#we just wish to have eight**n to work and drive

[harstyle]

the styles’ nanny

Summary: Y/N is a twenty-three year old uni student and Harry is a thirty-six year old single dad. Y/N is a part-time nanny and Harry is her employer. Y/N thinks Harry is hot, and Harry… well, he’s a bit confused.

Pairing: plussize-nanny!yn + older-singledad!harry

Word-count: 7.3k

Warnings: age gap (13 years), mentions of alcohol and drinking and lashing out during an argument, no happy ending yet

A/N: I don’t know why I keep writing characters that start out insecure but I swear it’ll get better later!! Let me know if you want to read more, I’m thinking maybe three parts? Also, the fact that y/n is plus-size doesn’t really become a big deal in the story, but that was how I originally had her in mind so I’m leaving it that way. Hope you enjoy!

Y/N was twenty three. She was twenty three, and she used to love being twenty three. She used to love going out to party, the feeling of alcohol burning down her throat, the rush of palpable excitement when having sex with people she’d never met before. She used to love that. But she didn’t anymore.

And the reason for that? One Harry Styles.

It was ridiculous, of course; Harry had other companions he could turn to before ever settling on her— oh and not to mention, he was her boss. Yet, it felt daring, like that time she’d fallen in love with her biology teacher or looked differently at her camp instructor in high school. Authority figures did something to her brain, and Harry was no different.

But of course there was a lot at stake and she would never actually approach the idea; it was a fantasy at most. And she thought… as long as she didn’t act on her brain’s poisoning, it would be fine.

“Y/N, did you hear me?”

“Oh,” she was snapped back to her current state following the short distraction, the butter knife in her hand now seeming more dangerous than when she’d held it seconds before. “Sorry, Harry, what was that?”

She swore she could see an amused smile tugging at his lips for a brief second. She’d always wondered what he thought of her.

“Are you free next Thursday? I have this meeting until late and I doubt I’ll be home for dinner—I was thinking you could maybe put Jamie to bed? You can stay the night if it’s too late to catch a train, or just take the other car?”

Y/N’s work day at the Styles’ house ended at five pm most days in time for Harry to get home, but she did adore Jamie, so staying longer wasn’t remotely an issue.

“That’s okay, I can just stay the night like I did last time, if that’s alright?”

Harry had insisted when she’d begun working for him that she have a room in the house where she could take naps to rest or stay the night all together when it got too tiring to catch the train home, and the notion of it had pulled at her heartstrings. He was very considerate and that was rare in bosses.

Harry shook his head, waving her off with ease, “course it’s okay.”

“Great. I should get home, I have an important test coming up tomorrow. Am I good to go?”

He glanced at the clock, noticing how late it had gotten (he’d offered to cook dinner and Y/N had never been one to reject hot men’s company) and cursed quietly to himself. “I’ll drive you.”

“Oh no Harry, really, it’s okay!”

“It’s almost eight and I feel uneasy whenever I send you away in the dark. Sides, I’m sure Jamie will love a late road trip to your flat,” he reassured with a smile, standing up as if to restrict her getting a choice and starting to load the plates into the dish washer. “Grab your coat and I’ll wait by the door. I’ll get Jamie.”

Y/N did love the way he asserted his wishes to her, kind but dominant in his decisions. He didn’t let her deter him and she, for one, didn’t mind it at all.

“Okay, thank you.”

“No problem, love.”

—

“Can I please just get one scoop? Please?”

“I’m sorry, buddy, we just don’t have any ice cream! I would let you have it if we did, but we don’t. Is there any other snack you’re interested in?”

Jamie was being fussy today and Y/N couldn’t figure out why. He’d been happy when she’d picked him up from school, raving on about his art teacher’s praise on a drawing he’d done with the widest grin resting lazily on his small lips. It had been at around three that he’d started whining at her, not wanting to eat even though he’d requested the grilled cheese and flicking through about twenty channels until he’d finally settled on not watching anything at all. Y/N had figured he was tired, but he didn’t want to sleep either, so she was left thoroughly baffled trying to find ways to tame his mood.

But he wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop whining and crying, wouldn’t stop flailing his tiny arms and legs, wouldn’t stop pouting at her. Jamie had the best behaviour Y/N had ever seen on a boy, really, so this behavior worried her. “I just want ice cream!”

“Jamie, we don’t have any ice cream. How about I get you ice cream tomorrow, hm? And today we’ll have something else? Come on, remember how we learned about compromise?”

Y/N was trying, pulling Jamie into her lap to comfort him even though he didn’t care for any of it. His face was red and angry and nothing she said registered in his brain. He cried into her shoulder instead, gripping at her sides in terror. “You’re being mean to me.”

“Hey, that’s not very nice, I’m trying to help you bud.”

“Please, I just want ice cream.”

It was kind of cute how even in his state of devastation, he still managed to be polite to her.

“And I hear you, Jamie, but we don’t have any right now. Will you settle for Oreos? Or chocolate?”

He merely shook his head.

Y/N breathed a grateful sigh when she heard the front door being unlocked, still bouncing Jamie up and down in her lap in hopes that he’d settle down just a bit. She was sure Harry’d heard the crying from the front door because his steps were fast and his expression of concern clear.

“What’s wrong, bub?”

Jamie reacted with a devastating whine, calling for his dad and reaching his arms out begging to be carried. Harry shot Y/N a look of mixed confusion and apology, leveling the boy out from inside of her lap. He mouthed the question she knew he’d been thinking and felt bad when all she could offer in return was a shrug because she knew it wasn’t the ice cream anymore

Harry sung in whispers into his ear in the hopes of calming him, bouncing him around on the spot. He pressed kisses to his forehead, drawing circles on his back. It worked better than when Y/N had done it, Jamie’s sobs having soothed into few hiccups and sniffles.

Y/N couldn’t help but admire how naturally skilled Harry was at being a father. She knew a little bit of the history— his fiancée at the time leaving him for another man months after having given birth to Jamie and having to raise him by himself. He was a busy man and Y/N could often tell that he felt bad about being unable to do things like pick up his son from preschool or spend all day playing in the den, but he was still a better father than hers had ever been. He was a great father.

Not long after his crying had died down, Jamie fell asleep in Harry’s arms. Y/N finally breathed a sigh, relieved to catch a break. She loved taking care of Jamie, but jesus had today been hard. Harry carried him up to his bedroom, careful as to not bother him and advised Y/N to wait for him to come back.

Whilst Harry was putting Jamie to bed, she decided to clean up a bit. She went through the array of toys Jamie had taken out and discarded after a short minute of playing with them, and placed them back in the drawers. A smile tugged at her lips when she saw the dino plush toy she’d gifted him when she’d first started working for this family months ago— he still played with it all of the time. In fact, Harry had once sent her a photo of it sitting next to him in the car when they’d gone on vacation in the summer. She recalled tearing up because of it.

“Hi, sorry for taking so long.”

She swore she almost jumped in reaction to his thick voice, gripping the plush tightly against her chest in shock. Harry allowed himself a chuckle, raising his arms just enough to surrender. “Sorry, should’ve knocked.”

Y/N’s only response was a forced chuckle. It still felt weird to be in a room with him by herself, without the presence of a cute five year old to tend to. It was moments like these she felt guilty about fancying him. Most of the time Harry was merely a ghost around the house and whenever he settled back in, she would leave. She rarely ever had time to utter more than a quick ‘see you tomorrow’ and rush off home. It wasn’t like he was there, so her thoughts about him didn’t seem too off putting— now, with the company of awkward silence engulfing them, she couldn’t help but feel disgusted by herself.

“Think he’s getting sick,” he then added.

“Probably,” she agreed. “I don’t think I’ve seen him like that before so it was just a bit worrisome.”

“Yeah, he only really gets like that when he’s sick, so I think it’s safe to say… you’re alright, though?”

“I’m fine, just a bit worried, as I said.”

He smiled like he found that amusing, “he’ll be okay. Are you hungry? I was going to make pasta for dinner.”

“Oh, are you sure?”

Last time she’d had dinner here, Jamie had sat next to her. It hadn’t been just her and him.

“Yeah. Why don’t you put the dino down and we’ll go make it together?”

In an instant, her cheeks heated up. She hadn’t even noticed she was still clutching to it for support and figured he must’ve thought she looked so stupid welcoming the comfort of a plush toy. Another awkward chuckle escaped her as she threw it gently into its container, bucking down to lock it away as well as her memory of these last two minutes, hopefully.

Harry was a good cook, but that wasn’t really surprising at all— in fact, she couldn’t imagine there were many things he wouldn’t excel at. Y/N, on the other hand, she was terrible. She’d burned so many things in her apartments kitchen that she couldn’t keep count even if she tried. So naturally, he took the lead in every task she did, from cutting onions to seasoning the salmon.

“Wait, no, y’can’t— here,” she couldn’t help but giggle as he took the knife from her hands, cutting into the flesh himself. He huffed, but she knew it was teasing. “You’ve gotta learn how to cook.”

“I know how to cook basic things, just not some five star gourmet meal. I think you’d be surprised what I can do with some seasoning, eggs and tomatoes.”

“I have no choice but to take your word for it, do I?”

“Guess not. Can I do something else? I feel so useless.”

He clicked his tongue, not even sparing a glance her way. “Go sit on the counter and look pretty.”

And at first, Y/N didn’t know how to respond to that. Did she just… literally sit on the counter? Probably not. It was… a joke, right? How did he expect she would react to such a bizarre request? For a second the guilt she’d been feeling about potentially being unprofessional subsided in a flush.

Then he finally let his eyes settle on her and she just about fainted at what he had to say, “what? Do you need help getting up?”

She was 99% sure at this point that he just got off on pestering her, what with the dino, and now this? Prior to these last two weeks he’d never even spoken more than five words to her, and now he was inviting her to dinner. He probably found the confusion written all over her face amusing.

She could probably indulge a little then, right?

“Yeah, I do.”

He didn’t just laugh, though, like she’d expected him to— no, he ran his hands under hot water, wiped his hands on his (very) expensive trousers and walked toward her. He motioned to the counter as if asking her to get closer and—

“Wait, no, I can do it.”

He immediately stepped back, hands dropping from her waist and smirk molding his mouth.

“You can now?”

“Yes.”

He held eye contact for a few more beats before moving away with a solid nod.

What the fuck was that?

Y/N had expected him to dismiss her, uttering something along the lines of ‘I was only joking’, but that? Never would she have thought that that would be the response.

It was funny, too, because he never could’ve carried her up without at least a bit of struggle. She knew what he was used to— thin women, supermodels even, and she was neither.

So despite the confusion, she got up on the counter like he’d asked. On her own.

And when he’d started asking her about normal things like family and uni, Y/N slowly eased out of her awkward stance. She told him about her mother, her brother, and left her deceased father out of it. He smiled, nodding along to her words whenever the situation allowed it and kept his eye on the food.

A blink was all it took for him to announce dinner and the two of them sat at the table together, peacefully quiet.

It was around six thirty when the patter of tiny feet sounded through the house, from the stairs to the kitchen. Both of the adults waited patiently, eyebrows raised in surprise that the little gremlin had decided to wake up after only having slept for two hours.

“Daddy?”

Y/N almost melted at his sweet, buttery voice.

Harry hummed, “is that you, bub?”

He finally poked his head into the room, carrying a plush toy in one hand and rubbing his sleepy eyes with the other. He studied the room before settling his green irises (clone of his dad’s) on Y/N.

“Y/N, you’re still here.”

She smiled, a pity smile, and answered in a sweet tone, “I am, bud. Is that okay?”

He merely nodded, stalking closer. Harry pulled him up into his lap, kissing his forehead before letting him rest against his front.

“I wanted to apologize for being mean before.”

Her stomach did another flip.

Was this a dream, or did a five year old just apologize to her on his own incentive? She swore these Styles boys surprised her every day!

Her eyes flickered to Harry and she watched as a proud smile stretched his mouth. He met her gaze, the grin undeniably wide, and shrugged as if to say didn’t tell him to.

“That’s okay, Jamie, I understand you were frustrated. Are you feeling better?”

He nodded again, although it was weak and subtle, “my throats itchy.”

Harry’s smile faded with his confession and he pressed the back of his palm to his son’s forehead, “why’d you get out of bed, then, silly? You need to rest if you’re sick.”

“Missed you, daddy.”

She could see that same guilt she’d seen so many times before manipulate Harry’s features again, and her heart broke a little bit for him. She couldn’t keep track of the amount of times she’d wanted to just break and say you’re a wonderful father to him, but stopped herself in fear of overstepping.

