#ready for any weather without warning

[samdeancrimespree]

idk whose post this is originally and i know this moment was kinda played for laughs in-show but like. they are good enough at hunting animals to find and kill food to eat on a new fucking planet.

they are …. So calm in this situation. they each have their tasks and jobs and they complete them in an orderly fashion, barely even having to talk, like they have a routine for being alone in the middle of the woods. we don’t ever see them doing this, but they must’ve done it before.

at which age do you think john winchester decided his sons needed to learn how to fend for themselves in the Real World and left them in the woods with bows and arrows and knives and said “i’ll be back in 4 days.” cause i’m gonna say 10 and 14? dean might’ve been out on his own before that, with the vague excuse of “training” given to sam to explain his brothers 2 day absence. it was a semi-frequent, maybe quarterly thing throughout their childhoods. obviously not on a Schedule so they never knew when to expect it, but they were always kind of waiting for it. it was just A Thing They Did, just like everything else. a way to prove they were retaining all their training. this was the winchester version of a camping trip. for the first couple years, sam didn’t even know this wasn’t what camping normally meant. he just knew he really hated camping.

one time, john got distracted by a hunt and left them in the alaskan wilderness in october for almost two weeks. one time, john forgot it was sam’s birthday and dean spent any spare time he had looking for cool rocks and leaves to give sam, and promised he’d give him his real presents when they got back. one time, dean got attacked by a goddamn cougar in colorado and sam patched him up and wondered what the tentative friends he had made last week were learning in their tenth grade class. and he hated john but almost cried with relief when he came to get them. dean did almost all the hunting because the very first camping trip, sammy shot a rabbit in the leg and sobbed as it slowly bled to death, and dean never wanted to see that type of anguish again. he hated killing the animals too, but he could do it, because sammy had to eat. he knew john would question it if sam hadn’t improved his skills, so they would set up makeshift archery ranges to practice. and in his reports to john, dean would always give half the kills to sam.

over time, as they got more skilled, john would give them less and less supplies, until at the end they only had a couple weapons each, rope, matches, and a first aid kit. and bobby thought when the boys spent one summer building a fort but refusing the tools he offered them, they were finally being regular kids.

[withahappyrefrain]

Unraveled- Bob Floyd

Summary: Bob Floyd likes to think he can keep it cool. Then along comes a sundress.

Warnings: friends to lovers, smut, so much pining, language,

Bob Floyd didn't like to brag, but he considered himself pretty dang smart and sensible. 

He knew the ins and outs of every jet he has flown. Hell,  he could break it apart and put it back together again within a few hours, if that.  He was able to quickly assess a situation, weigh the pros and cons, and come to a sound decision. It’s why he was the top WSO for the mission in Miramar. 

So why has a piece of fabric thrown him for such a loop? 

All Bob was trying to do was be polite. You had mentioned taking an Uber to the Hard Deck tonight and Bob knew the polite thing to do was to offer a ride. After all, he wasn't going to drink. You would save money. It's what any good friend would do. It had absolutely nothing to do with the crush he had been harboring since your first debriefing. 

He was just trying to be courteous. The gentleman his Mama worked hard in raising. Getting to spend time with you, without the other members of your shared squadron around or loud music, wasn't even near the forefront of his mind when he made the offer. Bob was just trying to be a good friend. A good friend who just wanted to help. A good friend who was forcing himself to look at you through a platonic lens, not a romantic one. 

Bob liked to think he was doing pretty well at that. 

That is, until a dress came along and unraveled him. 

Perhaps you said hello when you opened the door.  You probably did, considering how polite you were. But all Bob could focus on was the way the fabric of your dress hugged your curves. 

And what little fabric there was. He had seen you in civilian clothes before. But never anything like this. His mind absolutely went blank when you hugged him and he could feel how much of your bare skin was exposed. Due to the halter style of the straps, nearly your whole upper back was now perfectly visible.

“Um you-you look um nice,” Bob barely got out. He was too busy trying to burn the feeling of your soft skin into his brain. You were warm, like a walking ray of sunshine. 

“Thanks! I got it yesterday and I figured with the weather being so nice, today was the perfect day to wear it!” you said, giving a little twirl. Bob tried to focus on the pattern of dress; how the green brought out your eyes. 

But all he could focus on was the curves of your body, now being highlighted. The way the halter style made your breasts swell and the lack of a bra very apparent. How the fabric stopped at the top of your thighs when you spun, giving Bob a peek of what he often thought about late at night. 

This was bad. 

“I take it you came early to watch an episode of Love Island before we leave?” You asked as he stumbled walked in.

The truth was, Bob wasn’t a fan of reality TV. But he watched because it gave the two of you a chance to talk to one another. Just as friends, nothing more. When watching the silly show, you two could make jokes, talk about things other than work. 

“Yeah! Ready to watch hot people make poor decisions again,” Bob said with a nervous laugh. The joke failed to put him at ease. If anything, it reminded him that he was about to spend at least forty minutes with you and that did not include the drive to the Hard Deck. 

“You’re using my tagline!” your smile lit up your whole face. Bob was certain it could light up the whole turmac. All he could do was nod, his heart fluttering when you grabbed his hand, leading him into the living room. 

"I have some kettle corn in the microwave for you! I also made cherry seltzer water!" Bob could feel heat rush to his face. You always remembered the little details that no one else seemed to pick up on; that he loved salt but had an even bigger sweet tooth. How in an attempt to cut back on soda, he switched to sparkling water. His favorite flavor was cherry because it reminded him of cherry coke. 

"Did you see the video I sent you?" You gently squeezed Bob's hand as you two sat down. 

"Y-yeah. You're absolutely right, having three otters would be my dream." Ever since learning about Bob's favorite animal, you had sent him every otter-related video you came across while scrolling the internet. You even got him a pair of Otter socks for his birthday.  It was the fact you paid attention to seemingly minor details that made Bob fall head over heels for you. 

But alas, you were a coworker. The problem at hand wasn't whether it was allowed, ‘incest’ (as Jake unfortunately called it) happened all the time in the Navy. After all, there were only so many things you could do on a ship before switching to people. No, it was the potential issues that came with dating. Rejection being the main one. Bob had no trouble believing you and he could be professional should you two date and it not work out. That happened all the time. What worried him was rejection. Having to go to work everyday and put on a facade, that things were fine. When deep down, he knew he'd be heartbroken. And even worse, he'd no longer have your friendship. 

So Bob settled, as he often did when it came to love. He took comfort knowing he'd still have you, albeit as a friend instead of a partner. That should be more than enough. For the last few months, he had convinced himself that it was enough. 

But God was it difficult when you bent over right to grab the remote. 

The hemline of your dress inched upwards, showing off the backs of your upper thighs and- 

he could see the swell of your ass. He could see the flash of red lace. Your skin looked so soft and supple and you were so close he could just reach out and- 

Oh God he was hard. Oh no. 

This was bad. Worse than that time he popped an erection during sex ed in middle school. There, he at least had a jacket and a desk to cover it. 

But here? He was a full grown adult and San Diego’s seventy degree weather didn't give him any additional layers. Bob looked around, desperate for something, anything, to hide his cock that was currently straining against his jeans. 

Thank fuck for your love of decorative pillows. 

He grabbed the closest one, shaped and designed like a pomegranate. You were so excited the day you picked it up from some Facebook Marketplace deal. He had driven you, partly out of wanting to spend time with you, partly because he wanted to ensure you were safe. It was adorable and definitely shouldn’t be used for nefarious purposes, such as hiding a boner. This was wrong, so fucking wrong.   

Bob was trying to think of anything and everything that would kill this boner. But his spot on the couch aligned perfectly with the entranceway of the kitchen, where you currently were, rummaging around to fix Bob a drink. 

What ever happened to doors? Why were people so opposed to doors? Doors were lovely. You could close doors. Every time he tried to think of something, you were right in his line of view, turning every thought into something more devious. 

His family? His family would love you. If you two got married you could make  your own family. 

Work? You worked with him, in that damn flight suit that clung to your every curve. No one else could make that god forsaken green fabric look good.  

School? God, you were so smart. The top of your class. And witty, always ready with a clever, underhanded comeback. It’s how you two originally bonded, both having muttered something about Jake under your breath. 

Bob Floyd was screwed. Thoroughly. 

He tried to comfort himself with the fact that soon you two would be watching people in their early twenties making the dumbest decisions over dating. If anything were to be a boner killer, that had to be it. He just needed to make it through then. 

“Bob?” Your lithe voice broke him out of his thoughts. Not that it was much of a reprieve, with the way you were standing at the kitchen entranceway with a glass of sparkling water in each hand, “You good?”

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m great!” He said with an all too eager nod, desperate to convince you this was truly the case. Fuck, you were so beautiful. And you were showing so much skin. He had seen you on the beach before, adorned in athletic shorts and a sports bra. But this was different. 

The dress was far too nice for the Hard Deck. No, you deserved to be taken to a nice restaurant, one with a lovely outdoor patio. The image of you sitting on a lovely chair with a glass of wine in your hand came easily to Bob. It was also the perfect dress for a picnic, particularly at the nearby park, specifically in that little secluded area. God, the idea of you laying down on a red and white checkered blanket, the hem of your dress pushed up your thighs as he leaned over you, ready to take you-

Bob leaned forward, clutching the pillow as he tried to will himself the strength to get it together. 

“Bob? Are-are you okay?” You quickly placed the drinks down on the coffee table, rushing over to kneel in front of him on the couch. 

Oh what a sight that was, you looking up at him with big eyes, full of concern. Your hands were on his biceps, and Bob knew if he looked down he would have the perfect view of your breasts. 

 It was so hot and also the very last thing Bob fucking needed. 

“I’m good. Stomach doesn’t agree with what we had for lunch, that’s all.” Lying was never good, his mother instilled that in him at an early age. But in this scenario, Bob was certain the truth was much worse. 

“I’ll go get you a ginger ale!” Bob opened his mouth to protest, though no words came out due to seeing not only the tops of your thighs, but a flash of your ass as you spun around to go back into the kitchen. 

For a few seconds, the  supple, plump flesh was so close to him. Practically within arm’s reach. 

Maybe he should just leave while you were in the kitchen. 

But that would be rude. Not only rude, but it would raise your suspicions if they weren’t high already. Plus, he had already promised you a ride to the Hard Deck. He couldn’t just leave you hanging, not after you brought a dress for the occasion. He may be in dire need of a cold shower, but the last thing Bob Floyd was going to do was hurt you. He squeezed the pillow, knuckles turning white as he tried to find strength. For once, he couldn’t wait to start an episode of Love Island. Hell, he would even take an episode of The Bachelor at this point. 

“Here ya go,” You sat down on the couch next to him, glass of ginger ale in hand. You even remembered how much ice he preferred in his cold beverages. You were perfect. 

“Thanks,” Bob slowly took one hand off the pillow, the other still holding onto it for dear life. 

“You uh, like that pillow?” You chuckled, though your nerves still shined through. 

“Huh? Oh yeah,” Bob looked down, ensuring his big problem was still covered, “It uh, helps my stomach!”

You raised an eyebrow, though you didn’t further question it. Instead, much to Bob’s delight, you reached for the remote, clicking through until you finally landed on the desired episode. With a shaking hand, Bob gulped down the ginger ale, promptly placing it on the coffee table so he could have both hands on the pillow. 

The room was silent, saved for the ridiculous conversations happening on the TV screen. Normally you and Bob would be shoulder to shoulder, laughing as you both narrated your opinions on the contestants. But today Bob was rigid, his fingers still clutching to the pillow on his lap. He hadn’t even touched the bowl of popcorn. 

"Do you like my dress?" It took everything in Bob not to groan at your question. The last thing he needed was a reason to look at you. But how could he deny himself such a chance? So he put on his best smile as he turned to face you.    

"Uh yeah it's lovely. I'm sure everyone will love it-" 

"I got it for you.” Your voice was soft as you hit the pause button on your remote, eyes remaining on the screen. 

The words hit Bob like a freight train. 

"What? Why would you-"

You shrugged, fingers toying with the short hem of your dress, "I thought maybe, if you saw me in something different, something that wasn't my flight suit or a tee shirt, that maybe you would finally notice me?” 

You finally looked him in the eyes, “Maybe you'd finally notice that I've been trying to flirt with you for the last few months?" 

Bob opened his mouth just to promptly close it. He thought back to the last few months, now analyzing every seemingly ordinary interaction he had with you. 

The way you insisted on sitting next to each other during lunch. As well as during briefings. And when you went to the Hard Deck. Whenever a guy tried to flirt with you there, you turned them down, focusing your attention back on him, continuing your conversation about his latest D&D campaign or a Lego set you had found that reminded you of him. The way you always touched his arm, your hand lingering on his skin as you bore your eyes into his. How you always texted him. How you baked a cake for his birthday. The little trinkets you’d bring him. 

Oh god, he was a fucking idiot. 

The tension in the room was thick. You, sitting restlessly as you waited for Bob to acknowledge what you had said. Bob, processing your words and what they meant. 

“How long?” Bob asked, his voice soft yet firm.

You chuckled as you shook your head, “Honestly? First day. We hadn’t even spoken yet. I saw you walk in and you just were….not only handsome but also looked so kind? Then you offered me a spare pencil, made that comment about Jake’s driving and I….was a goner.”

“I saw you talking to Halo before the briefing room was open,” He confessed, “She said something that made you laugh and it….it was the prettiest sight I had ever seen.”

“We’ve wasted a lot of time, huh?” You both stared ahead at the TV, still too fearful to face each other. 

Bob dryly chuckled, “Yeah….a lot of time. Months, if we’re being more exact.” 

The two of you remained in silence, your words sinking in. Neither sure what should be said, if anything should be said. Until finally, you spoke up. 

“Bob? What’s underneath the pillow?” 

His hips shifted, involuntary, “What?” For a moment, he forgot about the darn pillow and the erection he was covering with it. 

The cluelessness in his voice brought a giggle, “The pillow? Why are you using it to cover your lap?”

Bob sighed, “Can I at least kiss you first?” 

You nodded, moving to close the gap between you and Bob. Pillow be damned, his hands cupped your jawline, giving you a sweet smile before leaning in, closing the gap between your lips and his. 

Bob Floyd’s lips were soft, no doubt due to the sweet mint chapstick you'd watch him apply countless of times. You didn't want to admit how often you'd wondered about the taste, what his hands would feel like on your body. God, they were huge. His thumbs rested comfortably on your jawline, but you could feel his other fingers spanning your neck, down to your collarbone. 

The first kiss was gentle, practically modest. Your lips were only apart for several seconds, if that, before connecting again. 

You easily found his shoulders, grasping them for purchase. The gap between your bodies was too much, Bob wanted to be as close as possible. So his hands trailed down your body, skimming along until they found the back of your thighs. Using his strength, he moved your body, situating you onto his lap. 

A high pitched gasp fell from your lips upon feeling the bulge that was straining against his jeans. Good god, he was thick. You had heard whispers, chalking it up to typical locker room talk. 

Nope, those rumors were one hundred percent true. 

“I’m sorry,” Bob groaned, hands exploring your soft curves. Worst of all, he sounded earnest, only making you want to touch him more. 

“I-I wore this on purpose ah-after all,” you confessed, finding it difficult to speak as he pressed open mouthed kisses along your exposed chest. 

Right. You wore this on purpose. To entice him. To see if perhaps he felt the same burning desire. Once realization hit him again, Bob’s hands moved along your back, just stopping above your ass. 

Wait, he was about to touch your ass. 

“We-we shouldn’t,” Bob mumbled, retracting his hands from your body. You stilled, a crestfallen look painting your face. 

“We shouldn’t?” Repeating the words felt like driving a knife through your heart. Had regret finally emerged, beating the rush of adrenaline? Was he going to regret this, ask that you two never speak about it ever again, pretend it never happened?

“I…” Bob sighed, “I need to take you on a date first.”

Bless his heart. 

Sighing, you relaxed your body into his, resting your head in the crook of his neck, “You’re too sweet, y’know that?”

Bob chuckled, “That's supposed to be my line.” 

His hands gave your hips a loving squeeze, causing you to nestle further into him, until your bodies were nearly molded as one. Your lips searched for his, trailing up his neck, his jawline, along the side of his button nose until finally reaching his soft lips. Bob shifted in his seat, causing you to do the same. As a result, you could feel his erection, despite the layers of clothes. 

“Good lord Bobby, you've just been walking around with all that?” Bob groaned, but not due to your words. No, it was because you had started moving your hips in circles, his erection now pressed against your covered core. 

“I’m- I’m trying to be a gentleman.” Bob couldn't even look at you. He didn't want to stop. He should stop. Maybe you two could skip the Hard Deck and go out to dinner. Then he could take you home and not feel as guilty. 

“You can be a gentleman later,” by throwing your arms over his shoulder you finally had access to his neck. His skin was so soft, so delicate. How could you not sink your teeth into his neck? 

Normally you'd have better self control than this. But you were ovulating and had six months of sexual frustrations and wet dreams- 

“You had dreams about me?” Uh-oh. That wasn't meant to be said out loud. Granted, maybe it was for the best to get everything out in the open. 

Timidly nodding, you explained, “Yeah. The days I didn't sit next to you were because….I had a dream about ya the night before.” 

A band had snapped within Bob, no doubt due to the numerous times you didn't sit next to him during briefings. 

Within seconds, you found yourself on your back against the couch, the bespectacled WSO hovering over you. There was a fire flickering in his blue eyes as he remained laser focused on your face. 

“After this, you're putting this dress back on and I'm taking ya out to dinner, is that clear?” his voice was gruff and deep, similar to when he did a hundred pushes that one day (that you definitely didn't think about while masturbating). 

Chest heaving, dress pushed up to your upper thighs, lips kiss bitten, God, you looked like an angel to Bob. He remembered learning about angels in church growing up. How pious they were, that seeing them was a sign of comfort, that they would guide one to safety, to a holy life. 

There was nothing holy about what he wanted to do to you. 

His mouth was hot, searing kisses along your skin. Your back arched into him, desperate for me. But he always seemed to pull away before you could get enough. Would you? Ever get enough of Bob Floyd? 

Finding an answer would have to wait, for now you wanted to relish in the feeling of Bob’s hands kneading your breasts. It was obvious you weren't wearing a bra, a fact Bob ob had spent forty minutes trying not to think about. He still felt a smidge of guilt, as though the newly drawn line between friends and more hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Was he even supposed to be doing this?

“You can keep going. I want you to.” You sensed his hesitation. In all the time you knew Bob, he had never taken someone home for a one night stand. He wasn’t like that. He needed time to build a connection, to feel comfortable enough to be himself. That’s why he loved spending time with you. With you, there was no need to put up a front, no need to be fearful of judgement. 

“And then afterwards, we can order some Thai food and continue watching the episode, if you want. Or we can just do that now,” your hands cradled his jaw, gently forcing him to look at you. He found a sweet, reassuring smile, similar to the one that made him smitten six months ago. 

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” Bob could be blunt, and often was when it came to his colleague’s shenanigans. But with his own feelings? He always chose his words carefully. 

Hence why his admission took you some time to process. Bob could see it on your face; first your eyes widened, lips slightly parting as if driven by the need to respond immediately. But then your lips closed, your brain quickly gaining back self control. 

“I’m falling in love with you too Robby.” You were the only one who could call him that. It was that familiarity, that intimacy, that gave him the courage to move his hands to your hemline up to your hips, revealing the thin, lacy red fabric underneath. 

You were breathtaking. Always were. But this? This solidified things for Bob. You two had made a step forward in your relationship. Many things would still be the same. But there were now new things to experience. Simply another layer of intimacy had been added.

His long fingers skimmed over the fabric of your panties, every touch sending a spark of electricity along your spine. Every stroke caused a small gasp to fall from your lips, music to Bob’s ears. Lowering himself, Bob decorated your hips with opened mouth kisses. Finally, gaining enough courage, his fingers pushed your panties to the side. 

Fuck, you were wet. 

If there was any hesitation left in Bob, it died upon seeing how visibly aroused you were. He had done that. No one else. Lowering himself even more, he was now at eye level with your wet cunt. This wasn’t some vivid wet dream. 

When his touch licked a broad stripe up your slit, a broken moan fell from your lips, echoing off the walls. It was the prettiest sound Bob had heard. He wanted to hear it again. All the time. 

With more confidence, Bob begins lapping up your arousal, determined to taste every inch of you. His fingers dig into your thighs, pulling you closer. Looking down, you see his glasses are now crooked, though you highly doubt Bob cares, given how his eyes are half closed in pleasure. 

Wait, was he grinding against the couch? 

The discovery caused your thighs to clamp over Bob’s ears, your hips thrusting upwards to get more of his talented tongue. Bob wasn't reserved around you, never had been. But this was a new side to him that you had wondered if it ever existed. Animalistic. Devouring. Loud. 

His groans vibrate against your core, only heightening the pleasure. Slowly, his right hand goes from your hips to your core, mouth moving to your clit as the long digits trace your opening. 

“Oh my God, please,” you all but beg, not quite ready to admit how often you thought about his fingers and how they would feel inside of you.

Always thinking about your comfort, Bob started off with just one finger. You tried to fuck yourself with it, your own fingers gripping the soft strands of his hair for better leverage. The thought of making you beg crossed Bob’s mind. Would you like that? Would you be open to that? There were so many new topics to discuss, so many new boundaries to explore now. 

You happily welcomed the stretch of two, three fingers. Bob found the little moans you let out to be quite adorable. He could feel his cock throb against his jeans, but pleasing you took priority. 

“C’mon honey. Wanna feel you come on my fingers.” His voice was low, husky even. 

“C-can you be inside me? Like your…your cock?” A broken groan fell from Bob’s lips at the very thought of being inside of you. 

“I don't….I don't think I'll last long,” he admitted sheepishly. Hell, he could probably come just from eating you out. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it sounded pretty good- bringing himself to the height of pleasure just from ravishing you. 

“I don't think I will either,” you giggled, “But we’ll….we have lots of other times to go slow.” 

Bob helped you sit up on the couch. “You wanna go to the bedroom?” He asked, thinking about how this could be more comfortable for you. 

Instead, you shook your head, hands moving to his jeans, hastily undoing the buttons. 

Now it was your turn to explore, to discover. There was a dark trail of hair that went past the waistband of his jeans. He wore boxer briefs. And Bob Floyd had the prettiest cock. 

His face turned bright red at the compliment, “Oh it's…I mean it's like fine, but it's not-” 

“Take the damn compliment Robert,” you all but scolded, eliciting a laugh from him, your favorite. The high pitch, near giggle one. The one that made your heart flutter. 

Feeling at ease, you moved so that you were hovering over Bob’s lap. Your fingers moved to the base of his cock, making you realize you would have to ease yourself into it. 

“I gotcha,” his hands found your hips, slowly easing you down. His sapphire eyes never left your face, searching for any sign of discomfort. He went slow, waiting until you made it vocally known you were ready for more. 

By the time you reached the base of Bob’s cock, you were a mess. You wanted him to move, to fuck you within an inch of your life. But he was also so big. The stretch was nothing you had experienced before. 

“Hey, we can take our time, okay? I know it's, that it's a lot,” he assured you, as though he could sense your internal conflict. His lips found yours, and in that kiss you found comfort. Bob grounded you, always had, whether it was up in the air or right here on your couch. 

How much time had passed, who was to say? You could recall both your phones vibrating a few times, no doubt messages from the rest of your squad. Those messages could wait. 

“I think I'm ready,” you whispered against Bob’s lips. He needed, digging his fingers into your hips to gain a better grip. With his help, you lifted yourself no more than a couple of inches off his cock, returning to the base. 

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” Bob moaned. You just made Bob Floyd curse. Something not even a bird strike could do. That four letter word gave you the confidence to lift your hips up on your own accord, returning swiftly. Slowly, just an inch or two, which became several inches. Up and down motions turned to swiveling your hips in a circular rhythm. What was once a quiet living room, saved for a few small gasps and the static from the TV, had now become a symphony of melodic pants and groans. 

Bob could tell you were close. Your pussy was tightening around his cock more and more, your fingers dug into his broad shoulders, as if trying to anchor yourself. You practically whined at the sight of Bob taking two fingers into his mouth, wetting them with his tongue. He lowered them to where your bodies connected. 

Upon first contact with your clit, your head dropped to the crook of his neck, unabashedly moaning his name, hips moving in a now frantic motion. 

“That's it, I gotcha.” Fuck, we he going to talk you through it? Was Bob Floyd a talker? Ironic, considering at work he was known as a man of few words. 

“Feels s’good, being inside ya.” Fuck, he was a talker. You were doomed, “Wanna, wanna make us cum. Bet ya gonna feel even better when ya soak- fuck- soak my cock.” 

Your brain was hazy. Was this real? If it was a vivid wet dream, you never wanted to wake up. Was it wrong to hope that you were in a medically induced coma, so that if this  was indeed a dream, you wouldn’t have to wake up so soon? Surely, your friends and family would understand upon meeting Bob. 

Then he pointedly thrusted his hips upwards, reminding you that no, this wasn’t a dream. No, you wouldn’t wake up feeling frustrated and unable to look him in the eye. After this, you two could go out to eat, on a real date. Not some hey let’s get dinner that feels like a date in everything except in name. You could also order delivery and cuddle up on the couch. Maybe you could even shower with him beforehand, and see his bare body, find out what was truly hiding underneath that flight suit. Oh, he was deceptively strong, you always knew that. But to see it, to feel the hard planes of his muscles? Oh, that would be quite the joy to experience. 

“Sweet girl,” you clenched at that nickname, you wanted him to continue calling you that for eternity, “Let go. Know ya want it.”

“I-I do,” you all but whined. Bob found the noise cute. What other sounds did you make? What would you sound like if he kept fucking you after you came? What about if he ate you out for hours? Or teased you until you were teetering on the edge?

There were so many questions, so many areas to explore. But for now, Bob was satisfied with experiencing how tightly you clenched his cock, how you practically sang his name as you came. Your release triggered his, pulling your hips down until they were flushed against his. His lips smashed against yours, swallowing your moans. 

Then there was silence. No words spoken. Only the sounds of panting, you both clearly trying to catch your breath, and kisses exchanged, ones that neither of you could resist giving. 

Realization hits you like a freight train. “I’m on birth control.”

Bob’s eyes widened, “Oh thank God.” He was usually so good about asking, about pulling out. But you….you made his brain feel like cotton. 

“You saying you don’t want to have kids with me?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek to let him know you were only saying it in jest. 

“Not yet.” You sat up to find he had an earnest smile on his face, cheeks rosy and eyes shining in adornment. 

Bob Floyd was going to be the death of you. 

So you brushed several strands of sandy brown hair off of his forehead, replacing them with a kiss, "Gotta get me a ring first."

Luckily, you were going to be the death of Bob Floyd.

[leechqnsgirl]

‧₊˚✩彡‧ all the times I waited, for you to want me naked

-- you and heeseung have been dating for a while now, but he's never made any advances towards you. after tempting him numerous times and getting nothing, you confront him, wondering if the reason is because he doesn't find you attractive. but it's really just the opposite.

18+ | heeseung x fem!reader | wc: 5k | fluff, smut, confrontation scene | masterlist

warnings: language, reader has some slightly insecure thoughts, hee is down badd, kissing, making out, fingering, pussy eating, tiny handjob, piv, cumming inside

****

you loved heeseung, truly.

however, you couldn't help but feel a bit...unwanted by him.

not in a drag-around way. but more like he didn't have a desire or a need to have your body.

the two of you made out, sure, but even when you would, he'd be quick to end it.

at first you thought maybe it was because you two were still early in your relationship. maybe he was just shy.

but then that beginning turned into five months and those five months quickly became eleven.

sure, he was a bit more touchy, a bit more open to you but he didn't ever seem like he craved you.

you groan over the phone with your friend, "I mean, am I the problem?" you got to a point where you had to talk to someone about it. because you weren't even just hurt anymore. you were confused too, more than ever.

"I doubt it." your friend stated. "y/n, have you even tried talking to him?" you bit your lip. "well...no?"

you could hear her sigh disappointingly. "then you might be the problem." she teased over the line, "again. I doubt it. if anything, he's so in love with you! I see it, okay. and in all honesty, I thought you two were already getting it on." you could practically visualize her leaning back into her chair as she says that.

you felt yourself get a bit flustered, closing your eyes as you took a breath in.

"I just don't know what to do now. like is this normal? your boyfriend wasn't like this right?"

she chuckled, "my boyfriend? he cant last a day without getting his dick wet." you groaned. "what is it gonna take for heeseung to be like that." you whined, lying down on your bed.

"look, I have an idea but I don't really know if it'll work."

--

It's been a week since the phone call with your friend. and her plan seemed absolutely ridiculous to you.

according to her, if you tempt heeseung enough, he'll eventually let go and have you.

did you believe that? not exactly.

there's already been a handful of situations between the two of you where any regular man would've fucked you right then and there. but heeseung? nope. it's like there's some sort of curse on you.

or at least that's how you like to put it.

you eventually gave in to trying your friend's idea.

your first attempt was during a movie night. heeseung had called you up saying how he found a movie you two should watch together.

usually you'd settle for one of his tees and some pajama pants. but this time, you wanted to switch out the shirt with a tight low cut tank top, and considering how the weather was changing, you could always say it was just too hot for a t-shirt.

oh, and you'd also decided to go braless.

it was around 8:30 when heeseung arrived at your place.

giving you a kiss on the cheek as he walked in, he asked if everything was ready for the movie.

when the two of you sat down together on the couch, you could tell he put a tiny distance between you and him. not on purpose surely...right?

you let out a quiet sigh, scooting over a bit to cuddle into his side. you had your head on his chest and a hand on his thigh.

it was probably ten minutes into the movie when you noticed he wasn't touching you at all.

either it's working right now or I just made him super uncomfortable... you thought to yourself.

about to call out his name, but you decided against it. instead grabbing the arm that he rested off the top of the couch behind you and placing it on you. leaving it so his hand was around your hip.

you could've sworn you heard his breathing pause.

you're taking this movie night as a success for your first attempt.

--

now for try two you wanted to go a bit more out of the box.

you and heeseung just came home from a dinner date. he took you out for a nice night drive then surprised you with a booked seat at a fancy diner.

he was sitting up against the headboard of your shared bed. you walked over to where he was, pulling your hair to the side. "hee, can you help me with my dress?" you asked, turning so your back was facing him. "sure, baby."

now, usually he'd do it for you and you'd go to change in the bathroom.

and maybe that was the problem. it was little habits of yours like this, that he could've take it as you were hiding yourself or you didn't feel ready around him.

that's not it, really. you were just never used to changing with someone else in the room. but tonight you realized, you don't mind if that someone else is him.

walking over to your drawer, you pull out a large shirt of his. your back still turned towards heeseung, because yes, you were still a bit nervous with this whole plan. you don't think you'd be able to do this facing him. not yet, at least.

you slip off your dress and pull the shirt over your head.

and again, you could've sworn you heard him make a small noise. something akin to a quiet gasp.

he had already changed into his comfortable clothes.

laying beside where he was sitting on the bed, you could visibly see him swallow down nothing. his throat felt dry. and he felt bugs in his legs, like he just had move. but he really didn't want to. he really really wanted to just be able to hold you tightly against him as you two fall asleep. but he's afraid something might interrupt the moment you two could be having.

"I'm tired, hee...are you gonna sleep soon?" he nods his head, "y-yeah..." he clears his throat, standing up.

"i'm gonna use the bathroom real fast."

furrowing your brows, you tilt your head. "okay...come back fast babe. I wanna sleep." you said innocently. knowing you meant it to be everything but.

he was there for ten minutes before you went over to the door. just as you were about to knock, you heard him mumble something along the lines of, "get it together..."

you had to cover your mouth from the giggle you wanted to let out.

did you always have an effect on him and never realized? or is it just because of tonight?

--

your third attempt was when you two went shopping.

you'd been complaining about how you needed new clothes to heeseung. so he agreed to take you out to the mall over the weekend.

only problem? you never told him what kind of clothes you needed to buy.

now again, it really was habits the two of you had built up that were to blame.

whenever you'd go shopping for your own undergarments, you never really invited heeseung into the store with you. but he never asked to come in either. so when you walk into the store, he'd say he'd go to another and see if he can get himself anything while you shop for your personal belongings.

but this time, when you two arrived in front of the store, you didn't let go of his hand that you were holding.

"heeseung, do you wanna come with me today?" you asked, unblinking as you looked up at him.

he brought a hand up to scratch behind his ear, a habit of his for when he was nervous or undecided.

"i-i don't know...I mean, do you need me to?" he sounded nervous. you suppose you're meant to take that as a good thing.

you hold his hand tighter. "all my friends say they do this with their boyfriends.." you said upsettingly, putting on a faux pout. you aren't fully faking your disappointment. you do want him to come inside, but if guilt tripping works. then hey, fake it till you make it...right?

you could see from the look in his eye that he was fighting with himself.

he sighed. "okay. fine. even though i've never met a guy who even goes into these stores with their girlfriends." he said under his breath, hand sweating in your hold.

the two of you walked in and the store was quite busy today. girls hoarding every corner and it seemed like all the changing booths were full.

making your way through the store to where you needed to be, you eyed a few couples in there together. nudging heeseung when you pointed at them.

"see baby, guys do tag along!" he gave you a strained smile, nodding slightly.

starting off at the perfume section, you went though many scents. spraying some on tester cards and some on your wrist or neck for him to smell.

soon enough you made your way over to the sleepwear and undergarments area. you grabbed a few, heeseung offered to hold them for you, while you told him that you wanted to make your way over to the fitting rooms.

heeseung handed you all the clothes you picked out with a red face. as you took them from him, you looked at him with a brow raised.

"um...hee?" he looked at you, croaking out a quiet, yeah?

"come in with me, I need your opinion on the stuff I picked." you could see his eyes visibly widen. he cleared his throat.

"y-you want me to join you?" he knew he probably looked like a tomato by now.

you nodded your head. "well I don't have another boyfriend, do i?" you teased, tugging him by his jacket sleeve into the fitting booth.

after locking the door to the room, you offered for him to take a seat on the stool inside.

you hung up all the pieces of clothes and sets you chose on the rack and began taking off your top.

you could practically feel him get tense before you saw it.

soon enough, you slid off your shoes and shorts that you were wearing. now leaving you in just your bra and panties.

you started with a dark red lingerie sleep dress that caught your eye earlier. it went to your mid thigh and had lace trimmings around the chest.

you turn around from facing the mirror to look at heeseung.

but he was already looking at you.

you waited a few seconds before calling his name, he was clearly not paying attention to your face. his eyes glued to your body.

"heeseung..? how is it?" now he looks into your eyes. his tongue shooting out to wet his lips.

"i-its um, you know, it's nice." he said, running a hand through his hair.

you roll your eyes. sighing before turning around to try on the next item.

you showed him a few more.

you could tell he was only getting more restless and maybe even more impatient by the minute.

it wasn't until you tried on the last set that you could tell he's really had enough.

it was a delicate three piece that consisted of a white bra, underwear and a sheer mesh cardigan that really didn't cover anything. not that it was meant to anyways.

by the time you turned to show him this set, he was facing the ground. his hands tried their best to cover his groin without attracting any attention to the fact that he was trying to hide his half hard cock. you, however, didn't catch this.

before you could ask your repetitive question of how does this one look? he suddenly stood up.

"does this store have a bathroom?" your eyes widened, because there was no way he just asked that.

"this is a lingerie store...why would they have a bathroom?" he sighed, reaching a hand into his pocket. "take my card, purchase whatever you want and I'll be back."

he left his card on the stool. and before you could even utter out the sound of a letter, he was out of the room.

left standing still in pure shock, you began undressing to put on your own clothes again.

did i do too much?

god, he probably thinks I'm a crazy person. you thought to yourself.

you slid his card into the back pocket of your pants, choosing only a few pieces from the many you picked out to buy, leaving the remaining ones in the room.

thankfully the line was short now, you quickly bought everything then made your way out the store.

you saw heeseung walking back towards the entrance of it. once he made it over to you, he took the shopping bag out of your hand and shoved the empty hand in his pocket.

fuck.

--

the whole car ride was quiet. tense.

and when you made it back to your apartment, he was saying something about how he wanted to take a shower.

before he could rush away, you call out for him.

you drop your purse on the ground, sighing loudly.

"you're impossible." he turns his body slightly to fully face you.

"what?" you shake your head. "you make no sense, heeseung." you pause before you continue, trying to collect the right words.

"I mean, eleven months heeseung. we've been together for eleven months." he brings a hand up to scratch his neck.

"what are you talking about?"

"you love me, right? you think i'm-i'm kind and funny and beautiful. right?" you felt your voice start to raise just the slightest.

"of course-" you dropped your hands to your sides dramatically.

"then why don't you want me? or even crave for me?" he paused when you said that. he could see your eyes gloss over a bit.

"everyone I know, heeseung, everyone has basically done it with their boyfriend already. and I'm not saying we have to do that to have a healthy relationship but I mean if you didn't wanna have sex then just tell me!" you take a moment to breathe.

"but I know you want to have sex. m-maybe not with me but I know you've had it before, with your exes. and I don't care about them right now. but, god, it's just killing me inside because," you had to calm down. you don't even know why you're getting so worked up. you've always felt this way, yeah, but, you usually just deal with it.

it seems like this time...you just can't.

"because it has me thinking I'm the problem." you see him open his mouth to say something but you beat him to it.

"what is it? am I just not attractive in that way? or hot? or d-do you have someone else?" you whispered out that sentence because even you knew that wasn't true. it was just your own thoughts that were eating you now. consuming you whole and leaving you a broken and crazed mess in front of your boyfriend.

the whole time heeseung was standing still, he didn't know what to say. did you really feel this way this whole time?

he shook his head. "never." he stepped closer to you. "there's never going to be someone else." he sighed.

how do i even explain this to her? he thought.

he sighed, "it's really embarrassing..." he said quietly.

"what?" you sniffled, furrowing your brows.

he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palm. "it's not you, baby, I promise. a-and I had no idea you felt like this." you gave him a blank stare, wanting to hear what he'll say next.

"I'm a coward, y/n. I...I feel so much for you, in so many different ways I just, I don't know how to show it sometimes. and I get nervous. I get scared I won't be able to impress you or be what you deserve." he shifted his gaze from your eyes to the floor.

"you are the prettiest girl ever. really. I mean, no one I've ever met or dated makes me feel this way."

"and I don't wanna seem desperate or horny to you. the last thing I'd want is to make you think all I want from you is your body." now he moved right in front of you, holding both your hands in his.

