulls away to whisper both praise and apologies.

“Jus’ cannae help it, bonnie. Need tae be inside you, please? Let me fuck you, hen. Been cravin’ tha’ perfect little pussy. Come on, lass. Give it tae me.” He’s rubbing the very prominent bulge of his cock against your thigh all the while and you can’t help but clench around nothing in anticipation.

“Fuck Johnny! Do it! Fill me up.” He wastes no time, quickly abandoning your breasts to free himself from the confinements of his jeans. He doesn’t even get them down all the way before he’s fishing himself from his boxers and rubbing the tip hurriedly up and down your slit. You jump and squeal at the sensation and he coos more apologies at you before lining himself up and pushing inside.

You moan in unison as he stretches you open and his arms come up to brace himself on either side of your head. He muffles your moans with his mouth as he leans down and kisses you, swallowing them up as he begins to move and your hands fly to his arms, bracing yourself against the onslaught that is the drag of his fat cock.

You pull away for air and immediately expel it into a high pitched whine as he picks up a fast and steady rhythm, hips knocking into yours on each upward thrust. The fact that you've already came does nothing to alleviate the burn that accompanies the stretch of him. He’s a force and you can do nothing against it but hold on.

You try to make sense of what he’s saying as he fucks you stupid but only catch half of it. Something about keeping you safe forever. Poorly worded promises and vows pouring from his mouth as he uses you to reach his release.

You can feel it fast approaching and can do nothing but steel yourself against it as he pounds a second orgasm from you, the snap of his hips and the drive of his cock demands it of you. “Aww fuck, hen. Are ye gonna come fer me again? Hmm? Let me feel it. Come on lass, let me take care of ye forever. Ye can have this fer the rest of our lives if ye jus’ come fer me right now.”

He says it like you have a choice in the matter as you become locked in the throes of your ecstasy brought forth by his hand and in the midst of yours you vaguely feel him reach his. Coming hard and fast deep inside the tight clutch of your pussy.

It takes you both an eternity to recover and when he finally rolls off you, you realize you’d half fallen asleep, cradled safely under him, worn out and sated.

After a moment he gets up and leaves the room and he’s gone forever to the point where you almost get up to go after him but he comes back in with two small white dishes in hand along with two spoons.

You sit up on one elbow as he hands you one and the accompanying silverware. Looking down at it you can see a dark golden brown crust, a glassy glaze over the surface but are otherwise clueless as to what’s before you. You watch him experimentally as he takes the handle of the spoon in between his thumb and index finger and brings the bowl of the spoon down on top of the crust with an audible smack. The crust breaks and there’s a jiggly dense cream beneath.

Following suit, you bring your spoon down onto yours and scoop up a glob of the pale white gelatin. You take a bite and smile as the cool, sweet cream melts over your tongue. You sit there with him, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms and eating crème brûlée.

It gets you thinking, you could have this indefinitely. Do this every night if you’d like and as if reading your thoughts he speaks.

“I won, but the choice is still yers. Stay with me, hen. Ah’ll keep ye safe. No worries, no lookin’ over yer shoulder forever or double checkin’ yer locks all yer life. Let me take care of ye. I want to, an tha’s honest.”

You stare at him, his blue eyes are soft and filled with adoration and honesty. He really wants you here with him and is that really so bad? How many times are you gonna pass up this opportunity before it’s gone? And will you be looking back later with regret once the door has closed?

You have to drop his gaze to decide but recapture it once you do. You go to tell him “Ok, but only until I’ve found a new place.” but he seizes you in his arms after the first word and pulls you hard against him like a five year old child handed a cat and told they can keep it.

“Johnny! You’re squishing me!” You complain but the sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant.

He does everything with you side by side for the rest of the night. He changes with you, he brushes his teeth with you, he even lingers around when you try to go to the bathroom before bed, it takes a good amount of effort on your part to make him leave the room but you know he’s stood just outside the cracked door that he neglects to close on the way out.

Climbing under the sheets with him you wonder just how sleeping together for the first night is gonna go, actually wondering if you’ll get any sleep at all but then he pulls you into his chest and to your surprise he doesn’t try anything sexual. He doesn’t rub a hard bulge against you or grope your tits. He just wants you close, his warm chest filling out the dip of your back, his legs entangle themselves with yours, his feet even nudge yours affectionately in lazy passes.

It’s a while before either of you speak and Johnny thought you’d been long asleep when you say “I can’t afford a membership.” There’s a pause in your words and just when he understands what you’re saying you say more. “That’s why I didn’t come back to the gym, I thought it’d be easier.. for both of us.. if I just disappeared.”

And there’s something about your honesty, the way you’d remembered and honored your whole end of the bargain, the candidness of revealing you struggled with the decision, the mild sleepy drag of your voice that’s barely audible in the darkness that pulls directly on his heart and he couldn’t articulate a response if he’d tried so he doesn’t.

Maybe you believe he’s asleep and maybe it’s better that way. But he’s not. A few moments later he hears your breathing even out and he knows from the previous night that you’re asleep. He lays awake long after that holding you.

He thinks about you and how he’d finally got you to see reason. He thinks about times when the outcome of a situation is more valuable and important— the greater good one might say, than the means it took to reach it. Omelets, for instance, constitute broken eggs.

It takes a certain amount of necessary malice for these things. An agent who realizes what’s at stake and what’s to gain, willing to act on these conditions and set them right, no matter the cost. And lastly, he thinks about your ID, sitting snuggly behind his in his wallet. Tomorrow after he drops you off at work he’ll dispose of it. Maybe burn it, maybe shred it, maybe tie it to a heavy rock and throw it off the bridge at the park, watch it sink into the murky, goose poop filled pond until it gets too deep to see.

No one will know. But Johnny will. Johnny will know that in the end, his end, it justified his means. You are safe and you are his and there is no means too heinous, no act too profound to reach it.

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