Knowing he wasn’t going to say anything soon enough, too lost in his own thoughts, she went on for him. “Tomorrow is Saturday, Jamie, how about you go rest so you can have a full day with your dad tomorrow? S’not nice spending weekends sick in bed, as you know.”

In a manner that was so much more than cute, Jamie’s fingers trapped his chin to appear deep in thought, and then he nodded. “That makes sense.”

Y/N almost laughed, “doesn’t it?”

“Will you be here too, Y/N?”

Jamie knew very well that Y/N wasn’t here on Saturdays, so she guessed he was only implying that she should be. An invitation of sorts.

But she really couldn’t handle being around Harry on the weekends as well as on weekdays, so she shook her head gently, “no, but I’ll be back on Monday, is that okay with you?”

To show his dismay, he jutted his lip out in a pout. “Can’t you come over for lunch?”

Harry nudged him, “Jamie, remember how we talked about what Y/N does when she isn’t here with us?”

“School. But there’s no school on Saturdays!”

“She does school, you’re right. When you get older, there’s so much you have to do for school that it never stops, not even on weekends. And you know what else she does? She meets up with friends, she plays tennis, she goes shopping for groceries. There’s tons she has to do besides spend time with us, yeah?” He never met her gaze as he spoke to Jamie, and it was better that way— he’d probably have caught her loved up eyes if he dared to do it. He remember details about her she didn’t recall telling him about. As if it hadn’t been enough, he added onto it, “plus, I reckon she’d appreciate a break from us, huh? We’re definitely not the only boys in her life, so we should share once in a while. No matter how much we like having her around.”

It was almost magical, the connection Harry and Jamie shared with each other. Nevermind what he’d said to make Jamie understand (she definitely hadn’t missed that last sentence— or the idea of ‘other boys’ altogether), it just made her happy to listen to them converse. It was healthy, a bit serious when need be but mostly light and protective. He did everything in his power to preserve Jamie’s innocence, especially about his upbringing and the whole mother issue.

After a long train of thought, Jamie slowly nodded his small head, “okay. Fine. But I get you Monday! No other boys Monday through Friday.”

Y/N couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled from her mouth, incessant and silly. “Okay, Jamie, I promise I won’t let other boys come between us Monday through Friday, okay? Is that good for you?”

“Me and daddy, though. He’s the only other boy allowed.”

She giggled again, avoiding Harry’s gaze but nodding nonetheless, “sure. Daddy too.”

She felt Harry shift out of her periphery.

“Okay,” he finally settled, outstretching his arm across the table, “pinky promise?”

She did the same, but just before Jamie had a chance to interlink his much smaller finger with hers, she pulled back. “If I pinky promise you on this, will you pinky promise me that you’ll finally go rest?”

He hummed in agreement.

She welcomed the promise, letting her finger link with Jamie’s for a few seconds until he felt ready to let go.

“Now go lay down. I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

“Kay. Can I have a hug?”

“Of course,” she cooed at him, arms already outstretched the moment he’d climbed down from Harry’s lap. Jamie gave the best hugs, so she figured Harry would as well. She’d never gotten to test that theory, though. “Okay, good night.”

“Night.”

Jamie took slow steps (he was much like his father that way, taking his time in everything he did) and slowly disappeared into the main room, eventually stalking up the stairs as both Y/N and Harry listened for it.

“Thank you,” Harry then broke the silence. Her eyes flickered toward him, eyebrows drawing together in confusion, but a nervous smile playing on her mouth. “You’re so good with him.”

“It’s my job to be good to him.”

“It’s your job to take care of him, but you’re not… you’re doing much more than just be nice to him and I appreciate that. So thank you.”

“He’s a great kid, so… not a very difficult thing to do.”

The air had somehow become thick and unwavering, unspoken words wafting between their bodies across the table and back. Harry looked like he wanted to say more but his jaw stayed shut in place and she certainly wasn’t going to pester him about it. It was already difficult to keep in mind that despite the lighthearted dinner, he was still her employer, and that the boundaries they had been practicing since the beginning of her time here were slowly being blurred and tested.

So it didn‘t really matter what she felt whenever he spoke to her, she had to preserve herself and her position here.

She feigned a glance at the clock to justify looking away and sat up in her chair, “I should go home.”

His nod was curt, “okay. I’ll get the keys.”

“No, don’t worry, I have to stop by somewhere else before. I’ll manage.”

It was a lie, of course it was.

“Fine.”

As Y/N made her way back outside, she regretted declining his offer and the farther she walked away from the house, the more she thought about the things they could’ve talked about had she let him grab his keys and escort her home. If he would walk her to the door like last time, without Jamie in the car of course, and bid her a proper goodbye. How maybe, if they’d inched close enough, they would share a moment of hesitation before kissing. Her imagination ran wild with it and she knew that it wouldn’t really happen, but the chances would’ve been greater had she just been bad.

Shit.

—

Y/N was crying.

She was bursting into tears outside of a bar looking like a pathetic, lost idiot— and it just wouldn‘t stop. She couldn’t recall anymore what exactly she‘d expected before going into the date she‘d spontaneously agreed to as a result of her mother‘s pleas, but it certainly hadn‘t been such an embarrassing let down. Her shoulders slumped as she thought back on her date‘s words: I don’t see this going anywhere, but you’re a really nice girl. Friends?

And why was she crying? She was crying because she knew what he’d really meant was: you’re not my type at all, and this was a waste of my time. How did she know? The way he’d looked at her, with a sparkle of disgust in his eyes, the tone he’d used; pitiful and mean. How he’d looked at other, skinny girls while Y/N had been planted directly in front of him and lastly, how he’d left before the date had even ended.

Y/N hadn’t left the bar as soon as he had, no, she’d stayed until now; closing time. She’d drunk herself to exhaustion, pulling shot after shot and even worrying the barista who went to her psych class at uni. Before she’d known it, the clock had struck three am and four hours had passed since what’s-his-face had left her to rot in there.

She had no idea what to do, she could barely even form a thought. It didn’t matter that she’d been rejected— this wasn’t about that, it was about something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Since the beginning of time relationships had been sparse and dreadful, so another notch on her belt couldn’t have mattered so much as to bring her to a multitude of tears, but she did feel unlovable and undesirable in the way she had throughout all of her life. People had told her things would get better if she waited it out, but they’d lied. Guys were still assholes.

There was really only one person she felt like contacting, and that was Harry. He’d been on her mind all weekend. She’d been wondering if she ever crossed his mind, if for a sliver of a second he allowed himself to think about her in the way she thought about him, and felt a disgustingly sour taste in her mouth when she realized the answer had to have been no.

But Y/N was drunk, and people did stupid things when they were drunk— so without much afterthought, she used the remainder of her battery on dialing his number. He answered after the first ring and her mind wandered to question the plausibility of him being awake at this hour.

“Y/N?”

She was struck watching the road in front of her, unable to answer. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

What had she done?

“Y/N, is everything okay?” another wave of tears overwhelmed her senses and as a result, she sobbed right into the speaker, and heard shuffling on the other side. “Sweetheart, where are you? What’s happened?”

“This guy— he just— he was so mean and he left me here—“

“Where? Where are you? Who left you?”

“The viper.”

“Y/N, that place closed twenty minutes ago. Are you inside?”

“No, she… she said I need to get out, so I did, but I didn’t know where to go cause m’drunk, and I…” there was a pause in which she realized how stupid he must’ve thought she was, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay, listen to me. Please stay there, don’t move, and send me your location. I’m coming to get you.”

She had no fight left in her, so she nodded to herself. Harry didn’t see, obviously, but he hung up with the hope that she’d understood him clearly.

When he arrived not fifteen minutes later, he put his car in park and hopped out to find Y/N sat on the floor, a lazy smile pulling at her lips when she laid eyes on him.

“Harry, hi! I was just thinking about you!”

He said nothing, a tick in his jaw as he helped her up on her feet, grounding her stature. She nuzzled her head into his shoulder and he kept a steady beat to bring her to warmth as quickly as possible. Y/N got the idea, aimlessly buckling up and failing miserably until he offered assistance.

“Thank you,” she murmured to him, though he refused to give a verbal response. He merely nodded, jaw still locked in place before he closed the door. Y/N watched as he walked over to the other side and opened the door.

He drove in silence and Y/N tried to be okay with that. She stared ahead, mind still gloomy, with her lips jutted out in a pout. The silent treatment made her feel like a scolded child, like Harry was her angry father who refused to speak to her because she’d come home past her bedtime. She looked over to scan over his features, make sure the crease between his forehead had subsided at least a little, but it hadn’t.

After the longest minute of her life, she finally asked, quietly, “are you mad at me?”

And when he didn’t say anything, her heart dropped.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Y/N didn’t dare to say anything for the rest of the ride. When they got back, Y/N opened her own door and hopped out, refusing to wait for Harry to help. He sighed, she could hear, but she just slowly trailed after him.

“Up on the counter,” he grumbled, grabbing a glass of water to help sober up. She took it from his hand.

“Harry, I’m sor—“

“Drink the water.”

She almost flinched at his angry tone.

Y/N was halfway done with the glass when he scoffed, unable to bite his tongue any longer, “I’m angry because you were irresponsible. First you go on a date with some dickhead—“ she opened her mouth to protest, but failed to when he put up a finger to halt her, “then you get yourself drunk and sit outside of the bar alone in a stingy area. Something could’ve happened to you, then what?”

All Y/N could say was, “it didn’t,” and it was the weakest argument she could’ve thought of.

“It very well could’ve and you’d have your stupidity to thank for it.”

Her heart banged again. She didn’t like getting reprimanded by Harry, nearly at the end of her rope anyway. She‘d never seen this side of him before, stern and miserly. Clearly Y/N had only really seen one version of him and had gotten lost in the illusion of it all.

In a last attempt to make him understand, vulnerable and naked, she let herself sniffle, “I don’t think anyone is ever going to love me.”

She‘d expected it to pull at her heartstrings more than it ended up doing— ironically enough, she felt fine confessing to him. Maybe it was the fact that she‘d bottled it up for so long that it was nice to finally admit to it, to allow somebody else to step into her shoes. Of course, every confession came with a tinge of embarrassment (it wouldn’t be a confession otherwise), but this one was still manageable. And yeah, maybe it was the alcohol coursing through her system, but who cared?

“What?”

“No one loves me. I’ve never… guys have never liked me enough to want to brag about it, or keep me around for longer than a month, and… and I do get it, cause I come with a shit ton of baggage, but it just… it takes a lot to be motivated about things that way. I’m twenty three and I’ve barely experienced what it means to love someone and actually have them love you back.”

The display of vulnerability floated heavily through the air.

He was silent for a second. He did that sometimes, she noticed, especially when he was processing things.

Once he did open his mouth, though, he knew exactly what to say, “you can’t let some immature boys get to you like this, you hear me? Tell me one good asset the guy you went on a date with had.”

Y/N shook her head, not because she couldn‘t have if she‘d thought about it hard enough but because she had no energy to continue this conversation any longer. He wouldn’t get it

“See? No guy is worth crying over, especially not on some dirty pavement outside of a bar.”

He truly did have a point there, she supposed.

But it wasn’t just about that, so she told him exactly that— well, at least tried to, “it’s more than… I don’t… I don’t feel good enough.”

“You’re being a bit silly, sweetheart.” She registered how sweet he’d gotten again, finger brushing against her knee and features softening just enough to convince her of safety. He probably felt bad for her. “You’re plenty good enough.”

“Y’don’t get it,” she murmured, “you don’t understand what it feels like to get rejected solely because of your looks.” Y/N had always felt slightly weird talking about her appearance with people who weren’t her closest friends, and even then she felt judgment coming from them. Each time they asked if she would come clubbing with them to score boys, she was never able to honestly express that she‘d never wanted to go because it was always her who was left riding home in an uber alone. And it wasn’t like she felt ugly— in fact, there were instances she felt so confident nobody could’ve told her anything, but then there were those few others… and her whole system came down crashing.

“What do you mean?”

He couldn’t be so daft, could he?

“You’re— you just don’t fucking get it, okay? It’s… whatever, I don’t care.”

That took some courage too, courage she only registered after having uttered the words, but she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t mutter the words this guy didn’t fancy me because I’m fat, because she still had more class than that— even drunk. Ever the childish, pouty person she was, she had more shame than that.

She buried her face in her hands, breathing out, “I’m sorry. Sorry, that was rude of me.”

“It’s fine,” he placed a warm hand on her thigh, thumb stroking soothingly. With a sympathetic look in his eye (confusion too, she guessed), he tried to pacify her concerns, “you need sleep, everything will be better when you wake up.”

He was probably right about that.

“Okay.”