"i'm obsessed with you, baby. the way you walk, the way you talk and smell and just exist." he presses a kiss to your lips, muttering a small apology. one you knew that its meaning was meant to be louder than its volume.

he lets go of your hands as he goes in for a second kiss. his own hands are everywhere but nowhere at the same time.

he wants to touch you. to feel you. but he doesn't want to move too fast.

getting impatient, you grabbed his hands and placed them on your waist.

breaking away from the kiss, you whispered into his ear, "touch me, heeseung. please."

his knees buckled at that, he had to physically bite back a moan. he moved one hand to the back your head with the other still on your waist. he pushed your head further against his. your hands tangled into his hair and neck, pulling at the hairs on the back of his head whenever he'd bite your lips.

yes, the two of you have made out before and its gotten heated. but this time? it felt so much hotter knowing that there isn't some sort of barrier between you two anymore. knowing that soon enough, he'll have you on your back moaning out his name.

he pulled away from the kiss, ushering the two of you to the bedroom.

he gently pushed you onto the bed, going back in for another kiss.

he moaned, the realization of everything finally dawning on him when he had you under him. all hot and bothered.

"heeseung," you called out to him, "what's wrong?"

he hadn't even realized that he froze for a good few seconds, but when he came back to you, he started trailing kisses down your neck.

"mm, nothing. sorry, baby." he mumbled in between kisses.

when he reached your collarbone, he tugged on the piece of fabric that was your shirt.

"can I...?" you nodded your head, voice too weak to speak right now.

and so with that, he gently pulled your shirt over your head. softly gasping at the sight of your upper body nearly bare.

his hands traced your sides, your stomach, everywhere.

he brought his kisses lower now, to the hem of your pants. this time he didn't ask you, he started slowly sliding your pants down. giving you time for if you suddenly changed your mind.

you never did. and he was so thankful for that.

he felt crazy. insane even. seeing you in just about nothing, only some pity pieces of clothing.

you were so beautiful, he couldn't believe he's never had you like this earlier.

but in the middle of everything, he can't help but feel that anxious and unsettling feeling arise again.

its not your fault, never. it's his and his busy minds'. its thoughts that occur like, if he's good enough for you, can he please you, and whatnot.

"mm, hee..." you squirmed shyly under his gaze.

his eyes quickly flew over to your face, he chuckled quietly. "'m sorry, baby."

heeseung works on his own clothing now, hastily ripping them off.

now, left only in his boxers, he drags a hand over to your clothed pussy.

fuck, he couldnt believe this.

he was touching you right now. him. not anyone else.

his finger presses down on your cunt, making your legs twitch just the slightest.

he starts rubbing small circles over your clit, his other hand gripping the sheets beneath you two.

god, he really wanted to just strip you naked and fuck you stupid. but no. he had to have patience, he didn't want your first time to be a quick fuck. he wanted to have time to get to know your body.

what you love, what you hate, what makes you wet.

he needed to know it all.

he hears you whine out a wait, pushing his hand away from you. he was confused at first, until he saw your slide off your panties.

"y-y/n?" you bit your lip, closing back your thighs.

"hee, I need you to touch me. please." and how could he refuse? with your eyes staring at him all wide, your brows furrowed and your lips chewed up.

your lips. gosh, your lips. he had to kiss you.

crawling up a bit, his lips meet yours. he groans into the kiss when you bring a hand up to his hair.

with your tongues clashing and heavy breathing audible in the room, heeseung brings one hand down and pushes your thighs open a bit.

you lay back on the bed, him still above you.

"baby, I'm gonna start with my hands okay?" he assures, eyes scattering all over your face.

a bit shaky, you nodded your head.

the way he pressed his fingers against your bare warmth made your mind hazy.

you bit your lip, a muffled moan coming from you. and when heeseung started rubbing you, you threw both your hands over your face. the shyness and slight insecurity of the way that you might look got the better of you.

heeseung pulled away from you. "h-huh?" you lowered your hands when you heard a whine from him.

"baby, please can I see you? I need to, I wanna see you come undone for me. please?" he was shameless with the way he begged, voice never even wavering.

and you felt the heat rise up to your face, eyes wide as you processed his words in your head.

his hands went to grab at your wrists. "just...relax."

again you nodded your head.

and just like that he went back again, but this time, his movements were a bit more restless. less patient.

he spreads your legs wider, wanting to get a better view.

his empty hand went to your still bra clad chest. he huffed at the feeling of this fabric under his hands.

getting the hint, you sat up a bit, bringing two shaky hands to take it off.

and he whimpered at the sight. he shut his eyes for a few seconds, letting out an unsteady breath.

he immediately brought his mouth over to your chest, pressing open mouth kisses around your tits but never touching your nipples.

you gasped at a sudden intruding but pleasurable feeling.

he finally stuck two fingers in you, and placed his mouth on your right tit. sucking it, running his tongue all over it as he kept a nice pace on your cunt.

"fuck!" you arched your back, shutting your eyes.

he continued this, switching from left to right but never moving his hand from your pussy.

"heeseung! heeseung, baby-" you cut yourself off with a moan, "im gonna c-cum, please baby." you tangled a hand into his hair, pushing him further into your chest. if that was even possible.

trembling thighs shut themself around his hand as you knocked your head back onto the pillows, moaning loudly as your orgasm hit you.

he groaned against your chest, trapped still by you in every way.

finally, he lifted his head from your chest, moving his fingers out of your cunt.

he looked you right in the eyes as he brought them to his mouth. groaning at the taste of you.

everything he was doing, these were the things he dreamed of doing to you.

still dazed, he doesn't even realize your hands cupping his clothed cock. his body jerks at your touch, a gasp leaving him.

"hee, can you take it off?" you asked shyly, hand still groping him.

he let out a shaky breath, nodding his head as he quickly tugged them down. throwing them somewhere on the floor along with the rest of your clothes.

your eyes widened, you never realized he was this big. if anything, you never really thought about his dick size despite the many fantasies you'd have about him pounding into you, making you go dumb.

you spit into your hand, stroking his cock slowly. you had to get a feel for it, you needed to know how he looked and felt. you needed to.

he moans at the contact, his hands balling into fists. if he didn't know any better, he would have shoved himself down your throat already. but no.

he had to be patient.

it wasn't until you kitten licked his tip that he gently pulled you off him.

"no." he breathed out. "fuck- no, im sorry baby." he says a bit kinder this time.

"i-if im gonna cum, i need it to be in you. I don't wanna cum anywhere else. nowhere else besides that cute cunt. okay?" he pushed you by the shoulder back to laying down.

his hands were shaking. because of nerves, impatientness, excitement. he didn't know.

before he lined himself up, he leaned down to your face. pressing his lips against yours.

his cock brushed against your entrance. he moaned at the feeling.

"oh, y/n." his brows furrowed, he almost looked like he was in pain, in the hottest way ever. "oh, baby, you have no idea. do y'know the amount of times i've had to get myself away from you? because if i didn't, i think i would’ve fucked you one too many times." he chuckles airily.

his tip teases you. "i can't even count how many nights i'd stay up, tugging at my fucking dick to the thought of you." he eases himself in, slowly.

"i'd get fucking hard at anything you do. it's so embarrassing, baby."

hes halfway in, biting back a groan.

"fuck, and when we would make out? the way you'd moan and whine into my mouth had me nearly creaming my pants."

he bottoms out now, throwing his head as his grip on your hips becomes bruising. but in the best way possible.

everything he was telling you had your eyes shutting tight and rolling back.

you never knew any of this. you never would've expected it.

he starts thrusting now, hips strained as he tries his best to go at an even pace.

"and f-for you to think i don't find you hot? or attractive? fuck, that i dont wanna have sex with y-you?" he whines quietly at the end, his hips speeding a bit.

"that made me feel like shit. the last thing i want is for you to think i don't want you." his thrusts kept the same pace but roughened up. slamming into you every so often.

"heeseung." you whimper. "heeseung, i'm sorry, im sorry, i should’ve t-told you." your eyes were getting watery, everything was getting to you.

the pleasure, the pain, the emotion.

he presses a kiss to your jaw. "shh, no, baby. don't be, okay?"

his grabs your hips closer to his now, quieting down as hes focusing on fucking into you, plummeting his hips as you scratched at the back of his shoulders.

you felt yourself get close, pleasureable tears pricking at your eyes.

you squeezed them shut, throwing your head back.

"y/n-" he breathes in deeply, "look at me, baby. c-can you look at me? i wanna-, fuck, i need to have your eyes on me." he groans, bringing a hand to the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair as he moves it to face him. "I need to see you."

you moan at the feeling of his hands on you, your legs locking behind his back.

"c-cum." you softly whine out.

"what?" he's out of breath, sweat dripping from his temples. "cum. c-cum in me, hee, please. d-don't pull out."

fuck, you might actually kill him.

"you want me to cum in you?" he may have been talking to you, but you knew he was repeating the question to himself.

you nodded your head, bringing a hand to cup his left cheek. "mhm, baby, I love you. s-so much." your voice was shaky when you let out the words. and he felt weak from them alone.

your warm cunt, your beautiful sounds, your pretty face.

it was all you, you, you.

you were always in his mind. you never left it, to be honest.

"f-fuck! baby, I'm gonna cum." he moaned out, "cum with me, okay? please baby, I need to feel you cum with me..." heeseung kept rambling filthy nonsense into your ears, his whiny voice only bringing you closer.

and it wasn't until heeseung was whimpering out a pathetic repetitive mantra of I love you's that he finally came, with you following him.

he dropped his head onto your shoulder, broken sobs leaving his throat despite not a tear falling from his eyes.

it just felt that good to finally have you.

slowly, he pulled out of you. his sticky cum falling out of you a little bit. he groaned at the sight before flopping onto the bed beside you.

the two of you stayed quiet for a bit. catching your breath.

heeseung ran both his hands in his hair, moving it out of his face. you were stuck in your spot, too used up in the best way. too tired to move.

he turned his body sideways to face you.

"I was serious, y/n. I love you. and I'm so fucking sorry for making you feel that way. its never been like that. ever. I promise you, baby."

you smiled, reaching a hand out to rest on his face.

"it's okay. i'm just glad we were able to get through it."

heeseung nuzzled into your touch, breath coming out a bit shaky at your touch. he loved it, he loved the warmth that came with it. he loved it all.

heeseung stood up, grabbing his boxers off the floor as he walked out the room. saying how he was going to get you two some water and something to eat.

when he came back a few minutes later, he had more than just the food.

he had the shopping bag. the one that was full of your newly bought lingerie.

he tossed the bag on the bed by your feet.

"I'm gonna need to see these on you again so I can give you my real opinion."

you giggled, grabbing the glass of water he handed you.

"you sure you won't get all nervous again?"

****

extra notes: so like half way into this i realized someone posted a fic with a really similar plot, i promise im not copying or anything and i tried to contact the writer but her account is down :\

again, full respect to her and her work and i did NOT plagerize. hope u enjoyed the fic :) ♡

[beloveds-embrace]

Emotional Support Omega getting scented by an unknown alpha?

Using this also as an oppertunity to just write the part three in too 🙂‍↕️

Part One | Part Two

The barracks were busy, a hum of conversation and the smell of warm, albeit unappealing, food filling the space. You had just returned from a supply run with Soap and Gaz, the three of you still dusted with the frost of the outside world, the winter season felt acutely in this weather.

Though missions continued as they were, you still weren’t a part of them. Not really.

But you were part of the base now.

The rookies adored you, the medical staff always had a cup of tea ready when you wandered into the infirmary, and even the grizzled veterans had started seeking you out when the weight of war grew too heavy on their shoulders.

You weren’t unwanted.

Just… unwanted by them- even if now, they lingered in your space, hanging to your pesence yet unwilling to bring you into theirs. It was a strange balance, and one you desperately wanted them to break.

But maybe… they didn’t want to?

At least, that’s what you had come to believe- until the moment a stranger dared to touch you.

A hand, large and firm, settled suddenly on your wrist as you made your way to the mess hall. The scent that curled toward you was strong, pungent in a way that sent an immediate alarm through your mind- thick with musk, uninvited and cloying. New to the base, though you couldn’t be too sure.

An Alpha.

But not one of yours- not that you had Alphas.

But this wasn’t right.

“You smell too neutral, Omega,” he rumbled, his grip firm but not bruising- yet. He leaned in, voice dropping into something that was likely meant to be coaxing, but it came across as just sleazy. “Scenting you would help. You should-“

“No.”

It was firm, immediate. You tried to pull back, but he didn’t let go, and a flash of irritation sparked in his eyes.

You had spent months on this base without anyone pushing your boundaries like this. Sure, there had been some flirtations, a few playful, harmless offers from Betas and Omegas looking for warmth- but nothing like this. Nothing so entitled.

The Alpha frowned, his grip tightening just slightly. “Come on, now, there’s no need to be difficult. It’s unnatural, the way you smell-”

He didn’t get to finish, and you didn’t get the chance to knee him like you’d been intending.

Because the moment he pulled at your wrist again, another hand caught his and twisted it away from you.

A deep, warning growl filled the space, thick with rage- Ghost.

And he was furious.

The room stilled, the air heavy with the presence of three more Alphas who had materialized so quickly, so silently, that it felt like the whole world had stopped breathing.

John was at your side in an instant, broad frame half between you and the offending Alpha, while Soap and Gaz flanked you like silent shadows, eyes dark with something unrecognizably vicious.

“You don’t touch who’s ours.” Ghost’s voice was quiet- so quiet that it sent a chill down your spine. His grip on the Alpha’s wrist was vice-like, and from the way the man winced, you knew it was taking everything in Ghost not to break bone.

The Alpha scoffed, though he was clearly unnerved. “Didn’t realize she was yours. She doesn’t-“

“She is.” It was Price this time, voice low, commanding, absolute. He took a slow, measured step closer, shoulders squared and stance firm. “Let go and walk away.”

A tense beat.

Then the Alpha, wisely, did as he was told. He stepped back, rubbing his wrist, eyes darting between the four l who had suddenly made it very clear where they stood.

Where you stood.

“I didn’t mean any offense.” The Alpha muttered at last, but he didn’t wait for a response before retreating. You knew that come tomorrow, he would not remain in the military any longer.

Silence stretched in his wake.

Your wrist still tingled where he had grabbed you, but you weren’t focused on that. You were focused on them.

On what they’d said.

Ghost’s hand was still hovering near yours, gloved fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to pull you close- and then he simply gave up and held your hand tenderly. Price’s jaw was tight, eyes scanning you as if checking for any sign of harm. Soap and Gaz weren’t touching you, but their presence was solid, grounding.

And then, the weight of their words settled in.

“She is.”

Not she might be.

Not she could be.

She is.

Your breath hitched slightly. “I…” You swallowed, unsure how to process what had just happened.

Soap was the first to break the silence. “Took us too damn long to figure it out,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual, but still thick with something unyielding. He ran a hand through his mohawl, exhaling sharply, and giving you a weak smile. “Should’ve done this ages ago. Sorry, lass. This is our fault.”

Gaz nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line before he sighed and nudged your shoulder lightly. “You alright?”

You blinked at him, at all of them, before nodding. “Yeah,” you murmured, voice a little breathless. “Just… confused.”

“We were idiots, ‘mega,” Price said, his gaze holding yours firmly- it reminded you of that snowy mission once more, when they gave in and accepted your offered warmth. “We kept you at arm’s length when we shouldn’t have. We didn’t want to admit what was obvious.”

Ghost finally moved then, his fingers tightening around your wrist in silent apology, silent claim, still so gentle. “You’re ours.” The words were raw, gruff, like they had been carved out of him. But he didn’t take them back.

Ours. Yours.

The warmth that bloomed in your chest was overwhelming.

It had taken months. It had taken nearly losing the chance entirely.

But finally- finally-

You were theirs.

cod omegaverse masterlist

[haztory]

where you are.

— continuation to bias. (yes, i am making a series. yes, i am making us work for it) — jack abbot x fellow f!reader; attending/fellow dynamic, age-gap (unspecified but reader is late 20s and up, jack is mid 40s), heavy plot, slow-burn, angst, mention of patient death, gore, medical descriptions, descriptions of c-sections and premature birth, medical inaccuracies, jack and city girl being a formidable unit together in the ER then a LONG stint of pining, yearning, and embracing of domesticity, these two taking care of each other without realizing, please heed the warnings there are descriptions of invasive and traumatic birth — word count: 4.5k — summary: The sight of you instills a relief akin to a cool splash of water on Abbot—something he notes and stores on the shelf of things to deal with later. A shelf that is starting to pile up these days with things he’s avoiding. Things that all, concerningly, relate to you.

masterlist

The night had been going fine up until this point. Maybe it was that faulty line of thinking that led to this. The sudden implosion, the shatter of the steady. 

Jack isn’t one to brag much about himself. There’s no grand honor in being a doctor. Private practice, sure. Maybe. In the ED, it's shit work in shit situations where actual shit may or may not be involved. He’ll tell that to anyone who asks. When the inevitable question comes—are you any good at it?—he’ll shrug and tell them, depends on the day. 

He’s seen enough, done enough, worked with little more than two plastic straws and a boning knife to do a crike in the middle of a firefight in Afghanistan. He knows his way around the block, and can do more than the average ED can—that he will admit. But it's still a shit job sometimes. 

He hates all of the tragedy that rolls through the doors. They all eat away at the sinews of the mortal coil, but pregnant traumas? They get to him. It’s unsteady ground, the one type of call that he’s always shown a physical reticence to handling. 

There’s too much variability, too many unsuspecting errors, too much divided attention in the multidisciplinary approaches where focus has to be split for the sake of mom and baby. Crack open a body and you’re in for a world of hurt. Throw pregnancy into the mix, and now you’re one step away from God’s door asking what kind of games he’s playing. 

Aching despair is wedged in each part of an obstetric trauma that makes someone as battle tested and weathered as Dr. Jack Abbot sweat and cringe with a grief too profound for words. 

They wheel the young woman into Trauma One and the adrenaline surges through him like a needle straight to veins. His eyes, cold and hurried, press into Lisa. A terse instruction is barked out, your name in his lips.

“Get her in here now.”

Lisa is quick on her feet, stepping out of the OR to find you just as he cuts open the young girl’s shirt. In his survey of her body—the distended stomach dark with bruising from her injuries, blood staining every part of her body, most notably her inner thighs—his eyes find her face, shining a light in her eyes. 

The pupils remain unilaterally fixed in their dilation, non reactive. And it’s then that he notices how much of a child she looks. 

The sudden slam of the trauma doors welcomes you into the room, a rush in your step as you tie the surgical gown behind your back. A readied focus on your eye. The sight of you instills a relief akin to a cool splash of water on Abbot—something he notes and stores on the shelf of things to deal with later. A shelf that is starting to pile up these days with things he’s avoiding. Things that all, concerningly, relate to you. 

“Tell me.”

A resident presents with speedy construction as Jack oversees the tracheostomy. Young female ejected from an MVC, tachycardic, extensive blood loss and apparent extreme cardiovascular collapse and hypoxia. Non reactive pupils indicating neurological nerve damage. EMTs conducted an ultrasound to confirm pregnancy and baby’s length at 30 weeks. Dr. Hudson, the OB-GYN specialist, is on the phone, her own hands wrapped up in an emergency delivery upstairs, asking for details just as they’re presenting them to you. But there’s value in having you in the room—you’ve told Abbot enough about your New York residency. He knows just how much knowledge you have in obstetrics for this. 

The decision is made by you without further delay. Sure and serious. 

“We’re getting this baby out, now.” Your suggestion meets no rebuttal from Dr. Hudson over the line.

“CT has been ordered, we’re next in line.” Dr. Basu, the attending surgeon, speaks from the side of the bed.

“For it to confirm what we already know and waste more time?” You explain, not meanly. Just direct, intense. “We’ve got vaginal bleeding, likely dealing with placental abruption and the longer we wait, the longer the baby is not getting oxygen. We get this baby out now or we lose both of them.”

Dr. Hudson’s voice rings on the other end of the line, “I agree. Keep me updated.”

Abbot’s a good soldier, takes direction without problem. He’s heard your directive loud and clear, the specialist’s agreement is just icing on the cake. 

“You heard them. Let's move.”

You fall beside him in perfect time, meeting his movements quickly as skin is cut, hands move, and a baby—small, pink, and too pure for how he’s born—is introduced to the world. 

The baby is passed to a resident for care, a separate team filling up the connecting OR to secure baby boy before getting him up to NICU. Your attention remains fixed on attempting to stabilize mom, or at least getting her stable enough to be put on life support so that her family can see her and make the call. Jack is by your side, equally intent as you. Grounds his feet to the floor, keeps himself firm as you speak directions to one another, pass steady compliments at performance, grit out expletives of frustration.

Intent to share in the dread of this one. 

It’s not going well. The injuries are so severe, compounding on each other that right when you think you get something halfway resolved, another crash of vitals sounds through incessant beeping. 

He says your name softly, an hour and fifteen minutes into the procedure, after her pulse is lost for the third time and three units of O-Pos have been pumped through her. A gentle echo in the orchestra of chaotic beeps. You look at him, blood staining your forearms, sweat beading on both of your foreheads, the dismay creasing on your face mirrored on his own. 

“Anything else you want to try?” He asks. It’s not a test of knowledge, a sudden pop-quiz from your attending, but true deference. 

You hardly imagine he’s had to do many emergency c-sections on the floor, much less when he was on the field, but seeing the monolith of a man equally lost like you is hard hitting. You shake your head, tired.

“Call it.” He gently issues.

“Time of death, 3:07.” The words heave out of your mouth in a shuddered breath. It’s through shot nerves and sheer adrenaline that your hands shakily pull the bloodied gloves off of them. You toss them to the floor in defeat as the respiratory therapist stops her manually pumping of the bag valve mask and Lisa shuts off the monitors. 

It’s the same punch to the gut every time the words are uttered. You still struggle to get used to it.

“Thank you all for your work on this one.” Jack says to everyone in the room. The team seems to deflate at his words, solemnity a gaseous cloud that poisons the crowd. 

“Let’s take a moment and honor her and the life that was here.”

It’s a tense and desolate moment of silence. They always are. It’s broken by the sound of the sneakers in the hallway and the opening of the operating doors. 

“Dr. Abbot—” Bridget’s whisper stirs the room, “Your patient in two is vomiting.”

That’s all that can be afforded. The room breaks, everyone filtering out as the world continues to revolve beyond this room. As everyone makes out for the doors, he notices you stay. Staring. Reviewing. 

Going through it all over, and over, and over again. 

“We did everything we could.” He calls to you, ritualistically. Because it’s the right thing to say, not necessarily the one he believes.

“I know.” You tell him, because it’s true, but not because you believe it. You stay focused on the girl’s face, childlike features marred with contusions. “I just want a moment.”

“Course.” He offers quietly, “Anything you need.”

Your lips tilt at the shared mantra, a settled phrase that you find each other saying more often these days. You nod, appreciatively at him, your blessing for him to take his leave. Still, he hesitates. Holds. Waits. Staying close in case you voice a need—in case you say you need him. 

He forces himself out of the room before he makes a fool of himself. 

—

Abbot finds you in the aftermath. When a clean blanket is covering the girl's face, and she’s been wiped of the blood and fluids, and moved to an observation room waiting for her family’s arrival. After you both have moved forward through the night in other cases. He finds you outside of the vending machine, your gaze stuck flicking between the number of options.

“You’re supposed to put money into the machine in order to get something out.”

The sound of his voice hardly surprises you, even from behind. Almost like you anticipate him throughout the night, expect to find him somewhere nearby—these days, you practically hear him in the swirl of your own thoughts. Guiding you, teasing you, comforting you. 

“I’m fighting a battle against the urge to gorge on chocolate.” You tell him succinctly, eyeing the trail mix hesitantly.

“How’s that going?”

“I’m losing.”

He huffs a breath then pulls out his card from his wallet. He steps up behind you, close enough where his chest brushes your shoulder as he reaches around and taps it against the machine's card reader. You don’t move from the innocent meeting of your bodies, out of some curious interest in seeing if he will. 

He doesn’t. You shove the desire to lean into his subtle touch with a ten-foot pole, beating it until it's nonexistent. 

He punches in ‘B6’ on the keypad without hesitation and watches as a Snickers bar is dropped from the rack. He bends down, reaching his hand through the slot and raises back up with a grunt, handing the chocolate bar to you.

Your stare is scolding, but you take the bar anyway. Ripping the wrapper and taking a bite of the candy. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Cushion before the blow.” He warns. Your chewing slows, eyes widening in dread at him.

“Our pregnant mom’s parents are here.” Jack explains and you sigh heavily. “She was sixteen.”

Solemnly nodding, your eyes find comfort in fixating on the tile floor. “We have her name?”

“Kerina Jackson.”

“Okay. I’ll head over now.”

“You want me in there?”

“No. I made the call, I can do it.”

“I don’t mind.”

He watches you think for a moment. Weighing the pros and cons of it all, before you meet his gaze. Looking into him as if searching for any insincerity or any indication that he might take your acceptance as weakness. 

Finding nothing, you nod slowly. “Yeah, okay. Please.”

The walk to the observation room is harrowing. Your candy lays half eaten in your hand before you eventually tuck it into your pocket, appetite lost. You both convene one final look at each other at the door—a quick check-in, an agreement to step in before doing so. Jack moves, his hand on the handle of the door and holds it open for you, following in after you. 

You speak first, introducing the both of you to the parents as the doctors responsible for overseeing their daughter. They hang onto your words with fevered worry. You tell them the outcome as softly as you can. Life shatters for them in an instant. 

Through their heaves and sobs, you manage to croak out. “The baby is stable, for now. He’s been sent up to NICU for care. One of our nurses can take you to go see him.”

“And our daughter, where is she?” Her father asks. 

Jack speaks then, “We have her ready for you in an observation room. You can see her whenever you’d like.”

“I speak for Dr. Abbot and I when I say that we are so sorry that this has happened.” You continue. They ask a few questions—what killed her? Severe blood loss. Blunt force trauma. How long were you operating on her? An hour and fifteen minutes. Are you sure you did everything you could? No. But that part stays quiet. 

The room descends in a choked mood. Tempered by the soft sobs to two mourning parents who have no questions to ask but to the God that decided to take their child. 

“We will be here for any other questions you have or help you may need.” Jack speaks amidst the tears. There’s gratitude at his insertion as you find yourself at a loss of what else to say. But Jack knows. He always knows. “If you let one of our nurses know, they’ll come get us.” 

His hand rests on the small of your back as he guides you both out of the room. It’s a welcome feeling, a steady rock on shaky ground. As soon as the touch is there, it’s gone. He’s rounding on you, staring intently into you. 

“You good?”

“No.” You shrug. “You?”

He crosses his arms, tendons in his forearms stretching for a moment as he opens and closes his palms. For a moment you see the sliver of the man—the one that is becoming more and more familiar to you. That he’s revealing slowly, a new crack into the armor each time you happen to be around when these things happen. Weary and upset in a way that stretches beyond anger at the unfairness of life. Targeted almost in judgement, in disappointment at choices—his and beyond. 

It touches depths of sadness and hurt in ways that he doesn’t often let show. Visible only in the slow nod of his head and the downturn curl of the corner of his lips. 

A slew of questions sits in his mind—What was she doing out on the road so late? What did she run into? Why wasn’t she wearing her seatbelt? Why the fuck was she pregnant at sixteen? Each is more devastating than the last, sticking a knife into his back and drags down, down, down the seam of his skin until he feels like he’s split into two.

His leg aches, loudly, but admitting that is forsaking a life that this young girl doesn’t get to have anymore. 

“Gotta keep going.” He says, plainly. But his lips curl downward and his stare says more than he thinks it does.  

Your fingers itch to grab onto him and hold him tight.

—

The sun rises slowly and with it comes the harrowing end of the shift. It couldn’t have come sooner.

You should run—make for the streets of Pittsburgh and never turn back. Let your heart race in adrenaline from something other than tragic chaos. Run for nonexistent hills that whisper a promise of calm and levied bliss as you leave PTMC and all that it holds. It’s an amusing thought. If you were stronger, more committed, you would. But the clock ticks past your scheduled exit time, your bag slung over your shoulder and yet, your feet remain firmly planted to the ground at the loading bay. Stuck, held, waiting. For something.

A sign, maybe. A reminder of why you’re here. 

“I need a beer.” 

Much like he’s done all night, Jack sidles up beside you. Appearing out of thin air and standing next to you. You’re brows furrow in question, having thought he had made for the rooftop like he usually does after a long shift. 

“Isn’t it too early for that?” You ask. 

“Never too early for a good thing.” He shrugs. “Isn’t that a ‘city that never sleeps’ specialty?” 

“Touché.” You nod in concession. Silence befalls the two of you as the world sounds around you. Cars drive by as people wake up, sirens from an ambulance ring only a hair’s width away. The air is cool on your skin and you take the moment to breathe. The urge to run wanes, slightly. 

“I’ve got some beer at my place.” You offer, casually. “Wanna head that way?”

Jack turns to meet your gaze. It's an innocuous invitation, smeared with exhaustion and nonchalance. Nothing untoward. Like you wouldn’t be offended if he didn’t take you up on it, just as you wouldn’t make it a big deal if he did. Your thumb points south, gesturing to your apartment, the complete opposite direction of his home. 

He tilts his head after a thoughtful moment of consideration. “You take the train?”

“Bus.”

“Fuck that. I’ll drive us.”

— 

Your apartment is deep in the strongarm of the city, right at the crossing between loud and hectic, and just past the Allegheny River. The building is as quaint as it is quiet, which isn’t saying much. A big, tall eyesore and Jack can’t help but scoff. 

City girl staying close to what she knows.

He follows, woefully out of his element, as you guide him past the concierge and through the modern and minimalist decor of the lobby into golden elevators. You press twelve on the buttons and the elevator ascends in a quiet hum—lulled only by the whir of the machine. 

Comfortable silence emphasizes the line that’s been drawn in the sand. Work staying at the steps of the hospital, far from a desirable topic of conversation, even farther from being a worthy disruption of the tranquility. Rehashing the night, wondering what could have been done differently is a task you both save for personal time in the privacy of your spaces when no one else is looking. 

“Bienvenido a mi casita.” You sing, tired and a feeble attempt at jovial, as your keys unlock the apartment door. 1224, he notes. Puts it up on the crowded shelf with everything else about you he pretends he isn’t storing. He steps inside, eyes scanning the home with barely concealed interest. 

It’s a small space, clean—save for the mail you have scattered on the counter and the stray bottle of cleaner that you have yet to put away. The apartment is decorated modestly, color popping in the pillows on your couch, the rug you have in the living room, the dinner mats on your two-chaired dinner table. Photos of friends, family, your nieces hang on every wall in a pleasant array. It’s lived in, alive, warm, yours.

He doesn’t realize he’s studying the place until you call from behind him from the kitchen, your head deep in the pantry. “You still want that beer? I can make some coffee instead?”

“Coffee’s good. Bl—”

“Black. I know.” You look at him over your shoulder, a twinkle somehow emerging in your eyes. From the ash of a smoldering fire that burned all that was sane, you still rise—sparking anew.  He watches, curious. You grab coffee grounds and move through your kitchen, filling the machine and starting a brew. 

“You hungry?” You ask. 

“Are you?”

“I could eat.” 

He didn’t come here to eat breakfast. He’s not sure why he even came in the first place. But he nods despite the uncertainty that makes him feel idiotic. “Sure.”

He wades awkwardly into your apartment. Unsure where to stand, how to take up less space, if he should bid his goodbye now or later. His eyes fall to a box leaning against your living room wall, beside your television that sits pathetically on the floor. 

“What’s going on here?” He asks, gesturing to the cardboard with black lettering that has too many umlauts above them. 

“A TV stand that I’ve been procrastinating building.” You respond, the sound of eggs cracking on the counter and into a bowl ringing throughout the room. 

“How long?”

“‘bout a month.”

“Christ.” He scoffs. “You waiting for God to show up?

“Something like that.” He hums. His eyes narrow for a moment, before deciding resolutely. 

“Got a tool kit?”

The morning unfolds slowly, comfortably. Jack sitting in your living room, building your TV stand to create a reason as to why he’s here. He pauses only when you plate up some breakfast. Eggs, toast, and a cup of coffee. He eats in a steady quiet with you, unsure when the last time he had breakfast with someone was.

Conversations are interspersed infrequently. Mostly unimportant; something about this new hot sauce you got from the farmer’s market and the plans you have for redecorating. He tells a stupid story about the billboard outside your apartment window that used to have the picture of the two twin lawyers and their fish man.

(“Their fish man?”

“Shenderovich, Shenderovich, and Fishman. 1-888-98-Twins.”

“Shenderovich to the second power. God, that’s awful.”

“You’re telling me.”)

Quiet things, small delights that bring the slight quirk to his lips and the gentle huff of laughter from you. The small things the diffuse the tension of the night, that force the slow revival into becoming a human again.

You take both plates when you finish, humming at his quiet thanks and returning to the kitchen to clean while he returns his attention to the stand. And it’s normal—so pointedly normal and domestic it’s a wonder this hasn’t been a routine occurrence. Jack is sore thumb in his scrubs sitting on your living room floor, your measly excuse for a toolkit beside him as he fits wooden slabs together and builds. An entirely new sight, certainly not something the version of you a few months ago would’ve thought you’d ever see, but it's a welcome one. 

Weirdly, he fits. His figure, his presence, him. Makes your home feel whole, meaningful.

Time passes with little recognition. It’s a relatively simple stand—easy and mindless to put together. The Swedes are built off of functional efficiency and he sends a quiet hail mary to the Scandinavians. One moment, Jack is scanning the instructions, his eyes glancing to yours as you place a glass of water beside his mug on the coffee table next to him. Then he blinks and the stand is assembled, only the quiet hum of the morning news sounding from your television. 

It’s a welcome thing. He’s never able to fully turn his mind off but in the mundane, the easy turn of the screw and the pleasing click of pieces together, the turmoil dulls to a quiet chatter and he can breathe easily. Zoned in so readily that he lost touch with reality for a second. Forgot where he was, what he was doing, who he was doing it for. 

He pushes the stand into the place where your TV sits on the ground, then lifts the TV onto its surface. Settling the furniture into the place that he supposes you would want—the place he thinks it looks best. 

He’s turning, content at being useful and ready to ask for your approval. Then he realizes that he’s heard very little from you while he was building.

He finds you on the couch behind him. Eyes shut, mouth slightly open as your breaths are softly and evenly exhaled in your sleep. Your hair is released from the tie you had to hold it back throughout the shift, the strands messily framing your face as you lay against the pillow of the couch. Still clad in your scrubs, your face settles peacefully as you rest. Not scrunched in frustration or stony in your focus. 

Under the soft of the morning light, a sharp contrast to the fluorescents he’s always seen you under, exhaustion resounds on your face. Tamed only by the sweetened sighs of your slumber that remedy the ailment. You sleep, sweet and easy.

A stray strand of hair crosses over your nose, moving with the rhythmic rise and falls of your breaths. A twitch aches in his fingers. Spurned by need and the deep rooted ache of loneliness that craves the taste of tenderness. 

He brushes the strand away from your face, eyes focused on the action, watching your face remain peacefully asleep. Relishes in the brief moment of softness he’s been afforded. 

There’s a twinge of guilt as he has to disturb the solitude, yours and his, when he taps your leg gently. You stir in tired confusion.

“Lock the door behind me.”

“You’re going?” You ask, wiping your mouth, sounding disappointed at the notion. 

“Yeah. You need to sleep.”

“You sure? You can stay.”

The excuse is on his tongue fighting against the urge to read into that. There was hardly a reason for him to be here today, much less one for him to linger around. Insist and bore drill into the cracks of his thick skull that this shouldn’t happen again. That this is inappropriate. 

It’s pointedly not, though. He built a stand for you, you made him breakfast. That was all there was to it. That’s all that was being expected by you, because why would you expect anything further?

(You wouldn’t. Because there’s nothing going on. Despite the stares from the nurses, and the whispers of a rumored bet, and the lingering glances that get sent between you two—nothing is going on.

He’s sure of it.)

But, Jack doesn’t do things flippantly, without purpose. And walls don’t get torn down, softened, for just any reason. In the ingrained pattern that Dr. Mott insists is a defense mechanism and that Jack believes is just normal human condition, he feels the walls so carefully erected find their place once more. Fortified to shut out the possibility of some inane want for something burn without restraint within him. 

The armor that’s been slowly cracking back settles onto him and he aims for a neutral expression. Curt, succinct. No room for error. “Thanks for breakfast.” 

“Thanks for the stand, you didn’t have to do that. But it looks great.” You trail behind him slowly as he walks towards your front door. “I’ll be calling you for all of my furniture builds. I’m spoiled now, old man.”

Here’s the chance. Stop it here, smother the budding growth of a tender seed before it takes root and spreads into his lungs. Prevent the tendons from reaching up his throat, crawling into his brain, and mold the perfect image of you into the grey matter. 

He should tell you, firmly, that this will not happen again. Throw in a degrading tease, diffuse the sincerity of the moment. Get you to stop looking at him like he means something.

“Anytime, city girl.” He says, instead. 

You smile— warm, relaxed, gentle and he’s ready to aim gun to temple at the realization of how much he likes it. He can only do what he knows best, what he does with everything else he stupidly seems to notice and grab onto with you, and puts it on the shelf. Half ready to lock it in a chest deep in his mind and toss the key into a cavernous abyss. 

“I’ll hold you to it.” You say, content. And he nods.

He drives back in silence and the promise forged in tired smiles and quiet closeness chokes him all the way home.

a/n: i would like it known, this is the fastest i have ever put out work in a series. im just so bewitched by this middle aged man, i want him inside me.

know this is a quick one and not much happens but i'm a true believer in slow burn being both slow and burning :)

next one will be fun, promise!

[pitlanepeach]

From Eden | The Epilogue (8/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety. Seasonal Depressive Episodes. So much fluff it’ll rot your teeth. Time skips.

Notes — Not the longest, but I think that it's perfect. You have all shown this fic so much love. Thank you, I hope this ending does their story justice — Peach x

liked by oscarpiastri, hattiepiastri, landonorris, and 102,374 others

bookishgoldie surrounded by so much love

view all comments

user1 henry is like HELL NAH MOM TAKE ME BACK INSIDE RIGHT NOW😭

bookishgoldie he actually loves being outdoors!!!! until he sees people and/or other cats

user03 the texts😌😌😌 ur faves could never

user63 CAN WE HAVE A SEQUEL UPDATE PLS??????

bookishgoldie 😉

user17 are you going to be at the GP this weekend?

user91 she hasn’t been to any of the last 3 😕

bookishgoldie just because you haven’t seen me, doesn’t mean im not there!!🫶 been having a hard time lately so ive just been hiding from the cameras

user91 feel better soon francesca❤️

user60 bf oscar crumbs…. IKTR

user76 you might actually be the prettiest girl in the world. like your HAIR????????

oscarpiastri glad those are the texts you decided to post and not the ones a little further down 👍🏻

bookishgoldie OSCAR

oscarpiastri 🧡

user75 god this feels like watching my parents flirt🤧

user33 new vlog soon? ♥ by bookishgoldie

—

Things always got a little harder to deal with in the winter.