As he escorted her up the stairs, she couldn’t help but let her eyes trail over his features, watching as they hardened and softened based on the turmoil occurring inside of his mind. She wanted to reach in there and grab onto clues, grasp an understanding of the workings of him, but he made that nearly impossible. She would look away if he caught her eye, cheeks heating up every time she was captured by his darkened green irises.

He opened the door, allowing her to take the first step. She didn’t really need the help, but she couldn’t complain when his hand posed on the small of her back so he could maneuver her onto the sheets.

“Do you want a change of clothes, Y/N?”

“Um, if you have something?”

She doubted there was anything in his huge closet that would fit her in the way she preferred, but the idea of spending the night in jeans was just as dreadful, so she took the chance and nodded.

He came back later with a stack of clothes perched on his left hand, the other holding another glass of water. “Anything else?”

Y/N paused for a moment to think and shook her head, “no. But just—“ she swallowed around the lump in her throat, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She couldn’t believe the words she spoke next, no thought invested into them: “will you come into bed with me?”

Time refused to pass, the ball was in his court.

When he gave a subtle nod, it was like god and the universe were sending good karma her way. Her compensation for the night. “Just until you fall asleep.”

Y/N scooted to the other edge of the bed, reaching down under the blanket to rid herself of her jeans and pull on those grey sweatpants. Surprisingly enough, they fit extremely well. Harry laid down over the blanket (to prevent getting too comfortable, probably) and perched himself onto his forearm.

Another bold wave met with Y/N’s courage as she reached out her hand to trail over his chest. Harry swallowed thickly.

“You’re really nice t’me.”

“You deserve to be treated well.” The snort that left her was completely involuntary, but it still made Harry frown. “You do.”

“Everyone does,” she later mumbled in agreement. He seemed to dislike the way she’d surrendered, though, because he did that thing with his jaw whenever he was ticked off.

What he didn’t like was the implication behind her tone that she only deserved respect because everyone did, regardless of her own character. She was disregarding her beauty and her kindness, her character, and reducing it to a commodity when it wasn’t.

He’d always had difficulty expressing his feelings, though, so he stuck with silence. Stone cold silence.

It pertained for five more minutes until he watched as sleep slowly overtook her figure, peaceful breaths cascading from her mouth. She looked so pretty asleep; relaxed, void of concerns and the crinkle in her forehead from tonight’s events dissipating into its initial form.

He wondered if she’d ever given him other implications of being an insecure girl— if she had, he’d caught none of them. He never would’ve thought somebody so effortlessly beautiful and kind as her could think to deserve less on such extreme levels. It made him wonder if anyone had ever treated her as she deserved; he noticed once that whenever she spoke about her family, she failed to mention her father. It seemed men had disappointed her in more ways than one.

There was inner turmoil bothering him. He didn’t know what he was feeling for his child’s nanny, but there was surely no other woman he felt as eager to take care of— picking her up, driving her home, clearing a room for her.

It was terrifying to allow himself these few minutes of observing her because he feared the impure thoughts which would cross his mind. Not perverse, but intimate. She deserved more than him, he was sure of it.

He left the room after another five minutes, trying to be as subtle as possible as he walked to the door. It was later than four am, so he stopped by his son’s room to check on him. When he saw nothing out of the ordinary, he finally carried himself to his own bedroom.

He would lie awake until sunrise.

—

Y/N had never woken up so panicked before, chest heaving and mind elsewhere entirely. Her head was pounding and her heart rate palpable, she was sweating all over and she could only recall last night in small, blurry tidbits.

God, and she had to face Harry. On a Monday morning.

After maybe ten minutes of lying around and procrastinating, she finally moved herself out of bed. She pulled on her clothes from last night, drank the water that was situated on her nightstand and tidied up in the bathroom before going to search for him. She looked upstairs— no trace of him, so she cascaded down the stairs and made her way to the kitchen. On the way there, his office caught her eye. The door was cracked opened and at a closer peek, she saw him sitting at the desk with his hand buried in his hair, mumbling something. She knocked, he flinched.

“God, Y/N, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” she gave a sheepish smile, “are you busy?”

“I—“ he sighed, shaking his head. It was when he spoke into the phone lying on his desk that she realized he’d been one a phone call. Before she could backtrack, he’d muttered an ‘I’ll call you later, Stace’ to them and hung up for her. She stood there, fingers interlaced in front of her body and balancing on the balls of her feet in intimidation.

He didn’t look happy either, and that was probably because ‘Stace’ was Jamie’s mother. She would call every few months, he’d told her, and cause some sort of havoc— from wanting to talk to Jamie on the phone to wanting to see him in person. When asked why he didn’t like letting her see Jamie, he’d given Y/N a very vague answer; wouldn’t do any good. She’d settled with that back then, having sensed the energy shifting.

Y/N felt bad for him now, the stress assuming control of his features almost overwhelming to look at.

He was already glancing up at her expectantly, but the words disappeared from her brain and all she wanted to do, really, was comfort him.

“I— are you okay?”

It was a visceral reaction he had to those few little words, the furrow in his eyebrow deepening, “yes, why?”

“Because… well because you were talking to Stacie on the phone—“

His scoff interrupted her pity stutter, “so you’re listening in on my conversations now?”

Oh, she was no longer sorry; she was scared. “No! No, I’m not, I swear! I was walking past looking for you and I heard you mumble something, I don’t— I would never…” and he must’ve known that. He must’ve known that she would never, ever listen in on his conversations, nor try to overstep the line by doing that (obviously she’d fucked up last night, but aside from that). He knew her, he’d trusted her for long enough for her to know that he knew that, so his accusation ticked her off.

But he looked terrifying right now; eyes dark, eyebrows furrowed, closed off stance, and nothing like the Harry she’d gotten to know well. And she had no idea if it had been last night or this that had finally pushed him over the edge.

“So why bring it up?”

“Because you— because you’ve talked about it before and I was just— I wanted to check on you!” She was stuttering like an idiot, she was aware, but with her comfort bubble gone, her speech wasn’t a reliable asset anymore. She’d always been terrible at communication and even worse at confrontation. And he must’ve known that because he was using it to his advantage— and that was mean, because he knew she would never. He knew. Didn’t he?

“It’s not professional, Y/N, but I’m sure you know that. I’m sure you know that last night wasn’t either, but you keep fucking pushing me.”

And that… well, was partly right.

“I know last night wasn’t…” she shook her head, “it wasn’t professional, I know that. I don’t know why I called you, I don’t get it either, it just happened, really, and I wanted to apologize. I understand if you—“ she peered down toward her hands, swallowing the lump in her throat, “if you don’t feel comfortable with me being here anymore. With your son, I mean, I’d totally understand.”

Y/N thought that was quite sensible of her. Of course, if she could get a chance to have a repeat of last night, she would take it in a heartbeat— but she couldn’t, so this was all she could do. She loved working here, giving it up would hurt, but she understood if that was what needed to be done.

“You just… you can’t fucking call me at three am in the morning drunk off of your arse—“

“I know that—“

“Clearly you don’t!” And she detested how his voice raised. “And clearly you don’t get that there are things you just can’t talk about; like Stacie, or your own relationships, or whatever the fuck else you’ve brought up to me.” If she felt like a scolded child yesterday, then she’d had no idea how bad it could get. “I’m your— I’m your employer, not your fucking therapist. I’m not here to clean up your fuck-ups, pat you on the head and tell you it’s alright.”

Her eyebrows furrowed because she knew that too, and she found it borderline preposterous that he would imply she didn’t.

There was a 180 here, and she was becoming less and less understanding.

“I told you I don’t know why I called you, Harry, I don’t know! What am I supposed to say? I was terrified and sad and don’t ask me why, but you’re the only person who actually gets what I’m talking about half of the time, so it just happened!”

“You act like I’m somehow responsible for you.”

Her frown deepened; she hated the notion that he had to take care of her in some way, as if she was incapable of it on her own account. “On what basis? I think you might be pressuring yourself into that, Harry, because it’s fucking ridiculous. I never made you do anything.”

He released a frustrated breath, “you have to stop worming your way into our lives— you’re our nanny, that’s it. You don’t ask me about my personal life, you don’t call me in the middle of the night to make me worry and you don’t ask me to get into bed with you.”

“You act like I don’t know that!”

“Evidently you don’t.”

“Yes I d—“

“Just—just stop. Stop talking.”

It shut her up. It did not only that, the increase of his volume had made her flinch on the spot. She wasn’t a fan of confrontation, as mentioned before, but what she despised even more was yelling. She couldn’t stand yelling, fighting, accusations being thrown in the air with no regard to anyone’s feelings. It was an extremely sensitive thing for her and she definitely hadn’t expected to experience it with him today.

Y/N saw him a little differently in this light. The sternness with which he delivered those words, strict and mean, reminded her of her childhood. He saw her weakness, saw the stress she was under, and did nothing to relieve the situation. Instead he’d yelled at her.

Her hand was shaking a little and tears were forming in her eyes. She couldn’t let him see it, though, the weakness. She couldn’t allow him to see that a simple instruction had made her want to cry.

“I can’t deal with you today, Y/N, so please just… just go.”

She left without another word— straight up turned around and closed the door behind her with shaky hands. She couldn’t stand him right now, but even more she couldn’t stand herself.

She’d fucked up so badly.

And maybe… maybe she needed to quit.

-

part two!

And there we have it! don’t hate me for that ending it was necessary!

[endless-ineffabilities]

backhand stroke (18+)

tennis coach!Aemond x tennis player!reader

Rivals on and off the court, things come to a head between the two when Aemond crosses the line and sabotages the reader's relationship.

themes : challengers inspired, Art Donaldson is featured <3, a lot of cussing, smut!!! (minors dn fckin i), the reader and Aemond hate each other (but if they hate each other why are they fcking), reader may or may not be a cheating bastard, Aemond has a glass eye + he calls the reader ace

a/n : initially I was about to write a fic where Aemond and the reader are actual rivals themselves, but quickly remembered how tennis works 💀 so in this one, Aemond is a coach and reader is a player 🎾

word count : 8k ▪︎ masterlist

The Westeros Open is the biggest and most prestigious tennis tournament in the country. 

Anyone who wants to be someone in the sport aims to qualify for it. 

For you, it is everything. You have devoted your entire life to tennis. It started as something that stemmed from your parents' neglect. Rich folks who signed their young daughter up for extensive tennis lessons just so they can be free of her and galivant off to wherever. 

You had sat there, staring at your shiny, brand-new white tennis shoes. Holding your unused top-of-the-line racket. Hair kept away from your face with a headband that still smelled like the store. 

Mostly left alone by your family, you gathered your strength, and dragged your weak eight-year-old legs across the tennis court day in and day out. 

Through the years, you found yourself. You found home, and you gave everything you had to make sure you would never lose it.

As luck would have it, you found romance along the way in Art Donaldson, who became your coach after your previous one decided to quit. He used to be a player, until he fell out of love with the game, and chose to coach up and coming players instead. 

You had been wary of getting involved with him, but eventually you couldn’t resist. He turned out to be the perfect boyfriend - caring, sweet, attentive to your every need. He became your partner in both tennis and in life. Truly, you couldn’t want for anything else.

You shouldn’t. 

So why does it feel like there is something missing?

And why is that void one that only Aemond Targaryen can fill?

The gigantic poster propped up in the inner courtyard of the country club lets everyone know that your next qualifying match in the Westeros Open is against none other than Helaena Targaryen. 

Your image looms up to around twenty feet, with Helaena’s lithe figure on the other side. The perfectionist in you can’t help but scrutinise the details in your expression and your form. Was that really what you looked like mid-serve? You laugh dryly, feeling silly at your misdirected concern.

You like Helaena, and she’s always been cordial to you outside of your matches. The issue lies with her more brash and calculating brother and coach. 

Something - or rather someone - shuffles behind you. Close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand on attention. 

"I wish I could say that you look good up there, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Think of the devil and he shall appear. You don't have to turn around to know who it is. 

Aemond fucking Targaryen. Once at his prime, known for his freely expressing his passion and rage on the court, earning him the title 'the bad boy of tennis'. It was this drive, this relentlessness, that propelled his game. Unfortunately, it also served to be his downfall. After a few years as the sport's #1 male player, his career came to an end after an off-court altercation with an opponent that took his eye.

Now he is the coach of one of your top rivals and upcoming match opponent, his sister Helaena. 

Which is why it should come as no surprise to you that he has made it his mission to get under your skin, with all his unwarranted flirty remarks, constant staring, and how he tirelessly interacts with everything you post on social media. 

It used to be tame, by his standards anyway, with things like, ‘You need to work on that backhand’ or ‘I’m guessing Donaldson doesn’t train you well enough.’

But then the messages took a different turn. You once posted a picture of you in a fancy, revealing gown when you attended the annual gala, and he responded with, ‘It’s easy to see that all your training has paid off, ace.’

You chocked it all up to playful aggression. He’s just trying to get you to lower your guard, and distract you. You knew better than to look too much into the apparent interest he gives you. 

He is notorious for being a playboy, after all. Dirty blonde hair perfectly tousled, designer tracksuits he wears with such snobbishness, a presence that can command an entire room. You’ve grown to heavily dislike the seemingly permanent smug sneer on his lips, and how he sometimes treats others like they’re nothing but gum stuck on the soles of his fancy tennis shoes.

A handsome rogue who possesses a lot of talent and who is aware of his status as a hot commodity can be dangerous indeed. If he can say that Helaena Targaryen’s best opponent is nothing but another notch on his bedpost, then he will never let that live down. 

More importantly, you are already spoken for. Aemond knows this - not that he cares - but whatever he thinks about your relationship doesn’t matter. 

“Aemond.” You don’t turn to face him, continuing to scrutinise the gigantic poster. “Is that the best you got?”

He shrugs, positioning himself right in your line of sight, clearly demanding more attention. “You don’t just look good. You look good enough to fucking eat, ace. Too bad about the shitty attitude.”

Hot then cold, nice then nasty. Aemond will never change. Rolling your eyes, you say, “I thought I told you not to call me that. Shouldn’t you be somewhere else training your sister? She’s gonna need it.”

He steps closer, invading your space. You look him directly in the eye like you’re squaring up with an opponent. This has always been your dynamic. Neither one backing down, neither one ever really dealing a blow. 

Just constant dizzying electricity. 

Sooner or later, it will all come to a head. Whether it will be your fault or his, the jury is still out on that. 

“Oh, I’m sure she will,” he patronises, his deep blue almost violet eye sparkling. On the opposite was his glass eye, only adding to his intimidating nature. He hadn’t opted for one that resembled his real eye, but rather a hazy white apparatus, making him appear ghoulish, almost ghostlike. Nestled in his left eye socket, framed by a faded maroon gash, it made him look every bit like the charismatic rogue of tennis that he is known to be. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere receiving instruction from Donaldson? Not that you’ll get much out of it.”

“Art and I are on top of our training, not that it’s any of your damn business. You should concern yourself with your sister’s game.” 

“If only that were actually true, ace, but unfortunately I believe that your sweet Art wastes too much of his fucking time being on top of you.”

“Fuck off, Targaryen,” you respond, trying to push the allure of his scent out of your mind. Pungent cologne and cigarette smoke, a blend that you’ve come to associate only with him. “Stay out of my business, and quit messaging me.”

“You like how we talk.”

“Trust me, I don’t.”

“Does Donaldson know?” Fully aware that Art has never had a liking for him, he knows that will hit a nerve. 

Your face falls, like you’ve been caught in the act. Even though you've done nothing wrong. Occasionally caving in and responding to Aemond’s messages surely isn’t crossing the line. What started out as a couple of offhand fuck offs from your end turned into actually sharing private jokes about the other matches and training and - heavens forbid - small talk about the goddamn weather. 

You’ve come to know that his favourite colour is green. Not the neon of a tennis ball, but a bluish-tinted pine. 

Not that it matters. 

Encounters such as this one also don’t mean anything. Never mind however much you find him attractive. Who wouldn’t? You have eyes, and you’re only human. Nothing more to it. 

Never mind how, some nights, in what can only be construed as momentary states of delirium, you have imagined him in Art’s place. 

Never mind just how much he gets under your skin, like no one else can, and how you can’t admit to yourself that you might actually like it.

Oh, you might actually be making yourself sick at all these thoughts. 

“There’s nothing for him to know.” You step to the side, indicating that you want to walk away. But he has you cornered and you both know it. 

He smirks, “Keep telling yourself that, ace. But you can’t deny - ” He steps close again. He suddenly tilts your face toward him with one hand, but you shake your head and his fingers lose their hold. “ - this. Us.”

Damn him. And damn the shiver that just ran up your spine. 

You stand still, entranced by the look he’s giving you. Trick or not, Aemond sure does have a way of looking at you as if he sees you for who you really are. Not the tennis prodigy. Not the public personality. You remain a shell of that broken kid that poured everything she had into this sport, much like he had, only to come out the other end still not whole, still searching for something inexplicably out of reach. And he sees just that - just you.

You feel like Art holds you up on a pedestal, not seeing the flaws that make you who you are. But you’ve always been happy to play the perfect girlfriend. 

Until Aemond. 

But he’s too much. Too forward, too brash, too intoxicating. You can never know what he’s going to do next. You can’t like him. You have to be certain that you don’t.

But then again… love and hate have always been two sides of the same coin.

He whispers, clearly pleased with the effect he has on you, “Match point, ace.”

Match point. You could have him. He could have you. He makes it evident that the next move is all yours. “Don’t go out of bounds, Targaryen,” you warn him lowly. 

“What if I want to?”

You have him. He has you.

And you… have Art. 

Clearing your throat, and your head, you finally step back. His head snaps up to follow you, disappointment evident on his face. 

“See you around, Targaryen.” You spin on your heel, walking away, immediately feeling lighter. Emptier, feeling like your body begs to drift closer to him, two equal magnets. 

“Ace,” he calls to you, walking after you when you don’t turn around. “Wait a second,” he reappears right in front of you, effectively halting your stride.

You grumble hastily, “God, you really have a space issue, don’t you, Aemond?”

“Meet me in the courtyard gardens,” he says, a new intensity lacing his voice, “tonight. After dinner. Or whenever you can. Just - ”

“No.”

“Come on, ace.” His tone is insistent, with no trace of his usual bravado and cockiness. “I think… I need to tell you something.”

Part of you wants to cave in, and just agree to whatever it is that he’s proposing, but that nagging voice in the back of your mind is adamant that it would not be right. What would Art think? But what if Aemond truly just wants to tell you something?

“So tell me now.”

His jaw clenches hard, and you can’t help but admire the taut edges of his face. “No, I want to do this, just you and me. When we’ll be alone - ”

“Aemond - ” you start to shake your head, trying hard to come up with a refusal that he will actually register. 

“Donaldson doesn’t need to know,” he almost pleads. “This is between you and me, ace. You just have to hear me out.”

You take a deep breath, unable to understand just what it is he means. “If it’s something I have to hide from my boyfriend, then it’s not gonna happen. You have to see just how messed up that is, Targaryen.”

Either he can’t hear you, or he just does not want to accept your response. “I’ll wait for you. Right around midnight then, ace? Should give you plenty of time to sneak out.”

Before you can say no, again, he hastily plants a kiss on your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, in surprise and perhaps pleasure at the softness of his lips, and when you open them once more, he is no longer flooding your space. 

You spy him entering a set of glass doors, leaving you there stunned.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Aemond kicks at another pebble, the sound momentarily breaking the silence in the gardens.

He’d checked his watch just seconds before, the face of it spitting on what remains of his eagerness. 

Twelve fucking fifteen. 

Either you just got held up by your whiney rat-faced boyfriend, or you’re a no-show.

Aemond doesn’t know which one is worse. He did not know what he was expecting in the first place. Did he actually think that you would do as he says? You never were good at following orders, much less those from someone whom you likely view as something of a nuisance.

Is that really what you see him as? Isn’t there something more at play here?

Something that keeps Aemond up at night, when he can no longer deny that it is not because he dislikes you that you plague his thoughts, but because he admires you. He does admire you, he sees no shame in admitting that. 

As a tennis player. As a competitor. Anyone who feigns ignorance at your insane potential would just be lying to themselves. 

As a woman? A… partner? No. It has to be no, doesn’t it? You hate him, you make it clear now and again. You disagree with him, challenge his views, point out his flaws. Surely, he can’t be attracted to you in a way that commands his heart. You are beautiful, he doesn’t deny this, but so were the dozens of other girls he had run through. 

Each time he watches you perform your signature backhand stroke, with that sensual growl escaping your lips and the lewd grace with which your body bends, Aemond feels his sanity slipping away.

You drive him crazy, but he can't be crazy about you. 

The only reason he asked you to meet him, is because he wants to propose that he replace Art as your coach. Helaena has expressed that she wants to retire, and focus on some other creative pursuits. Something insignificant to Aemond, that he can’t remember what it was exactly. A pottery business? A fucking flower shop? He doesn’t care to know. 

It’s perfect, he thinks, because your game is superior anyway. It’s what first got his attention, and now he can take part in your process. He can direct you, shape you. He can do so much better than Art Donaldson, and he’s sure you know this too. 

Maybe then you might actually open up to him the way you opened up to Art. With your absence tonight, it dawns on him that he might actually have to resort to other measures. Did he seriously think he would be able to simply reason with you about this? 

He sits for another half-hour on a bench nestled among the rose bushes. Surrounded by flowers of deep scarlet, a maroon he distinctly remembers as being your favourite colour. He fools himself into believing that he’s using the time to craft a plan for what’s to come, and not that he’s wasting it on the hope that you might emerge from the tall hedges, out of breath and eyes glinting eager to find him. 

Well, you played your hand. Now he knows what he has to do.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You wake up groggy the following morning, having tossed and turned the entire night, thinking about Aemond.

Had he been out there, waiting for you? Your mind came up with the different possibilities of what he has to say. Or if he had nothing to say at all, and it was all just another ruse. 

You told yourself that you didn’t want to meet up with him, but you had an alibi prepared. One of your old tennis club mates agreed to cover for you and say that you were having drinks together, just in case Art ever checks up. 

But as you were about to deliver the excuse, Art had said something about you and him not getting to spend as much quality time anymore. The past few weeks have been occupied with nothing but tennis, and though it’s a shared activity that you both value, he wanted to stay in for the night with you. He ordered room service, downloaded two films that were on your watchlist, and whispered sweet nothings in your ear until you eventually gave up on meeting Aemond. 

It can wait, whatever it is. 

Besides, isn’t this the right thing to do? Did you seriously consider having a midnight rendezvous with the guy who you claim to dislike the most? Someone who encourages you to keep secrets from your boyfriend? What good could possibly come out of that?

With a heaving sigh, you push all thoughts of last night from your mind. There are bigger things at hand. The biggest tennis tournament of the year, for one. 

You make your way to the dining hall of your hotel. Art had woken up before you, pressing a loving kiss to your cheek and explaining how he had to discuss some matters with your physical team. He wore the skin of a tennis coach as perfectly as that of a boyfriend. 

And here you are, regretting that you were unable to meet up with another man the previous night.

The art deco layout of the lobby extends into the spacious dining hall, the interior of the hotel filled with geometric patterns and rich jewel tones. You once bid Aemond guess what your favourite interior design was, and he got it in two tries, complete with a spiel of how it reflects your personality. Art, on the other hand, had been adamant that your favourite was minimalist. That was the first time you realised that his perspective of you was different from Aemond’s. 

You hadn’t yet reconciled with who is more accurate, lest it shine a light on something deeper. 

The hostess is cheerful and full of pep as she leads you to your table. You know it’s coming - she’ll ask you for a picture in just a moment, and you’re proven right when she reaches in her pocket and her phone materialises inch by inch. She seems shy to ask, ready to turn on her heel with a stiff smile if you refuse, so you do your best to be encouraging.

When the photo is taken and she finally lowers her phone, you spy someone out in the distance and you make it out to be none other than your boyfriend. Leaning by the outdoor terrace, appearing to be speaking to another person you can’t yet make out, their face obscured by the decorative shrubbery scattered across the area. 

You walk to the side to get a better view of who it is. That tall figure, clad in a black tracksuit… a familiar head of blonde hair… and the unmistakable cut of his jawline. Realisation sets in. Art is speaking to Aemond. 

Your stomach sinks, the thought of breakfast no longer enticing. Frozen in the middle of the dining hall, you begin to attract the attention of others. 

Aemond turns his head, perfectly timed for his gaze to meet yours. Like something out of a grim movie, your anxiety spikes as his smug smirk materialises in slow motion. 

If there ever were a match at hand between you two, that smirk makes it clear that he has won it. 

Art follows his gaze, also meeting yours, but without any trace of satisfaction. He looks at you accusingly. You shake your head at him, but you already know. 

This is not going to end well. 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“Is it true?”

You had wordlessly followed Art back to your hotel suite, the air around you thick with dread and anticipation.

“What did Aemond say?” You stand in front of him as he calmly sits by the window, as if you’re on the trial stand. You just might be.

“Guess,” Art spits mockingly. “Why don’t you tell me? You seem to know him quite well.” You bristle at his tone. He’s never spoken to you like this before. 

“Whatever he told you, it’s not what it looks like, okay? You know Aemond. He likes to mess around with people, especially us.”