Cold weather, dark, shorter days. 

Oscar, gone more than he was home, spending more time in England than Monaco, preparing for the new season at the MTC. 

Katie arrived after Christmas with sacks full of presents and the intention to stay for as long as she was welcome.

And Francesca let herself struggle.

She didn’t mask it or push it down. She let herself sleep in. Let herself cry into the collar of Oscar’s hoodies. Let Katie wrap her up in blankets and feed her shitty microwavable pasta. She let herself feel the heavy days without guilt.

And then spring came, slow and golden. The sea looked blue again. Henry sat at the window for hours, purring in the warmth.

Francesca curled up in the corner of the sofa, a half-drunk cup of tea resting on the armrest. Oscar stretched out beside her, hair damp from the shower, an arm slung loosely over her shins.

Their bodies were tired, but their faces were soft — content, a little dazed, totally at peace.

There was music playing faintly from a speaker in the kitchen. The balcony doors were open. The scent of jasmine drifted in with the breeze.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

Then, without opening her eyes, Francesca whispered, “I think I’m ready.”

Oscar turned his head, brushing his nose against her knee. “You sure?”

She opened her eyes. Looked at him. Smiled. “Yeah.” 

— 

The wedding wasn’t extravagant.

They’d talked about a big one — at home in Monaco, or away in Lake Como, with flower arches and string quartets and draped silk. 

But in the end, the choice was easy.

A coastal garden just outside Melbourne. A warm autumn breeze. Less than fifty guests. A white dress with long sleeves and lace along the hem. A charcoal grey suit with a crooked boutonnière that Oscar kept fiddling with until Logan smacked his hand away.

Katie cried the entire time. Her mascara was streaked halfway down her cheeks by the time Francesca walked down the aisle — Max, seated beside her in an unusually well-fitted suit, held her hand tightly, leaning in to whisper something that made her laugh through her tears. Henry had a bow tie and a seat in the front row, though he spent most of the ceremony asleep in Zac’s lap.

Oscar didn’t stop smiling. Not once.

He cried when she reached him. Not dramatically — just soft, silent tears. 

Their vows were simple. Sweet. (“I’ll never stop choosing you,” he’d said, thumb brushing her knuckles as his voice caught. “In every version of life, in every timeline — it’s always you.”)

After the ceremony, they danced barefoot under fairy lights. They kissed for too long during dinner. Katie gave a toast that quickly turned into a roast, full of sharp jabs and softer edges, the kind only a best friend could get away with. Mark cried during the father-daughter dance — harder than he had the day Francesca first asked him to step in for her absent father. Lando caught the bouquet.

And when the music quieted and the guests thinned, they stayed. Just the two of them. Sitting on the edge of the dance floor, champagne in one hand and her heels dangling from the other.

“You happy, baby?” Oscar asked, nose against her temple.

Francesca leaned into him, her lips brushing the line of his jaw. “Yeah.”

They didn’t rush off on any kind of honeymoon. There was a race two weeks later. It didn’t matter. Wherever they went, Monaco, London, Melbourne, a grid in the middle of nowhere; they had each other.

And that was more than enough.

— 

There were tiny shoes by the front door — worn at the toes, one toppled over like it had been abandoned mid-adventure. A toddler-sized karting suit swayed gently on the balcony, its colours faded slightly from the sun, dancing on the breeze like a memory.

Inside, the apartment held a hush, the kind that settled in the late afternoon when the world was between moments. Oscar was gone — somewhere fast and loud and far away — and her baby girl slept soundly, curled in a bassinet adjacent to Francesca’s desk. 

Francesca sat in front of her computer, bathed in soft light, her fingers moving slowly across the keys. A new manuscript sat on the screen. This one was different. Quieter. Gentler. Woven with the kind of love that had grown slowly over time, deep-rooted and certain. Her tea, long forgotten, sat cold beside her.

Sunlight spilled across the floor, golden and drowsy, stretching toward an old pet bed in the corner. Henry lay there, curled up in a patch of warmth, his ginger fur dulled with age. Curled beside him, a kitten — all fluff and white — snored in perfect harmony, their bodies forming a sleepy, tangled mess.

A quiet rustle, the creak of little feet on hardwood.

Francesca paused, fingertips hovering above her keyboard.

From the living room, the low hum of the television drifted in. The race broadcast, crowd noise swelling like waves. And then, clearer than anything else, a small, delighted voice rang out, “Daddy!”

She was smiling even before she pushed up from her desk. That voice, high and sweet and excited, cut through the stillness like some kind of magic. 

Her little boy was standing in front of the TV, one hand pressed against the screen where Oscar’s face was displayed. His curls were rumpled from sleep, cheeks still flushed, tiny fingers smudging the corner of the screen as if touching his father would bring him closer. 

Francesca leaned in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, her heart full. 

The race commentary carried on in the background, and her little boy bounced on his toes. 

Her gaze drifted to the balcony, to where the tiny karting suit hung in the breeze; the sleeves smudged with stains, the knees scuffed from victory. It was so small that just looking at it made her chest ache. 

Her little boy had won his first race a week ago. The youngest in his category. Sharp in the corners. Smooth on the throttle. Brave.

It was in his blood.

His father, now a three-time world champion, had scooped him up in the pit lane like he was the one who’d just won a title, not the other way around.

Generational, they called it.

Her little boy caught sight of her in his peripheral and beamed. All toothy grin and sun-kissed cheeks. Without hesitation, he ran to her, arms outstretched. She bent to meet him halfway, grunting softly as she lifted him onto her hip.

He wrapped himself around her neck, squeezing her tight. 

He didn’t have to win races to be held like this. Didn’t need to be the best or the brightest or the bravest. He didn’t have to earn a single inch of her love.

It was already his. Always would be.

She kissed the side of his head, inhaling the familiar scent of sun and sugar and something impossibly sweet.

“You hungry, darling?” she whispered into his hair.

He nodded. “Toast, please. With jam.”

“Coming right up.” She gave him another squeeze before setting him down gently. “You wanna stay and watch daddy?”

He nodded eagerly, eyes sparkling as he twisted his head around to watch the TV screen, where Oscar was currently navigating through an interview.

She carried him over to the couch, his small weight settled against her side as she tucked the quilt around him, the soft fabric a cocoon of warmth and comfort. He curled into it, content and safe.

She took a few steps toward the kitchen, paused, then pulled out her phone and took a photo. 

— 

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar 

Francesca 

*insert photo* 

Oscar 

Thank you

Needed that

Love you

Francesca 

Love you <3

— 

The sun was low in the sky. Francesca sat on a pink towel, legs stretched out, toes buried in the cooling grains. Beside her, Oscar lay propped up on one elbow, his eyes half-lidded as he watched their son dart across the shore, chasing a scuttling crab with wild delight. Their daughter sat nearby, deeply engrossed in her sprawling sandcastle mansion, occasionally glancing up to make sure her parents were still there, still watching.

Oscar shifted slightly, pushing up onto both elbows now, his brows knitting as he stared out at the horizon. 

Francesca moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “What’s on your mind?” she asked, her voice soft, knowing.

He shook his head a little, a half-smile pulling at his lips. “Just... thinking.”

She raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just watched the sun dip lower. Then, finally, his voice low and sure, he said, “I think it’s time.”

She frowned, confused. “Time for what? To head back? It’s still early.”

Oscar sat up properly now, brushing sand off his palms. He looked at her — really looked at her — and the air between them seemed to hold its breath. He dragged a hand through his hair, fingers lingering at the back of his neck, before resting his gaze on her again. “Time to retire.”

Francesca’s heart stumbled. “Retire?” Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible over the sea breeze. “What do you mean?”

He let out a long breath, turning his attention back to their children. Their son let out a triumphant laugh, clutching an empty bucket in one hand, while their daughter patted the top of her castle with precise, serious little chubby fingers.

“Five world titles,” Oscar said. “I’ve done it. I’ve done more than I ever dreamed of. And I’m proud of that. But I think… I don’t need the next ten. I just want this.” His voice softened. “You. Them. No more risks. No more being away. I want to be here.”

Francesca’s chest ached. She’d thought about this moment before — hoped for it, in secret. But he was still so young, only thirty-two. He could have gone on for years. He could’ve shattered more records, chased more championships.

But he didn’t want that anymore.

He wanted to come home.

She smiled, even as her eyes stung. Her lips trembled slightly as she asked, “You’re sure?”

Oscar reached for her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering at her jaw with a kind of reverence that made her breath hitch. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything, ‘Cesca.”

Her hand covered his, grounding herself in the moment, in him. “Okay,” she said, voice thick with emotion. “Okay.”

— 

Laughter rang from the garden just beyond; a bright, bubbling sound that tugged a soft smile from Francesca as she stood on the back porch, watching.

Katie was kneeling in the grass, a crown of daisies crooked on her head, her arms raised in mock defeat as Francesca’s daughter tackled her around the middle with giggles. Her son cheered his sister on from the sidelines, face smudged with dirt, holding a water gun like a trophy.

“You little shits,” Katie cackled, falling onto her back with theatrical drama, arms splayed wide as the children climbed over her triumphantly.

Francesca laughed. She stepped out into the sun, barefoot on warm stone. “You’ve completely lost control of them,” she called out.

“Excuse me,” Katie said, sitting up with a toddler’s arms wrapped around her neck. “I am their queen, thank you very much. This is just… a temporary coup.”

Francesca sat beside them in the grass, brushing a hand over her daughter’s hair as the little girl nestled into Katie’s lap. 

“I hope you know,” Francesca said eventually, softly, “You’re their aunt, but you’re also my sister. The first real family I ever had.”

Katie looked over at her, blinking fast. “Christ, Fran, don’t go saying stuff like that, I’m trying to maintain my badass aunt image.”

Francesca smiled, eyes shimmering. “Too late. You’re a daisy-crowned queen now. Fully compromised.”

Katie laughed, leaning over to bump their shoulders together. “Love you too, dummy.”

— 

Students bustled around them, dragging suitcases, clutching dorm keys, hugging parents goodbye. It was a flurry of new beginnings and tender goodbyes.

Francesca stood just off the main building, one hand loosely curled around her husband’s, the other pressed gently to her sternum, like she was trying to hold herself together from the inside out. Their daughter was walking away with her new roommate at her side, after their teary goodbye’s had drawn to an end.

Oscar watched her with quiet pride, his thumb brushing the back of Francesca’s hand when their daughter turned and waved — eyes bright, a little glassy, but shining with something solid and sure.

“She’ll be fine,” he said softly.

Francesca nodded, though her throat was tight. “I know.”

They lingered, neither of them ready to break the moment. It felt impossibly full — their daughter stepping into her future, their son already chasing his at breakneck speed, halfway across the world, poised to win the F2 title, just a year after securing the F3 championship.

Francesca exhaled a breath that trembled at the edges, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t believe all of this started in my tiny London flat.”

Oscar leaned in, pressed a kiss to her temple, and let his forehead rest against hers, warm and steady. “We built a whole life out of that flat.”

They stood together, quiet. Proud of everything they'd managed to create. Two lives made with care. A family grown with love.

“Ready to go?” Oscar asked his wife gently.

Francesca smiled, her heart full. “Yeah. Let’s go see our boy win his second championship.”

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Cregan Stark x Targaryen Reader (Rhaenyra’s daughter)

Instead of Jace meeting Cregan to get his alliance — what if it’s the reader. And when Cregan meets her he’s attracted to her and instead of just remembering his allegiance towards them, he purposes a wedding instead? Like he’s willing to help more to the Black’s IF he’s allowed to wed her daughter. 😏 Definitely just a rough ask so feel free to add or change anything!

It's been a long time coming... I have received so many request for this one! I picked little things from each and turned it into a slightly bigger fic. Reader is Velaryon, and Jacaerys' twin sister. I will be turning this into a small series as the story is getting too big and heavy in content for one post

Title (for ao3): The Pact of ice and fire

Warnings: mention of character deaths (spoilers), political marriage,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Dragons are faster than ravens, so Rhaenyra sent her children on dragonback to raise support for her claim to the throne. Lucerys went to Storm’s End, Jacaerys to the Vale and you flew North to Winterfell. 

Lord Cregan Stark welcomed you into his home and offered you a seat at supper — and a chamber for the night. Dragonstone was a long way to Winterefell, your stomach was grateful for a hot meal. 

While you were eating, you informed the northman of the usurper sitting on the Iron Throne — your mother's throne — and how a war to take it back was about to begin. You didn’t forget to kindly remind him of his father’s oath to your grandsire. Starks were known for being just and honorable. 

‘’Starks do not forget their oaths, Princess,’’ Lord Stark said between two bites of mutton stew. ‘’My father made an oath to King Viserys twenty years ago, and I shall honor this oath. But winter is coming. I cannot promise the Queen my men — I need them at the Wall.’’

‘’Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather, the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne. If my mother is to defend her claim, to hold the realm united, she needs an army. War is coming to the whole of the realm, my Lord. We cannot wage it without the support of the North.’’

Cregan took a long sip of his wine, thinking as he drank, then set his cup down. ‘’I have thousands of graybeards who have already seen too many winters.’’

Graybeards? You frowned, trying to understand. Did he mean old men? 

‘’No offense, Lord Stark, but I cannot accept—’’ 

‘’They are well-honed,’’ he reassured with a soft chuckle, sensing your concern. ‘’They are not that old, Princess. I can ready them to march at once.’’

‘’If your graybeards can fight, the Queen will have them,’’ you replied with a smile, reaching for your fork to take a bite. You preferred duck over mutton, but was polite enough to eat what was given to you. 

‘’What do I get of this arrangement?’’ 

A frown drew between your eyebrows. ‘’Excuse me?’’

Cregan cleared his throat, then reformulated his question. ‘’If I give the Queen some of my men, what do I get in return?’’

You considered quickly. ‘’I can send a dragon to protect Winterfell—’’

‘’Winterfell is safe from the Hightowers, Princess. I doubt they will march the three month journey to the North to attack us. It would serve them nothing. And if they did, they would not be able to trespass our gate.’’

‘’Then, what do you want, Lord Stark?’’ 

He turned to you, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. ‘’A wife. I would be more inclined to help your mother’s cause if she offered me her delightful daughter.’’

You were caught off guard by Cregan’s demand. While you clearly understood his proposal, the realization of it was slow to dawn on you. For a moment, your mouth opened, before swiftly closing it again, lost for words.

When you overcame your own disbelief, you looked to the man beside you with suspicion. ‘’I am flattered, but I am not looking for a husband. I plan to fight for my mother’s throne, not stay behind and grow heirs for a lord.’’ 

‘’Who said anything about an heir? I am in no rush to step down as Lord of Winterfell. From your perspective, you see only disadvantages, but an alliance by marriage between two highborns would be strategically advantageous. Family is very important for Starks. If we were to wed, we could stand together. I will follow you to war, I will fight for your mother.’’

The dining hall fell into a long, contemplative silence as you considered Cregan’s proposal. You had come north to gain the support of the Northerners, not to find a husband. But an alliance with the Starks would be quite powerful, and perhaps Lord Stark had a point. A Stark and a Targaryen. A wolf and a dragon. Such a marriage had never happened before. 

And you wouldn't be displeased to have him as a husband. The Warden of the North was undeniably handsome. He had this rugged charm about him, with piercing gray eyes. You would not mind warming his bed. 

‘’Would I be required to reside to Winterfell?’’ 

Leaving your family during a time of war was not something you wanted.

‘’Not immediately, but eventually. It is the seat of House Stark, Princess. I would expect my wife, the Lady of Winterfell, to live there,’’ Cregan explained, his gray eyes fixed on yours, his expression serious. ‘’But we could make some arrangements to allow you to remain in the South until the war is over. Would that suit you?"

⁂

After treating with Cregan, you made the journey back to Dragonstone to bring the Queen good news. The northern Lord seemed disappointed to watch you leave, having taken a liking to your company in the few hours you spent together, but you promised to return in a fortnight. He kissed your hand before you mounted on Seasmoke, and watched you take the sky. 

You landed on Dragonstone as the day was turning into night. A knight of the Queensguard took you to your mother’s chambers where horrible news was waiting for you. 

You crumbled into your mother’s arms as the words left her lips, feeling your heart breaking into pieces. As twins, you and Jacaerys had a special bond. But you always felt protective of Luke. You would climb into his baby crib when he was crying at night and sing to him until he fell asleep. 

When you left her chambers, you visited the children’s. Aegon and Viserys were with the nanny, but Joffrey was sitting on the floor, holding a horse toy Luke had handed down to him. A sob escaped your lips, getting the little boy’s attention, and he ran over to you. You hugged him tightly. He was sad and confused, too young to understand death. 

⁂

The days that followed, you were not allowed to leave the castle. During a small council meeting, you had voiced your desire to get on your dragon and go to King’s Landing to burn Aemond Targaryen to a crisp. Jacaerys was on your side, wanting revenge for Luke, but your mother had shut the idea down quickly and forbade the two of you to leave castle ground. 

Alone in the library, you were reading about dragons to make up for not being allowed to ride your own. Unfortunately, the feeling was not the same. Seasmoke, who you had claimed after your father’s death, missed you. You could see him calling for you and flying over the bay from your chamber’s window. 

You sighed and flipped the page of your book, daydreaming of the wind hitting your face and the thrill of flying. 

A voice pulled you out of your head.

‘’A raven arrived from Winterfell, Princess. A message to you from Lord Stark,’’ Maester Gerardys said.

The maester handed you a piece of rolled parchemin, sealed with the Stark sigil. You thanked him, and he left, giving you privacy. You drew your eyebrows together, not expecting anything from Cregan. Did he wish to revoke his proposal? 

Dear Princess,

I have learned of the tragic loss of your brother, Lucerys. I offer you my deepest condolences in this dark hour. Losing a brother is a pain I know myself. Winterfell stands with you in your grief. May the gods give him rest. 

With deepest sympathy,

— Lord Cregan Stark

⁂

Following the murder of Prince Jaehaerys, the Greens had sent ravens throughout the realm claiming Rhaenyra had ordered the death of the little child in revenge for Lucerys — a son for a son. The accusation was absurd. Your mother would never order the murder of a child, or inflige this kind of pain to an innocent like Helaena. 

When night fell, Dragonstone was attacked. Ser Arryk infiltrated the island by passing for his brother, Ser Erryk, and came to the Queen’s chambers, attempting to slay her in her bed. Thankfully, Mysaria noticed the wrong brother making his way to the castle and alerted the guards, saving Rhaenyra’s life. 

‘’Thank you, Elinda,’’ Rhaenyra said as she poured tea to help her calm down. 

After hearing commotion in the corridors, you had asked one of the knights what happened and rushed to the master chambers to check on your mother. She was a little shaken after witnessing the Cargyll twins dueling and dying before her eyes. 

‘’Where was Daemon?’’ you asked, sitting across from her on the couch. 

She shrugged, not knowing. ‘’Harrenhal, I assume.’’ She took a sip of her tea, her hands slightly shaking. ‘’He has been talking of raising an army there.’’

‘’He should have been here—’’

‘’Daemon is following his own path.’’ 

You understood her words as closure to the conversation and respected her desire. 

Come morning, Dragonstone was deemed no longer safe for children. By the Queen’s command, Rhaena embarked a ship with your little brothers, their dragons, and dragon eggs to Pentos. Saying goodbye to your brothers — and half-sister — was sad, but they were too exposed on Dragonstone. 

⁂

‘’Releasing your anger through your sword is going to get you killed. Have you learned this tactic through Daemon?’’ you asked Jacaerys, his sword clinked loudly against yours as you trained on the beach. 

You took a quick step to the side, your movements fluid and graceful. 

Jacaerys grunted, adjusting his stance, and swung his sword again, aiming for your side. You blocked the attack with ease, your eyes never leaving his. ‘’How can I not be angry? The walls of Dragonstone have been infiltrated by the enemy, yet she refuses to attack.’’ He let out a frustrated sigh, his movements growing more aggressive.

‘’Because her war strategies are passive doesn’t mean she is doing the wrong thing. Do you remember when we wanted to go to King’s Landing and kill Aemond ourselves? We were angry and hurting, it was impulsive and foolish.’’ 

At the time, it seemed a brilliant idea, but with Vhagar patrolling over King’s Landing, she would have attacked the both of you before you could get to Aemond. Your mother was hurting so much from losing Lucerys, she would not have bore losing two more. 

Jacaerys swung his sword again, this time with greater force. ‘’It would have been justice.’’

‘’It would have been death.’’ 

Training came to an abrupt end, leaving Jacaerys to himself on the beach. You didn’t want to argue with him. He was usually the rational one between you, but going to King’s Landing to kill Aemond was a stupid idea. 

You were directed to the great hall by one of the guards as soon as you stepped inside. The Queen wanted to speak to you. 

She was standing at the head of the painted table with a piece of parchment before her. ‘’A raven came from Lord Staunton informing us that Ser Criston's army has burned his fields and livestock. Supplies in Rook's Rest are beginning to run low and he requests assistance. I want you to change into your riding gear. You and Rhaenys will be going to Rook’s Rest.’’ 

Excitement bubbled in your stomach. It was the first time she was sending you on a mission since Luke’s death. 

‘’Yes, Mother— Your Grace,’’ you quickly corrected. 

Rhaenyra smiled at your slip-up. ‘’Be safe. Listen to your instinct. Turn back if anything feels wrong. It’s okay to retreat.’’

⁂

The journey to Rook’s Rest was relatively short. When you got there, arrows were flying from both armies. The Green’s was larger, but Lord Staunton’s garrison did not back down. 

‘’Dragon!’’ one of the Green knights called out, catching sight of Meleys coming into view. 

Ser Criston’s archers shot arrows and scorpions fire at Meleys. The dragon was largely unharmed by their attacks, and responded by burning Criston's soldiers with dragonfire. Their screams echoed through the air, a chilling reminder of the chaos below. You tried not to let it get to your head that humans were being burned alive. They were Greens soldiers.

Coming right behind Rhaenys, Seasmoke roared, and burned more of  Ser Criston’s soldiers. A small part of you was praying to catch the man himself and turn him into ashes. It would be an amusing story to tell Jacaerys and Baela when you return. 

You clung to the saddle on Seasmoke's back as you scanned the battlefield from above, searching for any sign of Criston Cole. The heat from the dragonfire was intense, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. 

Your search was interrupted by a deafening roar coming from behind and filling the sky. You looked up to see Sunfyre, its golden scales glinting in the sunlight, joining the battlefield with Aegon atop him.

It was expected. The Greens would have been fools to come to battle with at least one dragon.

Rhaenys turned her head toward Sunfyre, having heard his roar, and came to meet him with her claws and teeth. 

The two dragons clashed in mid-air, their roars echoing across the battlefield. Meleys' scarlet scales flashed as she attacked, her claws slashing at Sunfyre's underbelly. Sunfyre responded with a blast of dragonfire, which Meleys narrowly dodged. 

You flew to Rhaenys’ aid. Although Sunfyre was slightly larger than Seasmoke, your dragon had battle experience from when your father was his rider. They participated in the war for the Stepstones together. 

Before you could get to them, another loud noise came from the forest — Vhagar. The massive dragon's roar sent chills down your spine as she emerged from the treeline, her vast wings unfurling. With Aemond atop her, Vhagar soared into the sky, heading straight for the battle.

Seeing them sent rage in your blood. They took your brother from you. 

You wanted to take them down, to kill them both to avenge Lucerys, but you knew Seasmoke would never win against Vhagar. 

Rhaenys glanced back, seeing the new threat approaching, but she didn’t let go of Sunfyre. She was determined to not let them go unscattered from this battle. 

You finally joined them, commanding Seasmoke to bite Sunfyre’s wing. Sunfyre cried out in pain as Seasmoke's jaws clamped down, and Meleys continued to claw at him relentlessly. The combined assault overwhelmed Sunfyre, and his injuries soon became too severe. With a final, agonized roar, Sunfyre began to crash toward the ground, Aegon clinging desperately to his back.

As you and Rhaenys watched Sunfyre and Aegon freefall and crash into the forest with a loud thump, Vhagar, taking Rhaenys by surprise, came from the other side and clamped her massive jaws around Meleys’s neck. The force of the attack was brutal, and Meleys roared in agony as Vhagar’s powerful grip tightened.

‘’No!’’ you screamed, knowing this bite would be fatal for the dragon. 

Life left the red dragon’s eyes, giving one last glance at her rider as they freefell from the sky together, leaving only you and Aemond standing. He looked at you with a smug winning smile on his face, having taken another member of the Blacks down. 

You could have continued this battle, but your mother’s words echoed in your head. It’s okay to retreat. 

With teary eyes, you commanded Seasmoke to turn around and return to Dragonstone, leaving behind the Queen Who Never Was. 

⁂

You felt like a failure after your first battle. Rook’s Rest had fallen into ashes, Rheanys was dead, and you lost a dragon. Your mother had been right, sending her inexperienced children to war was a terrible idea. 

Still in shock from the battle, you stepped into your mother’s chambers, tears streaming down your face. ‘’I’m sorry, Your Grace. I failed.’’

⁂

Guilt gnawed at you since you had returned from Rook’s Rest. Rhaenyra said it was not your fault, but you should not have let yourself be distracted when Vhagar was still standing. Rhaenys died because of your mistake. 

A knock at your door raised your attention. 

‘’Come.’’

The door opened, revealing your mother who came to check on you. She may be Queen, but she’ll never stop taking care of her children. Ser Steffon closed the door behind Rhaenyra, and waited outside your chambers. Since Ser Arryk infiltrated the castle, a knight of the Queensguard was always accompanying her.

She took a seat next to you on the edge of the bed, looking stunning in a blue dress. The color was unusual on her, preferring shades of red and black. 

‘’How is Lord Corlys? And Baela?’’ you asked, fidgeting with your fingers. 

You wanted to be the one bringing the regretful news of Rhaenys’ death to her husband, but your mother didn’t allow you. Although Lord Corlys had shown kindness to your family and that losses were inevitable in a war, he would not hesitate to put the blame on Rhaenyra for sending his wife to her death. 

Your mother regarded you with a mixture of concern and sadness. ‘’Lord Corlys is devastated, and so is Baela.’’ She observed the guilt in your expression and the tension in your body. ‘’You mustn't blame yourself for what happened,’’ she said, her voice gentle and loving. ‘’But it is not the matter I came here to discuss. I want to discuss my succession. If my end comes during this war, Jacaerys will ascend and take my crown, as intended. But if anything were to happen to Jace, I want you to take my crown.’’

The thought of something happening to your mother terrified you. But losing your twin brother, your other half, made you nauseous. 

You nodded. ‘’I will, Your Grace. But nothing will happen to Jace. We will protect each other—’’ 

‘’By making you the spare heir, you will be targeted, so I want you to take Seasmoke and stay at Winterfell,’’ she interrupted, her tone resolute. ‘’Lord Cregan Stark will ensure your protection.’’ 

You were taken aback by your mother’s declaration. You felt a pang of hurt and confusion. How could she send you away? She already lost two dragons, and Daemon was in Harrenhal. You going North would subtract another, leaving her defenses with only three dragons.  

‘’I do not wish to hide, I want to stay here! I am an asset to your sleeve, you need me on Dragonstone. I may not be at my best right now, but I am not a fragile daughter. I will go into battle again. Please, do not send me away,’’ you said, your voice cracking with emotion.

Rhaenyra took a difficult breath, her heart aching at your anguished plea. She understood your anger and frustration, having once been brushed aside due to being a daughter. But she never saw you as less than a boy. You always trained with your brothers and often had the upper hand when dueling with Jace. She was doing this to ensure the survival of her succession and the protection of the realm.  

‘’It is not a sign of weakness to hide. It is a sign of strength to know when to pick your battles.’’ Your mother took your hands in hers, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘’I speak the truth when I say the last thing I want is to be separated from you, but I cannot risk you getting captured. I can’t risk the Greens getting their hands on you.’’

⁂

No raven had been sent to Lord Stark to inform him of your arrival to Winterfell. You could not risk revealing your position were the message to fall into the wrong hands. So when Cregan heard from his men that a dragon had been seen flying over the northern villages, he was confused. 

With a loud thump, you landed outside the courtyard and dismounted Seasmoke. Guards bowed their heads as you walked to the gates of Winterfell, seeing the sigil of House Targaryen on your clothes. They escorted you into the castle as whispers of your arrival began to spread amongst the court, leading you to the council chamber where Cregan was occupied with matters from the Wall.

‘’I will inform Lord Stark of your arrival,’’ one of the guards said. 

You gave him a nod and waited in the corridor.

Normally, no one disturbed him during council meetings, but you insisted that the matter was urgent. With a nod, Cregan dismissed his council and instructed the guard to bring you in.

The men filed out of the chamber as you stepped in, dressed in your riding gear and flakes of snow sprinkled on your braid. Cregan stood from his seat at the end of the table, his towering figure casting a shadow against the cold stone of the chamber. 

‘’Pardon me for not welcoming you myself, Princess. Your presence here is unexpected.’’ His eyes fell on the bag on your shoulder, holding personal effects, raising his curiosity. ‘’But always welcomed,’’ he added, not wanting to give you the wrong impression.

You gave him a small smile. ‘’Thank you, Lord Stark. I apologize for my unannounced presence. Sending a raven was just not a possibility; actions had to be taken rapidly and in the utmost secrecy.’’ 

A frown formed between Cregan's eyebrows. Seeing you walk through his doors unannounced could only mean something serious had happened. You wouldn't come all the way to Winterfell unless it was necessary. 

He then gestured to a seat at the table, motioning for you to sit down. 

You tried to not make a scraping sound with the chair as you pulled it, and sat down across the taller chair. Cregan joined you, his gray eyes looking at you, waiting for explanations. 

‘’There was a battle at Rook’s Rest,’’ you began, a lump forming in your throat as horrific flashes of Rhaenys falling to her death filled your mind. ‘’Aegon the Usurper and his dragon were severely injured from my and Princess Rhaenys’ dragon. She and Meleys didn’t survive the battle.’’ You blinked rapidly, chasing the tears from your eyes. 

‘’May the gods give her rest,’’ Cregan said respectfully. 

You nodded in reciprocal, then continued. ‘’The Queen is worried they will come after me for what I’ve done to their King and decided I should go into hiding. Since I accepted your demand, she send me to Winterfell under your protection.’’ 

Before you, Cregan's frown deepened as he thought about the upcoming departure to the Wall. In a week, he and his men would be leaving for a long, harsh winter, and he wouldn't return until spring. As Warden of the North, his duty to the Wall was stronger than his duty to the Queen, but was it stronger than his oath to his future wife? You were only betrothed at the moment, but assuring your protection was part of his duty as husband. 

He gave you a single nod. ‘’Of course, Princess. You will be safe here, you have my word. No harm shall come to you behind these gates.’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron  @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios  @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden @memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron   @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit @blublock404 @Icefyre19 @paulilvsremus @mfedits @aemondwhoresworld @angrybirdxx @YarianyIrizarry @frutiloopslupin @minedofmoria @aleemendoza2425-blog @quinquinquincy @Rosey1981 @maria-reads-everything @eddieslut69 @barnes70stark @baybaybear @prettyduckling22 @Briefwinnerpersonaturtle @darlingcharling-blog @deliaseastar @Wolfgirl-205 @visenyareads @Nanaldy @Lovelywiseprincess @not-neverland06 @newtmyhusb @mikimimic

All and more taglist:  @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13@cece05@laylasbunbunny@gemofthenight@beautyb1ade  @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff   @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity  Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21 @Spacexdrago @nhlfs

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Whatever You Want [Part One] - J.WW

💎Who: Jeon Wonwoo (Seventeen) x female reader 💎What: Mafia/gang au. Dark themes (check warnings). Angst. Fluff. Humour. Strangers to friends to lovers. Suggestive (18+).  💎Word count: 17.7k for part one. 31.8k total 💎Warnings: Kidnapping. Violence. Injury and blood. Morally grey characters. Joke about drugs. Alcohol consumption (nobody gets drunk at all). Suggestive dialogue. Wonwoo is a handful of years older than reader. 💎Summary: “To be honest, you’re surprised it’s taken this long to happen. Truly, you thought you would’ve been kidnapped years ago, so you’re not surprised when it happens.

What does surprise you, however, is the reason why, and what happens when you meet that reason.”

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

Masterlist Part Two

A/N- Part two will be available April 24th. Thank you to @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading and helping me out with the warnings! I appreciate you endlessly, my love 💗

It’s typical, really; the one time you actually have cash on you to give to the homeless man you’ve befriended, who always waits around for you to finish work, you don’t get the chance to give it to him. 

Just like every night when you’re done closing up the restaurant, you see Sangmin waiting on the other side of the road, sitting patiently on the bench there, ready to walk you home. 

You wave at him as you near the edge of the path, one hand carefully holding the takeout container of a freshly made double serving of his favourite meal that you cook at the restaurant. Sangmin gets up from the bench with a bright smile, always so happy to see you, and waves, making you smile just as brightly, even if you’re exhausted from the long hours cooking away in the kitchen. But Sangmin always cheers you up. 

He’s such an upbeat guy despite his unfavourable circumstances, and you genuinely enjoy these walks home listening to him tell you about his day and telling him about yours in return. You can’t wait to hear if he made a new friend at the dog park today, where he likes to hang around and offer to play with the dogs of the elderly folk who can’t run or throw balls and sticks for their pets. Sometimes, the owners even give him some cash in return or buy him a coffee or ice cream from the stands, weather permitting. It’s a reminder that there is still good in this shitty world.

Just as you’re about to cross the street, a couple of cars get close enough that you remain in place to let them pass and intend to cross after they’re gone, when it’s safe.

The chance doesn’t come as both cars suddenly swerve to pull up in front of you, making you take a few steps back as you stare at the vehicles suspiciously. The engines don’t turn off, and the doors on the side closest to you open to allow masked, suited men to get out. 

“Shit,” you curse under your breath and hold your free hand up as they approach. “Wait, wait, wait!” You exclaim, kicking out as they reach out to you with clearly every intention of stealing you away. “I said wait!” You glance over to Sangmin as you hear him yelling your name, voice getting closer. “Stay there, Sangmin!” You warn loudly. “Stay out of this!” You crouch, still with your free hand up so that you can put the container on the floor. “Okay, I’ll go with you, just leave him alone,” you inform and let out a breath of relief when the bulky man directly in front of you stops trying to reach towards you and signals his men to wait. “Give me a sec, seriously, I’ll go,” you promise and shuffle aside to peer around to where Sangmin is being held back by a couple of the men. “It’ll be okay, Sangmin. Enjoy your dinner, okay. I’ll see you soon.” 

Sangmin murmurs your name brokenly, clearly not trusting these men to bring you safely back, and honestly, neither do you. But he stops struggling to get to you and stumbles back when the men let him go with a little shove to create more space. “Be safe,” he pleads as you follow the men to get into the closest car. 

“You too.” You give him a soft smile before you’re in the car between two burly men and the door is shut. You want to watch Sangmin as the car pulls away, want to see him pick up his meal so you know he will eat well, at least tonight, but you can’t. Just as you turn your head to watch through the rear window, something sharp jabs into your leg. You yelp, turning to look down at the culprit and find a needle stuck in your leg. “You asshole,” you mutter. 

Moments later, you’re unconscious.

Something about this woman is familiar to you, but you really can’t tell what it is. It doesn’t help that her cronies have given you one swollen eye, and the other eye’s vision is blurred with blood that trickles down from your split eyebrow. 

Whoever this woman is, though, she clearly doesn’t want to get her own hands dirty, even if she looks very pleased with the bruised and bleeding state of you.

“Okay, okay,” you groan once you’ve caught your breath from the round of beating you’ve just received. “I give. Who the fuck are you?” You question, peering at her.

Despite not being able to see her clearly, you can see the way her whole posture changes; from smug to dumb, offended shock. “Who am I?” 

“Yes; who are you?” You repeat, almost rolling your eyes. 

“How dare you?!” She stalks over and one of her men grabs a fistful of your hair from where he stands behind you, to make you look up at her as she leers over you. “I am the most powerful woman in this whole city!” 

“Pretty sure I’d know who you are if that’s true,” you retort and choke out a laugh when she finally hits you herself; an open-handed slap that drags the multiple rings on her fingers across your already bruised cheek, drawing shallow gouges in your skin. 

“How dare-!” She starts to screech, yet the door opening behind her cuts her off as she looks over. 

Curiously, you look over too, and the tall man who enters looks vaguely familiar to you too. At least, the leather jacket and glasses he’s wearing do because he’s too far away for you to make out clearly.

“What the fuck is going on here?” He demands. 

Ah, you recognise his deep voice and suddenly understand why he’s familiar to you. He’s a regular at the restaurant and favours the same dish as Sangmin, though this guy worked his way through the entire menu before settling on that particular one. 

You’ve only talked to him a few times, when it’s late enough that the wait staff have already been sent home, but the owners always stay open for this guy; meaning, if they’re busy, you have to deliver his meal to him. He always compliments your cooking and thanks you genuinely, but other than that, you’ve never said much to one another. Other than last Christmas when he asked if you would consider making him something special off menu and gave you a wad of cash to sweeten you up. 

Even before the suspicious stack of cash was handed to you, you just knew in your gut that this guy is in shady dealings and seeing him walk into this room and not even flinch at the battered condition of you, it only confirms it.

“Teaching your little whore a lesson,” the woman sneers and turns back to you. “She needs to learn that she can’t get away with touching what’s mine.”

“I still don’t know who the fuck you are,” you point out. 

Just as her hand is about to come down to connect with your cheek again, the newcomer grabs her wrist. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he warns. “She’s not done shit wrong. I’ve told you before that I’ve never fucking cheated on you. She’s just a fucking cook.” 

“Don’t lie to me, Jeon Wonwoo,” she hisses.

“Don’t be fucking delusional, Ahn Yerim,” he retorts and looks at the man behind you. “Untie her.”

“Sir, Miss Ahn said-” the thug starts, yet shuts up and releases his grip on your hair when Wonwoo glares. The man behind you quickly moves to untie your arms and legs from the chair.

“You don’t listen to him! You listen to me! You both work for me!” Yerim exclaims.

“We work for your father, not you, sweetheart,” Wonwoo reminds and lets her go to approach you and carefully help you up. “Come on,” he encourages as he puts his arm around your waist to support you. 

“I am your wife! Treat me with the respect I deserve!” 

“I treat you with more than you deserve,” Wonwoo grumbles as he pretty much half carries you out of the room. You’re trying to walk, but they had tied your ankles to the chair legs so tightly that your feet are sparkling painfully with every dragging step as the blood rushes back in. “Did they break your legs?” He wonders concernedly as he stops and adjusts his left arm behind your back as you grip onto his shoulders for stability.

“No, extreme pins and needles.” He makes a noise of understanding and sweeps you up into his arms, hooking his right arm under your thighs to carry you.

“Do me a favour and shut your eyes; you shouldn’t see where we are.”

“Can’t see the gang HQ?” You muse, and snigger when he glances at you with a flat look. “Alright, whatever, Mr Jeon Wonwoo.” Obligingly, you shut your eyes and decide to lean your head against his broad shoulder and rest a little. 

“What’s your name?” He wonders. 

“Don’t even know the name of the woman your wife accused you of cheating with?” He sighs, making you snigger again before you tell him your name, which he only hums at. “Your wife is a real fucking bitch, you know?” 

The sigh he lets out sounds like he more than knows how true those words are.

Instead of taking you home, or back to the restaurant, or a hospital, or a random fucking street corner to leave you to figure out your way from there, Wonwoo drives to the outskirts of the city; to a building site that you know got abandoned after only one block of fancy apartments were built. The company, who still owns the land, had a lot of issues with permits and tried to sell the project on, yet no-one wanted to take over from their immense fuck up, so it’s been abandoned for at least a year now.

At least, you thought it was, but perhaps Wonwoo likes to take advantage of the lack of witnesses at the edge of the city and bury his victims here. It’d be a smart move. There doesn’t seem to be any security around; even the road leading to the site is far enough out of the way that there are no traffic cameras along the stretch. 

“I hope you don’t like burying your victims alive,” you murmur as you eye the abandoned building materials still piled up along the partially finished, dust covered road you’re travelling down.

“What?” Wonwoo glances over at you but you’re staring out of the window with a displeased pout. “I’m not going to fucking bury you alive.”

“Ah, good, I’m in the firm belief I would not enjoy that at all.” 

“You… No, I don’t think you would. I don’t think anyone would.”

“I dunno, some people are into some shit, Wonwoo. You’d be surprised.” You look over at him and notice a strange expression cross his features. It’s one you’re familiar with from other people and know it means they’re suddenly questioning their decision to be in close proximity to you.

After shaking his head slightly and letting out a strong exhale as he looks back to where he’s driving, Wonwoo speaks again. “Look, I didn’t bring you here to kill you, but to protect you.” 

“What?” 

“My wife is a fucking psycho. You saw that, and I know she’ll have people looking for you to steal you away again. So, I’m putting you in one of my safe houses so she can’t do that. Understand?”

“She doesn’t know about this safe house?”

Wonwoo scoffs and shakes his head. “No. She doesn’t know about any of them. Nobody does; just me. You’ll be safe here, trust me.”

“I really don’t think trust comes into this, more like I don’t have a fucking choice.”

“That too,” he confirms simply. 

There’s nothing more that can be said on the topic, so you both remain silent for the last short section of the drive. Even when Wonwoo parks up in the underground parking of the only complete building, then leads you into the lift up to an apartment on the sixth floor, neither of you say a word.

That changes when you step into the apartment and look at the sparse décor for the modern apartment. “Wow, a true minimalist, aren’t you?” You muse, glancing at the sofa you can see from the entrance hall, then over to the kitchen perfectly within view due to the open layout of the bottom floor of the apartment. There’s a glass staircase on the other side of the living area, with a short hallway behind it, but other than that, there truly is not much to look at.

“It’s just a safe house; it’s supposed to be functional, nothing more.” 

“How can you function in such a lifeless place?” 

Wonwoo sighs and nudges you from behind, so you’ll move out of the way and let him pad across the expensive marble-look flooring in his socks to the kitchen. “Just take your shoes off and get your ass over here.”

After putting his shoes neatly aside and putting your own next to them, you shuffle over to the kitchen and perch yourself on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, where he’s rummaging through an extensive medical kit, which you hadn’t even seen him procure. 

“Got the good stuff?” You joke, leaning over to peer into the bag. “Wait, is that morphine?” You gasp, reaching for the packet of pills, but he slaps your hand away. 

“You don’t need morphine.”

“I’m in pain, Wonwoo,” you try, pouting at him, but he gives you a disbelieving look. “Ow.”

“You can have ibuprofen or paracetamol.”

“What kind of a gang member won’t give the good stuff?” You huff and turn away to peer at the kitchen. Honestly, you don’t even want morphine. You just wanted to see if he would give it to you, but you have your answer now and have no reason to push it. 

“Are you an addict?” 

“No, just bored.” 

“So, you want drugs?”

“No. Just seeing how you’d react.” 

“You’re very fucking weird, you know?” 

“Yes,” you confirm and look at him before pointing to the fridge. “I’m guessing that’s empty?” 

“Yeah, there’s long life stuff in the cupboards though, some military rations and instant ramen.” 

“Good ol’ instant ramen.” 

He just hums, then finally has everything he wants from the kit set up on the counter. “Alright, face me; let me get a look at the damage.” Obediently, you turn on the stool to face him as he moves closer while removing his jacket to toss onto the counter, leaving him a simple black t-shirt and jeans. 

“How come you’re not in a suit like those assholes?” 

“I’m off the clock.” 

“Then why did you turn up?” 

“My wife sent me a video of them beating you,” he informs, gently turning your head from side to side with one hand on your jaw delicately, to not aggravate the bruises on your skin. “Couldn’t let her do that to an innocent person.” 

“Aw, how noble of you, Mr. Thug.” 

“Not a thug.” 

“Mm, sure.” 

“I’m not.” 

“I’ve seen your bruised knuckles when you’ve come into the restaurant, Wonwoo, the split lips and bruised cheeks. Even seen the outline of your weapon under your clothes. By that, I mean your gun.” 

“What else could you mean?” You just giggle, and he sighs, understanding the euphemism, though he doesn’t grace you with a further reaction, not wanting to focus on that subject at all. “Don’t make me regret saving you.”

“No promises.” 

Despite his stern expression and stiff posture, Wonwoo is gentle as he tends to your wounds attentively; talking as softly in his low voice as he can to warn you when he’s about to do something that might sting or asking you to move in various ways to give him better access. 

“Alright, all done,” he declares sometime later when he straightens up and steps back from you, eyes still darting over your seated form for any wounds he’s missed.

“Thanks.”

“Mm, my fault anyway.”

“It is,” you agree, earning an unimpressed look from the man before he turns to start tidying up. “Is there anything to drink?” 

“The tap water is safe,” he informs before opening one of the cupboards to pull out two glasses, which he fills from the cold tap then puts one on the counter in front of you. “I’ll get groceries in tomorrow. Write a list of whatever you want or need for the next week.”

“I’ve got to stay here for a week? I have a job, you know,” you point out before gratefully picking up the glass to gulp down the contents as he finishes cleaning up, his own glass of water barely touched. 

“I know. Write a resignation and I’ll post it through the door tomorrow.” 

“I don’t want to resign! I like that job!”

“They won’t hold out until you’re back, and I don’t know when that will be yet. We need to wait it out until my wife has given up tormenting you.”

“How long will that be?” 

“No fucking clue, she’s been tormenting me for years.”

“I don’t understand why people stay with someone they don’t love anymore.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, and you think this is one of those circumstances where it’s really not your place to push, so you drop the topic.

Once Wonwoo is done cleaning up, including both of your drinking glasses, he leads you upstairs to one of the bedrooms. To your surprise, it looks fully furnished, even if there’s not any décor, but it’s more liveable than downstairs.

“Wow, a dresser and TV,” you whistle, eyeing the items as Wonwoo pulls the bedding off of the large bed. 

“It came partially furnished,” he explains. 

“There’s no TV in the living room.”

“I said partially.” 

“Weird they put a TV in the bedroom before the living room.” 

“The sockets are all there, they just didn’t get around to it. They were going to get custom TVs made for all the apartment living rooms, but didn’t get the chance before the project got shut down.�� 

“I didn’t know anyone bought an apartment.” 

“Bought is a stretch,” he muses, piling the stale bedding by the door before grabbing another set from a drawer under the bed to sniff at, then shrugs and starts to make the bed.

“Is this technically squatting?”

“No.” He huffs a short laugh. “It’s my apartment, just more of a gift. The whole building is mine.”

“Ooh, check you out, Mr fancy property owner.” You move over to help fix the fitted sheet to the mattress, earning a grateful nod from the man. “What did you do to get this gift?”

“Let the CEO keep his life.”

“And he only gave you a single building in an unfinished building site? The audacity! If he values his life that much, he should’ve given you a lot more.”

“He offered me any building of his I wanted, he owns a lot in the city centre too, but I asked for this; I knew it’s out of the way. He promised to not try hard to get the site up and running again, so I’ll have privacy. Which, to me, is the most valuable thing anyway.”

“Mm, fair,” you concede and work alongside him to finish setting up the bed. 

“I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere. The front door is already locked, and you won’t be able to unlock it. You can’t leave, so don’t bother trying,” he warns seriously before turning and leaving the bedroom. 

With a sigh, you perch on the edge of the bed and wait, rubbing your feet over the fluffy rug below you, to twist your socks around and around your feet in boredom until he returns.

It’s almost ten minutes before he returns with a pile of fabrics in his arms and a basket of what looks like toiletries, with a toilet roll perched on top. 

“You look like a maid,” you comment amusedly. 

Wonwoo just sighs then puts the items on the bed. “Here, bathroom stuff. I’ll get you scents you like tomorrow, but you’ll have to use mine for now.” He hands you the basket, so you look at the toiletries curiously, popping the caps to sniff the contents and making pleased sounds.

“I like these.”

“Okay, saves me buying toiletries tomorrow.”

“I need sanitary items.” He looks at you. “My period is due soon.”

“Ah.” He blinks at you a few times dumbly before nodding. “Okay, just write down what you want, and I’ll get it.” 

“Sounds like a plan; you know, provided you give me something to do that with.” 

“Oh, right.” He chews on his lip thoughtfully before sighing and moving around to sit beside you as he pulls his phone from his pocket to unlock. “You’ll have to write it in a note on my phone, but I can’t let you use my phone blindly, so I’m going to watch.” 

“Understandable,” you agree, accepting the device once he has his notes app open on a blank note, so that you can start typing out a list of items for him to buy at the shop tomorrow. 

“Write your clothing sizes too. I have limited clothes myself here and just gave you one set to wear to bed. Oh, put detergent down, there isn’t any here. Put the brand if you’re particular about that stuff.”

“Nah, I’m good with whatever smells good and does the job,” you assure, while typing down ‘laundry detergent (nice smelling one)’. “Are there cleaning supplies?” 

“I’ll get more,” he promises then motions to the list, so you write it down.

Although it should not be this easy to sit side by side and make a grocery list together, it is. It’s domestic, even, in a very, very, very weird fucking way. The man’s wife is out for your blood, due to her own delusional accusations against the pair of you, yet you’re sitting here making a grocery list together as if you’re actually roommates who regularly do this. Very strange indeed. 

“Alright, that’s all I can think of,” you decide, after looking over the surprisingly extensive list one last time, before handing his phone back.  

“I’ll go shopping in the morning before work,” he declares as he gets up and tucks his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll let you get some sleep now; you must be tired after all this shit.” 

“Kinda pretty awake, actually. Does the TV work?”

“Should do, the one in my room works at least. There’s no Wi-Fi here though, so it’s just satellite channels.”

“If this one doesn’t work, we’re swapping rooms.”

“No,” he replies in a firm tone before exiting the room, pulling the door up behind him and leaving you in silence.

“Well, fuck you too,” you mutter and get up to use the bathroom.  You change into the sweatpants and t-shirt he left for you before climbing into the slightly dusty smelling bed to turn on the TV. 

Although you aren’t tired when you climb into bed, that quickly changes as you curl up under the covers with your eyes on the 90’s rom com playing on the TV, soon lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

In the morning, or whatever time it is when you tiredly trudge downstairs, you discover that Wonwoo is a man of his word. 

There are various bags of shopping in the kitchen, all full of items from the shopping list. From clothes in the sizes that you wrote down, to perhaps far too many packets of sanitary towels; it seems that either Wonwoo has no idea how periods really work, or he intends to keep you for longer than just this cycle length. Either way, he listened and must’ve really tried hard to get everything on the list, with no regard to his financial state, as every piece of clothing has a brand name attached, not just cheap stuff from a superstore like you had expected him to buy. 

Although you genuinely would be okay with the cheap stuff, and never quite see the appeal in such expensive clothing for daily wear, you appreciate it and make a mental note to thank him when you next see him.

A few minutes later, when you’re done perusing the contents of the bags and have moved to the fridge, you finally notice the brand-new magnetic whiteboard on the front with a note scrawled in black ink from Wonwoo. 

It’s simple; just him telling you that he will be back in a few days to check on you, while also reminding you to not try to leave the apartment and also keep out of his room. You had no intention of going into Wonwoo's room, but now that he’s told you not to, you kind of want to.

For now, you just focus on making yourself something to eat before taking the shopping bags up to your room to make yourself at home for the foreseeable future.

It’s only been two days since Wonwoo left you all alone and you’re already so bored and restless that the moment you hear the beep of the lock disengaging on the front door, you’re rushing over from the kitchen to greet him like an excitable puppy. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He mutters with a bewildered frown as you crowd close and peer up at him. 

“I’m bored, Wonwoo,” you whine, eyes flickering over his tired features. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” You finally back out of his personal space and take the bag from his hands as he works on removing his shoes and leather jacket, suit beneath today. The contents of the bag clinks as you take it, making you peer inside curiously. “Are you planning to mix wine and whiskey?” You wonder.

“No, just didn’t know what you’d prefer.”

“So, you bought wine for me?”

“No, that’s mine. I thought you’d be a whiskey girl, seem like the type to like the burn.” 

“Ha,” you snigger. “You got me, but I’ll drink anything.” You take the bag into the kitchen, where you had been starting to make yourself dinner. “Hungry?”

“Fucking starving,” he confirms when he follows you a moment later, unbuttoning his suit jacket to remove and toss onto the dining table carelessly, eyes on the ingredients you have laid out on the kitchen island. 

“Pour out,” you say, pointing to the wine bottle on the counter as you focus on getting extra ingredients out to cover Wonwoo’s portion too. He just hums and moves around to get out the wine glasses from the cupboard and corkscrew from the drawer.

As you cook, Wonwoo sits at the breakfast bar, head propped on his left fist and wine glass he’s slowly emptying, in his right. He hasn’t said a word since sitting down, just watches you work, and you’re honestly not even sure he’s entirely present. He looks like he could fall asleep any second, and you don’t think the wine he’s drinking is helping.

“Hey,” you call, tossing the cork, from where it lays on the counter, at him. He jerks back when it hits him on his forehead. He blinks at you dumbly, eyebrows furrowed in displeased surprise while you cackle at his expression. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep upright.”

“I’m fine,” he argues and drinks the last of the contents of his glass before reaching for the bottle to refill his glass, then your own, even if yours is still basically full. 

“Bullshit.”

“Just focus on the fucking food.”

“Mm, alright, but if you fall asleep, I’m eating your share too.”

“Do that, and I’ll take you right back to my wife and let her do whatever the fuck she wants with you,” he warns, entirely serious. 

“Wow,” you mutter, eyebrows raising as you take in the dangerous tint in his eyes. “You’re serious about your food, huh?”

“Only when it’s your cooking.” 

“Damn, you must be sleep deprived to say shit like that.” 

He sighs and slumps a little in his seat as he realises that you’re right. “It’s why she thinks I’m fucking you.” 

“What?”

“Because I eat your cooking, go out of my way to eat it, and I never eat hers.”

“Ah, yes,” you hum, a sarcastic edge to your voice. “That age old saying; the way to man’s bed is through his stomach.” 

Wonwoo lets out a chuckle and leans back on his fist as his eyes tiredly track your movements. “Knowing her dumbass, she actually thinks that’s right.” 

“It obviously wasn’t her method.”

“She can’t cook for shit. It’s no wonder I don’t eat it.” His expression turns disgusted. “Even I cook better than her, and I can’t cook shit either.”

“That’s fucked up man; everyone should be able to cook at least two decent meals.” 

“Never needed to and don’t exactly have the chance to learn how. She thinks she’s some kind of trophy wife and won’t let me in the kitchen to try.” He sighs and lets go of his glass to free his right hand so that he can rub at his eyes under his glasses. “She knows I’m hiding you, won’t stop fucking bugging me. Can’t get a minute’s fucking peace in that house at the moment.”

“Ah, that’s why you look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

“She doesn’t shut the fuck up when I’m there, so I’ve been avoiding it as much as possible. But at the end of the day, she’s my wife, so I can only avoid her so much.”

“Wild thought right here, but have you considered a divorce?” You muse and point to the plate cupboard, prompting him to get up and reach down two dinner plates to place on the side near you. 

Instead of sitting back down, he starts to load up the dishwasher with the dishes, which you’ve been putting in the sink to deal with after dinner once you’ve finished using them. “Not as simple as that,” he mutters. 

“Why not?” 

“Just isn’t, and it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Thanks to you and your delusional wife, I have no business of my own anymore, so I have to be up in yours.” 

“Well, don’t.” 

“I’m fucking bored, Wonwoo.” 

“Read a fucking book.”

“Nerd.” You don’t even look at him, but you don’t need to in order to know that he’s giving you a very unimpressed look; you can practically feel his gaze burning into the side of your face from over your left shoulder. “Either you give me all the gossip every time you visit, or you get me something to entertain me.”

“Like what?” 

For a second, you almost say a sex toy or twelve, but you think he really would stop talking to you then, and he’s your only method of socialisation, so you hum thoughtfully instead. “I guess seeing as there’s no internet, and you wouldn’t trust me with access to the outside world even if there was, a games console with a bunch of games on disc to play will do.”

“You like video games?”

“Not really.” You shrug and finish plating up dinner. “I’ve been intrigued, but I’ve always been more into cooking and baking. That’s just not as fun when I’ve got no-one to share it with. I can game on my own, at least.”

“You like to bake too?” You hum in confirmation. “I didn’t know that.”

You can’t help but laugh shortly as you look at him incredulously. “Why would you know that? We don’t know shit about each other, Wonwoo,” you remind him.

“Ah, right.” He nods and takes the last pan to rinse then put in the dishwasher, while you take your plates to the table to set down. Wonwoo follows moments later with the wine and sits down opposite you. “This looks amazing, thank you.” 

“Mm, of course. Not going to let the only person who can entertain me starve, am I?” 

“Guess not,” he huffs a quick laugh and picks up his fork. “What kind of games do you want?”

“I don’t really know; a variety, maybe, so I can try different types.” 

He makes a noise of understanding. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“You’re the best.” He gives you a raised eyebrow look. “At least the best I can do with no other option.” He scoffs a laugh, lips turning into a more genuinely amused smile as he turns back to his food yet says nothing and eats, so you do the same.

A few days later, Wonwoo is back just in time for dinner with his hands empty, making you squint at him sulkily as he nears where you’re setting the dishes on the table. 

Last time when he left, it was the morning, and you were asleep in your room, so he had written another note on the whiteboard telling you when he’d be back; so today, you had made his favourite meal and sides from the restaurant. You had planned the timing for when he said he would be back, and thankfully, he is still a man of his word and arrived perfectly on time.

At least, with this, he is a man of his word, because he had said he’d bring you a games console and games, yet here he is, empty handed.

“What? I’m on time,” he defends as he sits down. He’s not in a suit today, but jeans and a plain black t-shirt. It must be nice to be so unfairly attractive that even such a simple outfit looks effortlessly incredible. 

“And empty handed,” you mutter sulkily and drop down into your seat.

“It’s in the car,” he informs, rolling his eyes a little as he grabs his cutlery and immediately scoops a mouthful of food into his mouth. 

You watch as he makes strange sounds as he tries to exhale the heat from his mouth while still chewing. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You wonder, prompting him to look at you. “There is literally steam, of course it’s hot.”

“I’m starving,” he replies, only just managing to cover his mouth as he talks, so that you don’t see his partially chewed food. “Barely eaten since last time.”

“What the fuck? Why?” You gawp.

“Told you; she won’t let me in the kitchen, and I refuse to eat her cooking.”

“There are plenty of restaurants, even fucking convenience stores to get a sandwich or instant ramen!” 

“Can’t eat that shit after having your cooking.” He shrugs. As if it’s no big deal. As if he hasn’t just essentially admitted he’d rather go hungry than eat food that you haven’t made. 

Perhaps to him it’s nothing, but no one has ever sounded so committed to any aspect of you before, even if it’s a byproduct of you, not actually a part of you. But it still hits you right in the chest and makes you unable to do anything but stare at him dumbly as he continues to shove too much food in his mouth before it’s cool enough to be practical.

“I’ll bring it up after dinner,” he declares a few moments later, snapping you back to reality without looking up at you, still too focused on his food.

“What?”

“The shit in the car.” 

“Oh, why didn’t you just bring it up with you?” You wonder as you pick up your cutlery to get started on eating your own serving.

“There’s too much shit for one trip, and I wanted to eat.”

“Too much shit?” You give him a questioning look when he glances at you. “How much did you buy, Wonwoo?”

“It’s not that.” He waves a dismissive hand. “You’ll understand later.”

After dinner, once he’s finished cleaning up, and while you sprawl over the still far too big couch in wait, Wonwoo goes down to the car and returns with a hand truck hauling multiple cardboard boxes. He unloads them into the lounge then leaves, after telling you to wait for him to be back. He locks you in the apartment once again before making another trip down to his car and returning without the hand truck, but now he has a suitcase that you recognise and a duffle bag you do not.

“Hold, did you break into my fucking apartment?!” you gawp as you sit up, pointing accusingly at the man. 

“No. I have your keys.” He pulls your keys from his jacket pocket then tosses them onto the side console with his own as he removes his shoes. 

“What the fuck, how?” 

“My wife had them, remember?” 

“Oh…” You nod a little in understanding. “I assume you will not be returning my phone to me.” 

“No. It’s off and somewhere else. Can’t risk you turning it on and getting tracked,” he answers simply before walking over to start opening the biggest of the boxes, while you pout at his back.

It’s only when he pulls an old, boxy TV from the box, spilling packing foam everywhere, that your interest is pulled away from grieving the, hopefully temporary, loss of your phone. 

“The fuck?” you mutter, rolling off of the couch to shuffle across the rug on your knees until you’re peering over his shoulder as he sets the TV up on the unit. “Excuse you, sir, but we are in the modern age.”

“Shut up, the console doesn’t work with our TVs,” he retorts.

“What console did you even buy?” 

“I didn’t buy it. It’s one I’ve had since I was a kid, so you better fucking look after it,” he warns, giving you a stern look. 

“I can respect other’s property, unlike you.” He gives you a bewildered look. “You broke into my apartment.”

“I had your fucking keys,” he reminds with a roll of his eyes before turning back around to return to setting up the outdated TV before pulling over another box to open. 

“I didn’t give you permission to go there; you broke in.” 

“I thought you’d want some of your own shit. Last time I try and do something fucking nice for your ungrateful ass.” You stare at him for a moment before shuffling closer to abruptly hug him from behind, making him jolt then tense up. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Being appreciative.”

“Well stop it; it’s fucking weird. Just go back to being an ungrateful shit.” 

“No. You smell really nice, what cologne do you use? I want some.”

“I brought your perfume from your apartment, wear your own shit.”

“No, I like yours. Let’s swap.”

“Fuck off.” He shakes you off of him, making you snigger before you move over to open the last box, which looks brand new, to peer inside and notice random items from your apartment inside. 

You don’t know why Wonwoo thought you’d want the novelty beer mat, which you stole from a bar, that you kept on your coffee table, but it’s in the box and makes you giggle when you see it. All the other items are much more understandable; your jewellery box, makeup bag, perfume, the blanket from your couch, and the teddy bear that sleeps with you. 

“You got a boyfriend you didn’t mention?” He wonders, when he glances over and spots you holding the teddy and brushing your fingers over the soft fur. His eyes land on the love heart pattern of its t-shirt then he turns away.

“No.”

“Caught up on an ex?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Just wondering, damn.” 

“Oh, so you get to dig into my love life, but I can’t yours?”

“Never fucking mind,” he grunts, all but glaring at the console as he sets it up. 

You peer at him and sigh. “Fucking idiot man.” He turns his head to shoot you a warning look over his shoulder. “What? You are!”

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

“No.” You raise a challenging eyebrow when he turns further towards you; a clear attempt to silently intimidate you. “I know you’re not going to hurt me. If you were willing to let me get hurt, I wouldn’t still be here,” you reason logically.

Wonwoo continues to glare at you for a moment before he turns away with a grunted curse, making you snigger. “Stop being a brat, or I won’t be so nice from here on out.” 

“Kinda sounds like a challenge to me, if I’m honest.” Your words make Wonwoo stop what he’s doing to sigh heavily, eyes closing as he takes a moment to gather himself. Deciding to leave Wonwoo alone, lest you actually make him lose his temper with you, you turn and look at the bear in your hands. 

A bittersweet little smile lifts your lips as you think about Sangmin. He had gifted you the bear on Valentine’s day; he wasn’t hitting on you and made a big effort to let you know that. He had simply seen the bear and decided to use all the change he had in his pocket to buy it for you, as the most heartfelt thank you and sign of his appreciation for all the meals you make for him.

At this point, Sangmin really is your best friend, perhaps your only friend. You value him so greatly and constantly find yourself wondering and worrying over the man since Wonwoo’s wife kidnapped you a week ago. You’ve been his only source of stable sustenance for months now; you dread to think of how much he’s struggling to feed himself without you handing him a hot meal every night.

“Hey, uhm Wonwoo?” You call, tone quieter and uncertain. It makes Wonwoo stop what he’s doing to look over at you, but you’re still looking at that bear and don’t notice. 

Wonwoo stares at you contemplatively for a moment; takes in the concerned furrow of your eyebrows and the tender way you handle the bear. “What is it?” He asks, his own tone softer now, noticing that whatever is on your mind is serious for you. He wasn’t aware you even know how to be genuinely serious like this. Even when you were tied to a chair by thugs getting bruised and battered, you didn’t seem like you were taking the situation all that seriously. 

“Will you do me a big favour?” 

“Depends.” 

You sigh softly and look at him. “There’s a homeless man who I feed every night after work. He meets me outside of the restaurant and walks me home. He’s… I’m the only stable source of food he has. Will you check on him, buy him a meal? And assure him that I’m okay. He was there when those assholes took me.”

“Oh.” He silently watches you for a moment longer, in surprise at your genuine, selfless request, while you keep your sincere gaze glued to him. “He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”

“He’s my only friend, all I have here. He’s really a good guy; he’s got a giant heart and will always put others first. It’s how he lost everything; ran himself thin and got his kind nature taken advantage of. I need to know that he’s okay and will continue to be until I can go back and look after him.”

“Okay,” he agrees softly with a nod. “I’ll look out for him until it’s safe for you to leave.” 

“Thank you.” You relax a little as you give him a grateful smile. 

“You’re welcome.”

Although it’s usually a few days before you see Wonwoo, he turns up the day after you ask him to check on Sangmin. 

When he enters the apartment, you’re sitting on the floor close to the boxy TV in the lounge, playing one of the games on his childhood game console. 

“Oh, didn’t expect you today, would’ve started dinner if I knew you’d be here,” you comment, after flickering your gaze over to him, then focus back on the screen.

“Why does that sound like you won’t eat dinner if I don’t turn up?” he accuses, approaching, sans shoes, to sit on your left, grab the other controller from in front of the console, and immediately jumps into the game with you. 

“When I get hungry, I’ll eat. I don’t have any kind of schedule to keep, you do.” Wonwoo makes a noise of understanding in response yet says nothing more.

Until the end of the level, you’re both focused entirely on the game and only talk when Wonwoo gives you tips and guidance. He played this game many times in his youth, so he knows it far better than you, even if it’s been some years since he last played it.

“What’s for dinner then?” Wonwoo prompts, plucking the controller from your hand to place down as the level ends. 

“Uhh, fuck knows,” you answer with a shrug before getting up and shuffling to the kitchen. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“In case you forgot; it’s my fucking apartment,” he scoffs, turning off the TV, after saving the game properly. Once the console and TV are both turned off, Wonwoo saunters over to the kitchen to lean on the island at the opposite side to you, with his forearms laid flat on the granite surface and fingers casually laced together. 

“You got a thing for cooking, or something?” You wonder upon realising that he’s watching you with the same interest he always does when you’re cooking. Then again, maybe he’s just making sure you don’t slip poison into his portion. It’s only been just over a week since you met, so you wouldn’t blame him for being cautious.

“Just curious. I told you; I can’t cook for shit.”

“Then wash your hands and get around here,” you demand. “No better way to learn than by doing.”

“You serious?” he mumbles as he straightens up. You just hum. Wonwoo stares at you for a moment before moving to roll up his shirt sleeves, wash his hands and then join you for his first ever cooking lesson.

It’s hours after Wonwoo arrives that you find out why he broke what you thought was going to be the schedule for his visits. 

Cooking dinner takes almost three times as long as normal with him at your side; for a gang member he’s ridiculously cautious with the kitchen knife you instruct him to use. Then, the two of you get distracted talking about the video games you’ve tried, so eating dinner takes longer than normal too.

So, here you are, four hours after he arrived, returning to the lounge to relax on the couch. You’re both very glad to have a comfortable seat after the past four hours of sitting on the hard floor, standing to cook and clean, and barely cushioned dining chairs. 

“Oh, I went to the restaurant while I was in the area today,” he informs, drawing your attention to him, instead of staring at the little spread of video games on the floor by the TV unit as you try to decide what to play next. Wonwoo is already looking at you and when you look at him, he continues talking, knowing that you’re now paying attention. “Met Sangmin.” You straighten up a little, eyes widening slightly in silent question, silent concern for your friend. “He…well, I won’t lie; he looks like shit.”

“How bad?”

“He’s barely eaten or slept since you were taken,” he answers. “He’s been looking for you, asking around where he can and got into some trouble a couple days ago; so, he looked fucked up too.” 

“Fuck.”

“Mm.”

“You gotta let me go see him.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Wonwoo scoffs and shuffles to slouch down and let his head rest on the back of the couch as he turns his face skywards, looking at nothing in particular on the ceiling. “My wife is still after you; you��re staying right fucking here.”

“I can’t let him suffer!”

“I know,” he rolls his eyes before tilting his head just enough to peer at you lazily from the edge of his vision. “I told you that I’d look out for him until you can do it, and I’m a man of my word.”

“What did you do?” You ask softly, your worry starting to melt away. Something about Wonwoo really does make you believe him, at least about this; that he’s a man of his word. You trust him about this, as crazy as it is to trust the husband of the woman who fucking kidnapped you and had her minions beat you up because of her delusions.

“Put him up in a motel and gave him some cash for food. It should last him a couple weeks, provided he doesn’t fucking waste it.” He turns his face to the ceiling again, no longer looking at you as he yawns. “I’ll check on him in a few days and keep you updated.”

“Ah.” Your head bobs a little in approval as relief swims through your veins and warms your chest. “Thank you, Wonwoo, seriously.”

“Mm, I’m counting this as it makes us even for my fucking psychotic bitch of a wife kidnapping and beating the shit out of you.” 

“She didn’t beat the shit out of me. That would’ve been entertaining. Does she even know how to fight?” Wonwoo’s scoff is answer enough that no, his wife doesn’t know the first thing about fighting. “She would’ve broken her hand trying to break my face or something.”

“Doesn’t do shit with her hands, anyway, wouldn’t make a fucking difference if she broke them.” 

“Oh?” You grin slyly at him, even if he isn’t looking at you. “She’s more of a mouth kinda girl, huh?” Now Wonwoo looks at you, utterly unimpressed and borderline glaring, making you giggle. “What?” 

“My sex life is none of your fucking business.”

“Never mentioned you,” you muse with a shrug. “A lot of people who accuse others of cheating tend to be projecting their own misdeeds.”

“Know from experience?”

“Mm, yeah, been accused of cheating many times. I guess we’re similar in that regard; loyal to our partners even if they don’t believe it.” You shrug and get up to turn the TV on, then sit in front of the console to eject the cartridge to put away in the correct case.

“Not playing that one anymore?” he murmurs, rolling his head to watch you peruse the selection of games. 

“How tired are you? You’ve yawned like three times since sitting down.”

“I can go a few rounds, if you’re asking.” You immediately smirk over your shoulder at him. “Keep it in your fucking pants, pervert.”

“I respect the sanctity of marriage, even if it’s a loveless one,” you assure and turn back to the games, to select one to put into the slot and boot up the console. “I tried to play this earlier, but I kept dying, and it pissed me off. I think it’ll be easier in multiplayer though.”

“Mm, it is,” he confirms and stretches noisily before joining you on the floor, handing you a pillow to sit on while sitting on one himself, and accepts the controller you give him. As the game loads up and the start credits play, Wonwoo explains the basic idea of the game to you in a low voice, adding little tips about the controls and secret moves that will help you survive the beasts and tricks designed to overwhelm single players.

With Wonwoo at your side, the game is so much easier, and you enjoy yourself so much that you don’t realise the time pass, until Wonwoo declares that it’s close to sunrise, and he needs to get at least a couple hours of sleep before work. He leaves you to try some bonus levels that you unlocked together, but it’s not as fun alone, so you give up and go to bed as the sun rises, while silently looking forward to Wonwoo’s next visit.

Even though, most of the time, the apartment is pretty boring alone, you manage to keep yourself busy gaming, cooking, and cleaning every inch of the apartment repeatedly. Sometimes, it feels like time drags, yet it also feels like you merely blink, and it’s been over a month since Wonwoo locked you up here. You can’t tell exactly how long it’s been with your lack of sleeping schedule without the man around, but an educated guess puts it at, roughly, almost five weeks.

At first, every time you see Wonwoo, you ask if his wife has stopped being a psycho yet and if you can go home. You’re never surprised when he says no, to both questions, and tells you that you need to stay a while longer. 

Then, the man’s visits change, and it’s not three days between visits; sometimes it is, but sometimes it’s less. Though soon enough, Wonwoo is at the apartment every single day. If not to stay the night in his bed and take advantage of not having to share a bed with his wife, then to simply spend a few hours with you to eat and game. 

Though sometimes, he turns up and just lays on the couch to nap for no more than an hour before he leaves without a word. He always looks utterly exhausted on those days. You can’t help but wonder if this apartment is the most practical place for him to crash when he needs a nap during the day. Surely, the man has safe houses closer into the city centre; ones easier to get to and that don’t take as much of his time with travel. But you never bring it up; honestly, you’re just glad for the company, however wordless it is.

For a little while, you stop asking him when you can leave. It clearly annoyed him that you asked every time he visited, but it also frustrated you to never have an actual answer as to when you can go home. There’s only so long you can live in this apartment before you lose a grip on yourself and get reckless.

It’s probably been almost two weeks since you last asked, so you think it’s about time you bring it back up again, even if it’s 3pm and Wonwoo has clearly arrived with the intention of napping. 

You’re in the process of making yourself lunch when he enters the apartment, so he’s drawn to the kitchen after removing his shoes and jacket, where he slouches at the island and gratefully starts to eat the sandwich you place in front of him. It was supposed to be yours, but you can make another, he looks like he needs it.

“When can I go home?” You ask bluntly, causing Wonwoo to stop chewing mid bite and look over at you, but you’re focused on your task and don’t notice, until you flick your gaze up at his silence. “Well?”

Wonwoo lets out a heavy breath through his nose and gets back to chewing. Once he’s swallowed, he answers in a way you hadn’t expected. Usually, he always says either ‘not yet’ or a flat ‘no’. Yet today, he finally gives you a more solid answer, “depends.”

It’s just one word, but it makes hope start to flutter in your chest.

“On?” you ask, with your full attention on him, suddenly not all that hungry when faced with the potential sweetness of freedom just around the corner.

“If you’re willing to learn how to use a gun and carry one on you at all times.”

Just like that, the fluttering in your chest ceases and the excitement that had started to warm your veins is sucked away as if it had never known a home in you in the first place. “You’re insane, aren’t you?” you accuse with a scoff and turn back to making your lunch.

“I can’t let you leave if you can’t defend yourself; I’ll end up following you all the fucking time to make sure you’re safe,” he reasons, waving a hand vaguely before taking a bite of his sandwich. 

“It’s not really any of your business,” you point out while looking at him. “I appreciate that you protected me in the first place, but you’ve done the noble thing; you don’t have to do anything else.” 

Wonwoo looks up at you as if you’re stupid. “I do if I want you to be safe.” 

“As long as she’s alive, I won’t be safe, not really.” 

“Are you suggesting I kill my wife?” he baulks in disbelief at the potential insinuation within your words.

You shake your head and pull a face as if he’s the stupid one this time. “No…” your expression morphs into something considering as your head tilts slightly, while pondering his words. “Though, it would be a two birds one stone situation.” 

Wonwoo’s whole expression furrows. “Fucking hell, all this time locked up with only an asshole like me for company has warped your mind. You’ve gone fucking insane.” 

“Always been there.” You shrug casually. “I don’t think a man who goes against his wife to protect another is an asshole, anyway.” 

“I’m literally in a gang,” he deadpans.

“Yeah, and?” You give him an unwavering look. “I’ve met much worse people than you in my life, Wonwoo, and I will again. You’re sweet in comparison.” 

“I’ve really fucked your head up, haven’t I?” 

“Told you, I’ve always been like this”. 

“Calling gang members sweet?” 

“Once or twice.” 

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow as if he isn’t even sure if he heard you correctly. “What?” 

“Look, let’s not get off track,” you decide, while waving a hand dismissively. Wonwoo eyes the knife that you wave around vaguely but you don’t pay his borderline concerned expression any attention. “I want to go home. I have people waiting for me, and there’s only so long until they come looking, so, I’d like to go before that happens.” 

“You live alone; I’ve seen your apartment, it’s barely big enough for you. And your neighbours definitely wouldn’t notice if you don’t return; they say you’re never home,” he points out. 

“Stalker. Maybe your wife did have reason to worry, huh?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t start that shit; you know we never had an affair because we had never even fucking met properly until she kidnapped you!” 

“Defensive,” you tease. 

“You’ve really fucking lost it,” he declares flatly.

“Then let me fucking leave, and you won’t have to deal with me anymore!” you exclaim frustratedly. 

“I want to deal with you!” he returns immediately, before you both fall silent and stare at one another. You’re both surprised by the sheer honesty in his words, that they even fell from his lips in the first place.

You gather yourself and manage to speak first, deciding to make a joke to try and break the strange tension that’s appeared in the air between you. “Better not let your wife hear that; she’ll jump to conclusions. Unless you mean the permanent ‘sleep with the fishes’ kind of ‘deal with’, then she’ll probably suck your dick in joy.” 