Art shakes his head in disbelief, “He even showed me some of your messages. Some of them you must have sent - what, at 3 or 4 in the fucking morning? When you’re lying next to me in bed? Not getting a lot of sleep apparently. It must be why you’re not on top of your game.”

He’s not playing fair, and you deserve this. 

“There’s nothing going on between us,” you say through gritted teeth, making the statement sound as firm as possible, because it’s not just Art you’re attempting to convince. You want to believe it too. 

“He’s said some things about me.”

“And I defended you.”

“Not well enough,” he shakes his head. “It sounded almost normal for you. Spewing bullshit to each other.”

“It’s just… it’s all just banter.” God, you sound so terrible. “Riling each other up to get into the mindset before matches.”

“All that… all that, I can kind of understand. It’s the other things. The intimate things that get on my nerves.”

“What - ” You can’t form the proper response to that. 

“I missed talking to you, he once said. To which you replied that you do too.”

“That’s nothing.”

“You said that he inspired you.”

“That’s… that… he’s a great talent,” you stammer, as the statements he throws worsen. “He always has been. Even you can’t deny that.”

The argument goes on for an uncomfortable length of time, with Art reminding you of things that you and Aemond had apparently messaged each other, and you trying to play them off as insignificant. 

Gradually, you convince Art that Aemond is just a thorn in your side. That Aemond was just overplaying the messages to get under his skin. That letting this break your relationship would be giving Aemond what he wants. 

But everything he said - the messages he brought back to the surface, the encounters that were brought up - made you realise the depth of your involvement with Aemond. 

You are fooling yourself, just as much as you are fooling Art.

He finally stands, heading towards the door. “I’ve spoken to our physical team. Meet us at the gym in 15.”

“Art.”

He halts, but he doesn’t turn to face you. You’re worried about what you’ll see in his face if he does.

“Are we okay?” you ask.

He turns to the side, and you catch a glimpse of the man you love, his once blithe demeanour reduced to a brief, forced smile. He nods once, and you sag in relief. When he is finally out the door, you collapse onto the bed and press your knuckles to your eyes. 

You feel it all at once. 

Anger. Frustration. That fear of inevitability coming to fruition. This was bound to happen and a part of you knew it was coming.

Aemond screwed you over, and it’s high time you put an end to everything.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The gardens. Midnight. 

The message had been sent. The last one you will ever send to Aemond Targaryen if things go as planned. 

You have it rehearsed and perfected in your mind - how you will give him a piece of your mind, how you will tell him off and tell him to fuck off for good. 

As long as you think of Art…  As long as you don’t lose yourself, then…

“You’re lucky I’m not standing you up, Ace. Not like what you did to me.” The bastard has appeared directly behind you, as per his custom, so close you can feel his breath on the nape of your neck. 

You immediately turn to face him, and he stands calmly in his signature black tracksuit, his lips curled in their usual manner. “I never agreed to meet you that night.”

His smile is derisive, the sight of it sharp and cruel under the moonlight. “I thought we had sort of a code of honour, you and I. That we’d never lie to each other. Never let the other person down.”

“Honour?” you say mockingly. “I call bullshit. Trying to ruin my relationship… is that part of it?”

He looks away, shaking his head at your accusation. “I only did what you don’t have the fucking guts to do. Your relationship with Donaldson was ruined the moment we…” He trails off, brows furrowing. His gaze meets yours, revealing the truth that sits underneath his mask of arrogance. One that only you are allowed to see. He appears to take on a different smile this time, softer and less pronounced. The curses you want to hurl get caught in your throat when he looks to your lips and hums faintly to himself, almost as if he’s forgotten that you are in the middle of an argument. 

You take a step back, and it shakes him out of his reverie. It shakes the both of you out of it. 

“Well? Let’s fucking hear it then.” You raise your arms in a gesture, egging him on. 

“Hear what?” he says, having the gall to be confused.

“What did you want to tell me that night? Tell me now, because you’ll never get the chance again.”

He straightens, getting his thoughts in order. He completely forgot about that issue, and talking is increasingly becoming the last thing he wants to do right now. He wants to put his lips to better use. Something more worthwhile. “Helaena’s retiring,” he finally decides on saying, “and I think I should be your coach.”

You’re dumbfounded for a moment, his proposition whirring in your head. It makes sense, it does. He just gets you. But then again… 

“That’s rich,” you reply. “Do you think I would ever give up Art? He’s always been my coach and he’s damn good at it.”

“You’re not compatible,” he counters, “in the court and out of it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He doesn’t see you,” he affirms. He would never lie to you, and he isn’t about to start now. He repeats, “He doesn’t see you, but I do.”

His words strike true, and it feels as if he’s just pulled the rug from underneath you, and you’re falling, falling… 

Right into his arms. And the impact is jarring, because it’s real. 

“We can’t.” It comes out as a hoarse whisper, a reflection of your weakening restraint.

“Yes we can, ace.” He takes a step closer, and he lifts his hand as if on instinct, reaching for your face. But he’s frozen, unsure of how far he can toe the line that already lies fragile between you. “It should be you and me.”

Your eyes follow his movements, because you know you want him to give in and hold you. To touch your face. To kiss you.

And it’s wrong. It’s all wrong. 

“I have to go.” Your voice carries no emotion. You avert your gaze at the last second and catch the defeat that flashes across his face. It should come as a surprise that it pains you to see him like this, but then again, you see him as he sees you. You always have. Which renders your next words among the most painful to come out of your mouth. “We can’t do this anymore. Art already doesn’t trust me, and if this goes on, it’s only going to make things worse. I can’t talk to you - ” 

“No.” 

“- and I won’t be responding to anything- ”

“Stop fucking talking.” His anger is fledgling, rising to the surface. There is no way he will calmly accept these terms. “I said no, ace.”

“It’s… it’s the right thing to do,” you murmur, still unable to look at him. “I’m sure I’ll see you around. We run in the same circles. But we can’t be… us.”

“Forget it,” he seethes, trying to catch your eyes, and growling low when you don’t relent. “Forget him, ace. Or do whatever the fuck you want. But not this, I’m not having this.”

You exhale, having gotten the worst of it out of your chest. It’s over now. But it’s not a relief that you feel. It’s remorse. 

“Goodbye, Aemond.” With that, you finally take him in once more, and one glance is enough to shatter your resolve. His heightened ill temper shines clearly across his distinguished features. Under the midnight moon, he resembles a fallen angel, long dark blonde lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. His shadowy, glass eye strangely adding to the appeal. 

Beautiful. And just not yours. 

One last, lingering look - then you walk away. The silence is deafening, and you feel numb all over. Your knuckles are taut at your sides, fingernails digging in your palms to keep those pesky, errant tears at bay. You’ve suffered defeat before, but this is much worse, because it’s coming solely from your own hand. How easily you give him up, someone who was never yours, and how badly it stings. 

“No,” you hear him say again, and you pray he shuts up so you can keep walking. 

He doesn’t. He repeats the word - no - over and over like some mantra under his breath. One second you feel nothing. Nothing at all. But then the wind whooshes around you and you’re being spun around to face him. 

And then, his lips claim yours, and you feel everything. 

Sounds come rushing back to you. His ragged panting against your lips, the pads of his fingertips kneading the back of your head, the wet smacking of his mouth on your own. The empty pit in your stomach is filled with those clichéd butterflies. More so when one of his hands travels down to grasp your waist and press your body against his. 

“Aem - ” Your mind catches up to you, and you try to say his name to get him to pause, but he slides his tongue past your teeth. 

“Shut up and kiss me, ace.” He breaks free for but a second, then hungrily kisses you again. You let him. You give in completely.

“Mmm, Aemond.” Your hands reach up to cradle his face and he takes that as an opportunity to pull back and openly admire you.

“You’re my ace,” he professes, connecting his forehead to yours. “And I’m not fucking losing you.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You rush through the lobby of the hotel, hand in hand and giggling like schoolchildren as you duck your heads so as not to get recognised by the night concierge. 

With reckless abandon, your entwined bodies stumble into his suite, which just happens to be on the floor below yours. You once thought you would have to be inebriated beyond belief to surrender to a sin like this, and in a way you are. You’re high off of him - Aemond in his entirety, six feet of lean muscle, notorious foul-mouthed one-eyed libertine. 

“Fuck, ace.” He has his arms wrapped around you from behind, and he nips at your exposed neck. His touch roams and finds the mounds of your breasts, kneading mindlessly over your shirt. The sound that reverberates from his throat is carnal, and you feel it echo through your whole body. It drives you to press your ass against him, taking full notice of his hardness straining from his sweatpants. 

Feeling mischievous, you do it again, gripping his arms to anchor yourself while grinding against his cock. 

“Foul play,” he whispers against your neck, “you fucking minx.”

“There are no rules now.” You face him, running a finger along his jawline as you walk backward and he follows suit. Stopping at the edge of his bed, you strip out of your shirt, careful to keep your eyes locked on his the whole time. 

The movement is too slow for Aemond, and he desperately needs more. He pushes you onto the mattress and climbs on top of you. He slides your sweatpants off your legs, then lets his hand drag from your ankle to your inner thigh. He promptly undresses, graceless and in a rush, until all his clothes are left in a heap on the carpet. 

His cock stands on attention, taut and goddamn long. You feel an ache below that compels you to rub your legs together, but he beats you to it and slides your underwear right off. “I’ve always wanted to taste you,” he croons. “Bet you taste so sweet.”

You take your bra off and you’re finally left completely bare. He spreads your legs and positions himself in between. He uses one hand to squeeze your breast and the other to keep your legs propped wide open. 

His eye meets yours, before he settles in, lowering his head until he’s breathing cool air onto your pussy. “Match point, ace.” 

You have him. He has you. 

When Aemond’s tongue plunges deep into your throbbing core, swirling inside like he wants to consume you whole, you have to bite your tongue to hold back a scream.

He knows what he’s doing, of course he does, and he’s so fucking good.

“Yes - yes - keep going, baby, fuck -  ” you moan, words breathy and irregular. 

He sticks two fingers into your wetness, using it to spread you wider, leveraging his tongue ever deeper. In and out they go, faster than the fuck, fuck, fucks coming out of your mouth in blissful sputters. 

He suddenly stops, a guttural hmm echoing from his lips, and you look down to see his lips coated in a mixture of his spit and your pre cum. “Not so fast, ace,” he taunts. “You’ll come when I say.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, still widespread and exposed to him. “What, are you coaching me through it?” 

He hums in affirmative and leans in to kiss you, juices still dripping from his chin. 

“You gonna follow my orders, ace?” he asks, and your mind spirals at how utterly lewd it sounds. 

“Wouldn’t you like that, Targaryen?” You let out another moan, biting your lip when he hungrily sucks on your breast. “Let’s see what you got first.”

He smiles at your playful instigation. It’s always come natural, this riffing back and forth. But this midnight dalliance - he wants it to be honest. He needs you to realise how much he wants you. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He gets on his knees, a hand braced on each of your thighs, his hardened cock at the ready. 

“Ma’am?” you breathe, a laugh dying in your throat when you his tip prods at your entrance.

“I can be agreeable under the right circumstances, ace.” He torments you by pushing his cock in but an inch. 

“Fuck me, Aemond,” you cuss in frustration, then, literally, “Fuck me. Please.”

His eyes take you in, one darkened blue and one ghostly pale glass. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” he says. “You good for it, ace?” He nods once, referring to whether a condom is needed and you take the hint right away.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Perks of having a top-of-the-line physio team. They hook you up on other things too.” Your cocky-athlete way of stating that you are on the pill. 

The lights are dim in the room, but you clearly see the resolve settle on Aemond’s face. He parts his lips like he wants to say something more, and you tilt your head questioningly. 

He feels the need to make some sort of declaration. Something true. It doesn’t seem right to say those damned three words at this moment, no matter how much he means them. You could think he’s trying to trick you in order to get what he wants. A good lay and nothing else. So he doesn’t say anything and lets the silence speak for itself. If you know him as you claim to, then you’ll see. 

You’ll see just how much this means to him.

You nod, and it’s an unspoken plea. 

He thrusts his cock into you with such force, stretching your walls with a sudden and blinding ache, until he is buried to the hilt. He reaches and cradles your face with one hand, the other keeping your ankle propped by his shoulder. 

“Move, Aem.” You buck your hips against him, his cock squelching in and out again.

“Yeah, baby?” He complies with his hips in response. “That feel good?”

“Yes. God yes.”

A switch flicks inside of him, and he almost snarls through his teeth. “You feel so fucking good, ace. Your pussy takin’ me so well…” His hips buck faster, in abrupt snapping motions, burying his cock each damn time. He connects your legs together and turns you to your side, altering the position slightly. 