Just as Wonwoo opens his mouth to respond, eyes intense on you, his phone starts to ring in his inside blazer pocket. He sighs heavily before pulling it out and walking down the hall to talk privately in one of the empty rooms.

When he returns, you’re sitting at the table eating your lunch and have packed up the rest of his into a container, already knowing that he’s being called into work.

“We’ll finish that talk later,” he declares as he grabs the container from the island behind you.

You don’t even look over at him as you respond, “pointless circles don’t end, Wonwoo.”

You don’t see him leave, or hear his socked footsteps walk away, but a few moments later, you hear the front door open and close before the lock engages, and you’re left alone wondering just what the fuck your life has come to. 

You just hope that he gives you control of your life back soon; before things get even more fucked up.

Never would you have thought Wonwoo to be the type of person to avoid difficult situations or topics; you thought he’s far too straightforward to ever do such a thing. But when he doesn’t turn up the day after your interrupted discussion in the kitchen, you start to wonder if you got him wrong.

Then he doesn’t turn up the next day either, and you really think that’s being a little bitch and avoiding returning so that he doesn’t have to pick up that conversation with you.

Yet, on the third day, you recall that he was the one who had said you’ll finish the talk another day and as he’s proven; Jeon Wonwoo is a man of his word. You believe him, and suddenly, you don’t think he’s avoiding you but has likely grown very busy with work or his psychotic wife. 

However, when day four rolls around, you start to get worried that something has happened. Admittedly, you’ve grown fond of Wonwoo over the past weeks; his stupid smug smirk when he beats you at a game, his proud little shy smile when you praise his very gradually improving cooking skills, his soft snoring when he naps on the couch in the middle of the day. 

Sometimes, you truly do wonder if this is what Stockholm syndrome is: growing to actually like the person who has locked you up and genuinely wanting to spend time with them. You think others would probably say it is and that you shouldn’t care for the man. But he makes it easy, as much as you don’t want to have this attraction for him. You think that if you had got to know him under different circumstances, you’d probably feel the same way, anyway.

Regardless of if the man is technically holding you hostage or not, he’s married, and you respect that commitment and vow too much to ever want to have feelings for a married man. 

Still, you can’t help how you feel, and you worry when it’s past dinner time on the fourth day, yet Wonwoo still hasn’t shown his face. 

Now that you’re worried about Wonwoo, you can’t face gaming because it makes you think of him. So, you spend most of the day scrubbing the apartment from top to bottom, until everything that can sparkle, does. You even clean the rooms neither of you use.

You’re in the middle of putting the freshly washed and dried pillow covers back on the couch pillows when the sudden sound of the front door lock disengaging pings through the quiet apartment. 

Immediately, you look over, and your eyebrows lift as Wonwoo shuffles into the apartment, covered in blood. He doesn’t notice you at first as he locks the apartment back up one handed. His right hand is shoved into his trouser pocket suspiciously, like he’s trying to not move it, or perhaps not let you see it. 

“What the fuck?” You speak, making Wonwoo’s head lift quickly. 

Worry floods into his eyes, and he lifts his left hand placatingly towards you, after tossing his blood smeared car keys onto the side unit. “It-” he cuts off when you point firmly at his feet as soon as he takes a step forward, making him fall still in confusion.

“Stay there,” you order before turning and walking off, leaving Wonwoo staring after you puzzled.

You go to the laundry room to grab the stack of spare, dark grey towels, then go to the kitchen to get the roll of bin bags, before returning to the entrance hall. Thankfully, Wonwoo is still standing where you left him, though he’s removed his shoes now, and they’re haphazardly shoved aside. 

“Strip,” you demand, while dropping the towels onto the floor so that you can pull a bag from the roll and shake it open.

 “What?” he mumbles.

“You’re covered in blood, and I spent three hours scrubbing these fancy ass floors of yours today; you’re not getting blood on them,” you warn, giving him a stern look. 

He scoffs but obediently starts to do as told and moves both of his hands to his belt to start working it open. His right hand is bloodied, but it doesn’t look that much worse than his left hand, so you assume he wasn’t hiding it from you. “May as well be your floors, you’ve lived here more than me,” he mumbles as he works with a tense expression on his face, which tightens every time he moves his right arm even minutely. 

“Well then, I’m definitely not letting you fuck up my floors with your blood. Don’t be rude and bleed on my fancy ass floors.” 

Once Wonwoo’s belt is open, along with the button and zipper of his trousers, he starts to try and push them down his legs, but the blood oozing from the stab wound on his left thigh is making the material stick to his thighs. Plus, now that he’s moving it more, you can see that there is definitely something wrong with his right arm, as he can barely move it. In fact, he’s only moving the lower part of his arm, but even that is limited.

Realising that you’ll be here all night, if not longer, if you leave Wonwoo to strip himself, you sigh and put the bin bag down to get to your knees in front of him, so that you can peel his trousers down his legs for him. Wonwoo says nothing, but he lets out a relieved little breath, clearly glad for your help, and steps out of his trouser legs in turn as you hold them open. Once they’re entirely off, you make sure the pockets are empty before tossing them, including the belt, into the bin bag. 

Silently, you work to remove Wonwoo’s socks, then get up to get him out of his blazer and previously white, now half blood-red shirt; all of the clothing you throw into the bag to throw out and put everything from his pockets on the side unit.

As Wonwoo stands in front of you in his black boxers and previously white vest, you can see the strange shape of his right shoulder. It’s very clear to you what’s wrong with it. 

“It’s dislocated, isn’t it?” you question; Wonwoo wordlessly hums and nods in confirmation. “Alright, I’ll cut your vest off,” you decide, knowing that getting Wonwoo to lift his arms up is very impractical. You move over to the side table to grab the knife, which you had removed from a hidden inside pocket in Wonwoo’s blazer, and remove the little leather sheath from the blade, before turning to approach him with the knife.

Wonwoo steps back slightly, holding his left hand up between you with slightly alarmed eyes. “Whoa, what the fuck? You can’t just approach a man with a knife like that.”

You can’t help but scoff at his obvious hesitance and concern about you holding a knife only half an arm’s length away from him. “Don’t be a wimp. You’ve clearly been stabbed already tonight; what’s another flesh wound?” 

“You’re more psychotic than my wife,” he deadpans, left arm lowering to his side, deciding that you’re no threat now that the immediate worry has left. You’re right; he’s definitely already faced much bigger threats to his safety than you tonight.

“Careful, sweetheart,” you coo and tap the tip of the knife against the centre of his chest. You can’t help but notice the way he swallows thickly at your action and his eyes darken a little with interest. “Insult me again like that and my hand might slip.” You abruptly lower the knife to the hem of his vest and use it to ping the elastic of his boxers. His eyes darken further, and you smirk amusedly. “That’s an interesting reaction to having a knife aimed at your dick.” 

“That’s not my dick,” he murmurs, voice a little lower than usual.

“Huh, right.” You look down as you drag the knife down to touch the tip to where his dick is obviously sitting snug in his boxers, before looking back up at him. “Better?” 

He takes a moment before responding, eyeing you intently; you can practically see the thoughts whirling behind his eyes, “you’re not the woman I thought you are, are you?” 

You shrug. “Depends who you thought I am.” 

“A sweet, innocent cook, who makes the best food I’ve ever tasted.” 

“Well, some of that is true,” you giggle before lifting the knife to cut down the centre of his vest. Now that it’s served its purpose, you toss the knife onto the side table and remove the stained and ruined material from his body to put in the bin bag. “Alright, let’s get a look at you,” you say, before walking around him in a slow circle to carefully inspect his injuries, and silently appreciate his well looked after body while you’re at it. “Let’s put your shoulder back in place, get you cleaned up, and then I’ll patch you up,” you announce once you’re back in front of him.

Wonwoo raises a questioning eyebrow. “You know how to do all that?” 

“Yep,” you answer simply without a single slither of hesitation. It’s enough that Wonwoo doesn’t question you at all and just nods in agreement. 

Honestly, it’s not the first shoulder you’ve put back into place, or joint in general, so even though it’s not the most pleasant sensation in any way, you easily make short work of the task. 

While Wonwoo catches his breath back and gathers himself, you lay a towel on the ground in front of him, to minimise the amount of blood that ruins your hours of hard work cleaning the floor. 

Once he’s ready, Wonwoo doesn’t have to be prompted to step onto the towels. He does so quietly and then looks at you in wait. 

“What?” you ask.

“How the fuck am I supposed to move from here if you don’t move the towels? Unless you want blood on your floors?” he reasons, raising a blood smeared eyebrow at you.

“Oh, honey, there’s only one reason I get on my knees in front of a man, and that’s not gonna happen,” you point out with a scoff. “Shuffle.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Either stand there until you’re entirely dry and won’t get my floors dirty, or you can shuffle.” You shrug carelessly and pick up the rest of the towels to take to the stairs, so that you can lay the material out over the steps protectively. 

When you turn around on the stairs, once all of the towels are laid in place, you spot Wonwoo awkwardly shuffling along the floor in a way to keep the towel under his feet. You can’t help but crack up laughing at the sight of this tough, blood covered and injured, high-ranking gang member dragging his feet across the floor; silently obeying your demands to keep the floor clean. And you hadn’t even had to threaten to make him clean any mess he creates with his own toothbrush in the morning; though that definitely would’ve been the next step if he had been a stubborn ass. 

Wonwoo hears your laughter and glares over at you shortly before looking back down to focus on his efforts to get to the staircase. It only makes you laugh even harder, hard enough that you have to sit down so you don’t fall down the stairs.

A handful of moments later, when he passes you on the stairs, he flicks your head. You just giggle then get up to follow behind him up the rest of the steps. There’s already a towel waiting on the floor at the top, so Wonwoo, once again, shuffles across the shiny floor on a dark towel to get to his destination.

Even once in his bathroom, Wonwoo remains on the towel and follows you to the shower, which you turn on, on his behalf.

Once you’ve made sure he has everything he needs close to hand and a clean pair of boxers waiting for him on the counter, you turn to look at him with a teasing grin. “Can I trust you to shower on your own, or are you going to pass out from blood loss?” 

“I haven’t lost that much blood,” he huffs, rolling his eyes. 

You giggle and nod, backing up to the door. “Alright, I’ll wait outside, though.” Wonwoo just nods in understanding, so you step out of the bathroom and pull the door up most of the way just in case he needs you.

Leaving the door open seems to have been a very smart move, because not long later, you hear Wonwoo call your name awkwardly. You can only just hear him over the water, so you know that if the door was shut, there would not have been a chance you’d be able to hear him.

“Yeah?” You ask, sticking your head into the room to find him standing out of the stream of water, with his still bloody back mostly to the door, and his hands holding a small towel in front of his crotch, even if you can’t see anything from this angle regardless of the cover. 

“I can’t reach my back well enough with my arm like this,” he admits, making short eye contact with you as he indirectly asks for your help. 

Without a word, you enter the room and grab the soapy washcloth he offers, so that you can diligently scrub all of the blood from his back, then notice he’s missed patches on his left upper arm, so you clean there too.

“Alright, inspection time,” you declare before looking over the back of him from head to toe and back again, to thoroughly check for injuries that need to be dealt with and any blood he missed. “Turn,” you demand once satisfied with his backside, and also taking a moment to appreciate his backside. 

Obligingly, Wonwoo turns to face you and watches you as your gaze travels over his body from this angle, stepping closer to get a better look at certain injuries or run the cloth over his skin diligently. 

When you’re done with all of the exposed skin, your attention moves to the towel he’s clutching over his crotch before you grin amusedly and meet his dark gaze. “What if you’re injured there, Wonwoo?” you tease with a dramatic gasp. 

“Don’t,” he warns. “I’m not giving any truth to my wife’s delusions about us, so don’t…don’t say and do stuff like that when I’m in no position to handle it.” 

“I’m curious what exactly that means,” you admit. 

“Then be curious, I’m not elaborating.” 

You stare at him curiously for a moment before nodding. “Finish up and get those on.” You point to the clean boxers on the counter as you head to the door. “I’ll be back with the medical kit.” 

It only takes you a few minutes to go to the kitchen and get the very extensive medical kit from the secret compartment hidden in the kitchen island, plus a bottle of water and an apple. 

Deciding to be kind to Wonwoo’s currently somewhat limited movements, you clean up the dirty towels from the stairs, putting them all in the bin bag, plus Wonwoo’s shoes, before tying it off and leaving it near the front door for Wonwoo to take out tomorrow. 

Figuring that Wonwoo must be in a decent state by now, you wander upstairs with the necessary items and enter the bathroom, to find him leaning against the counter with his boxers on and a small towel in his left hand as he rubs his hair.

He pauses when he notices the bag slung on your left shoulder. “The fuck did you get that?”

“Did you forget where you left it?” You tease, putting the items on the counter beside him.

“I know where I hid that. How the fuck did you find it?”

“I know every inch of this apartment, Wonwoo; I’ve cleaned it enough the past month.” You scoff then take the towel to toss aside so that you can hand him the apple. “Eat that.” 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“I don’t give a fuck; eat that and drink the water,” you demand, already rummaging in the bag to take out everything you need to play doctor.

Wonwoo stares at you for a few seconds, then looks between the items you’re setting up and your at ease yet confident expression, a few times before giving in with a soft sigh and taking a bite of the apple.

The first wound to deal with is the stab wound on his left thigh; there’s still a little blood trickling from it, but it doesn’t run past his knee, so you know he’s clotting well, and there isn’t any worry really. Still, it’s the biggest of his injuries, so you handle it first. 

As soon as you get on your knees in front of him, Wonwoo makes a comment, “thought you only get on your knees for one reason?” he teases with a little smirk, which quickly leaves when you slap his leg right beside the wound, making him hiss. “Fuck you.” 

You only smile too sweetly at him before getting to work sewing up the wound as quickly yet efficiently as you can. There’s anaesthetic in the medical kit, but Wonwoo insists he can handle getting stitches without it. Still, being repeatedly stabbed with a needle and having the thread pulled through skin is not a nice or pain free sensation for anyone, so you want to get it over with as quickly as possible. 

After cleaning up the blood and covering his thigh, you get up to work on disinfecting and covering all of his other wounds. Most of them are small, and many don’t even require plasters, but there’s a cut across his chest; slicing thinly over his left pec with a starting point over his heart, where the wound is slightly deeper. You’re pretty sure that whoever inflicted this wound had tried to stab him in the heart and kill him, but either Wonwoo or someone else stopped them before they could succeed. 

You don’t linger on it, but it does hurt your heart to see, far more than the wound on his thigh, despite that one requiring stitches, and this one only some gauze to prevent infection. At least the thigh wound wasn’t an attempt on Wonwoo’s life.

Once all of the open wounds are dealt with, all you have to do is wrap his right shoulder to support the joint as it recovers from being dislocated, and then you’re all done.

“You’re really fucking good at this; are you trained or something?” Wonwoo comments as you wash your hands and he’s eyeing your handiwork impressed.

“Or something,” is your dismissive response.

He scoffs and looks over at you. “Now who’s evading questions.” 

“Don’t owe you shit,” you point out and move to dry your hands.

“I saved your life.” 

“Because your delusional wife put it in danger in the first place. That’s not on me.” 

“Not on me either.” 

It’s you who scoffs this time as you think about the tension that keeps appearing between the two of you lately and how he didn’t even try to hide how holding his knife to him earlier had turned him on. It all seems so natural for him; being this way with you. “You can’t expect me to believe she’s accusing you of cheating for no reason.” 

He frowns at you offendedly, and you’re not surprised; you’ve kind of had this conversation before. “Yeah, she’s fucking crazy and projecting her own failings on me. I have never been unfaithful to her or anyone. Never will be either.” 

For a few tense moments, the pair of you just stare at each other and the whole time, Wonwoo’s expression doesn’t change; the burning sincerity in his eyes doesn’t waver. You think maybe you might trust this man too much, because it makes all of your doubts about his relationship morals leave. “Huh, okay,” you respond simply with a nod and move to zip up the medical bag. 

“You don’t believe me, do you?” his voice is a little quieter now, a hint of hurt at your doubt of him showing. 

“No, I do, which is why I’m surprised,” you assure and turn to lean against the counter and look at him, so that he can see the honesty in your own eyes. It’s only fair, after all. “Gang member with morals; kinda not the norm.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t see the point in it. If I wanted to fuck other people, I wouldn’t be committed to someone.” 

“Even if it’s someone you don’t want to be with in the first place? Obviously, there’s no love lost in you for her, no love in the first place,” you comment. 

“That’s not your place,” he reminds firmly. 

“Just following the conversation. Your pathetic excuse of a marriage isn’t of any concern of mine.” You shrug and push off of the counter to head towards the door.

“Don’t insult the man in charge of your freedom,” he warns lowly, making you turn to look at him with a scoffed laugh. 

“Why? What else are you going to do, Wonwoo? Send me back to her and let her have her fun?” 

Wonwoo’s expression softens slightly, and he shakes his head a little. “No. Never that,” he responds without a hint of hesitation or doubt in his tone. It sounds something like a promise.

“Then are you going to keep me and have your own fun?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow at him pointedly.

“I told you not to say things like that,” he rushes, gaze turning intense as he eyes you where you stand in the open doorway. His eyes flicker downwards; a quick drag of attention over your entire form, and his tongue darts out to lick his split lip mindlessly.

You can’t help but laugh. “Look whose mind is in the gutter,” you taunt. “I meant fuck me up yourself, not fuck me.” You back out into the hallway slowly, while giving him a significant look. “Think you need to remind yourself of your loyalty moral, Wonwoo. A lot of people consider looking or thinking bad enough to be cheating. If you don’t want your darling wife to be right, you should get a handle on that.” Your gaze flickers over the bathroom quickly before landing back on him. “Oh, and clean the bathroom before you go to bed; I won’t cook for you tomorrow if I see a single drop or smear of blood in here tomorrow.”

With that, you leave Wonwoo watching you leave him all alone with his mind whirling and a growing ache in his chest that he doesn’t think is entirely from the wound you so tenderly cared for. 

The very next day when you wander downstairs, it’s gone midday, and to your surprise, Wonwoo is in the kitchen, serving up take out onto two plates. 

“Oh, you’re up, good,” he comments when he hears the rustle of your clothes as you get closer. He glances over at you, gaze flickering over you quickly before focusing back on his task. “I was about to come and wake you.”

“You picked up lunch on your way over?” you mutter confusedly, Wonwoo never brings food when he visits, except groceries after picking up a list from you the day before. 

“No, I went and got lunch when I realised you’re not going to come down, and I’m too fucking hungry to wait any more.” 

“That sounds like you didn’t go to work today.”

“Called off for a few days to recover,” he informs and takes the plates over to the table. “Sit,” he says while pointing to your seat, before moving to get you both cutlery and drinks.

Not one to refuse free food, you sit down, and thank him when he hands you your cutlery before digging in; he quickly joins in.

“So,” Wonwoo starts after a little while of the usual comfortable quiet that falls between you if neither of you are talking. It’s strange how easy the silences between you have always been; even before you became whatever kind of vague friends you currently are. 

“Mm?” you respond with your mouth closed as you chew, looking up at him curiously.

“I was thinking that as I’m going to be off work for a few days, you can give me more cooking lessons.”

You straighten up to look at him in questioning surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why are you surprised? You know I want to learn.”

“Yeah, but that sounds like you intend on spending your days off here instead of at home.”

“She’s there,” he responds as if it’s the obvious answer, while pulling a displeased face.

You snort an amused laugh at his expression. “Good point. Alright, sure, I’ll teach you, but you gotta call me Chef.”

“What?” 

“Chef.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Oh, looks like you’re going to forever burn eggs, Wonwoo,” you sing.

“Alright, fine, I’ll fucking call you Chef, but only while we’re cooking, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” He gives you a flat look that makes you giggle. You turn back to your food and ignore the flash of interest in his gaze.

Over the following days, Wonwoo is always up before you and quickly realises that you need to be woken up if he wants something other than takeout or a sandwich for lunch. 

A routine of sorts quickly gets established; Wonwoo wakes you before lunch, so that you can cook together, then he cleans up, at his own insistence, while you get the medical kit ready in the lounge to check and redress his wounds once he joins you. The afternoon consists of a mix of chores and gaming. In the evening, it’s time for another cooking session for dinner before he once again cleans up. Then, the two of you sit in the lounge to game or watch the videos on the video player, which he brought back on his first day off; another one of his childhood items he’s had safely stored away.

It all falls into place so seamlessly that it’s like the two of you have always existed like this, even if the seemingly endless personal questions that Wonwoo likes to randomly bring up prove otherwise.

Sometimes, you answer honestly, but others you don’t, and it’s endlessly entertaining watching Wonwoo try to decipher if you’re being honest or just fucking with him. 

It starts with the very first question on the very first day he’s off work, when you’re expertly handling his wounds and the medical supplies. “Where’d you learn to do this?”

“What’s it to ya?” you tease.

“Just curious about you.”

“Why?” 

“Because I’ve known you over a month, and I don’t know shit about you, despite you living in my apartment, and that shit’s going to keep up for the foreseeable future. So, it’d be nice to know some shit,” he huffs.

You hum consideringly as you ponder his words, before answering while continuing to clean and redress his thigh wound. “When I was fifteen, I was out with my sister, and we got caught in the middle of some gang shit. She got hurt bad, really bad, and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I couldn’t save her; I didn’t know how. She bled out in my arms, and I decided then that I wasn’t going to be so useless again. I learned how to handle most wounds with both real medical supplies, and whatever is to hand in case of an emergency.”

“Oh…” 

“If I was home, I would’ve put on my latex nurse’s outfit too,” you add as you look up at him and spot the softness around his eyes; the sympathy and understanding pain. 

It abruptly leaves at your words, and he lets out a frustrated, disbelieving sound. “You fucking asshole; I actually believed you,” he grunts disapprovingly, and you just snigger, returning back to your task.

Despite knowing that you’re actively messing with him, Wonwoo still insists on asking you personal questions to try and get a clearer image of you and your story. It’s a great source of entertainment for you, personally, so you don’t mind. Plus, he’s always so helpful; offering his assistance and cleaning dishes before you can even think about it, that you think he deserves the chance to poke around a little.

On the fourth day of Wonwoo being off work, you wake when Wonwoo knocks on your bedroom door then lets himself in. You eye him blearily as you shuffle up to sit against the headboard, while he walks further into the room.

“Are you ever going home?” you mumble, while rubbing at your eyes. When you lower your hands, he’s placing a tray, which you somehow didn’t even notice him holding, on the duvet at your side and sitting on the other side. You notice the plate piled with steaming food, two mugs and two sets of cutlery on top “Oh, breakfast in bed?” you tease with a grin as he hands you a set of cutlery and holds the other, while he picks up his usual mug to sip at his steaming coffee.

He rolls his eyes before answering as you start to eat, “don’t say something weird; I just know you won’t come down to eat it. So, unless I want my hard work going to waste, I need to bring it to you. I’ve had enough of you digging your fucking fingers into my wounds when I try to pick you up to move you when you’re being a stubborn asshole.” 

You ignore his comments about your stubborn streak and your habit of playing dirty and using his healing injuries against him. “How lucky am I?” you coo, entirely ignoring his warning to not say something weird. Teasing him is just too much fun. “Well, I imagine your wife is luckier. You seem like the type of man to go all out on your lucky lady’s birthday; fancy breakfast in bed, whatever gifts she wants, romantic dinner at her favourite restaurant and a day being spoiled.” Wonwoo doesn’t answer, just keeps his gaze on the tray between you as he works on eating his share of the breakfast that he so carefully cooked for you both. “Well shit, you’ve never done that for her?” you baulk surprised. He truly does seem like the doting, romantic type. 

Even this; bringing breakfast to you so that you’ll eat the food he obviously tried very hard to cook, as he hadn’t burned any of it this time, even if it’s pretty bland and under seasoned, just proves that he’s a very doting man when he wants to be. Plus, he waited for you to take a bite first before making any attempt himself. It makes you realise that he always makes sure you go first with everything and quietly goes along with whatever you want; the game you want to play, the food you want to cook, the video you want to watch, he never complains.

It seems crazy to you that Wonwoo has never gone all out for his wife; the woman he promised forever to.

He scoffs. “Why should I? I tried to do nice things at first, but she was always expecting more and bitched.” 

“Has she ever done anything for you?” 

“Other than be a pain in my ass? No.” 

You pull a disgusted yet puzzled face. “Why the fuck did you marry her?” 

“Took one for the team,” he answers honestly for the first time, paired with a casual shrug. Before now, every time you’ve asked about his relationship, Wonwoo has always told you it’s not your business or avoided answering by changing the topic or simply stayed silent.

“What does that even mean?” you wonder, giving him a curious look as he lifts his gaze to look at you.

“Means that she’s the oldest kid, but as she’s a woman, she can’t take over the gang when her dad dies; so, it would go to her brother, who is even more fucking useless and entitled than she is.” The repulsed twist of Wonwoo’s expression gives away his clear disdain for his brother-in-law. “He’d fucking destroy the gang and everything we’ve put so much blood into creating. But the boss will give his son-in-law the position if he’s proven himself, and well, I’ve been in the gang since I was fourteen, so I’ve definitely proven myself after 20 fucking years.” 

“Well…shit,” you mumble, eyes wide as you absorb his unexpected words; unexpected for more than one reason.

“Mm,” he hums in agreement as he chews on another mouthful.

“I did not realise you’re so old!” you gawp, making him look at you with a miniature version of your shocked expression.

He quickly finishes chewing and swallows the food in his mouth so that he can talk. “Seriously? That’s what you took from that, my fucking age?” 

“What?” You shrug defensively. “I thought you’re my age, not eight years older.” 

Wonwoo stares at you dumbly for a few long seconds before he mumbles, “you’re 26?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh.” He licks his lips a little awkwardly. “I didn’t realise.” 

“Are you saying I look old?!” you sputter in offense.

He quickly shakes his head and holds up his hands placatingly. “No. Just, I guess I’m more used to women like my wife. All her friends are immature as fuck, all spoiled little princesses. She’s older than me, you know? By three years, yet you’re more mature than her. So, I thought based on that, you’re closer to my age at least,” he reasons. It’s a very understandable thought process and assumption, so your posture relaxes again.

“Huh, okay, I’ll accept that, but don’t disrespect princesses like that,” you warn. 

“Should I call them spoiled little daddy’s girls then?” he jokes.

“No.” You pout. “Don’t lump me with them.” 

“You’re a daddy’s girl?” he baulks in genuine shock.

“Yeah.” 

“Didn’t even know you have family, honestly,” Wonwoo admits, making you look at him as if he’s the dumbest person you’ve ever met.

“Did you think I grew out of the fucking ground?” you deadpan.

“Obviously not; I know how human biology works, brat.” He rolls his eyes. “Just…there’s no sign of family in your apartment; not a single photo or anything that could be deemed a family heirloom.” 

You shrug and pick up your mug. “I don’t need those things to remember; I have plenty of reminders on me at all times to remind me of family.” 

“Like what? That necklace you wear?” He points to the chain of the necklace you never take off, where it’s just about poking out from the collar of your pyjama t-shirt.

“No, this is just a cheap thing I got to replace another cheap one and so on and so forth because I just hate not wearing a necklace.” 

“I don’t see you in any other jewellery.” 

“Don’t own any.” 

“Really?” he asks surprised, slightly raising his eyebrows curiously. “Not a single thing?” 

“No. I used to have earrings, but I lost the back of one, so I stopped wearing them and just never got around to replacing them.” 

“Then what do you mean you have reminders on you all the time, if not jewellery?” he sounds genuinely confused and very curious as his attention remains solely on you. 

You motion to the plate as you lean back towards it yourself, dismissing the topic with a simple, slightly firm, “breakfast is getting cold.” 

Wonwoo gets the hint and doesn’t try to push you anymore, just leans in and gets back to eating.

The very next morning after Wonwoo brings you breakfast in bed, he doesn’t wake you with another tray, nor does he wake you to make lunch with him. You get up feeling very off kilter at waking naturally without him being the first thing you see once the sleep leaves your eyes. 

It only gets worse when you go downstairs, and he’s nowhere to be found. 

Bewilderedly, you waddle to the fridge to get the juice and notice a new note on the whiteboard from Wonwoo. It’s a short note, like always, and says that he’s gone back to work and won’t be back tonight, so don’t worry about cooking dinner for him. 

All day, you move around the apartment feeling oddly lost. 

Wonwoo was only home for four days, yet it already feels so strange not having him following you around to ask questions as you complete chores together or peering over your shoulder to learn how to cook or playfully shoving you when you’re playing against each other in a game instead of as a team. You don’t really know what to do without him.

When it comes to dinner, you don’t think before cooking and only realise that you’ve naturally made enough for Wonwoo too when you’re putting a plate in his usual seat and remember that he won’t be here to eat it. 

It feels pathetic to sit staring at an empty seat with a full plate on the placemat in front of it opposite you, as you eat your dinner, but there’s something in you that refuses to let you take his plate away, even knowing his note says he won’t be home tonight.

Only when you can’t handle being in the lounge as it feels so empty without him, do you remove his covered plate from the dining table to box up the leftovers to put in the fridge and put the dishes in the dishwasher.

It’s only 9pm when you crawl into bed freshly showered and turn on your TV to watch something, hoping to distract yourself from the hollow feeling in your chest.

Although you were in bed early last night, you didn’t manage to fall asleep until your usual time, so you’re up after midday again. 

Today when you wander downstairs, you don’t expect to see Wonwoo, as his note said he’ll be back this evening, but clearly, he had already returned and left again. When you enter the kitchen, you spot a little gift bag on the island. 

Curiously, you approach and inspect the bag, trying to find a logo on the packaging, but there isn’t one, though you do find your name on the tag in Wonwoo’s surprisingly pretty handwriting. He doesn’t usually write so neatly; it seems as if he focused on writing your name in a visibly appealing way, instead of the usual scrawls he puts on the whiteboard.

Now that you know that it’s for you, you open the bag, and after moving aside the neatly packed dark blue tissue paper, you spot a black jewellery box. You hesitate before reaching out to pick out the box and open it. 

Immediately, your breath catches, and your heart skips a beat.

Within the jewellery box, seated neatly on a cushioned display covered in dark silk, is a truly stunning necklace and earring set. They sparkle in the light; silver chain and clear jewels polished to perfection as they stare up at you tauntingly. You know they’re diamonds; you just know with everything in you that Wonwoo had purposely gone out and bought you an expensive, extremely high-quality necklace and earrings set to replace your own. And it hurts.  

There is no way that this is nothing; that Wonwoo would go out of his way to pick such a beautifully crafted set for any other friend. You’re pretty positive that he wouldn’t even pick such a nice set for his wife. It feels like he’s putting you higher than her, ranking you as more important, more meaningful to him than the woman he is lawfully devoted to, and that hurts.

It's all too much. You close the box and place it back in the bag, cover it with the tissue paper and leave it there.

As you reheat the leftovers from last night for your lunch, your gaze keeps returning to the gift. Even with your back to the island as you sit at the table to eat, your mind keeps reminding you that it’s there; keeps shouting at you to pay attention to it.

Unable to handle it, as soon as you’ve cleaned up after lunch, you go up to your room to spend the rest of the say sitting on your bed watching TV and pretending that Wonwoo hasn’t royally fucked with your head and implied far too much without saying a word.

When Wonwoo returns, you’re still sitting on your bed watching TV, or at least pretending to. You’ve been restless for the past half an hour, knowing that he’ll be home at any moment and there will have to be a conversation to be had; about the necklace, about him, about you.

Only a handful of minutes after hearing Wonwoo enter the apartment, he wanders into your room through the open door, holding the gift bag in one hand with a genuine frown on his features. He looks both confused and a little upset. “Haven’t you been in the kitchen today?” 

“Of course I have, you think I like starving myself? I enjoy food too much,” you answer without looking away from the TV, even if your full attention has been on him since before he entered the room, before he even entered the apartment.

“Okay, then why aren’t you wearing this?” He lifts the bag slightly.

You hesitate before letting out a defeated sigh and looking at him. “Why did you buy that for me, Wonwoo?” 

“Because you never replaced your earrings and wear a cheap necklace that will break easily and make you buy another. This one will last a long time and has a lifetime guarantee, so you can get it replaced if it does break, but it shouldn’t.” It all sounds so logical, so reasonable, but you know it isn’t. Wonwoo is far too smart of a man to be that dense. 

“Take it back,” you order. 

“You don’t like it? Tell me what you like and I’ll-” 

“You’re a married man, Wonwoo; you can’t buy another woman jewellery.” 

“It’s just jewellery,” he mutters, a hint of defensiveness to his tone. 

“No, it’s not, and you know it.” 

He stares at the bag for a few moments then nods slowly in agreement; admittance to knowing exactly what you’re saying, what he said by buying the jewellery in the first place. “I’ll return it tomorrow.” 

“Thank you.” You relax a little, relieved that he’s agreed to return the gift.

“I didn’t mean to overstep or make things uncomfortable between us; I just wanted to do something nice for you,” he says, talking softer than you’ve heard him before. It makes it hurt even more; the honesty in his voice, the truth to the depths of his care for you. It needs to stop before it burrows deeper in either of you.

“Well, you shouldn’t. I’m just your hostage. We’re not friends, Wonwoo,” you say, in reminder, even if it hurts you as much to say it as it clearly hurts him to hear it. You can see it in his eyes. But you have to say it; to remind the both of you of the boundaries and moral obligations in place. The reasons why you can’t be anything more than how this all started. 

“Right, yeah, just my hostage,” he scoffs and looks at you, eyes harsh and jaw tense. “Maybe I should treat you that way, huh? It’d make things easier.”

“I think this is way past the point that you could treat me that badly, Wonwoo,” you point out. “You bought me diamonds; that clearly isn’t the type of thing a man capable of doing bad things to me would do.” 

“Would if I’m trying to get my way with you. Buy you pretty things to sweeten you up and make you crawl willingly into my bed,” he reasons and lets his gaze drag over you as if he’s making his point that it’s a very real possibility. Even if you both know that Wonwoo is not that kind of man, despite his status and how easy it would be to get his way with whatever woman he wants if he was cruel in that way.

“You could buy me all the pretty things in the world, and I wouldn’t do that,” you inform firmly.

“Don’t act like you haven’t checked me out; you’ve even said I’m attractive,” he reminds, letting his intense eyes lock with yours.

“And married; I’m not a homewrecker, Wonwoo,” you scoff. “If she wasn’t an issue, I think we both know things would be very different right now.” 

“Would you be wearing the necklace?” 

You hesitate before answering, not wanting to lie but knowing what you’re clearly admitting to otherwise and knowing that it’s not something you ever thought you’d say to a married man. Still, you do. You can’t help but be honest with Wonwoo about this; about the two of you. “Yeah, and not much else.” 

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle

[hornedmonsters]

"A'thaen" Yautja Oc x Reader - Mate - nsfw

Warnings: nsfw, size difference, dead animals, yautja seeks a partner, exophilia, teratophilia, monster x human, alien sex, slow burn, sex in water, sex outdoors, blood play, breeding - English is not my native language!

Synopsis: You used to live in a small house near a forest. But one day you sensed something, someone was watching you and brought you gifts. A strange creature that could kill you with sheer force and he was looking for a mate for life.

Words: 8k

German Version

You never worried about whether it was safe to live alone in an old house near the forest. The nearest big town was a good half hour away from you and it was rare for people to pass by. The letter carrier, maybe, but very rarely. Not even tourists or hikers were to be seen here. The nature around you was rough and a bear liked to sneak around the river near you. It was dangerous, especially in the salmon season, but you respected nature and its fauna and stuck to the rules:

Stay on the path.

Stay out of the way of mother animals.

Never get between predator and prey.

Make noises so that you are not suddenly confronted without warning.

And most importantly. Never travel in the dark without weapons. You had a weapon but never used it, you wanted to avoid it because you didn't see weapons as a positive thing. They only caused death and destruction and people had become dangerous beings through war and hatred. One of the reasons you lived out here.

You stared out of the window. Dark clouds were moving across the sky, it was definitely going to rain soon and somehow you were looking forward to it. You loved rain, it calmed you down and you always took one of your many books and made yourself comfortable on your sofa. Enjoying the peace and quiet, listening to the patter of the rain while the wind whistled outside and the trees gave way awkwardly under the force of the wind and the rain.

You flinched when you suddenly heard wolves howling in the distance. Puzzled, you looked up. Normally wolves had little desire to be active in this weather, at least that's what you thought, but you could hear how restless the otherwise brave predators were. You sat so still on your sofa, as if a murderer was going to jump in at any moment and you were trying not to attract attention because of the silence.

It was only seconds before an agonizing, screaming squeak made you tremble. It sounded like a wolf, but its wail was so high-pitched that it almost sounded like a child in agonizing pain. You swallowed. Your heart pounded and fear rose up inside you. What was out there?

The next scream made you flinch even more, but it didn't stop at two. A pack consisted of five to fourteen members. Alpha animals, kittens, puppies. Everything was there, sometimes even the grandparents were still there if they had a good chance of living. You knew the pack. You affectionately called them the River pack, because the wolves always stayed close to the river and had their territory there. The river was about five hundred meters from your home and you could clearly hear one wolf after another going silent. It made your blood run cold.

Something strange was going on out there. What kind of predator would kill an entire pack of at least seven animals just like that? There were seven of the Riverwolves at your last count. It was a comfortable pack size and you enjoyed watching them with your binoculars. A bear perhaps? But did bears ever attack a whole pack of wolves?

Out of paranoia you checked the door again, fine, it was locked. There was another door, it led into a small stable of sorts. But there was nothing in it, you had emptied it out and used it as a kind of lair as you had no animals. You no longer felt like reading, so you got ready for bed and went to sleep. Even though your pulse was still beating strongly against your skin.

It took a while for you to fall asleep, but when sleep pulled you in, it was deep and firm. You woke up refreshed and got out of bed. Your breakfast consisted only of an apple, as you were rarely hungry after getting up. You packed your bag and went out the door. You wanted to go for a walk, even though you were still feeling the effects of last night. But it always smelled so good after it had rained. Especially in the forest.

You hummed to yourself and went on your daily walk. You knew this route inside out, since you've lived here, you've always walked it as best you could. It led you past berry bushes where you had tasted some of the sweet fruits and every now and then you could spot a deer.

You were so lost in thought that you didn't notice how you were being watched. But how could you? The creature was invisible and hiding in one of the trees, staring at you like a vulture that had found new carrion. The creature followed you for a few meters and watched your every move. Almost curiously.

Your legs carried you unintentionally to the river, you wanted to see the area. Maybe you could find out what had killed the wolves, but it was as if nothing had ever happened. No blood, no cadavar, nothing! Someone had done a thorough job and you were beginning to fear that it might be poachers who were up to mischief here. You didn't see the danger coming, but He did.

A crack in the bush sent shivers down your spine and you turned cautiously. A large grizzly stepped out of the undergrowth. Its heavy panting made you gulp and you walked slowly backwards until you could feel the gravel under your shoes. Behind you was the riverbed and you considered jumping in, but at the same time you were worried that it might trigger the bear in front of you. Today was definitely not your day.

“Take it easy,” you whispered and tried to breathe calmly. But the bear in front of you stomped up, a growl came from its throat and then the male animal reared up in front of you in all its glory. Your eyes grew wide and your instincts kicked in, you ran. The bear's roar still in your ears, he was so close and tears welled up in your eyes. What had you done to deserve this now? What had you done wrong?

You really thought you were going to die, the thought of bears eating their prey alive and not bothering to kill them beforehand made your stomach churn. Your lungs burned and a root became your doom. You hadn't seen it and painfully you tripped over it and fell into the shallow water. You groaned as the stones tore open your knees and the bear's heavy gallops came closer. You were about to scramble to your feet just as the beast's huge jaws shot towards you. But things turned out differently than you had expected.

The grizzly was pushed aside with full force, but you couldn't see anyone. Even the bear seemed confused, but it sensed something. Now it was even angrier and another roar came from its mouth. He ran towards a place where there was no one, but it seemed different. The bear actually grabbed someone, but your eyes couldn't see him. For the time being. But then outlines flashed, they were hard to make out, they glowed, then they showed some skin. Dark skin, lizard-like. Confused and disturbed, you drew your brows together and watched the spectacle.

The bear didn't stand a chance, even though he put up a brave fight. He took blow after blow, but then he bit down when his half-invisible opponent briefly lost focus. Green liquid flowed out of the bear's mouth and it turned back in your direction. But before anything could happen to you, the bear howled. Its throat was severed with a smooth cut.

A strangled cry escaped your throat as the invisible creature lifted the lifeless body, which weighed a good three hundred kilos. Then it revealed itself. Its skin became clearer and you gulped as you looked at the large alien-like creature before you. Drenched in the blood of its victim. Under the red you could see obsidian skin, he was wearing a mask and you forgot to breathe. Would he kill you now too? Had he saved you?

“Thank you,” you breathed, not noticing the tears running down your cheeks as the adrenaline slowly wore off and you were safe for now. The alien tilted its head slightly and a clicking sound came from its mouth. You felt uncomfortable under his probing gaze. Then he threw the bear over his shoulder and left. You quickly got up and watched him go. He simply disappeared into the forest and left you alone. You held your hand to your chest and a weeping sigh escaped from your dry throat. You ran home as fast as you could. You had definitely had enough of today.

You avoided the forest for the next few days, you had little desire to get into a situation like that again, besides there was this creature you didn't know what it was. You tried to put things behind you, it hadn't returned and the bad weather outside made you sit in your cozy home and read your books again. You drank tea and tried not to think about that day anymore.

If he/she had wanted to kill you, he/she would have done it long ago. You sighed and put some more wood in your fireplace. Despite the heat, you were shivering and not even the raindrops on your window could calm down. Just when you thought you were at peace, there was a bang outside. Someone had knocked over your garbage cans, or something. You took a deep breath and stood up. Your feet carried you towards the door, your mind racing, wondering if you were doing the right thing and if you were about to die.

Your fingertips touched the knob and you cautiously opened the back door. You couldn't react at all when a heavy weight slammed against the wood and you landed on the floor with a yelp. A dull thud beside you. Your eyes widened after you rubbed your bottom painfully. There it was! Next to you, its dark skin covered in a green. Liquid that had to be his blood.

As if struck by lightning, you got up and examined the creature in front of you. It still had its helmet on, but a large notch adorned the metal. That wasn't there last time. A clicking sound drew you out of your spell. Your eyes scrutinized him critically. His breathing was heavy and he seemed to be injured. Should you really be helping him? But he had helped you too. You sigh.

You slowly walked towards him. A growl came from his throat and you flinched, raising your hands.

I don't want to hurt you, you whispered, and his helmet turned more in your direction. He was watching you intently, you felt it and it made you nervous.

“Let me help you,” you spoke slowly, hoping he understood. Another click, he seemed to be thinking. But then came a nod and carefully you moved closer to him.

“You have to take it off,” you whispered, looking at his helmet. The creature hesitated and only now did you see how tall it actually was. It had to be well over two meters. No wonder he could slay a bear with his bare claws.

He didn't even try to struggle to his feet as he almost grabbed the helmet. You heard a few clicks as if something was opening on the helmet and slowly it let go. You held your breath as you slowly saw what was hiding under the mask.

A large head, four fangs that could fold out, it reminded you of a spider and you shivered, silver eyes staring at you. It seemed almost amused when the creature noticed you staring at it, it had probably already expected such a reaction. But you remain calm.

You quickly fetch your first aid kit and get out the essentials. A bowl of warm water, thread and needle, everything was ready. You carefully started to wipe the blood off his smooth scales. You couldn't describe how it felt. He was neither cold nor warm, his obsidian black skin was dull and spikes grew out in places. He had long dreadlocks with blood red beads woven into them and his small silver eyes watched you intently. His muscles were firm and sinewy, it almost felt like he had metal plates underneath, but it was just his pure strength and he looked really strong. Big and powerful. You gulped.

His looks made you uneasy and you didn't know exactly what it was. Countless faded scars adorned his body, he must have fought a lot in his life. But one scar caught your eye the most. It was a large, elongated scar on his chest, it hadn't been a clean cut, it looked more like someone had tried to rip something out of his chest. You couldn't just survive something like that.

“Scared?” the creature suddenly croaked and you stiffened. It could talk?! You tried to stay cool and took a quick breath.

“No,” you said firmly and stared into his eyes, not wanting to appear weak. The next wound was on his chest and you gently stroked the rough flesh. He purred, but it didn't sound painful, more soothing… like he was… enjoying it. You tried to concentrate, but his mere presence made you fuzzy and the feel of his muscles under his skin made you weak. You gritted your teeth. Stop it, (y/n)! He's an alien, dammit!

“You like… what you… See?” he asked brokenly and you ignored the glow in your cheeks. He was toying with you, you saw the amusement in his eyes. His ego was bigger than he was and really, you should have kicked him out.

You didn't answer him, but started stitching up his wounds. His eyes were half closed and he was watching you with a predatory look. Under your hands you could feel how tense he was. He was still in flight mode and ready to kill at any moment.

“Why are you hurt?” you asked now and he clicked again.

“Fight,” he breathed deeply.

“What were you fighting? You defeated the bear with ease and there's nothing bigger out there,” he had remained silent and just continued to stare at you. You tensed up and now your eyes found his.

“There isn't anything bigger out there, is there?” you almost panicked. He snorted in exhaustion, but there was ambition in his eyes.

“Yes…, but…dead,” he growled, making a few more chirping sounds, ”I… have…killed.” That was the last thing he said before his eyes closed and he was gone. His body was apparently close to the limit and he must have really put a lot of strength into the fight. You looked at his wounds again, in peace. Now that he was asleep. He was really lucky they didn't go any deeper. He must really be an experienced fighter, what creature would mess with him?

You shook your head and washed your hands. Then you grabbed a pillow and a blanket and put his head on the pillow, then you put the blanket over him, even though he was way too big for it. But it was better than nothing.

What did you get yourself into?

The big robber slept until the next day. You got up, but he was no longer lying on the floor where he had last fallen asleep. Somehow you weren't surprised that he had left. He had no reason to stay. But at least he had tidied up the blanket and pillow. You sighed and put the first aid kit back in its place, but a rumble made you sit up. It came from outside your front door.

Astonished but curious, you opened the door only to see, with a stifled scream, a large grizzly skull lying on your porch. There was no flesh left on the bone and it had been thoroughly cleaned. You had a feeling that it was the grizzly that had attacked you a few days ago.

Hesitantly you picked up the skull, you had a slight idea who it could be from. But why did he give you a skull? You placed the skull on the ledge of your fireplace and looked at it. It made you tremble as you remembered how those teeth wanted to dig into your flesh.

It didn't stop with the skull. Every day… really every day, there was something on your doorstep. Skulls, whole animals that you could skin and jewelry made of bones and beautiful stones. You now had a whole ration of game meat and you barely had any room left in the freezer. You displayed the skulls on your fireplace. Wolves, foxes, birds, it was all there. There was even a cougar skull by the door, but there was one thing you liked best from the unusual gifts.

It was a necklace made of predator teeth with a beautiful red gemstone in the middle. You wondered where he had found it. There must have been gemstones out there somewhere, but it must have taken a lot of effort to find one. But you asked yourself one question every single day. Why? Why did this giant give you gifts and bring you food? He had no reason to, or was it his way of saying 'thank you' because you had helped him?

Then you investigated, you grabbed your laptop and went looking. As silly as it sounded, you typed in 'what animals give each other gifts' and read through a post. There are indeed animal species that give each other gifts to impress the female: birds, fish and even insects did it. Apart from that, chimpanzees did something similar. For meat and fruit, the females slept with the males and you swallowed. Was he trying to impress himself? As if that at the river when he lifted the bear wasn't impressive enough.

Shaking your head, you closed your laptop. You didn't believe this alien wanted anything from you, if only because you were human. It was almost ridiculous. You laughed, apart from the fact that he was an alien? A big, strange creature that could kill you with ease.

There was something else on the floor of your porch that day that gave you pause. It was… Flowers. The most beautiful you'd ever seen. You sat by the river and looked intently at the small bouquet of wildflowers. No one had ever given you a gift like this before and you didn't want to admit it, but it made you happy somehow and sent a pleasant tingle through your body.

“You… find beautiful?” the deep, robotic voice made you freeze and you gulped. He was here, only maybe a meter away from your weak form sitting on the floor. Slowly, you turned your head and there he stood. As if he hadn't been almost dead in your house recently.

“j..yeah…they're really pretty,” you said almost shyly and a slight smile crept onto your lips. He nodded and continued to look at you through the small eyes in his mask.

“Thank you,” he clicked, apparently he had acknowledged it with that. You thought about asking him why he gave you the gifts, your heart pounded and you hesitated.

“Why are you giving me so many presents?” You nervously played with the stems of the flowers and waited for the answer. Inwardly, you hoped that he would simply say that he did it because you helped him. But it didn't turn out as you expected.

“Gifts… for… partners,” he grunts and your eyes widen. You felt like you were about to faint, your heart was beating against your chest and it almost hurt. At the same time, your cheeks burned and you blushed. He saw you as a suitable partner?

“Courting… you,” came out of his mouth next.

“I don't think I'm a suitable partner for you. I'm a human and you're an-” you thought about what you could say because you felt ‘alien’ would be rude.

“Yautja,” he finished your sentence and you raised your eyebrows.

“Your kind call themselves Yautja?” he nodded.

“What are you doing here? Are you just here to find a mate?” you followed up and he shook his head. Then he pointed at himself with a claw.

“Going hunting… Xenomorph. But I sensed… suitable partner is… here,” he tried to explain. You could hear how hard it was for him to speak in your language, considering his speech consisted only of clicking noises and growls.

“I see,” you laughed, ‘I don't even know your name,’ his head cocked to the side, watching your lips curl. The sound coming from your mouth was foreign to him, but he thought it sounded pleasant. No Yautja female made such beautiful sounds. His instincts had not been wrong.

“A'thaen,” he growled, ”my name…, A'thaen.”

“That's a really… nice name. My name is (Y/n),” you introduced yourself and then the Yautja went down on his knees. He was still huge in front of you, but now you could look at him a little better without having to contort your neck completely.

“My instincts… led me… here. To you,” then he moved his claws and took off his mask. You were surprised by this, because he seemed to take this mask for hunting and it seemed really important to him.

“Become… my… Partner. I am… good, experienced hunter. Can… protect and… Provide,” he almost cooed and it made you blush how he was trying to woo you. But you weren't sure, you couldn't speak his language, nor did you know anything about his culture.

“I'm not sure. I don't know you at all and a few days ago I thought you were going to kill me,” you swallowed and you expected A'thaen to get angry, but he nodded again.

“Ki'sei,” he said and you didn't understand what he had said. But you were amazed that he seemed to have a language with words after all, not just clicking sounds. He saw the look on your face and was amused. “I… I see,” he rumbled, and then you understood.

“Give me time,” you spoke, now standing up, ”let me… get to know you. get to know you,” your nervousness grew. What would you get yourself into here? You didn't know him and could you even love him? He was an alien, yes. But the fact that he had saved you and made the effort to give you gifts made you see him in a different light. Even his appearance didn't really bother you much, why should it. He wasn't ugly or scary just because you didn't know what he looked like. On his planet, he was perhaps one of the prettiest.

His bright eyes scrutinized you. Only now did you notice that his eyes weren't completely silver. They were green-gold on the inside and you had to admit to yourself that you found them pretty. You woke up from your stupor when his large, long-clawed claw took one of your strands of hair. Not daring to move, your eyes met his.

“Sei'i,” he nodded at you, then let go of your strand and stood up.

“Take all the time… You need. No…hurry,” he growled and you felt relieved. So now you had the chance to meet him, a large alien who was over two meters tall and could kill a bear with ease.

A'thaen even accompanied you home. You had offered him the chance to sleep in the house so that he wouldn't have to sleep outside in the bad weather. He gratefully accepted. The bad weather actually didn't bother him much, he still had his smaller spaceship to sleep in. But he was reluctant to refuse to let him into your house. He didn't know why his instincts had chosen you, you are small, weak and human. But this awakened his protective instinct and he felt a great need to look after you.

He felt his body reacting to you, to your scent. Especially when you were scared. He couldn't deny that it excited him the way you were scared, it was just in his nature. He was an elite hunter. One of the best of his tribe, if not the best. He has killed many xenomorphs, many different types of large predators. On Earth and also on many other planets. Even humans have not been spared. Once he started he couldn't stop, he was in a bloodlust and that made him a feared hunter; his experience, his strength and his temperament made him the deadliest Yautja of his tribe.

His heart was cold and he did not let emotions get to him, something the younglings learned very early on. Especially when they were being trained as hunters, but then you came along. A little human who most likely couldn't even give birth to successors and clouded his mind. Your weak body aroused him and awakened his instincts, but he had to restrain himself. You were no Yautja female who could be fucked easily. You were fragile and probably wouldn't even be able to take all of him.

He wanted you gentle, he wanted you to come to him willingly and ask him to make you his and breed you. But deep down, he really wanted to be gentle. He was known to be a killer, a monster. But he would not harm his future female, he would look after you and kill anyone who could harm you. He wanted to be an equal lover. In fact, he didn't think much of the mating behavior that many Yautja had. Many females of his species mated with several males. It was neither about love nor about the shared feeling of being one. They simply wanted to reproduce, to satisfy their urges. But it annoyed him, he longed for something different, something gentle and long. For you. He only wanted you.

You thought about where he could sleep best. He was so big. Too big for the bed, too big for the couch. Your brain was working, then you thought of something. Since you were a frostbite, you still had some blankets in the wardrobe, which you fetched as quickly as possible. With great effort, you built him a bed right in front of the fireplace. Two mattresses and five blankets should be enough. A'thaen watched you with amusement and attention at the same time. No one had ever made a bed for him before and he admired how much effort you had put into it. His gaze fell on the fireplace and pride grew in his chest when he saw the gifts he had given you. You had kept all the skulls and the necklace was there too and he purred. He really liked it.

“How are your wounds,” your voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he turned to you. His head tilted slightly.

“Better… Wounds heal… Faster…, with Yautjas,” he explained and you nodded. His mandibles twitched and he could sense that you were nervous. He wondered why.

“May I see them?” you asked and A'thaen nodded, then began to undress. You blushed and the hunter in front of you could smell it, he could even hear your heartbeat and it made his ego grow. He liked the way you reacted, the way your body responded.

He took off his armor. Shoulder plates, arm guards, breastplate, knee armor and his stocking nets he took off, he also put down the plates on his loincloth. His wounds had healed completely, only pale patches were still visible and you were amazed. And now you could see him in his full glory.

His skin was matt black, only the skin on his chest, inner arms, thighs and palms was a few shades lighter. On his back you could see wild patterns and his skull plate was decorated with an ornament-like pattern. He had thick thighs and his upper arms also showed the pure strength that was in him. He had a thick mane of dreadlocks and you admired the beautiful blood-red beads that caught your eye the first time you saw him. They suited him. But what fascinated you the most were his eyes. You had never seen eyes like his before. They were like liquid silver and in the middle was this green-gold color that made him truly unique.

“Do you… still like what… you see?” he asked, croaking, his mandibles twitching. You shook your head in amusement.

“You have a really big ego, A'thaen,” and you had to chuckle. His mandibles twitched again as he heard the strange sound from you again. Hoomans called it 'laughter' or 'giggling'. Yautjas didn't have that, but he really liked hearing it from you.

Then he grabbed the tense bicep he'd lifted earlier with his one claw and pressed against the hard flesh.

“That… is big,” he growled and you rolled your eyes. What a show-off. But you couldn't ignore the way his taut biceps had an effect on you. His eyes flashed with pleasure as he could smell your scent changing again. You didn't want to admit that you liked him, but your body couldn't deny it.

“Do you like what you see?” you asked him now and he nodded immediately.

“Sei'i!”

You blushed, he hadn't even hesitated, you had. You had not yet admitted that you liked him, that he somehow managed to impress you, that his muscles were not foreign to you and his strength impressed you.

“A'ket'anu,” A'thaen chirped and you could have sworn his gaze turned affectionate. But alas, you didn't understand what he said.

“I think you need to teach me your language,” you grin sheepishly and with a chirp he agreed with you.

“Fine,” he growls, ”A'ket'anu… means… beautiful. Just like… You,” now you could swear your face was as red as a tomato. How could someone who looked so terrifying say such things?

“Will… teach you… Teach you,” he nodded. And he did. The next day, he had tried to teach you the basic words so that you could understand him better. It was difficult for you to emphasize the accents correctly, but the Yautja had a lot of patience. You spent a good two weeks learning.

“Not… bad,” he grunts, nodding at you appreciatively. You felt the pride in your chest and smiled.

“Why can you speak my language?” you asked curiously, setting down a cup of tea for the Yautja, who eyed it curiously.

“Been… often…on Planet. Earth. Have… quickly… learned,” he explained, tasting the flavored hot water. It was strange, but not bad.

“How old are you?” you asked next, wondering how old Yautjas could get.

“Three hundred years,” A'thaen replied and your mouth dropped open. Three hundred… Years? He didn't look old, if you could interpret it. He was strong, agile and well-built and apparently three hundred years was like young adulthood in Yautjas.

“That's really… old?” it sounded more like a question than a statement and A'thaen almost seemed offended, shaking her head.

“Three hundred very young… about the age… of a human… Between… twenty-three and twenty-seven. Approximately,” he explained and you nodded, not wanting to offend him, but three hundred years is a lot. He had told you more. About Yautja Prime, his life and the Xenomorph. You had to swallow, because they were the other big predators here on the planet and there had been some near you. It made you feel quite different to think that the strange and deadly creatures might have seen you a long time ago and it wouldn't have been long before they would have struck.

A'thaen noticed your discomfort and placed a heavy claw on your shoulder comfortingly, even though he didn't say anything. You could feel that he wanted to reassure you and you looked at him gratefully. But then he did something that made you tense every muscle. His claw began to stroke your collarbone. It was so big that it covered part of your breasts and it was an intoxicating sight. He was so big. You had never seen anything bigger.

Carefully he slid further and let his hand rest on your hips. He had rough hands, but it was pleasant the way he touched you and you had the dull feeling that on his home planet things weren't always really gentle when it came to such things. But it was the same here.

His thumb claw gently stroked the fat of your belly and he admired it, you were so soft. Your skin was smooth and not leathery and he began to purr. He could break through your skin so easily, a little more force and he would see a drop of blood ooze from the stitch. But he didn't, of course. His other hand grabbed your leg and he stood between your legs. You were imprisoned by the power he was using for good, now kneading the flesh of your thigh. You sighed blissfully and realized how much it fascinated him too. Logically, you were so different from him.

He continued kneading and again you sighed contentedly, he clicked. A'thaen absorbed every bit of information his touch triggered in him and your pleasurable sounds made him hard. He could feel his blood flowing into his cock and he was getting hard, but it wasn't the right time yet. He wanted you to trust him completely and want it too. Now he took his claw and traced from your navel up to your breasts, you whimpered at the touch and the way he lifted your breasts as his hand ran against them.

You weren't wearing a bra and the Predator's eyes could see your bursting nipples. They were already pebbly and a growl escaped his throat as he could now detect your scent. The tip of his thumb slid over your standing nipple and you closed your eyes, your brows crinkling. You had been trying to concentrate, to not let yourself get foggy. He hadn't even been here long and already you were letting an alien touch you and make you wet.

A'thaen became bolder and took your right breast completely in his large claw. The rough skin of his hand pads made you shiver and you felt so very sensitive. Of course, you were already familiar with sex, even though you had almost no male visitors out here. But you knew how to help yourself and now this was this huge alien who thought he could make you so wet with a single touch.

“A'thaen,” you sighed and your eyes looked at him pleadingly from under your lashes, but he didn't continue. His silver-green eyes just stared at you. You could hear him suck in the air and you could feel him tense up, but then he let go of you. Just like that, you looked at him, confused.

He couldn't make you his yet. A'thaen knew his tail would be far too big for you, at least at first, and it would take good preparation, even if you wanted something else. He needed to distract himself before he did something wrong, he didn't want to hurt you or do anything rash, so he went out of your house, hunting. You were still lying on the kitchen counter where you had sat before your little game, half confused and agitated.

With dizzy legs, you got up and looked after the Yautja as he quickly disappeared into the forest. Damn, he couldn't just abandon you like that, yet you were understanding and let him go.

A'thaen growled and the next moment he slammed his claws into a tree and ripped them out again. The wood splintered and left huge gouges. He had to distract himself, but the soft skin of you had burned into him and was driving him mad. He had been so close to making you his, breeding you and making you beg for more. He could have taken what he wanted with ease, but he didn't want you like that. Somehow he did want it, but he also wanted you to want him, because you also… loved him.

That word was so foreign, but also so close. Love… . Yautjas usually didn't know love, at least it was rare and they certainly didn't have love for another species. There were always exceptions and he had heard of some of his kind taking human females as mates.

But you were the one and he was about to go too far, but he could smell you wanting him and he could feel his cock getting hard again at the thought. He had checked out the surroundings through his mask. He would go hunting.

You were a little surprised when you saw the buck lying on your porch. At the same time, you were pleased. He was still here. A'thaen had not shown his face for seven days now and you had missed him, yet he had continued to give you gifts and you were very grateful for that.

On the eighth day, you used the time to cook. You cooked a stew from the venison and you could smell it all the way outside. You were so distracted that you didn't notice an invisible figure sneaking up behind you and placing large claws on your hips. You cried out and quickly turned around with a knife in your hand. But the blade was gripped by a claw and you widened your eyes.

“A'thaen!!! What the hell is this?” you sneered at him and he glared at you in amusement. Then you noticed the blade in his claw and green blood dripped along the metal. Your eyes immediately went wide in shock.

“Oh no! I'm so sorry… I-” he interrupted you.

“It's all right… I've… Worse,” he put the knife down and his eyes stared at the cut in his hand and the small hands of you holding it. So small and fragile. He didn't notice the cheeky gleam in his eyes as you thought of something.

“I know a good spot in the forest where you could go hunting,” you breathed and now his eyes were on your face, patterning you.

“About two kilometers from here, by a river. There are hot springs there too,” you almost whispered the last part, but he heard it anyway. You wanted your revenge and you were going to get it. You couldn't get his touch out of your mind and it had scared you how much you had reacted to him. But you didn't realize it was because of his pheromones, which were part of what made you want him. This effect was particularly noticeable with potential partners. It happened all by itself.

"I don't know this… place," he admitted and seemed to be pondering. Normally he chose his hunting spots himself, but he became curious. He was always up for new hunting grounds. He swung his head in your direction when he felt your hand on his forearm.

"You haven't seen each other for a long time. I-I missed you," you confessed to him and A'thaen's eyes widened briefly. You had missed him? Even though he had just left you standing there. His heart sank at that statement. He cooed and his large hand gently stroked your cheek.

"I missed… you too," he purred and a slight smile graced your face. You could feel your heart stopping and maybe you just had to admit to yourself that you found this alien attractive. You didn't feel weird about it, you found it exciting and you had nothing to lose.

"Would you like something to eat?" you asked him in his language and he seemed surprised. Had you continued to study diligently? Brave Hooman. He only now felt the hole in his stomach and nodded slightly. You gave him some of your stew and he gulped it down greedily without leaving a drop. You laughed. What a greedy mouth, but you couldn't help but notice the sauce running down his chin and you licked your lips. He noticed your look but said nothing. He just stored it away.

A'thaen walked through the forest, he wanted to go to the place you had suggested. He wanted to visit you this morning, but you weren't there. Since you were an independent being, he hadn't thought about it at first. Maybe you were getting things for Hooman. He paused when he noticed a scent, his mask scanned the area, but he found nothing at first. His mandibles clicked in surprise and he continued on.

But then he noticed something. As if from nowhere, a deer jumped out of a bush, with a quick movement he grabbed it easily before it could jump away. The animal's squealing made his instinct scream and with a skilled grip he ripped out the animal's vertebrae. The carcass hung limply in his claws, but he wasn't finished yet. He carefully cut open the chest and removed the heart, took off his mask and the hunger for blood permeated his veins as he bit into the bloody muscle and devoured it.

He noticed how he was slowly losing control and wanted more. With quick steps he pushed through the undergrowth, further and further and there he was again. That smell…, your smell. An electric shock shot through his body and he became suspicious, what were you doing out here in the forest? Had something happened to you?

When he pushed some of the bushes out of the way, he froze. There were some hot springs in front of him, there were several natural pools of different sizes and you were sitting in one of them, with your eyes closed.

"You were here pretty quickly," you grinned and opened your eyes. The sight of him was simply divine. The poor Yautja really had no idea what this was all about. Then a light went on in his head.

"You lured me here," he said in Yautja language and you grinned cheekily at him.

"Yes. As punishment for leaving me behind that one day, you have to watch me bathe now," you laughed and got up from the water. A'thaen's eyes became greedy when he saw your wet, smooth body. He could feel his tail twitching at you and a growl coming from his throat.

"Don't you dare tease me, Hooman," he growled and started to get dangerously close to you. He was really close to not being able to control himself anymore. You accepted the challenge and started to knead your breasts, which immediately made him growl loudly. You sighed and pinched one of your nipples between your fingers.

"I didn't think it was very nice that you touched me like that and then just left," you said, panting and feeling yourself getting wet. A'thaen was now dangerously close to you, he started to take off his armor and his loincloth was thrown to the side as well. Your eyes widened when you could see his thick length. But the sight of it emerging from his sheath, swollen and hard, also excited you.

Suddenly you were grabbed, a wave hit your thighs and stomach and you gasped as the Yautja pulled you towards him. His look was murderous and greedy.

"I wanted to mate with you when you were ready. If you loved me. Yautja almost always take what they want, but I didn't want to force you to be mine," he growled and you had to make an effort to understand him. But you did and now you understood what his problem was. He wanted your consent and it made your heart swell.

"Do you love me?" you asked him and his grip tightened so much that it almost hurt.

"Yes! I love you, ever since the first day I sat in my ship and felt you. When I felt that you were my partner and you don't know how much I hold back from taking you right here and filling you with all my seed that has been building up inside me for so long," his honest words impressed and excited you at the same time and your mouth was open. His silver eyes burned into yours and you were so ready to let him join you.

Your hand ran along his jaw and his eyelids drooped. He purred at your touch and his cock pressed against your stomach. Your hands continued to explore him, running over his toned chest, over his chiseled abs and to his powerful hips. You imagined how they would feel between your legs and you subconsciously bit your lip.

A'thaen had no patience left, he grabbed your hips and fell backwards. You clung to his shoulders and squealed as the water swayed against you. You were now sitting on his lap, in the middle of the hot springs and you weren't even sure if it was your own heat or the steaming springs.

"You… start," the Yautja growls, looking at you lovingly and lustfully at the same time.

"Don't want to… hurt you," he moans as you take his swollen cock in your hand. It was really thick and big, which didn't surprise you, but it also put you off a bit. Could you even take it?

You carefully placed yourself over him, you could feel how swollen you were and how much you wanted him now, so you gently lowered yourself onto him. A growl came from his chest as he could feel his glans slowly entering you and stretching you. Your mouth was open, it felt good, despite the fact that it burned slightly.

You moaned as you sank deeper, your head slightly back and your eyes closed. A'thaen could see the strong pulse in your neck and it drove him wild. How he wished he could be on top to take care of you and give you your satisfaction, but you knew you had to get used to his size first so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

He was almost completely inside you and you had never been as full as you were today. You didn't regret an inch of him being inside you. You could feel him slowly approaching your cervix and it made you pause for a moment, but suddenly he rocked his hips up and you moaned as a strange but familiar feeling ran through your body.

You hadn't had sex in a long time and having something like this now overstimulated your senses to the limit. You moved your hips forward and the delicious feeling gave you goosebumps. Your fingers dug into his forearms while he still held you tightly by the hips and you took full advantage of the fact that you were in charge.

Even though you could feel him bucking beneath you and throwing his head back. The water had long since mixed with the blood of his victims and you didn't care that it stuck to your palms, it just gave you a forbidden and disgusting kick.

"A'thaen," you gasped lustfully and moved faster. He growled and forced you to move even faster. Your mouth fell open again, it was so much, he was so much. His mandibles were wide open and came dangerously close to your face, but it didn't matter. You knew he wouldn't hurt you and you were too caught up in your intoxication.

You gasped and a scream escaped your lungs as his fangs dug into your shoulder and left his mark on you.

Your clitoris rubbed against his lower abdomen, making you even wetter. You rubbed yourself against him like an animal and felt yourself getting closer to your orgasm. You forgot the world around you as everything contracted and you didn't care much as your fingernails dug into his scaly skin and you moaned loudly as your orgasm flooded you with happiness hormones. A'thaen did the same. His claws pecked you as he came inside you, growling and snorting deeply.

You clung to his neck and tried to calm your rapid heartbeat. A'thaen's heartbeat was also uncontrollable and it was still twitching inside you. Sweat ran down your face and you just realized what you, you, had done. You were now tied to him. The four red dots on your shoulder made it pretty clear.

Gently but firmly, A'thaen grabbed your neck and forced you to look at him.

"You belong to me now," he growled and you just nodded and moaned as you felt his cock getting hard again inside you. He would now show you every day who you belonged to and you didn't mind. You were excited about the future with your companion.

Part 2 ?

[p0orbaby]

First Love

summary: you have a new admirer, alexia isn’t a fan

warnings: none

a/n: i cant remember if this was request or not so if it was i apologise but ive lost it. if not, well done me for thinking of my own plot for a change

word count: 1.2k

-

You and Alexia arrive fashionably late, because, well, it's Alexia’s family, and you’re not about to sacrifice your sanity to be early for a gathering that’s going to last an eternity anyway. She’s already stressed because she knows every cousin, uncle, and long-lost relative is going to pester her with the usual questions. How’s football? How’s the knee? When are you going to settle down and give your mother some grandchildren? Not to mention, the subtle but unmistakable scrutiny that comes with introducing you—again—like you're the new pet hamster instead of the person who’s been sleeping next to her for three years now.

You’re prepared, though. You’ve got your A-game smile, and you’re ready to nod at all the right moments while maintaining an impressive and unwavering level of small talk. You’re a pro at this by now. You can discuss the weather in ways that would make any other Briton jealous.

The event is held at a distant cousin's place—a sprawling estate that screams “we have more money than common sense.” The house is big, too big. The kind of place where you could lose a child or three and not notice until the next family reunion. The garden is a maze of strategically placed garden furniture, various expensive but uncomfortable chairs that no one sits in, and a kid's bouncy castle that looks like it was imported from the set of some cheesy Netflix original with mediocre reviews.

You’re halfway through your first glass of sangria when you notice him—a small boy, around five or six, with that messy hair that suggests he’s been on a sugar bender since eight this morning. His eyes are locked on you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world. He’s got this look that can only be described as pure, unfiltered determination, like he’s decided, at that very moment, that you’re going to be his new best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing you or anyone else can do about it.

"He's cute," you whisper to Alexia as the boy starts to waddle over, his shoes lighting up with every step. Alexia glances at him, then back at you, her brow furrowing ever so slightly.

"Yeah, cute," she says, her tone dry enough to rival the Sahara. You can tell by the way her jaw tenses that she’s already not thrilled with this kid, which is hilarious because you’ve seen her face down a team of professional athletes without breaking a sweat. But a small child? Apparently, that’s a whole different kind of threat.

The boy—let's call him Diego, because of course his name is Diego—sidles up to you with all the subtlety of a charging bull. He stares up at you, his eyes wide and sparkling, like you’re a rock star, and he’s your biggest fan.

"Hola," he says, in that high-pitched voice only kids or cartoon characters can pull off without being annoying. Except, it’s already a little annoying, because he’s completely ignoring Alexia, and that’s a crime in and of itself.

"Hi there," you reply, keeping your tone light and friendly. You glance over at Alexia, who’s now sipping her drink with a look that suggests she’s contemplating how many more family functions she can skip without starting a feud.

Diego looks at Alexia briefly, as if she’s some sort of obstacle, then turns his attention back to you, his smile growing wider. "Wanna play?"

You blink. Play? You haven’t ‘played’ in, what, fifteen years? Maybe more? You’re more accustomed to adult games now, like “Where did I put my phone?” and “How long can I avoid doing laundry?” But Diego doesn’t seem to care. He’s already grabbed your hand, sticky fingers and all, and is pulling you toward the bouncy castle like it’s the best idea in the world.

You glance at Alexia, who’s now watching the whole thing with an expression that would be hilarious if it weren’t so serious. There’s a thin line between her eyebrows that you’ve learned means danger. You try to give her a look that says, “Help me,” but she just raises an eyebrow, as if to say, “You got yourself into this, deal with it”

Before you can protest, you’re inside the bouncy castle, surrounded by kids who are all screaming with the kind of joy only children and maniacs experience. Diego is jumping up and down, laughing like a crazy person, and you’re doing your best to stay upright, which is difficult because it’s been a while since you were five.

Outside, you can see Alexia, arms crossed, watching you with a look that’s a mix between amusement and something else—something that looks suspiciously like jealousy. You bounce awkwardly, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, but Diego is relentless. He’s now trying to get you to jump higher, and you’re seriously starting to consider if this is how you go—death by bouncy castle.

After what feels like an eternity (but is probably just ten minutes), you manage to escape, stumbling out of the bouncy castle like you’ve just survived a natural disaster. Diego is still inside, shrieking with laughter, blissfully unaware of the drama he’s just caused.

You make your way over to Alexia, who’s watching you with that amused, slightly irritated expression still firmly in place.

"Having fun?" she asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, tons," you reply, wiping sweat from your brow. "Best day of my life”

"You know, I’m not the jealous type," she begins, her voice low and dangerous, "but what’s mine is mine. End of story”

You can’t help but laugh, because of course Alexia would be jealous of a five-year-old. It’s ridiculous, and yet, somehow, perfectly understandable. "I think I’ve been claimed by someone else," you say, grinning. "You might have some competition”

She rolls her eyes but you can tell she’s not really mad. At least, not in the serious way. "He’s got good taste," she admits grudgingly, "but don’t let it go to your head”

"I wouldn’t dream of it," you reply, leaning in to kiss her cheek, because you know that’s what she wants, even if she’ll never admit it.

The rest of the party is a blur of forced smiles, endless small talk, and more sangria than you probably should’ve had. Diego pops up a few more times, always eager to drag you back to the bouncy castle or show you some new toy, but each time, Alexia is there, gently but firmly steering him back toward his actual family.

By the end of the night, you’re exhausted, and Alexia is finally starting to relax, probably because Diego has finally passed out somewhere, giving up on his quest to monopolise your attention.

As you leave, hand in hand, you glance back at the house, wondering how long it’ll be before you’re back here again, playing the role of the supportive girlfriend in a family that still doesn’t quite get it. But then Alexia squeezes your hand, and you realise it doesn’t matter. Because at the end of the day, what’s hers is hers, and what’s yours is yours, and that’s all there is to it.

Besides, next time, you’ll be ready. You’ll bring your own bouncy castle and show Diego who’s boss.

[tsukii0002]

My demons' periods cycles. By Mc

Note: these are purely my headcanons at the moment, they are based on animal ethology and behaviours that I think would suit each character depending on their personality and Lore. I would love to read your headcanon in case you have them.

Warning: Long text. Possible grammatical errors. It's written as if Mc was writing for themself.

Hey, it me Mc, the best human. Here is a compilation of the behaviours of my demons during their periods, cycles, for practical day to day use. It wasn't easy but I sat them down and got to talk to them, with a little effort I now know what they need. So now I am ready to assist them during these complicated times and be prepared in case I find a dead goat on the porch as a tribute.

Lucifer, Mammon & Levi || Satan, Asmo, & Beel || Belphie, Barbatos & Diavolo || Simeon & Raphael

Satan

Light damages his eyes, and during his period he does not sleep at all.

During his cycle, the plaques that extend from his tail to his entire body become more pronounced and acquire a bioluminescent coating. As do its horns. Beware, they prick.

Some parts of his body grow feathers (I think this is a "side" effect of his birth). He aggressively plucks them out, help him not to hurt himself.

His teeth grow continuously, he has to be sanding them (biting things or his own tail). Other than that he doesn't groom much.

Satan doesn't have a fixed place to spend his heat, and although he likes to "nest" he doesn't know how to do it well, which frustrates him a lot. Help him, you already have experience (I think that's why he has chosen my room as his favourite place)

Depending on the weather he may make something more like a nest or a burrow.

Satan is terribly territorial, even with his siblings. He has had a run in with Cerberus from time to time. Please don't let that happen, the house won't hold.

Satan does not have a pre-heat period as such, but you can tell it is coming because he becomes more taciturn and solitary.

Raw meat is his main food, which is what he goes out to hunt very often because he needs a lot of it, but make sure he doesn't eat more than his capacity or it will make him sick. One way to do this is to feed him yourself (I think he thinks you have hunted for him if you do this).

Satan is the only one who haunts other demons and even souls of the condemned.

It is the only one that has fought other demons. Any living thing within 100 metres of him is encroaching on his territory, which is a problem because he moves so much for hunt.

Satan becomes non-verbal. But he does not use noises to communicate, only physical contact.

Growls and roars are reserved for threats and warnings (in other words, to communicate with everyone but you).

He likes physical contact, but is afraid to get close in case he hurts you (his tags and tail), you won't deny him comfort so be careful and that's it.

Satan produces pheromones, but does not usually mark.