You look behind your shoulder and see that feral look etched on his face. His grip is tight on the flesh of your hips and the curve of your ass, having it raised slightly for his convenience. He smacks your behind with an open palm, and it elicits a lusty moan out of you. 

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps. “So beautiful like this, dripping around my fucking cock, huh? My good girl.”

The noises you release as a result are unintelligible. You press your face against the pillow in sheer pleasure, muffling your sounds. 

“I wanna hear you, baby,” Aemond protests. With practised ease, he repositions you so your ass is propped high before him, your body bent forward as you have to lean on your forearms to keep from planting your face on the sheets. 

He doesn’t ease up on his relentless thrusting, and you’re left squirming and cock-drunk. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head, you’re blissed-out on what only Aemond can give you.

“Does he fuck you as good?” he spits in obvious distaste. “I don’t think so, baby. Can’t fuck this pussy like I do.” 

“N-no,” you whimper, without any trace of guilt. “Only you, Aem.”

“Hmm,” he simpers. “Come for me, ace. Be a good girl now. Come around my cock, yeah?”

“Mhhmm,” you pant, growing weaker and weaker at his statements, your walls tensing for that release you crave.

“You’re mine, ace. Mine.”

Your whimper comes out sudden and unrestrained as you let go, and feel your warm juices leaking down your thighs. The sounds of his cock growing noisy and sloppier. He releases not long after, with a few sharp spasms, decorating your insides with his cum. 

Marking someone who is not supposed to be his. 

But nothing else matters as he crumples against you and pulls you into his arms. If something is to be reconciled with, it won’t be for tonight.

With these things, regret always comes along with the sunrise.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“40 - 30.”

The crowd cheers at the umpire’s announcement. You can barely make out the faces morphing together into one homogeneous mob, but you’ve observed enough to know that Aemond isn’t among them. Rivulets of sweat drip down your face and you walk to the side as another break starts. 

Helaena nods at you from the opposite side of the court, and you respond with a terse smile.

She resembles him so much - the one you’ve been avoiding for the past three days. With that same distinct shade of blonde hair and deep blue eyes, but possessing an aura of tenderness about her. If Aemond wasn’t lying about her plan to retire, then it makes perfect sense. She seems too good for the sport, too pure, whereas you fit right into its cruel constraints.

What sort of person would have done what you did, some nights ago, and be able to walk with their head held high? You want to believe that you regret sleeping with Aemond, that you would reverse your actions, given the chance. But the pain that eats at you is that you might have fucked things up for good, abruptly leaving before he woke up that morning. 

It’s ironic - you may just get what you said you wanted. To end things. Never to be the same with him again. 

You slump in your seat, wiping at your face with a towel, pushing all thought of Aemond from your mind. 

From your periphery, you catch Helaena gesturing to you. She smiles, and you think that your emotions must show so clearly on your face that she feels bad for you. 

She nods, and tilts her head to the side, so that you follow her gaze. Standing courtside, partially hidden in the corner just behind the barriers, you see Aemond closely watching you. 

He came after all. You turn back to Helaena, unable to hide your surprise, and she sends another smile your way. She knows. Of course she does. 

With renewed excitement, the match continues. It only takes one more point, one final ace, and you emerge triumphant. The court fills with cheers and sounds of celebration. It is declared that you are advancing to the next round of the tournament. You meet Helaena in the middle and she firmly shakes your hand, exhibiting no sign of disappointment. 

“Congratulations! Very well played.” She drops her racket and grasps your hand with both of hers. She leans closer, and adds, “You know, I also consider it a win for myself, because my last ever match is against the girl my brother is in love with.”

You forget where you are, the revelation rendering everything else moot. The cheering crowds disappear, and it’s just you and Helaena as she dips her head comfortingly, assuring you that you heard her words true.

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” she lets go finally, with a cheerful, “go celebrate!”

You feel yourself being whisked away, cameras flashing from all sides. Art appears in front of you and he pulls you into an embrace. Several onlookers gush at the sight. You barely take notice of them, your eyes already drifting to where Aemond was standing. 

There he remains, casually leaning against the barriers. Some audience members realise that the great Aemond Targaryen stands among them, and one by one a small crowd forms around him, asking for pictures and autographs.

He continues to hold your gaze, his usual smirk making an appearance, ignoring a guy waving a camera at his face. You shake your head at the scene, a genuine laugh bubbling from your lips.

You nod to each other, as if acknowledging the absurdity of it all, and leave it at that. There’s a lot more to be said, for another time. Art wraps his arm around your waist, and Aemond takes it as his cue to look away, relenting to the eager fans surrounding him.

You direct your gaze to your boyfriend, immediately seeing the recognition in Art’s eyes. He’s seen everything. 

He doesn’t need to be as acutely perceptive as Helaena to realise the truth. That of the one-eyed rogue and his ace. You’ve been drifting from him for so long, that it was only a matter of time. 

He was your friend first, and he always will be. You’ve watched each other grow, through endless mistakes and challenges, and there’s a fire in you he cannot match. 

But Aemond can. He knows this now. 

He extends a hand out to you, one which you accept with poorly masked caution. He understands how woeful it must be, to tear yourself apart from being in love with someone else. The shame and uncertainty that must entail. 

For both your sakes, he decides that he has to be the bigger person and do the right thing. 

“What do you say?” Art offers to you. “Post match treat?” he asks, referring to your tradition of sharing a large strawberry sundae after games. 

“Okay.” Your smile is sweet and unguarded, and it reminds him of when you first met, nearly six years ago. That day, he knew he had made a lifelong friend. 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“I wish I could say I’m happy to see you here, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Aemond swivels toward the sound of your voice, cigarette smoke billowing from his lips. 

“Vile habit, Targaryen.” You wrinkle your nose, and he just shakes his head and crushes the butt of his cigarette under his shoe.

“Yeah, well.” He merely shrugs. He was dead set on quitting, but something came up the past couple of days, causing his anxiety to reach new heights. When you ignored him after the night you shared, he can’t fault himself for reaching for depraved solace in nicotine. But no substance would ever be enough to erase the precious memory of watching you come undone. 

“Not happy to see me, ace?” he refers back to your greeting, not bothering to hide the hurt he feels. 

You walk closer to him, trying to hold back a smile. “Well, I lied. But it’s not like I haven’t lied before.” You stop when you’re right in front of him, the remnants of his smoke making you feel woozy. “I also lied when I said that we can’t keep being us anymore. When I said goodbye.”

“Hmm,” his lips curl at your confession. “Judging by how wildly you fucked me after you said that, I could already tell.”

You roll your eyes, but you already feel so much better, like things are falling right back into place. All it took was some teasing from the apparently callous, sharp-tongued, ambitious-to-a-fault boy standing before you. 

A boy who revealed the true depths of his compassion only to you. He let you thaw out his cold heart from its confines and declared it yours. 

“Something more to say, ace?” he asks.

“You first.”

“Are you kidding? Why don’t you play this game with your boyfriend?”

You share a lingering look, effectively answering his question. The unabashed shit-eating smile that breaks out on his face is enough to tell you just how he feels. 

“Don’t gloat,” you warn him, but he’s already pulled you flush against him with both arms. “I also need a new coach.”

“Mhmm,” he nods, not really in response to your statement. “Save that for later, ace. Please shut the hell up and kiss me.”

He can’t help but smile through kisses, his lips chasing yours when you make an effort to pull away and say something more. 

“Aemond, will you - ”

“Fuckin’ - ” a cuss slips from him when you manage to break apart, depriving him of your lips. He answers impatiently, “Yes of course, I’ll be your coach, ace. Of course. Happy? I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

Before he leans in once more, you say, “Don’t you dare fuck this up, Targaryen.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my love.”

You lean back in mild surprise.

He laughs, “I mean - ace - or my love. Either one applies, really.”

"I... I prefer ace," you say weakly.

"Now, now, my love. I thought we promised not to lie to each other?"

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[simp4konig]

"You drive me crazy."

Obsessed! Nikto x Reader

Word count: 2472

Nikto's POV! Sporadic uses of "Y/N" — otherwise, reader is referred as "You".

To say that Nikto is obsessed with you would be an understatement 😵‍💫...

Nikto's psychological state gradually deteriorates as you read!

Google Translate Russian lmao 💀,, please forgive any errors! 😟

Edit: Realising that this fic is darker than my usual works. Warning my readers for darker content!

Edit 2: Added the appropriate "dark content" tags. <3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

I've lost my mind long ago. We're losing it as we speak. I've lost myself long ago and I have not known what to do with ourselves.

Of course, not all was lost. I was cleared for service. I can approach situations without hesitation or uncertainty — but most importantly, kill methodically.

All I need are targets. Just give me targets. Nothing else matters. Nobody.

But I found you. I found you. And you found us. Although there was nothing to find, you found us.

How? It's a mystery. An enigma. An unsolvable puzzle.

My name is Igor. Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich.

Игорь. Igor. I—gor. Two syllables. Four letters, in English. A not so common name in Russia, according to the statistics: in 1991 — the year of my birth — approximately 37 baby boys born were named as such. In 2021, only 17 baby boys born were named Igor. I would assume the number declines each year — maybe less than a dozen Igors were christened this year. Or a single digit. Nine. Eight. Seven. Or even less than five.

October 13, 1991 was my exact date of birth. I was born in Novgorod, when Russia was still the Soviet Union. I had parents. A sister…

…Yet that means nothing to me.

Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich? That is foreign. That is not anyone that I know of. I am Nikto. I am no one. Nobody to know, yet somebody that I know of. Not this… Igor. I am nobody. Никто.

When the voices are quiet, that's when I can silently mourn the man that I once was.

Though, can you mourn someone whom you don't know? Can you mourn the faceless person in the casket, whose face is unrecognisable? Can you mourn at a funeral that no one attended, and hadn't taken process?

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to repeat it, yes?

I knew it. We knew it. Everyone else knew it.

But you didn't. You. You.

You… remind me of someone.

They're dead now.

They were just a target. Too bad I can't remember who they were.

But you're not. You're more than a target.

You treated me with kindness when everyone avoided me like the bubonic plague. A Black Death following the death of the former Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich and the black, black blackness lingering — a reminder. But not anything that allows us to remember, or reminds us of who we once were.

I don't remember anything. I don't remember anyone. Photographs of my family before the torture are irrelevant. Documents stamping my existence could just as easily make us inexistent. Nobody exists any more aside from Nikto.

A cacophony of voices has infiltrated my brain. Our brain. We will never be me anymore. We are who we are now.

I am a broken man. I hear the voices of many men, who won't let me sleep, won't leave me be, won't give me peace. I was one of those men. Maybe all of the men are me?

But if all of them are me, and I am all of them, then who are we? What are we?

Then again… who I am is nothing. What I are is everything. What we are — crazy.

The pieces of the puzzle aren't fully there. Surely you must have been aware, my treasure?

You were doing your due diligence to arrange the puzzle pieces, so meticulously and with dedication, devoting hours of your time and wishing for the finished product to be cohesive, but you won't find that within us. How unfortunate.

Some of the pieces are missing. Some of them don't even fit. What you're left with is an incomplete picture — one which will never be completed.

No matter. You can be the missing puzzle piece, yes?

My fellow operatives named me Никто — “Nikto”, meaning “Nobody” or “No-one” in Russian — for… what did they say? My “uncanny ability to replicate other people and hide [my] true identity”? Ironic — seeing as replicating an identity is not the same as claiming your own, and being an individual. Having an actual identity, as opposed to being forced to think that being nobody can suffice.

Funny. I was apparently religious before all of this.

Have you heard of Orthodox Christianity? It's a branch of Christianity most often practised in Eastern Europe, in case you weren't aware. Orthodox Christians believe that Jesus redeemed humanity by sacrificing himself through crucifixion — unlike Catholics, who believe that Jesus sacrificing himself through crucifixion was all in an effort to redeem humanity.

Perhaps I was an altar boy in my childhood. Or wore a cross around my neck. Maybe I was devoted, and prayed in the morning, before a meal for grace, in the night, before a mission for mercy, during a mission out of desperation, and after a mission as gratitude.

Such bullshit.

Obviously, God doesn't exist — not in the ethereal, omniscient sense.

Oh no.

The God is You. You are my God.

Just like with Orthodox Christianity, and the salvation of humanity after the sacrifice of Jesus, your presence, your mere existence, was salvation. You brought redemption unto us.

Of course, following my torture, God became an abstract concept. How could the Holy Father abandon me? How could my prayers after the tortue be so wilfully ignored? Why would he actively play a passive role in my damnation, as I'm burned, as I'm beaten, as I'm bruised, abused, cut, and mutilated?