His way of courting is to offer you resources, especially prey (he wants to prove he can feed you), it's not the first time he's brought you a live demon. Once he brought you a Little D, the poor thing kept shaking.

Satan's senses are heightened to the extreme. Many stimuli upset him and he has fits of rage. talk to him, so that he focuses his attention on your voice, that will calm him down. Lucifer's voice calms him down a lot too (but it's a secret)

All these changes (hormonal, behavioural…) are not good for his anger, the poor thing gets very angry without knowing why.

Satan's temperature is a reflection of his activity, when he is on the move it increases and when he stops it decreases.

During periods of low activity he curls up next to you, holding your hand (for fear of hurting you) with his pupils fully dilated, don't be fooled, he is fully alert and ready to attack.

Satan purrs? YES! It's the purr that most resembles a cat (that will make him happy, but don't tell him, the avatar of wrath has his pride).

Mc: *in their bedroom helping Satan* Here is ok?

Satan: *looking at them and nodding*

Mc: Making a nest is complicated… are you sure this is okay?

Satan: *standing next to them and rubbing his cheek with their cheek *

Mc: *smiling* Okay, let's go to the next part.

Satan: *grunting at a demon that's approached the house*

Mc: Satan!!! Satan stop!!!

Demon: *paralyzed with fear*

Mc: *hugging* Satan now, let him go, he's going, he's goi- agh!

Satan: !!!

Mc: *cut themself with his tail* It's okay, it's nothing.

Satan: *guilty look*

Mc: *taking him by the hand* Don't worry, this heals fast.

Satan: *nodding still guilty, squeezing their hand*

Demon: …. I thought I was dying!!!!

Satan: *purring as he presses his chin on Mc*

Mc: *talking to him to calm him down* And remember you don't have to go out every day, there's plenty of food here….

Satan: *purring more loudly*

Mc: But if you see my great uncle's soul, the one from the village, it's all yours.

Satan: *nodding with a smile*

Mc: *laughing* How trustworthy, you're awesome Satan.

Asmo

Although he spends most of his time awake, he needs to sleep.

He can be just as active during the day as he is at night (like arachnids).

For him to sleep, you have to be right next to him or he won't sleep.

Asmo needs to nest completely under cover, underground, but prefers the safety of his home to going outside. So he improvises a burrow in his room.

During his period the scales of his exoskeleton become shiny and velvety coated, as do his wings and horns.

Them take on a more striking fuchsia colour than usual. It will be one of the few times you will be able to see Asmo's tail with its sting.

He preens himself a lot, moistening its wings, polishing its scales... At first he is a little reluctant to be helped, but later he will be constantly asking for your help.

More than territorial, Asmo is possessive. He doesn't want you to leave his side, sometimes with his siblings too. If he smells a scent of someone else in his tribe, good luck to that individual.

Asmo doesn't have pre-heat, you'll just wake up one day with all your clothes gone and you'll know it's started.

Asmo's diet during its cycle is varied, although its consumption increases, ranging from fresh meat, fluids of all kinds, to poisonous substances such as flowers, mushrooms or other live animals. Be sure to allow some time to pass before he kisses or bites you.

If you get him a rare poisonous plant, he will be happy and content.

He can talk normally, but he will also make clicking sounds to indicate his mood.

Lots of pheromones, Asmo produces lots and lots of pheromones during his period, pheromones that he will use to mark his territory. Often his siblings can't be near him. You don't have that problem

Asmo is very needy to contact, hug him, give him kisses, caress his wings, his hair. He will be happy to let you.

And he will return the gesture, he will bite you too (always have your first aid kit handy). He will always try to be on top of you or for you to be on top of him.

Asmo's courtship consists of exsivating while performing a dance (like scorpions), this dance is complex and elaborate, and during it he releases a large amount of pheromones.

He gets very confused when you don't react to it, Asmo I'm sorry but I can't smell your pheromones, sometimes he even gets sad.

His senses are very developed, especially his sense of smell, which is more developed than any of his siblings. Make sure the flowers in his room are enchanted so that they don't emit odour and with perfumes and other fragranced products the same or he can get hurt.

Asmo's temperature will generally drop, but he will go through periods of very high fever (due to his sin) which will leave him tired.

During fever peaks he will become very active, and will devote most of his time to courting. To balance this out you will have to COURT him yourself, you'd better improve that dance.

Because of his temperature, he will spend most of his time hiding in the burrow, demanding your cuddles.

He purrs? , yes, in an adorable and soft way. It is easy to make him purr, with a simple praise.

Asmo: Kiss? *with Mc sitting on his lap*

Mc: Not yet Asmo.

Asmo: *with teary eyes* Don't you love me anymore?

Mc: *sighing* Asmo, my life, my heart, you just ate three nightshade roots.

Asmo: *almost crying* And?

Mc: I love you very much but I also want to live.

Asmo: My nose itches.

Mc: Wait a bit longer, I'm finishing enchanting the flowers.

Asmo: *sad * It would be less trouble to remove them…

Mc: But you like them, don't you?

Asmo: Mc..

Mc: *hugging him* I'm here to help you and to make you comfortable, if you like the flowers, the flowers stay.

Asmo: Love you so much!

Asmo: *dancing with a very high fever*

Mc: Asmo, you are so beautiful… you can rest now.

Asmo: *staring at them non-stop*

Mc: *blushing while standing up * You leave me no choice *starts dancing and grabs Asmo by the waist*

Asmo: ?! Are you courting me?! * excited*

Mc: *Grabbing him in their arms to take him to rest* Yup, it worked?.

Asmo: I'm all yours, Mc, from the beginning…

Beel

Light is not a problem for him, although he prefers darkness.

During his period, the exoskeleton hardens and plates of it appear all over his body, and his horns become iridescent.

In addition, its wings become ribbed in a pattern, which at first glance is very beautiful. The more complex the pattern, the more attractive it is. You always see his wings as beautiful, but you agree with him, Beel deserves it.

He does a lot of grooming, which is lovely to see, because Beel is a bit clumsy and needs constant help, he has been injured a few times and you don't want that to happen again.

There are some flies and other insects that lay their nests underground. In Beel's case he has a small gallery dug in the garden, which he uses for storage too.

Beel at the beginning of the cycle may be in the house, but as he progresses he will be in his gallery.

More than territorial, he becomes protective of you and his siblings (he once kidnapped Luke), so when he is in his gallery he feels bad, because his desire to protect them is crushed by his need to be hidden.

Beel has a very marked pre-heat, in which he accumulates large quantities of food in his small cave and his appetite doubles. All the inhabitants of the house join in at this time to cook.

In contrast, during his period of heat his activity is reduced and his appetite decreases, this does not mean that he does not eat, he eats more often but in much smaller quantities and from storage (food that does not spoil).

He will insist on feeding you constantly, prepare indigestion medicine, you will need it.

Beel becomes totally non-verbal, be prepared to become an interpreter, he communicates with grunts, clicks and buzzes his wings.

Lots of buzzing, it's not the first time you've been hit by his wings, with the different buzzes he makes all sorts of claims and they have a high communicative range, you'll just need some time to figure it out.

His pheromones are strong, and he will mark, although he does it unconsciously.

As I said, he likes to have his family around him, but when he can't, anxiety takes over, vibration and physical contact calms him down. The easiest thing to do is to lay him on your chest and talk to him while stroking his hair or wings.

Beel's courtship is complex, first he feels the need to prove he can be a good provider, so he will constantly enlarge and improve his gallery.

And then there is the display of his wings, patterning and rhythmic, synchronised movements and buzzes to impress you.

He sleeps more than usual, will want you to sleep in his arms, and usually does so perched on one of his walls, hopefully you won't develop vertigo….

His senses are not as sharp as those of his siblings, but he becomes much more agile and has much better reflexes.

Beel's temperature increases, due to the continuous movement of his wings (insects produce a lot of heat when flying), but when he is at rest he tends to cool down.

Beel's purr is a mixture of a buzz and a vibration, he will purr when he is calm and content.

Beel was a little worried about how you might react because many humans detest insects. Be sure to praise his wings and other attributes, because this demon is adorable.

Mc: So this is your lair?

Beel: Yes… I decided to keep it from period to period to not destroy the garden…

Mc: I think it's very practical!!! It must be very cool in summer.

Beel: Do you really think so?

Mc: Yes, and cosy too, you're an artist Beel.

Beel: *smiling as he blushes*

Beel: *grunts*

Mc: Beel I can't take anymore…

Beel: *holding out a piece of fruit to them* *buzz*

Mc: Really Beel, I'm going to explode…

Beel: !! *hugging them*

Mc: It's a figure of speech… but can you eat my share… please.

Mc: *sleeping hugging Beel in one of the corners of his gallery*

Beel: *caressing them with his cheek*

Mc: It's all right Beel?

Beel: *crackling with worry*

Mc: Don't worry... Lucifer is with them… and the others will take care of Lucifer for you.

Beel: …*cradling them adoringly*

Mc: And I'll take care of you, so rest…

.

.

.

If you have made it this far thanks you 🩷

[strange-dreams-are-made-of-these]

Your Heart Fits Like A Key

Summary: Your ex boyfriend is your knight in shining armor rescuing you after a bad date. There's nobody else like Logan, and you finally see it. This is imagined with 2013 Logan in mind, but any Logan could work Warnings: MDNI!!! its porn without plot. Logan receives road head, afab!female reader, reader receives oral, pet names (baby, baby girl, princess), car sex, logan talks reader through it, not proofread, no use of y/n Word Count: 3.7k+

You blamed yourself for not checking the weather report before getting ready for your date today. Westchester County was huge, but the upper part of the county wasn't the kindest to pedestrians. Granted, you did have a car, but good ole Casper the white Dodge was sitting in the shop still waiting on that part needed to fix the transmission. Had you lived closer to the southern end of the county you could have at least been within decent walking range of the subways and trains that made the lives of New York City's residents easier.

Your phone buzzed again on your bathroom counter as you plucked the stray eyebrow hair between your brow and temple. As you looked down, you saw his name, and a flutter rose in your chest. You shook your head, deciding to answer it. "You would have thought that after i didn't answer your third call you would have thought I didn't want to talk to you."

A gruff filled the space in a response. "What can I say? If I'm known to be anything, its protective. Something could have been wrong and I would have to come and save you"

"Did you mean protective or possessive?" You asked, though not able to get rid of the smirk that crept up on your face.

"There's a very fine line between the two, darlin'." he cooed into the phone, sounding just as smooth as his line delivery.

It had been nearly a year since you and Logan broke up, yet he couldn't quite just leave you alone. It wasn't just that you two dated for two years, two wonderful years filled with love and domesticity, and the occasional fight between the forces of good and evil. You weren't much one to fight with the team known as the X-Men. Your powers occur in the cases of near accidents or without much effort. Probability field manipulation made it nearly impossible for you to receive a scratch or bruise.

Which was ironic due to your lack of success in your dating life after Logan. What was that saying about being unlucky in love?

"I'd love to stay and chit-chat with you, Logan-"

"Perfect, let's have dinner tonight at Lucky's." You could barley hear the jingling of keys in his hand, as if he was spinning them around in his finger.

You rested one hand on the bathroom counter, dropping your jaw slightly before speaking again. "I can't. I'm already going out tonight."

The keys stopped spinning and an audible change could be heard in his tone. "I'm sure the girls from work won't mind having a scary dog privilege around, or whatever you girls are saying these days."

"It's not with the girls, or with coworkers." You looked at yourself int he mirror, then pressing your brows together. Why did you tell him that?

Logan hummed on the other side of the phone, not a jovial one. "So, some slob is taking you out tonight?" He asked you.

You didn't think Jake to be a slob, except for the inappropriate water cooler bathroom humor, but he was nice and somewhat good looking.

Not as good looking as Logan though.

"Nothing too crazy. Just pizza and a walk." As you looked at your dress in the mirror, you knew you were overdressed, but you couldn't help yourself. It had been ages since you last wore the dress, and it was the perfect combination of being short enough to leave the mind wanting more and hugging your curves in the right way.

"Sounds like he can't afford to take you on a proper date. Who knows what else he can't properly do." Logan replied, knowing the sound of his voice was already driving you wild. He could imagine your face now, how soft your eyes would be as he looked down at you.

You knew the voice he was using was his bedroom voice, and it drove you mad. To feel his arms wrap around your waist and pull you back into his hold, to feel his lips dance across your cheeks and ears, nibbling the lobes had sent shivers down your spine.

Oh, how you missed him dearly.

"Too bad you'll never know." You responded, trying to force the thoughts of Logan out of your mind.

"We'll see, princess."

–

Later that night, you and Jake had sat in Martin and Rocco's pizzeria, a little place you enjoyed from time to time. Jake had showed up not only half an hour late, but he decided to wear an ill-fitting grey t-shirt and baggy jeans. His hair looked as if he had just rolled out of his bed. All while you were in the slim red dress with your black leather jacket tucked on your lap.

Jake had been laughing rather loud and ruthlessly, spitting food out as he did so. It left a sour taste in your mouth as you protectively shielded your glass of red wine from his debris. The waiter came back asking about your check. "It'll be one, bro." Jake spoke. The waiter nodded, handing the printed check over to Jake. He shook his head, then pointed at you. You looked at him dumbfounded as the waiter left.

"Why are you pointing at me?" You asked him.

He threw his hands up. "Don't look at me. This was your idea." He sounded rather confident, making your blood boil.

"I don't mind paying for my own, I would rather pay for my own. I'm not paying for you." You spoke firmly, clutching your purse. Now the bill wasn't large at all. A medium-sized pizza that you ate only one slice of as he consumed the rest, your one glass of wine, and his three beers came to around forty-five dollars before tip. "I'll pay for the drinks, no problem. I'm not paying for a pizza I barely touched."

Jake narrowed his eyes at you. "This date was your idea. Why do you think I didn't bring my wallet? Just my I.D." He asked you again.

Eyeing the rest of the wine in your glass, you looked back at Jake. The highest road to take would be to pay for the meal, tip the waiter, and never speak to Jake again.

But you never were one to take the high road.

Hanging your jacket over your arm, you stand up and walk over to Jake. "You know what?" You swirled the red liquid in your glass, watching as it stained the sides temporarily. "He's right... You wouldn't know how to treat me right." You turned to look at him, changing your posture. "Suck a bag of dicks." You then turn the glass over in your hand, drenching your pathetic date in the rest of your wine.

He wiped his eyes, making a scene of himself as you walked away. You spoke to the waiter, making sure to pay for the drinks and tip him as you said you would, then leaving the staff to take care of the rest.

You felt a newfound sense of confidence as your hips swayed leaving the restaurant and putting on your jacket.

Then the rain started to soak your hair. The confidence started to fade as you then remembered to had to use an Uber to get to the restaurant because your car was in the shop. You sighed loudly, turning on your heel to begin your long walk home.

A car pulled up toward you as the passenger window rolled down. "Need a ride, baby?"

You looked over, feeling defeated that Logan had found you. Of course, he would, like he did with all of your previous dates. "I'm good." You lied.

You knew better, he could tell by the way your cheeks had been red, even under the street lights, that something was wrong. Logan got out of the car, shutting the door before walking around, opening the passenger door, shielding it from the rain. "You sure about that?"

Option A: Tell Logan, the honest love of your life, to leave you alone and continue to walk home.

Option B: stick around until Jake comes out of the restaurant smelling like the house wine special for the night and risk watching Logan beat the shit out of him.

Option C: Accept the universe's way of telling you everything will be alright.

You pull your jacket around you a little tighter as you turn and approach Logan and his car. You look up at him, placing a hand on his cheek and gently patting it. Before you could sink into the seat, he gently grabbed ahold of your wrist, bringing it to his lips and pressing those perfectly soft lips to the inside of your wrist as he kissed it.

After making sure you were in the car, Logan closed the door, walked around the front of the car, and entered the driver's side. As he turned the engine back over, police sirens could be heard in the distance. "What's going on?" He asked watching as they approached the pizzeria and a couple of cops entered the restaurant.

"Well, if we don't get out of here, I may end up in handcuffs.” You sighed, your chest rising and falling harshly. “Not in the good way.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s my girl.” He turned the wheel, quickly speeding out of the parking spot.

He rested one hand on the steering wheel, the other was on the gearshift as he comfortably sped down the roads of the town you called home. You ignored the burning pit in your stomach, reaching into your bag and pulling out your perfume. It was a small bottle with a roller ball, applying it on your wrists and neck. Logan looked over at you, smirking. “You’re too dolled up for that slouch, Doll.” He spoke, then peering back at the road.

You hummed a little, then resting your elbow on the side door, pressing your temple on your hand as you looked over at him. “What can I say? I wanted to dress up for somebody.” But Jake was the wrong somebody.

“When you feel the need to dress up, just call me.” He spoke lowly, turning down the scenic route on the backside of the town.

You knew what he was doing, what he had planned from the time you spoke to him on the phone. After the night you had, you weren’t going to deny your knight on his white horse the pleasure of making you happy.

You knew it made him happy too, something you craved. Nobody else you have ever met was Logan. Nobody was going to be Logan. It was impossible.

“You know, I’m more than just a pretty little girl to look at, Logan.” Your left hand reached over slowly to rest on his jeans. His perfectly fitting jeans, matching with the dark button up he wore. Logan knew exactly what he was doing. His face remained pointed at the road, his eyes looking down at your hand as you finally reach to ghost over his clothed erection. He bit his lip, quickly closing his eyes as you palm him over his jeans. “I can be evil.” You coo, leaning over as you press your forehead to his shoulder.

Logan sucked in a deep breath, now placing both hands on the steering wheel. “You already torment me, princess.” He responded, now looking over at you.

You shift in your seat, now pressing both knees on the seat bottom, your hands busy unbuckling his belt. Your fingers rested on the button of his jeans as you look up at him, a devious glare in both of your eyes. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

His eyes searched yours, triangulating your eyes and lips. “Come back to me.” He whispered to your lips before you could capture them in yours. Falling back into your vicious cycle, your lips mold well with his you give into your desires.

Logan pulls away only to look at the road. This gives you enough time to unbutton and unzip his jeans. You slip your hand down his boxers, taking a hold of his girth as you bring it to the surface. You lick your lips, then pooling some more saliva in your mouth, spitting on him. As you lower down to him, your lips meet his red tip, already leaking pre-cum, and kiss him a couple times. This earned you an approving groan from Logan, who drew his lips into a thin line as he focused on the road.

You lick down his veins, then kiss up his shaft, feeling the heat in your belly grow into something different. You took Logan in your mouth, tongue wrapping around his length as you went down on him. You felt his hand then lace a crown in your hair as you bobbed up and down on him, sucking him the way he deserved.

“Good girl,” He practically purred, making your thighs shake in response. One of your hands braced yourself on his leg, knowing if you reached for yourself Logan would tear into you. The other hand reached for his balls, thumbing the skin as you massaged him. Logan began to speed, the sensation of you taking all of him without a gag reflex was pure ecstasy to him. He groaned out, huffing harshly as he praised you. Warm, velvety ropes of cum filled your mouth and throat as Logan breathed heavily. It was sweet heavenly music to your ears as you worked him through his orgasm, feeling your core deprived of attention.

“Fuck this.” Logan spoke harshly, taking another turn down a dirt road. He pulled the car into a space off the side of the dirt road, turning it off as you left go of him as you lick up the rest of his cum. “My girl needs me.” He spoke again, pulling the level on his seat back. The seat scooted all the way back before he grabbed both of your hips, practically pulling you into his lap. “You need me, don’t you baby?” He asked you, bushing your hair out of your face as you straddled him.

You had long discarded the leather jacket to the passenger seat floor, resting both of your hands on his shoulders. You nodded quickly, licking your lips feeling yourself quake over his body. “Take me to bed, or lose me forever.” You whisper between the two of you.

This sent chills down his spine as one hand raced up your spine, grabbing you by the neck and pulling your faces to each other, grabbing you in a passionate kiss. A hungry one. A desperate one. He never wanted to let you go, never again. He would gladly taking a beating every day if it meant he could hold you life this again.

His free hand reached between your bodies, unsheathing one claw to cut through your underwear. The delicate lace fell between the both of you in shreds. “I just bought those.” You complained as you broke the kiss for air.

Logan then lowered the seat back giving you both room. “I’ll buy you new ones.” He promised.

Both his and your hands reached for the back of the dress, pulling the zipper down. Logan was faster pulling it off of your body, his eyes scanning over your body once again. Like a child in a candy store, he stared in awe as you were now only clothed in your bra. Your hands made quick work of his shirt, ripping the buttons apart as the scattered around the car’s interior. “You’re not the only one with money.” you retort, now pressing your lips to his, then lining kiss to his jaw and down his neck.

One of his arms braces you, holding him closer to you as the other hand now begins to give you attention. His index and middle fingers part your folds, bringing a moan from you as you bury yourself between his neck and shoulder. “I got you, princess. I’ll work you through it.” He whispered in your ear, feeling your hips buck up into hand. His palm rubs against your core, soaked in your pre-cum as your body shivers in his. “Gotta get your ready for me, baby.” You gasp into his shoulder, lips now splayed on his shoulder as you wrap your arms around him. His finger and thumb pinch the delicate flesh of your clit, making you buck again. He used your bucking to his advantage, pressing two fingers into you. “Just like that. You take me so well.” He rubbed your gummy walls, feeling you already clench around him.

“Lo-Logan… please.”

You feel the rumble in his chest, how your chest begins to quickly rise and fall into his as you plead with him. He wonders if you will ever find out how cute you are begging him. “Please what, princess?”

You pull away from his shoulder, grinding your hips against his fingers, your bottom lip quivering. “Please fuck me.”

His lips crashed onto yours again as he removed his hand, stroking it over his length before guiding himself toward your entrance. You both sigh at the same time when he presses his tip in. His hands find your hips, grabbing handfuls of your skin as you skin onto him. You busy yourself with kissed to his hairy pecs as you roll your hips over him, bouncing on his length. Logan’s head dipped back, closing his eyes briefly. He looked up at your face, your jaw dropped again as your hands rest on his stomach to brace yourself. “Good-Good girl.” He then reached up to your bra, unsheathing his claws again and he sliced it off of your body. Once off, his hands reached your your breasts, palming your nipples, pulling your breasts together and pinching your nipples.

You bounced more on him, feeling the car rock with your movements as you clench around him, not even a whole three minutes in and your are already weak for this man.

Logan must have sensed this as he then pulled you off of him, carefully and skillfully he maneuvered you to the back seat, setting you on your back. He shimmed around, moving his head between your thighs, lining kisses from the middle of your thigh down to your core, suckling your clit as he slung on of your legs over his shoulder. You brought your hands up to your face, covering your eyes before dragging down your cheeks, then lips, then neck. “LOG-ah!” You called out as he pressed further into your core, his tongue lathing up your undoing.

As your breathed heavily recovering front our high, he continued to pamper you with kisses. Kissed from your core up to your belly button, to your sternum as his nose danced between your breasts, his arms now reaching up to cage you in after throwing both your legs over his shoulders. “It’s time to let me take care of you.”

He pressed himself inside of you again in one harsh thrust, picking the pace up as your joined bodies moved in unison. Your hands reached to cup his face as you breathed heavily in each others face, chasing another high together.

Oh how you missed Logan, and how he knows how to treat a lady.

It felt so right, all of it. Your mascara began to run down your face. Logan wiped your face with his thumb. “It’s okay, pretty girl. You’re fine. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He soothed you.

“I-I’m gon-” You scrunch your face before looking back up at him.

“Cum for me, princess.” He commanded. AS your coil came undone again, Logan’s lips met yours, causing you to moan into his face as he rode your high out on him. Your cries of pleasure fill the car as Logan’s release fell over him. Your pussy milking him for all he was worth. Logan hovered above you as you both came down from your highs, clinging onto each other tightly.

Once things began to settle for the both of you, He removed himself from you, then shifting you around to where you were now resting on top of him. His arms wrapped around your lower back and the back of your head while yours laid on the sides of his chest. Your breathing and heart beats began to slow down to as the buzz filled your head.

After a few minutes of silence, and one long over due fuck session, Logan broken the silence. “What did you mean earlier? When you said take me to bed or lose me forever?”

You looked up at him, adjusting yourself to be able to look at his eyes as you spoke. “You were right. He was a slob, and he didn’t know how to treat me.” You look as if you were caught in thought as your finger traced a figure eight on his chest, causing Logan to look at you in his usual inquiring way. “Nobody will ever be you.”

This caused him to laugh, fog inside the windows growing at the statement. “Here, I was thinking you had watched Top Gun and wanted to be cheesy.”

You narrowed one eyebrow at him, a flirty smirk growing on your face. “You’re no Goose, but you sure are a big stud, Wolverine.”

Logan nodded, the hand resting on your lower back slowly ran up and down your spine. “So, about Lucky’s?”

You hummed a little thinking about the events of the night. “Tomorrow. I’m quitting my job, no thanks to Jake. So any time after noon?”

Logan nodded, accepting the terms of the date. He then cocked his head at you, tsking you and wagging a finger. “You remembered his name, baby girl. That means I need to fuck it out of you again.”

“Maybe in a bed next time? Or a shower?” You ask him, knowing your addiction to this man was a hard one to break.

He stared at you, his face turning soft as he nodded. “Come here.” He whispered. You were more than happy to oblige, pressing your lips to his again.

Oh yes, Logan Howlett was a man of many talents. But one thing you were more than thankful for was his way of loving you harder outside of your relationship.

[tommysversion]

Forbidden Fruit [Part 2] - Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

Summary: this is the fix it chapter. Joel and Reader are in an established relationship as he heals from his injuries, and the younger members of the family make a guest appearance for family movie night.

Contents & Warnings: spoilers for 2.02 but That didn't happen. Age gap unspecified but exists. Established relationship. Unprotected PIV. One (1) degrading pet name from Joel. Praise. One (1) spank. Mentions of traumatic injury. PTSD implied/briefly mentioned. Creampie/unsafe PIV. Reader is AFAB but no physical description beyond being able bodied (or at least moreso than Joel).

Notes: we can all collectively agree 2.02 was not a vibe, yes? Cool. I offer my contribution to the fix it stash.

Word Count: 2.7k. || Part 1 Here

- x. -

You've lost count of how many times you've thanked whatever God is still listening for Joel's life.

Having lived through and existing in the world of the outbreak, you thought you knew fear. Nothing could have prepared you for the sheer terror that had come with Ellie and Jesse riding back into Jackson after the blizzard, Dina half conscious with Ellie, and Jesse supporting a literally comatose Joel.

A group of five, they had explained. Military, maybe. Former Fireflies. One with a vendetta. She had beaten Joel half to death before Ellie and Jesse had arrived. Had had the element of surprise and sheer fucking luck on their hands.

He had been unconscious for the better part of a week, and you? You had felt frozen in time with him, barely moving from his side unless you had to, whilst the town doctor and medics moved around you like bees.

That was months ago now. Joel's eyesight was worse in one eye, it had taken him a while to recover from the concussion, and he walked with a limp - would walk with a limp for the rest of his life, if the doctor was right.

But he was alive. Alive and with you. Alive and reconciled with Ellie, who had not only managed to work out their issues, but had finally started calling him 'dad'. Joel hadn't made a huge deal out of it, but you knew it meant the world to him. More than the world.

He had expected you to leave; you're young, he had said. You didn't need to be saddling yourself with a broken old man, he had said. You had kissed him until he had shut up, changed the butterfly bandage on his forehead, pressed a featherlight kiss to his uninjured temple. And eventually he had realised you meant it. That you weren't going anywhere. That you, and Dina, and Jesse, were all a part of his family now.

The months ticked on; Jackson slowly rebuilt, Joel slowly healed, and you moved into his house. Every night that you fell asleep beside him, every morning you woke tangled together, and you didn't take a single one for granted.

Ellie wanted to make fun of you, wanted to tease in the way that only a young adult watching a parent fall in love could manage, but she had come so close to losing Joel too that any joke or comment about acting like it was the last day you'd get together seemed to hit a little too close to home.

The weather is warming, though it's still cold outside. Still a faint chill in the air. The day is slowly turning to evening, and you have a pot roast on the stove ready for later.

Dina has made coffee; everyone has a mug. Joel sits on the couch, his glasses a little crooked as he tips a spoon of sugar into his coffee cup. Ellie sits on one side of him, Dina with her head on her shoulder. You sit on his other side, leaning into him like you're one person instead of two.

All that's missing from this scene is -

"Fuckin' hallmark postcard in here." Jesse shakes snow off his boots on the porch and hangs up his coat as he walks in, ignores the middle finger he's given in greeting from Ellie.

"You're late. We were gonna start without you." Dina says, clearly ribbing him.

Jesse looks mock horrified, turns to Joel as if to clarify that such blasphemy would occur. Joel just offers the younger man a 'I just live here' sort of shrug and a grin.

You get up to fix Jesse a coffee, come back to him sprawled in the armchair, Die Hard loaded up on the television waiting. It's an old movie. A classic, really. The sort of thing you can all lose yourselves in.

Which you do, for the next few hours; the five of you lose yourselves in the action movie misadventures of John Maclane, quoting your favourite lines to one another back and forth over the dinner table long after the credits roll.

The five of you eat the pot roast, the strawberry tarts you made especially for movie night because they're Joel's favourite. It's close to nine when the girls - women, really, but they'll always be girls to you - retreat out to the garage for the night. You offer the spare room to Jesse but he just grins, says he has to be up early for a patrol anyway, and bids you goodnight.

You wash the dishes and Joel leans against the bench top to dry them, both of you packing everything away before you go up to bed for the night.

He's still a little slow on the stairs, much to his own chagrin, a step behind you with muffled cursing.

"Fuckin' leg. Bitch knew where she was shootin', dammit."

Wordlessly you stop so you can help him. Ignore the attempt to muffle the sigh he makes, because he hates needing help. Hates that he accepts it, even though he loves you dearly.

"I know what you're thinkin', that I'm damn lucky to still have my leg," Joel grouses as you reach the bedroom, help him with the flannel shirt that he's wearing.

"Actually, no." You say, as you hang up the well loved green and blue plaid, "I'm thinking I'm lucky you're still here, bad leg, complaints and all."

You turn around to see him shaking his head with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Make it fuckin' hard to complain about shit when you put it that way, sweetheart."

You sigh, worried you've upset him as you cross to the bed where he's sitting, wrap your arms around him.

"You can complain as much as you like. I'll be glad to listen. Because it means you're still here with me." You press a soft kiss to his mouth. Inhale the wood and gunpowder scent of him.

Joel wants to tell you that that's lame, that he's too old to be worthy of that sort of affection. But he doesn't, because he's been so close to death he can taste it, and if for some reason you feel the same way about him as he feels about you, well. That's your issue.

So what he says instead is:

"Sorry, sweetheart. Ain't getting rid of me that easy."

Wanting to make you laugh. Only, you don't. You manage a weak giggle, only your eyes well up a little and it makes him feel like shit, because while he's at a point where he can joke about how close to death he was, it still upsets the hell out of you and Ellie.

"Aw, shit. Don't cry, darlin', I'm okay..." he pulls himself up off the bed so he can wrap you up in his arms, pull you against his broad frame and let you feel the warmth of him, his steady breathing.

You bury your face in his chest and listen to his heart, strong and steady, until you don't feel like you're about to break into a million pieces or hyperventilate. Then and only then do you look up at him.

You want to tell him he scared the hell out of you, but what good is that? He knows that already, and it's not exactly his fault. So you go for something else instead, something equally true.

"I love you, Joel, you know that?"

His thumb brushes away a stray tear that's still on your cheek as he nods.

"Yeah, darlin', I know. I love you too."

Maybe before the incident at the lodge he might have taken your words less seriously, but now, with a far too close call under his belt, Joel knows how much he means to you. How much you mean to him.

How, as he had been sure he was going to die, he had hoped somehow you would feel that he loved you as he left the world. Only to come to a week later with you on one side, holding onto his hand like you thought he might disappear if you let go, Ellie on the other.

How the first words out of his mouth had been "my girls okay?" before you'd dissolved into relieved sobs and Ellie had begun berating him about how he'd scared her to death and was he stupid and how fucking dare he do that to them all, as if he had had any say in his own attempted murder.

"Joel-"

You barely get his name out of your mouth before he's on you, his lips covering yours, gathering you up in his arms again, because fuck if he isn't going to savour each and every one of these moments with you now.

The kiss is long, intense. Half because he doesn't think he'll ever get tired of kissing you, and half because he doesn't want to hear your protests about how he still needs to take it easy. He can take it easy when he's in his eighties and on his actual deathbed. Having been there before, he knows he's nowhere close at the moment, and nothing is going to stop him from being intimate with you.

"Joel, we have to - mm - be careful," sure enough, you get the words out as he pulls your shirt off, nuzzles into your collarbone and kisses the side of your neck.

"Fuck being careful." Joel growls into your skin, somehow soft even after the harshness of the outbreak and the weather. "Keep tellin' me to be careful I'll tie you to the bed and fuck you like the mouthy slut you're actin' like."

He's rewarded with heat rushing to your cheeks, the knowledge that he can toe the line between sweet and filthy just right without actually disrespecting you. Only -

"Your back would give out before you could, old timer." You tease, and he laughs, lays a heavy swat to your ass with his big hand.

He can't even be pissed about it because you're right. Twenty years ago he could have bent you over every surface in this house. Maybe even ten. But now, rough sex between you involves you on your hands and knees, maybe his hand around your throat.

He's become softer with age, more gentle in how he handles his lovers. Even moreso with you.

"Shut up," he mumbles, though he's still kissing your throat so you know you're off the hook this time as you thread your fingers through his soft curls.

Even between kisses and the slowness that comes with his damaged leg, you manage to get every layer of clothing between you off, tossed to the floor of the bedroom with very little regard for it. You'll probably grumble about it in the morning when you go to do laundry while he laughs at you, but for now it's the furthest thing from your mind as you collapse back onto the bed, tugging him with you.

He might still be recovering from an injury and older, but he's still strong, still able to prop himself up on one hand as he leans over you, cages you in.

Your hands wander, gentle, reverent almost, as you lightly touch each and every scar on his body. Less than a year ago, he barely let you see his torso, see the map of brutality time has left across his olive skin. Now he almost hums and purrs under your touch as your hands move back up to his face. Cup his cheeks as you lean up to kiss him, moan when he licks into your mouth.

His free hand moves between your thighs, finds you soaked for him already, just from a few kisses, a few touches. Joel doesn't think he'll ever get over that, that feeling of elation that comes with being so easily wanted by someone, without any sort of stipulations.

"Joel..."

He doesn't think he'll ever get over that, either. That soft, whimpering plea of his name that somehow manages to be so full of equal parts love and lust.

Normally you both make an effort with foreplay, take pride in it, enjoy it. Taking your time with one another. But there are times like this where you just need each other, need to become one too much to bother with anything beforehand. All he cares about in this moment is that you're wet enough to take him, and God knows you are.

He slides into you in a single, fluid motion, grunting with satisfaction as your tight heat welcomes him, your fingers flying to his curls and knitting there as you inhale sharply.

Joel loves that fucking sound. That sweet little intake of breath when he fills you up with his cock, knowing it's almost too big for you. Almost too much, and yet you're always begging for him to keep going.

"You good, sweetheart?" He knows you are, can feel your warm inner walls constricting around his cock, can feel how wet you are. Can see the pleasure on your face even without him moving.

Still, you nod, confirm your pleasure with him before he moves, rolling his hips against yours. He has to be careful, doesn't want to piss off his stupid damaged leg, doesn't want you to worry, so he goes for slow and deep rather than fucking into you hard and fast like he once used to.

You don't mind; find you prefer this pace anyway, the intimacy of it, of his broad frame caging you in as he moves above you. You draw your knees up so he can get deeper, moaning when he hits your sweet spot.

"Fuck, good girl, such a pretty sound-" he groans, runs his thumb over your lower lip before he leans down to kiss you.

Eagerly you lean up to return the kiss before you fall back against the pillows, settle yourself there as you pull him close. His mouth finds yours, before he kisses down your throat.

Pressing his cock in deep, he grinds against you, drawing obscene moans from your lips as his mouth finds a peaked nipple, sucks it into his mouth greedily. Only when you're trembling beneath him does he release it with a lewd pop before giving its twin the exact same treatment, still grinding against you, getting the entirety of his thick length deep inside.

He isn't playing fair, is pulling every single trick he knows to make you cum, and it's working. Before you even realise it, you're almost there, a whimpering, trembling mess as he devours your mouth in greedy kisses.

"Go on, sweetheart. Go on an' cum for me now."

It's that soft, still dominant demand that sends you. Your entire body trembles beneath his as your pussy tightens around him, fluttering and weeping around the cock splitting you open.

Joel doesn't last much longer, knows you don't give a shit whether he lasts three minutes or thirty, groaning and cursing as he spills inside you, using the very last of the stamina he has to prevent himself from collapsing on top of you.

It's only after, when he's rolled off of you and you're curled under the blankets together, his arms around you, that the thought strikes you.

"Do you think Jesse didn't take the guest room because he knew?" You ask.

Joel fixes you with a look that can only be described as amused.

"Yeah, darlin', I think he knew."

You dissolve into a fit of laughter, mildly horrified by the idea that the younger adults in your lives are, God forbid, aware you have a sex life.

He shakes his head, presses a kiss to your forehead as you curl into his side. Maybe tomorrow you'll go into town, trade some strawberries from your garden for something. Bread, maybe.

One thing is for certain. Neither of you take these little moments for granted, nor the love you have for one another and your strange little family.

[honeyhonest]

minors do not interact, 18+ only

would anyone else have forced themselves into crowley's winter vacation or just me

✧˖°. a few weeks

warnings: gn!reader, reader is (ADULT) yuu, crowley sucks at flirting, oh my god it's awful, not proofread, reader is regretfully attracted to him, thigh fucking, cum?

length: medium. I'm not counting all that

"The answer is no, little Prefect. I simply haven't the time nor the means to keep you and Grim entertained!"

"I'll be fine, and I'll keep Grim entertained,"

"The answer is no!"

This had been going on all afternoon. As soon as your younger friends had vanished in a ripple of light and magic through the Dark Mirror, you had closed in on Crowley.

For all his grandeur (and height), he surely looked pathetic, curled in the corner of the room, waving a broom at you as if you were a pesky bird that had somehow gotten inside.

"Besides, if you come with me, who will tend to the fires? Who will clear the snow from Ramshackle's roof? And your homework? I'm sure I instructed Professor Crewel to give you more than- AH, I mean, to see to your education over the break!"

You roll your eyes. "There are plenty of students staying behind. The ghosts will care for Ramshackle, as they have for hundreds of years. And I can study while with you,"

"I doubt that," he murmurs, and you give him a glare.

"Ahem. It simply cannot be done. The room I've booked does not allow pets, and thus Grim-"

"They don't need to know!"

"The answer is no!"

And it begins again. Crowley, the thin bastard, slips by your side and backs towards the door, babbling about his deposit and pet fees.

"Besides, it will all be boring, dreadfully boring! I have much research and study to attend to, wouldn't you rather stay here, at school?"

"NO!" you shout, loud enough to echo off the walls of the chamber.

"You said this place may have something that could get me home. I want to be there. I'm perfectly capable of studying and researching myself!"

He grimaces. "I did say that, didn't I..."

His eyes, the golden flickers of light in the depths of his mask, vanish. For once, he seems to be giving some thought to you.

"...Very well," Crowley says, opening his eyes again. "I'll send word to Grim of the new arrangements. Be ready to leave promptly, Prefect, I don't like to be kept waiting."

You keep a firm hold on your lumpy suitcase (happened upon in a closet in your derelict dorm), and Crowley keeps a firm hold on you.

The Mirror spits you out somewhere sandy and warm, and your Ramshackle-appropriate attire suddenly feels sweltering. Crowley smiles, apparently pleased by your discomfort.

"I told you to pack for warm weather, my dear. Did I not?"

"I didn't have time to change," you sputter.

It takes but a moment for you to come to your senses, and your stomach drops. What's wrong? It's the feeling you have when you've forgotten something very important, and-

"Where's Grim?"

Crowley snorts, but doesn't answer. He takes a paper map out of his short pockets (ugh) and unfolds it.

You push it aside. "Where's Grim? You said you told him about the new plan!"

"Oh, but I did!" the Headmage chirps. "It's only that the "new plan", as you put it, did not involve him. How very sad! But I have already paid the deposit on my room, and the pet policy is very clear-"

"Crowley," you warn, fingers tightening around the weak edges of the map.

"Oh, relax, Prefect. He's in good hands! In fact, the Vice Housewarden of Scarabia, a perfectly charming and respectable dorm, has offered to care for him! I have also given him your cellular phone. If there are any problems, he knows to contact me,"

You pray that Grim remembers to contact Ace and Deuce.

As much as you want to hit Crowley with a crowbar, you know you don't have much of a choice here. You can't go back to school without him.

And he's-

"Now, where shall we start? Shall I drop you off at the local library, or the room? I have a full afternoon planned, after all,"

You can feel your teeth grinding against each other. Before you can answer (or tell him to take a long walk off a short pier), he chooses for you.

You were too mad to study, anyway.

It's a nice room. Not too flashy, but not too shabby, either. A table, a chair, a view of the parking lot. One bed.

The perfect sensible, moderate, budget room for a man like Crowley.

You're not really sure why you came here, anyway. Were you really going to study? Or were you only trying to prove a point?

Maybe raining on Crowley's parade makes you feel a little better about him flooding yours.

That's a little pathetic.

He left his suitcase in the room. You're almost tempted to go through it. What does a man like him pack for a tropical vacation, anyway? It's hard to picture him as a normal person who brushes his teeth and wears pajamas. He's always been a kind of monster in your imagination.

Well, not a monster.

Not any more of one than you are.

But something inhuman, who didn't quite think or sleep like you did. A judge's gavel, a gilded throne, a statue. Something imposing but immobile all the same. Something you talk to, because it doesn't listen.

Click.

Your fantasies of whatever mundane things are in his belongings close as the door opens.

Crowley comes in, not any less pale than before, but warm and smiley nonetheless, and holding two styrofoam boxes.

"In my bountiful generosity, I have brought you dinner!" he announces, handing a box to you. You take it.

"My, you look like you haven't been out at all. Mirror lag?"

"Sure," you say. What are you doing?

He sits at the edge of the bed and digs in. He either doesn't notice, or doesn't bother to mention, your unenthusiastic picking-about the food.

You're getting really tired of seeing his knees. Why does that bother you?

"Are you feeling tired?" he asks. "Unwell?"

You glare daggers at him, and he huffs.

"Is this about Grim? I made myself very clear! You were fortunate I so graciously allowed you to come! Break is one of the very, very, very, few things I have to look forward to in the year!"

You let him talk himself down, grumbling and griping between bites, until he's pleading.

"I can't possibly solve all of your problems, Prefect. I am trying,"

You glare. He pouts.

"Very well. Tomorrow, I'll be up at first light, and we can peruse the local library together. How is that?"

Better. "It's alright,"

Not really what you want to do.

"Excellent," he says. "And no more of this childish bellyaching! I expect more maturity from someone of your age, Prefect."

Of course. You watch him stand and take off his hat (ridiculous) and his shoes (ridiculous and full of sand). The mask and the gloves remain.

You should claim the bed now, while you still have the chance.

He shoots you a look. "And don't even think about hogging the bed. Might I remind you whom is paying for it?"

"Well, where else am I supposed to sleep?" you ask. You hate that he can tell what you're thinking now.

You've been spending way too much time together.

"I'm only asking you don't kick me out, Prefect," Crowley huffs. "I don't suppose you're tired, though, are you?"

Not really. "I guess not,"

He sits beside you. "Neither I,"

You pray this is not his way of asking if you want to play a game. The very last thing you need right now is to lose to this guy in cards.

He doesn't ask that, though. He doesn't say anything.

Crowley looks at you, he looks at his lap, he looks at you, he looks at his lap. You don't have to watch. You can feel the warmth of his eyes on you.

It's weird that you don't hate this. You're confused as to why you came, but you don't hate this.

Maybe you have heatstroke. But, then, you haven't left the room.

Something cold grazes your thigh. You stiffen, expecting to see cold rice from the takeout meal, or a leak in the ceiling, but it's-

"Crowley," you sigh, more annoyed than anything. "What are you doing."

He jolts, pulling his hand back to his side. "I-I was- I, ah- I was only-"

Man. This sucks.

He rambles incoherently for what feels like a millennia, saying random words like "time" and "bed" and "I thought-" in tandem.

Well, you're already here.

"Isn't this against some rule or something?"

"Ah," that seems to snap him out of it. "It would be, yes. But we're not on school grounds, and therefore, not under the jurisdiction of the school rules. I thought..."

"What?"

He goes quiet, as if rehearing whatever bullshit he's about to say in his head.

"...Perhaps... we may... er, enjoy each other... to pass the time,"

Awful. It's pissing you off how this is kinda turning you on.

"Well," you sigh. "When in... wherever we are, do as the... whoever do."

"What?"

"You can kiss me,"

Crowley understands that, at least.

Still, he takes his sweet time, slowly moving as if he's afraid he'll startle you. He cradles the back of your head, and you feel talons against your neck. His other hand restakes its claim on your thigh, and you both strangely maneuver around the beak of his mask (is he going to keep that on the whole time???) to kiss.

You can both tell that neither of you has gotten any action in a very, very long time.

His mouth moves against yours, awkward and slow, and you have to (annoyingly) moan to motivate him.

It seems to do the trick, though. He pushes you into the mountain of crisp, white pillows and pushes himself between your legs. He's already hard, and you can't even roll your eyes at it. You're turned on, too.

As annoying as he's been, this is the only night you've had without Grim or a teenage boy breathing down your neck. It feels like it's been years.

You should make the most of it. Even if it's with the Headmage.

He pulls away, panting, his mouth smeared plum from the rough kissing. You're sure yours is, too, but you'll deal with that later.

"Please, may I...?" he asks, tugging at your pants. Stupid things have to be drenched in sweat by now, it's so hot and humid here.

Not that Crowley seems to care.

You give him your blessing, and he undresses you, nearly moaning just at the sight of your body beneath him.

He's like, achingly hard at this point. You can feel his cock against your thigh as he sits himself there, sliding his gloved hands over your sides. He strokes your neck, threads his talons through your hair, never squeezing, never tugging, never rough.

He seems to only be enjoying the view, which is... somewhat satisfying.

"Are you ready, my dear?" he whispers, his voice weak.

Ready?? READY?

"Er... not tonight," you say, narrowly avoiding the question. "But, here, let me..."

You unbuckle his (normal, mirror-less) belt, and he moans. You can almost feel him twitching as you work him out of his shorts.

Note: He is not wearing underwear... Alright.

Using the (gratuitous, almost pornographic) amount of precum to slick your thighs, you let him push his cock between them. His entire body shudders, as if it's the greatest thing he's ever felt, and he fucks between them fast, talons dug into the crisp white sheets beside you, his body pressing down against yours with each sloppy thrust, and-

I wish I could say he lasts for more than a few seconds, but by then his cum has already painted your stomach, and he's trembling and panting as if he'd just run a marathon.

You wait for him to at least pull out from between the plush of your thighs.

"That didn't pass much time," you say. A whole six minutes.

Crowley smiles, too cheerful to even feign offense. "Ah-ah, I apologize, my dear. You were simply too beautiful to resist!"

Sigh. He can be charming... sometimes.

He even fetches you a towel himself, offering to clean you, to which you decline (he almost looks disappointed, but says nothing).

"Are you sure you would not like to fornicate-"

"No," you say, "Not tonight."

Crowley lies beside you, his chin in his palm, and he grins. "Ah... so I have something to look forward to tomorrow, then?"

"I wouldn't get your hopes up about tomorrow," you smile back. If only a little.

"We have a few weeks, after all."

[firingstars]

neighborly advice | ch. 9

bucky barnes x reader

summary: you're missing bucky like crazy, but you've finally made progress on your research and even got a new team member. bucky returns home, only for a new misunderstanding to rise.

warnings: 18+, brief mentions of smut, angst, longing, you miss bucky sooo bad, no use of y/n, misunderstanding, alcohol, timeline is somewhere around the middle/end of fatws, language, no one knows who peter is

word count: 4.4k

a/n: i love peter parker except when im playing marvel rivals... that mf is perma-banned idc im not dealing w his ass

previous chapter | next chapter

You’re losing your mind. Genuinely. Does Bucky know how relationships work in this century, or are you the one that’s dense? You’re not certain anymore. Something about whatever is going on between the two of you does not make any sort of sense. 

You two have gone on a few more dates. Each time, Bucky refuses to let you pay. He has you ride on the back of his motorcycle while holding him, then he holds your hand while you two walk the remainder of the distance to whatever destination he had planned for you. Then, you go home. Sometimes, you find yourself tangled in his sheets. Truthfully, you usually are tangled in his sheets. 

Bucky holds you in his arms like he’ll never get to touch you again. He’s careful with every single movement and gesture. He is a gentleman at the end of the day. You fall apart on his fingers, tongue, and his length multiple times in one night. It’s almost as if he’s quietly apologizing without saying the words– asking you to forgive him for leaving you alone for so long.

He wakes you up in the morning with breakfast and kisses that sometimes get naughtier, then you head your separate ways for the day. Then, he lets you know he’ll be away for another mission. On those missions, he doesn’t text you until he’s on the way home, and asks if you’re free for dinner.

Wash, rinse, repeat. 

You googled how dating was back in the forties. They would establish if they were going steady or not. Kissing wouldn’t happen on the first date. Holding hands was a rarity in itself. You kissed way before the first date. Generally– you didn’t kiss anyone on the first date, let alone sleep with them.

Maybe it was your fault. You didn’t voice your concerns of having a talk with him about what you expected your relationship to be. Were you his fuck buddy at this point? Were those even dates that you were going on? It was most likely the fuck buddy tax– he fed you before fucking you to keep your energy up for the night. 

What you were certain about was your feelings for him. Somewhere along the dates (that maybe weren’t dates), you learned more about him past what the museums had written about him. 

Bucky hates the winter, but his body is more adapted to colder weather. His apartment is always freezing, but it’s fine. His body emits out an alarming amount of heat. You fall asleep easier next to him on the nights you spend together.

Bucky has nightmares. You learned the way he acted towards you on that first night was due to his nightmares. They’re often dark, and it puts him in a bad mood for the day, but he trusts you enough to tell you about it. He never goes into detail about what the nightmares could possibly be about, but you tell him that you’re ready to listen to him if or when he wants to voice it out to someone other than his mandated therapist. 

Bucky’s memory is scary good. You could mention once that you enjoy a certain brand of snack, and the next time you’re over at his place you’ll find that same snack stocked and ready for you to enjoy. He’s attentive to your needs, walks at a pace that matches your own, and has started to carry your purse for you. It’s somewhat comical to see such a large man with such a tiny purse sometimes.

Bucky’s lonely. He still grieves over his best friend. You still don’t know the truth about what happened to Steve, but you assume that Bucky is no longer in contact with the previous Captain America. He sometimes talks about Steve with a nostalgic look in his eyes, but there will also be bitterness at the end of each sentence. Bucky also talks about Sam in a strange way. There will be an edge and a bite to his words, but there will also be a sense of comfort– one that he won’t admit to himself. On these rare occasions he finally opens up, it makes your chest hurt just a little.

You may be the dense one. You think you are, at this point. You don’t know what to make of your relationship. He doesn’t contact you unless it’s to ask you on a date. Your dates are overnight affairs, and then you don’t talk again. 

You might be way over your head. 

“Have you tried ignoring him?” Ms. Chan asked you.

“Why would I ignore him?” you asked with a frown. You don’t tell her that you have ignored him before, though it was just for half a day or so. You feel in that situation, your actions were justified. 

“Make him miss you.” The old woman shrugged as she finished packaging your food. “You are stressed that you do not know how he feels, yes? So, make him decide. You should never chase a man first. It’s a bad look.”

“I think talking to him about our current situation would be a lot easier and faster than doing all of that.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She grinned at you. You could only let out a deep sigh, and shake your head. 

You would not be taking the advice of the thrice divorced woman, you decided. Nothing wrong with being divorced, but you’re starting to see why her partners did not stick around with her for so long. 

You would go with your original plan of talking to Bucky face to face when he returned from his latest mission. You couldn’t do this same song and dance for another two months without knowing if this was something that was going to be long term between the two of you. After all, things were finally starting to look up in your future. 

Since the fall out with Leah, you’d put all your energy back into working. She may be right; that your job is your life. Who cares if it was? Either way, the sudden free time you had was all put into reaching out to different scientific research centers or other renowned scientists, pitching your product, getting rejected without a reason, then doing the same thing all over again. Until finally, someone decided to give you a chance. You managed to secure a face to face meeting with a sponsor and their board of executives. You would be lying if you said it didn’t make you nervous. 

The sponsor expressed interest in both your study, and stated that if things went well over your formal discussion in the next couple of days, they would have no problem in securing you a lab and team that would help push your development to the next level. You needed this to go well. You couldn’t go back home. You might even change your name, leave the country, and get plastic surgery if this meeting didn’t turn out well.

All dramatics, but it just goes to show how much you wanted this for your future. And if Bucky was to be part of your future, you wanted to mentally prepare for that– for him.

Maybe it would be easy for you to greet him after every mission– to see the bruises and cuts he sustained. To be able to send him off into harm's way knowing that he had your tech in his pocket as a backup if his mission really went south. You could trust your own intelligence to save his life. Bucky was a super soldier, but he wasn’t immortal. 

Deep down, you knew that it would never be easy for you.

Bucky must think he was really good at hiding his injuries from you after his missions. You never mentioned the slight limp you once saw, or the sharp intake of breath when you wrapped your arms around his waist on the motorcycle. How he sometimes switched positions in bed so you wouldn’t see the blossoming bruise on his ribcage, or have you ride him instead knowing that his knee was fucked up. 

You didn’t want to mention it. You felt like you couldn’t. One night, Bucky said a small sentence to you when he thought you were asleep. Your eyes were closed, head on his chest, as his fingers traced shapes into the bare skin of your back.

“You make me feel like a normal man,” he whispered into the darkness of the room.

Your phone felt heavy in your hands as you stared at it. No new notifications. No new messages from him. You hadn’t heard from him in over a week. 

You were beginning to experience the symptoms of early PVS.

Phantom Vibration Syndrome.

Causes? Being on your damn phone too much, and psychologically believing that there was a notification waiting for you on the screen only to find out there was nothing there at all. 

You were really starting to hate the device. Even when there was a true notification sound or vibration, it was never him. Your hopes would be shot up through the roof, only to be burned straight down into the ground with another spam email haunting your screen. Every time you looked at your phone, you hoped it was him. Hoped it was another message telling you that he would be home soon, asking you out to dinner. 

At this rate, you might just chuck your phone out the window of the fifth floor of your apartment building and call it a phone cleanse. You know that if you ever would, you would run straight downstairs to retrieve it, and double check that Bucky didn’t text you in the few seconds your phone went airborne. 

All this told you was how fucking into Bucky you were.

It wasn’t just a simple crush anymore. He was plaguing your mind, you were missing his touch, his smell. Your memories of him alone were no longer enough. You needed him by your side, and it terrified you. You missed the man so badly, but you refused to contact him first. He was at work, after all. 

Your mind went into a strange turn. There were moments where your finger hovered over the send button on your screen, only to delete the message a few moments later. What if he was undercover with Captain America right now? What if his phone wasn’t on silent or turned off, and you would give away his position to whoever he was going against? You still didn’t know the details of the jobs he was doing. The anxiety of not knowing ate you alive.

As you unpacked your things into your new lab, you groaned. You wanted to know. You didn’t even necessarily want to hear his voice or see his face– you just wanted to know that he was on the other side of the screen, thinking of you, too. You wanted to hear how he was doing, maybe tell you where he was currently at if the situation allowed it… Maybe even inform you that he was alive.

The radio silence was destroying you from the inside out. 

At the end of the day, Bucky didn’t necessarily owe you any sort of communication. He wasn’t officially yours.

You spent your days tinkering away in the lab to avoid the neverending spiral in your head. The sponsors allowed you full freedom in your work, and you decided to take as much time doing this by yourself as possible. You would begin to scout and look for a team later, and be more selective in who you chose this time around. Hopefully, these guys would be even more receptive to what your plans were.

That was the plan, at least, until your sponsor came over one day with another university student in tow. A few years younger than you, smart kid, they said. The sponsor spoke so fast that neither of you were able to even get a few words out before they left you alone in the lab.

“Um.. I’m Peter. Peter Parker,” he introduced himself, holding a hand out for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you,” you replied, giving him your own name as you shook his hand.

“Mr. Walsh told me about what you’re doing here,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m gonna be honest– I’m interested because it sounds similar to Mr. Stark’s nanotechnology.”

You let out a small laugh. Yes, that’s why anyone ever approached you with intentions of joining your team. You smiled at him, and nodded.

“Same concept, but different. I’m not building armor,” you told him, and Peter nodded. 

“Is the team just… you?” he asked slowly, and you watched as his eyes quickly darted across the room. 

“Just me,” you nodded. “You’re more than welcome to stay for the week if you would like to observe and see what I’m trying to do. I do have one successful prototype, if you’d like me to demonstrate?”

“You do?” he asked, his eyes widening. There was a sparkle in them– excitement. Something you rarely saw in other scientists your age. You couldn’t help but let your smile widen as you gestured for him to follow you deeper into the lab.

Peter officially joined your team after two days of observation. He was a better fit than anyone that you’d ever talked with before, if you were being honest. He had the energy for the technological side of the product, which meant you were able to focus on the medical portion. 

You learned that he lived alone in the city. His parents had passed away when he was young, and he was raised by his aunt, who passed away not too long ago either. 

“Don’t have… friends really, either. So I’m able to put all my focus into this,” he told you, giving you an awkward little smile. 

“That’s okay,” you said with a shrug. “The only friend I had ended up stabbing me in the back, so I guess we can be loners in the lab together.”

Peter had laughed at that, and you smiled. 

It was easy getting along with Peter. Within the following week, you realized how less lonely you were with another person around. Of course, you still missed Bucky. You still stayed up late to see if you could hear him come home in the middle of the night. He would be the type of person to forgo texting you if he knew you were asleep, you think.

But the friendship you’re cultivating with Peter helped remove your thoughts from a place that you didn’t even know you were heading into.

“Alright, Parker,” you said, stretching your hands high above your head. “Let’s call it for today.”

“Huh? It’s only… 9:30,” he said, glancing down at his watch quickly.

“Yup. And it’s Friday night. You’re at least twenty-one, aren’t you?”

“I mean, I was Blipped…” he trailed off. You shrugged.

“So was I. Let’s go drink something strong.”

The two of you find yourself in a small bar not too far away from the research lab. You realized quickly that the boy never really had a drink before, so you ordered him a beer. You can’t help but snicker at the way his face contorts as he drinks, then forces it down his throat to avoid spitting it all over the place.

“What the hell is this?” he groaned, looking at the bottle.

“Alcohol. Eat the snacks so you don’t get drunk fast,” you said with a grin. 

“You drink this stuff all the time?” he asked in disbelief, still staring at the glass. 

“Not as much these days,” you answered. “Someone told me they like it when I remember things, so I’ve slowed down.”

“You black out often?”

“Been a rough couple months, to put it simply.”

“You’re telling me,” he whispered, and took another drink of the beer. You laugh this time at the face he makes, then order him something sweet to drink instead. 

You should’ve calculated for the fact this was his first time drinking. You really should’ve. The boy ends up gone faster than you thought was humanly possible. Even when you had your first shots at sixteen (given to you by your grandfather), you were still coherent. Peter was a different type of drunk. 

“My girlfriend doesn’t even remember me,” Peter whined to you, head dropped down onto the bar. You nodded at his words, mildly amused. 

Just half a beer and a simple fruity drink later, and Peter’s loose lipped and relaxed in front of you. This past week, he’d been straightening whenever you walked into the room. He never met your eyes unless you were directly in front of him. He reminded you of a puppy, if you were being honest. You place your chin in your hand, elbow propped up against the counter as you continued to listen to him. 

“Well, she’s not even my girlfriend anymore. Ex, I guess, but I really hate that. God, I loved her– no, I love her so much.”

“She has amnesia, then? Was there an accident?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Do you know who Spider-Man is?” he questioned, words slurring at you. 

“Who doesn’t?” you retorted. 

“Me. I’m Spider-Man. No one knows,” he murmured, burying his face in his hands now. “Dr. Strange did this crazzzzyyyy spell that makes everyone who knew me, forget about me. So now I have no friends. No family. Nobody.”

“Right,” you said with a slow nod. “You’re Spider-Man. I must be Black Widow then.”

Peter looked at you, frowning. “You don’t believe me.”

You shrug, then pat his back supportively. “Tell me again when you’re not drunk out of your mind, buddy.”

“Ugh,” Peter groans your name, clearly distraught. “Imma be alone forever.”

“Well, we’re friends now. And we work together, so you’re not completely alone,” you hummed. Peter goes quiet at that, then lets out a deep breath.

“You can’t forget me either, then,” he said, voice decisive. “Swear it. I don’t think I can do this again.”

“I won’t Peter,” you promised. You still think he’s full of shit, but maybe one day he would open up about his tragic backstory. Maybe you’d tell him about yours. Either way, you only just met the guy. 

Bucky missed her. The mission took longer than he even thought was possible, but they ran into one dead end after another. This wasn’t like the other missions before. The other missions let him be gone for maybe five days maximum, but then he would be on his way back into her arms. He would be texting her the second he realized he was heading home, give her a heads up to kindly clear her busy schedule for him, and he would be all over her.

Over time, Bucky realized that he needed her as badly as man needed water.

This time, there wasn’t enough buffer for him to be able to return home to her. The dead ends were frequent, but they always found another lead. He and Sam needed to move quickly to make sure nothing would tie up without the two of them finding out what they needed to.

And now, it was over. He was certain that he would have a break until the next thing came along. He would be able to go back to courting her, taking her out on proper dates under the sun– not just the haphazard dinner dates that he messily put together on the jet ride back home. 

Bucky wanted to ask her to be his girl.

He didn’t feel right doing it when he was constantly away. He knew, realistically, that he would often be away for the nature of the job he was doing. However, he wanted to be able to spend the beginning of their relationship together, not apart. He already had it planned in his head.

Bucky would knock on her door, bouquet of flowers and chocolate in hand as he smiled, then sheepishly apologize for the lack of communication the past few weeks. If she forgave him, then he would ask if she’d like to join him on a picnic for lunch. There, he would explain to her the severity of the job he was doing. He knew she was smart, and that she would have already thought about it on her own, but he wanted to give her the choice to choose this, to choose him.

It made him nervous to think about her answer. A strong part of him wanted to believe that she would tell him yes without any hesitation. After all, she always responded to all of his late night texts in a span of a few minutes. The only time she hadn’t was when she was already asleep, but she texted back the second she woke up. She was always waiting and ready for him when he came home, happy to be taken anywhere that he thought of. 

A smaller whisper in the back of his head told him that she would say no. That the past three weeks of silence was too much for her to handle, and this wasn’t healthy. That she couldn’t live like this, especially not in a relationship. He knew her. He knew she craved stability. Bucky planned to argue every single denial she had, give her every possible reason to please choose him.

He knew that it was asking a lot. He knew that it wouldn’t be easy to be her, but he would kill himself trying to make it better for her.

“She’s probably not even awake, Buck,” Sam said with a yawn beside him, then picked up his phone to check the time. “It’s almost one in the morning.”

“Focus on the road,” Bucky grunted. Damn it all to hell if he gets into a car wreck on his way back to the apartment building– to the room right next to yours. 

Bucky was pretty banged up, if he was being truthful. To him, it wasn’t all that bad. He would tell her that he had been through worse because he has. However, he knows that she’ll take one look at him, and he’d crumble under her gaze. She would take him into her apartment, force him to sit down, and then flutter around the place while she grabbed the various medical supplies in her home.

Maybe that’s what he wanted, after a long mission. To be gently taken care of by her.

He would’ve texted her already, let her know that he was coming home if it wasn’t for the fact his phone was somewhere in the ocean, probably already down on the seafloor. Bucky decided he would have to memorize her phone number next time he got the chance. He could at least call her from a payphone somewhere just to hear her voice. 

“Woah.. Is that her?” Sam asked, the car coming to a slow pace as they approached his apartment building. 

Bucky’s eyes shot up, then narrowed.

It was. It was her. 

She was there, on the curb, helping someone– a boy– walk. His arm was thrown around her shoulder, stumbling. She was struggling, trying to keep him upright. Sam rolled down the windows– probably to listen in. Sam wouldn’t be able to hear a damn thing, but Bucky could.

“Parker– I swear to God, don’t fall asleep on me. I’m not strong enough to drag you all the way home,” she grunted.

He slurred something intelligible, something that Bucky couldn’t understand– but it made her laugh. Made her laugh so loud, without a single care in the world. Bucky’s chest tightened at the sight.

“It’s my house. I need you to wake up for a few seconds because the elevator doesn’t work and I live on the fifth floor–”

“The fifth floor?!” the guy cut you off, shouting. It made you laugh again. “Holy shit, you must be made of steel or something.”

“You’re so loud!” she hissed at him, but she’s still smiling. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, a sheepish grin coming onto his own face. 

“Give me my purse,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Need the key to go up. Lean against the wall.”

‘Parker,’ as she called him, does as she asked. His arms are crossed over his chest as he watched her, eyes half lidded and closing sleepily. 

“You really won’t leave me?” he asked, his voice quiet.

“Yes, Peter,” she said with a soft sigh as she opened up the door to the stairwell. “You’re not alone anymore, so c’mon.”

Peter’s arm returns around her shoulders, and they disappear into the building. There’s a few more seconds of laughter and giggling before Bucky can’t hear anything more, the concrete of the apartment dampening his ability to hear.

“Buck? You heading in?” Sam asked, his voice quiet. 

Bucky’s jaw was clenched tight, then he swallowed. His chest fucking hurt. His heart was beating in abnormal times. If he got an EKG at this moment, he was certain a cardiologist would flag him for a heart attack. His breathing was uneven, his eyesight was going blurry. He hadn’t blinked. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of her. 

Maybe he was misinterpreting this. This was nothing. She could have friends, he tried to reason with himself.

But fuck, he knew that she had no friends. There was no one that she fucking talked to. Did she move on?

Could he blame her? He was gone for almost three weeks this time. No call, no text. However, there was bitterness clawing up his throat and threatening to spill out. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout, yell at someone, break something– but he couldn’t. He settled with turning his face back to the road. He willed himself to breathe properly, or he might just pass out from lack of oxygen to his head.

“Compound,” Bucky muttered.

Silence filled the car for just a few moments as Sam stared at him, trying to decide he wanted to say something. Ultimately, Sam put the gearshift in drive, and began to take off down the road.

next chapter

taglist: @iyskgd @falconxsoldier @1967barracuda @retrxgreyde @lemonpiegurll @lokiofasgard616 @local-crazy @tor-tor8 @shortandb1tchy 

let me know if you would like to join the neighborly advice taglist! (or a general bucky taglist for when i post one-shots) :)

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

When You're Ready

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: being a single mom, the hard side of being a parent, overstimulation?

Summary: Being a single mother hasn’t always been easy, and life catches up to you whether you want it to or not. You have so much on your plate that you’re not even thinking about being in a relationship. Spencer likes you and he makes it clear that he’ll wait for you no matter how long it takes.

Square Filled: huddle for warmth for @anyfandomgoesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

Today could not be any worse than it is right now. You didn’t have time to brush your hair, you barely got your teeth brushed, your clothes are wrinkly because you forgot to iron them last night, the heater is broken in your house so all your daughter does is complain that it’s too cold, and you’re trying to get both her and yourself ready for the day.

“Mama, I’m hungry!” she whines.

“Food is coming, baby,” you say.

As you try not to cry, you plate more breakfast for her and set it on her tray. She immediately digs into the pancakes like she’s never been fed before. The TV is blaring in the living room as it plays yet another episode of Spongebob, her favorite TV show. Right now, that little sponge is giving you a massive headache. The coffee machine beeps for the tenth time, and you have an overwhelming urge to chuck it out the window. The machine has been broken for quite some time now but will make a cup of coffee every once in a while.

Today is not one of those days.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings and you just about stop and cry right there. What now? Who could this possibly be while you’re already running late for work? You leave Casey in the kitchen and walk to the front door. On the way, you almost slip on one of her toys, and you kick it harder than you should have. You open the front door and see your housekeeper standing there. You barely have enough to pay her since you had to downgrade a bunch of stuff since the divorce, but she stayed and accepted the new salary.

You’re honestly not sure what you would do without her.

“Oh, Shelly, it’s you.”

“Rough morning?” Tears well in your eyes at her question because you’re forced to think how this morning has been in a sea of bad ones. “Oh, Y/N, don’t worry about a thing. I’m here now.”

“Thanks,” you whisper and close the door behind her. You turn down the TV so that you don’t have to shout at Shelly. “Um, Casey has a field trip today. I looked at the weather and it’s going to be cold so make sure she packs a jacket. She’ll fight it but make sure she has one, okay?”

“Y/N, how long have I been looking after this little girl? I’ll be okay. Don’t you have work?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Here, let me.”

She fixes your hair until it looks presentable, and you give her a warm smile.

“Thank you. The coffee machine is broken. I’ll pick one up on the way home.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get a new one. I have a few other things to pick up at the store.”

“Okay. Bye, Casey! Mommy is off to work. I love you!”

“I love you!” she sings back.

Despite how hard it’s being a single mom, she always brings a smile to your face. Not only is it hard being a single mom, but you work in the FBI where your job is demanding and requires a lot out of you. It’s why you needed to hire Shelly. Before, she was here because your ex-husband paid to have her clean the house. You both had jobs and weren't home enough to keep up with it. Now with Casey, she’s a blessing in disguise.

Hotch makes it look so easy. Since Haley was killed, he’s been doing a good job at raising his son and being the Unit Chief. He has Beth and Haley’s sister, but it’s just him most of the time. You have no one but Shelly, and she only comes three times a week. Casey’s father fled the second you told him you were pregnant so you had to do this entire thing by yourself. All Casey knows is the team because you have them over ever so often.

She’s more familiar with Hotch since he brings Jack over for playdates because they are around the same age. Though, she loves Spencer more than anyone on the team. You’re only friends with him but he’s expressed interest in you. He’s made it clear that you’re on his mind, but you can’t be dating right now. There’s no time for boyfriends or flings or whatever Spencer would be. Your life is too complicated. Add in a toddler and a lawsuit for child support, and it’s too much for someone else to handle.

You told him this much, and he seems okay with being your friend. You still catch him watching you and blushing when you give him a compliment, but he’s been respectful of your boundaries.

You walk into work and notice everyone inside the briefing room. You practically throw your shit down on your desk and run to the briefing room.

“So sorry I’m late. Traffic,” you white-lie.

“It’s okay. We’re just going over updates on our cases and finishing files,” Hotch says.

The B Team must be out right now, and you sag your shoulders in relief. You need a chill day right now more than anything. After a rundown of the open cases, you take yours back to your desk to get started on them. Spencer does the same but he approaches your desk from the front.

You barely look up at him. “Oh, hey, Spencer.”

“Rough morning?” You scoff but don’t say anything. You don’t want to hurt his feelings. “How is Casey doing?”

“She’s good. She has a field trip today at the aquarium.”

Spencer is about to say a fact when he sees the look on your face. Maybe he shouldn’t be himself right now.

“That should be fun.” Again, you don’t respond. All you want to do is focus on your work and not on the headache you have. Instead of going back to his desk, he sits next to yours. “You know, if you ever need someone to watch Casey, I’m more than happy to do it. Even for an entire weekend. It’ll give you time to yourself.” You stop typing and look at him. “Only if it’s okay with you, of course. Or maybe I can come over and hang with her while you get some sleep or something.”

“What are you doing?”

“What? I’m just trying to help.”

It’s the way he said it that makes your back crack under the pressure. You know he doesn’t deserve this but you’re saying it anyway because he’s here.

“You’re not her father, Spencer!”

“I know, but--”

“Look, that’s nice of you to offer but I have been raising her by myself since she was born. Even before she was born. I didn’t need help then and I don’t need it now. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

You gather your finished files and walk away from your desk. Tears threaten to spill but you won’t let it. Not now.

“Okay,” Spencer says, his voice small.

Yep, you hate yourself now. Truth be told, he kind of scares you. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a man, and that scares you. He’s safe and predictable and dependable, everything you never had, not even with Casey’s father. He messed you up so badly that you learned you can’t depend on anyone for anything.

Not even Spencer.

After putting your files away, you slip into the bathroom and just cry. All this stress shouldn’t be good for you. The bathroom door opens and you immediately wipe the tears away. JJ frowns when she sees the tears, and you splash some water on your face to get the redness to go away.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“I was just wondering if you could come over to my place at two instead of four. Will is having his boys come at two, and I figured my girls could be there at the same time to get coordinated with them.”

“What?”

“Please don’t tell me you forgot about my wedding. It’s next weekend. You’re my maid of honor.”

Shit. You completely forgot about that. You’ve been so focused on not breaking down that her wedding has completely slipped your mind.

“No, I didn't forget.” You wince at the lie. “Okay, it slipped my mind, but I will be there. Two, not four.” You’re about to leave when you remember Shelly telling you she is going out of town next weekend. You don’t have money for a babysitter. “Would it be okay if I brought Casey? Shelly is going to be out of town.”

“Yes, the more the merrier. I love Casey, and I know Henry does, too.”

“Thank you, JJ,” you sigh.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m just stressed is all. I don’t think I slept more than a few hours each night, my hair needs a cut, I need an everything shower, and I don’t have time to do any of it.”

“Yeah, motherhood can be tough.”

“Tell me about it. Not to mention, I think I might have hurt Spencer’s feelings. I yelled at him. He’s just trying to help.”

“He’s a big boy. He’ll get over it. What did he say?”

“He offered to look after Casey for a weekend.”

“It might be good to take him up on the offer.”

You shrug. “I gotta get back to work.” You leave the bathroom and notice Spencer at his own desk. “Spencer?” He looks up and smiles when he sees you, making you feel even worse than you do. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you or said those things.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay. You were just trying to help.”

“The offer still stands if and when you want to use it. Think about it.”

The rest of the week is pretty chill since the B Team is still out, giving you and Spencer more time to strengthen your relationship. He shows up to work with an extra coffee, a breakfast sandwich, and a smile just for you. He wants to make sure you eat because that’s the only thing he can do right now to help you.

On the day of the wedding, you know he is going to be right there in the audience. He agreed to look after Casey while you stand next to JJ, so you’re getting her dressed in her pretty pink sparkle dress.

“So, while Mommy is up with Aunt JJ, you’re going to be seated next to Spencer in the audience. Right there in the front.”

“I like Spencer,” she grins.

You smooth down your hair and smile. “Me, too.”

“Are you gonna marry him?”

“No,” you laugh.

“I bet he’d make a great dad.”

You choose not to say anything to that and lead her down the aisle where Spencer is seated. The wedding is located in JJ’s own backyard, but it’s perfect. It’s everything she’s ever wanted and more. Casey has a strict bedtime but the wedding goes past that, so naturally, she gets cranky by the time the reception happens. She’s hungry and restless, two things a toddler should never be at the same time.

“Just another hour and I promise, we can go home. I promised JJ we’d be here.”

“I’m hungry, Mama, and I’m bored.”

“Hey, what’s going on here?”

You look up and see Spencer approaching you two.

“Sorry, she skipped her nap today, and it’s past her bedtime. She’s just bored.”

“May I?” You nod. “Hey, Casey? Would you like to dance? Just one, and then maybe we can get some cake.”

“Okay,” she grins.

Spencer takes her to the dancefloor while you stay seated at one of the tables. He whispers something to her and she eagerly steps onto his shoes. He dances around in circles with her on his shoes, and she giggles happily. It doesn’t matter how much of a shitty week you’ve been having. She’s smiling and laughing and that means you’re doing a pretty damn good job. Spencer picks her up and holds her close so he can dance properly, and she leans her head on his chest.

Would it be so bad to let him in? Maybe not, but you’re clearly not in the headspace for it. Is he willing to wait? You don’t want to keep him from other relationships even though it doesn’t look like he’s rushing to be in one.

After two songs are over, Spencer lets her down. He whispers something to her and she runs off in search of either Henry, Jack, or both. He walks over to you and holds out his hand.

“Care to dance?”

“Yes,” you smile.

You grab his hand and he brings you to the dancefloor. The next song is a slow one, so he pulls you in close to him. One hand in yours and the other low on your back. Has he always smelled this good?

“Thank you for what you did. She likes you a lot.”

“I like her a lot.” He dips his head lower so that his forehead barely touches the top of your head. “I like her mother, too.” Your heart thumps but in a good way. It’s like everyone else around you disappears until it’s only you and Spencer. “I’ll wait however long you need me to.”

You look up at him with tears. “What?”

“If time and space is what you need, I’ll give it to you. Just know that I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“You might be waiting a while,” you whisper.

“I’m a patient man.”

You rest your head on Spencer’s chest and let the music guide you. He runs his hand up and down your back, creating a safe and warm aura about him.

“You make me feel safe,” you whisper.

Whether he hears it or not, he doesn’t respond. He just continues to dance with you long after the song has ended.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)