No one was born a sinner. Not even me, this nobody. So what kind of retribution was this — a disfigured face, ruined body, and voices which infiltrated my psyche, words equivalent to the evil of the Antichrist?

But You? You made it worthwhile. Your kindness. Compassion. Charity. It was all worthwhile. Even to gaze at You from afar.

Well.

For the most part.

We have repented for our sins: stealing Your dirty laundry, Your hairbrush, Your t-shirts, and other trinkets which we deem Holy Relics; using Your lip balm without permission, You none the wiser; committing sinful acts in the comfort of your own bedroom, only for You to return, oblivious. We apologise for that nagging paranoia, demanding You to turn around, to catch a glimpse of the eyes staring at You, but You not noticing us when we were camouflaged in the shadows. For stalking You and learning Your schedule. For hacking into all of Your devices and acquiring every little piece of information available from Your digital footprints.

But, You forgive us, yes?

Don't look so horrified, dushka. We left no trace, yes? No evidence. You said You have forgiven all of our transgressions. Think of this as a confession, nothing more. Besides, we never tampered with You belongings. They're all still with us. Just like you will.

You are our oxygen. Without You, we can't breathe. Our lungs suffocate without Your natural scent to fill them, to keep us alive. Our eyes go blind with time without the sight of Your face, Your body. We can't hear anything other than Your voice — our ears tune out any frequencies and wavelengths that don't leave those pretty little lips, yet wage civil war amongst ourselves, spitting curses that cut like knives and pierce like bullets. And Your lips. And Your eyes. And Your eyebrows, hair, hands, neck, God — everything.

You won't abandon us, yes? You wouldn't abandon us, would you, мое сокровище? You are our treasure. I treasure you — all of us do: your pretty little lips, that speak in the softest of tones to us; those eyes that stare in slight fright, yet crinkle in as genuine of a smile as you can manage; those eyebrows that furrow over your bright eyes in the subtlest of frowns, in sorrow or frustration, maybe vexation — and that's just your face. What about your hair? Your hands? Your neck? Your body? What is there not to treasure?

Боже мой, Bozhe moy, my God. Oh God, it's as if an angel has descended and granted us salvation, a merciful deity absolving us of our sins and cleansing our soul. And both the angel and deity are You — working in perfect sync, so benevolent and forgiving, taking pity on a creature so pitiful, so ruined, so unfixable.

We can't remember what some of those was.

Those puzzle pieces, of course.

Zakhaev’s torture stole some of the pieces to the jigsaw, and the puzzle won't ever be solved. We ourselves interrogate, torture, eliminate, kill. Sometimes we dissociate. Other times I am completely in control. Yet all the time, we are committing sins, sins, sins.

And You forgive them. Forgive us.

Every prayer is us praying for you, to you, about you. And each one concludes with your sacred name, whispered in hushed tones as the syllables are too precious to utter out loud.

Poor, poor thing. You probably didn't even know what you were signing up for, did you? You probably intended to be charitable. Sympathetic. And you were, sweet one.

But you were naive to have assumed that we wouldn't become possessive of you like an unwanted stay mutt of its only bone. So innocent — perhaps stupid — but we like to think that you were misguided in your intentions, yet guided by some God.

An ignorant God? If You're the God to worship, then are You an ignorant one? An innocent, naive, and unconditionally loving one? Yet, one that, despite Their obliviousness, can knowingly soothe with a simple string of words? With a caress?

What an oxymoron. It suits You. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Aw. Are those tears, dushka? Let's wipe them, hmm? Kiss it better, yes? You will like our lips on you.

Don't scream. Don't hurt those vocal cords. We like the sound of your voice. We want you to talk.

There there, little one. You look beautiful when you cry, but you look most beautiful when you're smiling. Smile, hm? Do it for us. Your Nikto.

You don't have to be afraid, you know. Don't be afraid, krasotka. We love you.

Here, put your hand on our chest. Feel how our heart is beating? It beats only for you.

Our abdomen, our stomach. You feel how toned that is, yes? You feel the muscle?

What about our biceps? The strength in our forearms? They're all for you. We're all yours, yours yours yours.

Our blood looks good on you, dushka. The blood really accentuates your nails. But please, stop. Stop.

You don't have to scratch us, or scream. You know that none of that will change anything. You know that we will love you, even if you tell us you hate us. It's too late.

Get used to touching us, yes? What's left of us, anyways. Yes, our body won't be the most appealing, or the handsomest, but it's all for you. Every inch. All for you — just like how you are all ours.

You're ours, just as much as we belong to you. You could stab us with a knife and we'd smile. You could shoot us with a gun point-blank in the head and we'd thank you. What an honour it would be to live with you by your side, or die by your side. We're a dead man either way. Your dead man. Your Nikto.

You underestimated my capacity for violence. Or were perhaps too naive to understand it.

That's okay. Put your hand on my face. Just like that. See? Nothing to fear. It's just us. Your Nikto.

I can feel it shaking. Why do you shake so much, hm? Don't be afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of. You should know there's nothing to be afraid of. After all, you were fearless when it came to speaking to me, and weren't afraid to reach out to us. Surely you don't want to abandon us now?

That's too bad. You won't abandon us. We won't let you.

I'm crazy: I don't think I need to repeat it, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy.

I am already crazy yes but it is You who drives me to insanity do You know that? Why do You deny? Do not deny us this yes? Yes You do know that it is You who makes me mad beyond return of course You do You've always known it and You know it now little one You're just pretending feigning ignorance with surprise in Your eyes. Why pretend that it was all a pretense? Your kindness? Your sympathy? Your company? It was not pretense to us no it was everything. Everything we could have hoped for prayed for and lived for.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy, baby.

Craaazyyy. Crazy crazy crazy!

You have made us the craziest we have ever been from the moment we met Your eyes and will be forever driven crazier with Your around from the day You die. And that won't be anytime now, my treasure. We will treasure You, take care of You, keep You safe. You will want for nothing, we can assure You — nothing, nobody, no one. Only Nikto. Nobody will ever look at You, as their eyeballs will be gouged out for having the audacity to spare a glance at the pinnacle of perfection. And nobody will ever want You, nobody will taint that precious skin with unworthy fingers, as anyone who tries will have them broken have their bones crushed to dust their skin muscles and tendons ripped to ribbons until there is no body left.

Nobody will ever look at You. Only Nikto. Us. Forever, and ever, and ever and ever and ever we will have our eyes on You until our retinas dissolve and our pupils can no longer absorb light and we become blind and crippled, crying, crying crying crying for You, crying only for You. You crying out for us until Your voice is hoarse from moaning, until our name becomes a prayer just as much as Yours is to us.

We love You. Think of nobody. Only Nikto. Only of Nikto. Only for and against Nikto. We will live for You. We do already, do you understand? We're yours. Yours. Yours yours yours yours yours yours to have yours to hit yours to scratch with those nails yours to scream at yours yours yours yours yours. Yours. Yours! Yours!

Yours!

Y/N.

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it. You should have known it.

And if you didn't know it, then You will know it.

Because You drive me crazy.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/Ns

Really really really Really REALLY had doubts about posting this and thought that no one would like it. I felt inspired and happy and proud of myself when I was almost finished but it took me days to conclude the work since I was second-guessing whether or not I should post this after all. Kind of embarrassed, in all honesty, but I decided to post it in the end since I quite like it. :'>

I just wanted to highlight your, @//connorsui, lovely, lovely words when you reblogged my last Nikto post 😭😭😭💘💘💘. To receive not only some compliments, but your thoughts on my headcanons AND analysis *AND* your evaluation of my post was so, SO heartwarming to wake up to in the morning 🥹🥹🥹💓💓💓, especially when it was so long!!! Like, what?!! 😢😢😢😢😢😿😿😿😿😿😭😭😭😭😭💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💖💖💖💖💖✨✨✨✨✨

Thank you so so so SO much for your positive feedback !!! I've read it over four times by now. O really appreciated and still appreciate it. ☺️💞🫶💖✨✨💕💕

(I also want to kiss Nikto's scarred face ☹️☹️☹️ just wordless acts of intimacy where words aren't necessary and just to show the man some affection, regardless of how he looks 😟💝 need that ugly traumatised Russian man SO BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭)

Inspiration for this gained from:

thisvvv song!!! and Chapter 7 in Metro 2035 lol,, when Artyom was drunk and disorientated I thought it was written really REALLY well and I wanted to incorporate his meaningless drivel into this.

Nikto's voicelines and his various voices/sporadic changes in character

the Fandom Wiki

my own headcanons lol 😋

From fluff this whatever the fuck this is!!!!!!!!!! Hope you enjoyed 💗💗

[wildflowerluver]

when we are together

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

5 times jack pushes you and aaron together and the one time it works

cw: reader gets injured, mutual pinning, jack also gets hurt (very minor), bau reader, she/her pronouns 

wc: 4.9k

༺♡༻

1. carpool

you had first overheard hotch complaining about his car troubles to rossi.

everyone drove the same bureau issued suv. it was odd for one to have an issue and not the others. emily laughed and joked to the group about it being ‘old man troubles’ to which he rolled his eyes. 

“it’s going into the shop after work. standard maintenance.”

you finally butted in when hotch debated what rental car to get. 

“i can just pick you up tomorrow if you’d like. i drive in your direction anyway,” you offered. “save you the trouble.”

hotch raised an eyebrow. “are you sure? i have to get jack to school too.”

you waved your hand. “i’ll pick you both up at eight.”

true to your word, you pulled up to hotch’s apartment complex a few minutes early and shot him a quick text to let him know you were outside.

jack came barreling out first, hotch not far behind. his  backpack bounced as he ran and lunchbox hit against his leg. 

“hi y/n!” jack exclaimed as he climbed into the car. hotch greeted you with a quieter hello as he buckled jack’s seatbelt and circled the car to get in the passenger's seat.

you stayed quiet while driving, focusing instead on navigating. hotch had asked jack about his day ahead in an effort to make small talk. the young boy perked up and began rambling off about everything he would be doing at school. you were impressed with how much he seemed to enjoy learning.

it was only a few minutes before you were pulling up to jack’s school as per aaron’s directions. you quickly parked while aaron got out of his seat to help jack out of the car and get his backpack on.

before he exited though, you twisted around to say goodbye to jack and wish him a good day at school. 

he waved up at you with a toothy smile. 

“maybe you and dad could drive me to school together more often.”

you and aaron met each others eyes in a mutual agreement.

“i think that can definitely be arranged.”

2. work

it was rare that jessica couldn’t watch jack. her job and schedule allowed her to care for the young boy after school and when aaron was away on cases. 

today, however, she got swamped with a last minute series of meetings and was out of town for the day. she let aaron know as soon as possible but not quick enough for him to find another sitter.

that meant one thing, jack would have to spend the day at the bau.

aaron coached his son the entire drive over on the proper behavior. it was a paperwork day, thankfully, and he made sure jack knew that everyone on the team had a lot of work to get done. that meant no bothering them.

despite the warning, jack was practically bouncing the entire way up, more than excited he would get to spend an entire day with some of his favorite people on the planet.

members of the team greeted jack as he made his way around the bullpen. morgan even slipped him a lollipop he stole from garcia for the occasion. when hotch had begun to guide his son up towards the office, you offered to let jack sit with you.

hotch tilted his head. “are you sure?”

“i don’t have a ton of files to get done. he won’t be a bother.”

hotch brought a spare chair over to your desk. he thanked you again and disappeared into his office. you knew the young boy would need entertainment of some kind while he waited.

you took a spare piece of paper from your desk and a few pens. jack took them eagerly with a thank you and got to coloring right away.

it was far from a distraction. his scratching on paper served as white noise more than anything.

he seemed to finish after a few minutes, sliding it over to you for approval. you beamed when you saw the drawing. it was you, him, and hotch at what looked like the park. some of the scribbles were a little tough to decipher but you got the gist.

“wow jack!” you exclaimed. “i think we might have found your hidden talent!”

jack giggled, taking the picture back.

“wanna go show your dad?”

the boy was sliding off the chair and running up the steps towards his dad's office before you could stop him. while the offer was made, you were unsure if hotch was in a meeting. the door was already open, though, and jack headed in with ease.

“dad! dad! look what i made!” jack quickly exclaimed. hotch looked up from his file, expression softening as his son handed the picture.

you entered the office next, apologizing for jack’s sudden rogue behavior. hotch held his hand up, lips upturned in a small smile. 

he kept the photo framed on his wall.

3. career day

there were plenty of events at jack’s elementary school that were spread throughout the year.

he had an art show, a holiday concert, and even a mini science fair. aaron had done his best to make it to the ones he could, but there were times when work conflicted and he felt awful.

jack had another event, career day, in just a few days and the team had yet to be called in for a case.

this was a big deal for him. once aaron had told him he would be in attendance, jack seemed to work extra hard and checked every single morning to make sure his dad would still be there. typically, jessica would also attend with or without aaron but she was away on a work trip.

as happy as jack was that aaron would be there, all of the other kids in his class were bragging about both of their parents taking the day off.

haley wasn’t around anymore and his aunt was busy. 

jack asked his dad before he got out of the car for school. one of the aids had handed aaron a flier with a reminder for the event. in the back, jack piped up.

“can y/n come too?”

aaron glanced at his son through the mirror. he knew how important this event was for jack.

“sure, buddy. i can ask her today.”

jack’s career fair was that friday during your lunch break. the students would be dressing up as their future careers and even prepared a presentation for the parents who had come to see them. 

despite not being able to make it, jack had enlisted jessica’s help to make his outfit a total surprise. 

aaron and you had left a few minutes before your scheduled break to ensure enough time to make it to the school. you had to admit, hearing that jack wanted you at such a big event for him and being invited made you tear up. 

you quickly found seats in the auditorium. jack’s teacher had given a brief speech before releasing everyone to walk around the room.

jack was in the back corner. you and aaron both beamed when you say his career choice.

he was dressed in a suit, one of aaron’s ties around his neck though it was much too long for his body. he had a little bag beside him and an id clipped to his collar. he looked like aaron.

jack immediately ran into his dads legs, squeezing him tightly. you were next.

“hey buddy,” you greeted. “what did you dress up as?”

“i’m an fbi agent!” he exclaimed proudly. “i wanted to be like you and dad.”

you glanced at aaron who pressed his lips together. “you wanted to be like us?”

“yeah! i couldn’t be a superhero so i chose the real thing.”

both you and aaron collected jack in your arms at his words.

aaron stayed close to you and jack went through his entire presentation: what an fbi agent was, why he picked it, and how he can practice in his everyday life. it was adorable.

it was finally time for the career fair to end and jack had hugged you both again before running off with his class. you and aaron needed to get back to work too. aaron drove you two back to the bureau, leaving the radio on at a comfortable volume.

“thank you for coming with me. i know it meant a lot to jack.”

aaron was truly grateful. jack adored you and deep down, aaron always worried that his son would struggle with emotions and opening up after losing haley. but with you, he was the opposite.

you leaned over the center console to squeeze his hand. a small intimate gesture.

“of course. anything for either of you.”

4. emergency room

you loved watching over jack whenever you could. 

all of the team, minus you and morgan, had a conference out in wisconsin over the weekend. it wasn’t odd for certain members to not go, the bureau chose who they thought would discuss the content the best.

you volunteered to watch jack in aaron’s absence. 

you headed over to the hotchner residence immediately after work on friday. the rest of the team would be heading out that night for the conference on saturday and sunday.

jack was ecstatic that you were watching him. he even made a list of movies he wanted to watch and games he wanted to play.

of course you had been in aaron’s apartment before, but he still showed you around and pointed out where specific things for jack were. he stopped by his bedroom, motioning you to drop your bags. 

“you can sleep in here. i changed the sheets and all before you came but there’s also fresh linens in the hall closet.”

he had said it so casually you couldn’t help the blush that formed. you really hoped he didn’t notice.

you had to practically shove aaron out the door after the makeshift tour. he was running late for the airport but you could sense his nervousness about leaving jack. he finally kissed his son on the forehead and squeezed your shoulder. 

“good luck at your conference.” you giggled when he rolled his eyes, clearly not excited for it. “try and have some fun.”

“i doubt it.”

the weekend with jack went by smoothly. you did everything on his agenda and spent some time in the city too. it was honestly relaxing to be with the boy.

aaron had texted you before he had left wisconsin, sending the flight information and arrival time. you had responded with a simple ‘safe flight!’ and ventured into the kitchen to make jack dinner.

jack was bouncing around as you cooked. he missed his dad and was excited for him to get home. you warned him gently to be careful and he simply giggled before taking off around the apartment.

you thought all was good until you heard a loud crash and an instant cry.

after shutting the burner of the stove off, you wasted no time in running to find jack.

he was sitting on the floor on the hallway, the table knocked over and a picture frame scattered on the floor. your heart plummeted when you saw the blood on his forehead and hands.

you’ve had training for this. you’ve literally saved people's lives but seeing jack injured seemed to make you falter. 

you quickly took him in his arms and brought him into the kitchen, grabbing a towel to his cut. you needed to slow the bleeding before anything. you used your spare hand to wipe away jack’s tears.

“it’s gonna be okay, jackers. i promise.”

his verbal crying had subsided but the tears still flowed. your heart ached.

after a few moments, you removed the cloth and winced. he would definitely need stitches. “i’m gonna take you to get cleaned up, okay?” jack nodded.

you scooped him into your arms, quickly grabbing your phone and keys.

the drive to urgent care went by thankfully quickly. jack kept the cloth pressed to the cut and was taking it like a champ. you knew he would be okay but anxiety still nipped at your head.

doctors took jack back right away. you relayed what happened and that you were his babysitter. thankfully with aaron’s status at the bau, not much information was needed for you to write down.

when you went to follow them back to jack’s room, you were stopped. it was standard protocol for them to not let friends or family back while they operated. as much as you wanted to go and be with him, it simply wasn’t allowed.

you squeezed jack’s hand quickly, reassuring him that he would be okay. your eyes stayed on him until he was led out of sight.

you needed to call aaron.

the team was mingling about on the jet, all immersed in a game of poker while rossi slept somewhere else on the jet. hotch’s phone rang and he placed his cards down to pick it up.

hotch barely had time to answer with a hello before you were apologizing. 

“aaron i’m so so sorry,” you cried. 

“y/n what happened? where are you?”

“i’m at urgent care,” aaron’s heart fell at your words. “jack fell and cut his head. aaron i’m so sorry.”

you were crying again when you finished talking. he could tell you were trying to muffle your sobs with your hand.

“y/n,” aaron needed to calm you down before anything. “is jack okay?”

“yeah yeah. they took him back to get stitches but they said he was going to be okay. i’m sorry i was supposed to be taking care of him.”

“it’s okay. as long as jack is being taken care of, that's all that matters. i’m sure it was an accident.”

you’re already protesting his words. “but i-”

“y/n,” aaron’s voice is stern. “it’s okay. i’ll meet you at urgent care when we land. shouldn’t be more than thirty minutes.”

he was going easy on you and you knew it. 

the thirty minute wait seemed to go by agonizingly slow. a doctor had come into the waiting room and let you know that they were beginning the stitching. the cleaning had taken longer than intended.

you shut your eyes when someone sat down next to you. you knew it was him. you knew you should turn and talk to aaron but the guilt was all consuming.

he finally took the first words. “how’s jack?”

“he’s good. getting his stitches now. aaron i’m-”

“y/n, it’s okay, really. please don’t apologize again. accidents happen,” his words were gentle. you stayed quiet, knowing you would apologize again if you opened your mouth.

aaron’s hand moved to your knee, effectively stopping the anxious bouncing and squeezing to reassure you of his words. 

he kept his hand there until a doctor came out to which he stood up, professionalism seeping into his expression.

“you can go first,” you offered once the doctor had informed you that jack was ready to be seen. it felt dumb to have to vocally tell him to go.

aaron was having none of that. he reached down to take your hand in yours and hoist you to your feet, pulling you after him to jack’s room. aaron entered first, hugging his son tightly.

“hi jackers,” you greeted quietly after stepping into the room.

the young boy bit his lip as tears welled in his eyes. “i’m so sorry.”

aaron looked at his son. “what for buddy?”

“i was running when i wasn’t supposed to and i got hurt.”

you took a seat on the bed beside him, carefully wrapping an arm around his shoulder. he leaned into you as aaron occupied the other space beside him.

“it’s alright. i’m just glad you’re okay.”

5. hurts

there was always a risk when a friend, a lover, anyone close to you was in a potentially dangerous line of work.

you and aaron had gone through it a few times with him and foyet and various members of the team. you, however, hadn’t ever been directly put in danger.

that was until this case.

the unsub was profiled as a misogynistic, psychopathic serial killer whose signature involved overkill of women. every female in the immediate area was absolutely terrified. 

you didn’t think much of it at first, especially not when you, spencer, and emily had been sent to a suspect's house. the fear only set in when all traits of the suspect had pointed to him being the unsub and you were the one who got attacked first.

hotch nearly lost it when he found you unconscious and bloody. your face had been beaten, nose swollen and lip split. he dropped down beside you, taking your head in his hands and yelling your name in pure fear of losing you until j.j. had gotten the emt’s.

you thankfully didn’t stay in the hospital very long, just overnight. all of your wounds had gotten cleaned and stitched up but the doctor had diagnosed you with a pretty nasty concussion. you were just glad it was a local case so you didn’t have to wait to fly home.

hotch had insisted that he watched over you for at least the first night. there had been other volunteers but no one was going to argue with their boss. 

you had strict concussion protocol for the first night. you would need to stay up as late as you possibly could and once you fell asleep, someone would need to wake you up every few hours. it sounded exhausting.

if hotch had any issues with it, he didn’t voice them.

you were still pretty out of it on the drive home. aaron had loaded your bags in his car and kept a secure arm around your waist to help you in the passenger's seat. he even made sure to take the least bumpy route to his apartment.

you stayed leaning against the wall of his apartment hallway as aaron knocked before unlocking the door. jessica was greeting him right away, echoing that jack was in the kitchen eating dinner. the rest of their conversation was fuzzy. your head was pounding and it felt like too much to try and tune in and listen.

“y/n?” aaron’s voice was suddenly close.

you hum as you opened your eyes slowly. 

“let’s head in,” his hand fell to your shoulder as he led you inside. jessica must have left because you could only hear jack in the kitchen.

you collapsed on the couch. aaron went into the kitchen to greet his son and get you some medicine.

despite doctor’s orders, sleep was beginning to feel like a good idea. but as your eyes started to slip shut, you heard a patter against the floorboards.

“y/n?” jack’s voice was small. you knew he had never seen you like this. “are you okay?”

you sat up, patting the spot next to you for jack to climb up. “i’m alright, jackers. just got a little hurt.”

an idea seemed to pass over jack’s face and he lit up. “oh! i know how to help!”

you tilted your head to the side. sure jack was smart for his age but you didn’t know how he could help your injuries. 

“how?”

jack smiled. “kisses! dad and aunt jess always say that kissing my hurts will make them feel better.”

you bit your lip. the young boy's heart made you tear up. “well i certainly want to feel better.”

jack clambered forward, placing a soft kiss to the cut on your forehead, the bruise on your cheek, and the brace on your wrist.

aaron opened his mouth, a warning for his son to be careful on the tip of his tongue. but when he saw you smile, he stopped.

“dad!” jack twisted around to face his father. “your turn!”

aaron shook his head. “sorry buddy, i think you got them all.”

jack shook his head, pointing towards your very split lip. “nuh uh. i made sure to leave one for you.”

oh. 

aaron ruffled his son's hair. he wanted to defuse the brewing situation. as willing as he would be to kiss your injury, it was wrong, unprofessional. “her lip needs to heal. i can’t kiss it.”

“but y/n won’t feel better!” jack sounded clearly in distress. “please?”

both you and aaron knew jack’s stubbornness, something he got from his father.

“alright,” aaron’s voice was softer now.

he circled the couch to stand in front of you. jack babbled on about how he also had special spiderman bandaids in his room and he would even let you have one. aaron’s eyes met yours. it was a silent agreement between the two of you.

aaron ducked down to kiss the corner of your mouth, lips ghosting over the stitches. 

it was a surge of emotion but one that you knew he was only doing for jack. his lips left yours much faster than you would’ve liked.

“do you feel better?”

jack’s question broke you out of the trance you were in.

aaron had kissed you. indirectly, yes, but it was still a kiss.

“without a doubt.”

+1 movie night

you and aaron hadn’t discussed the night after the case. though in all honesty, you hadn’t stopped thinking about it. 

once you were cleared again for the field, cases seemed to pick up which left less than sufficient personal time for you and aaron. you missed him. 

you were the first one in the office friday morning. you had gotten there early to get a headstart on your paperwork in hopes that it meant not having to stay late.

aaron was in next. he usually gave you, or whoever else was in the bullpen, a nod and a quiet ‘good morning.’ today, he changed his route and circled around to your desk.

“are you busy tonight?”

you nearly sputtered out the coffee you were drinking out of pure unawareness of where this question was going to lead.

you shook your head. “assuming we don’t have a case, i’m not.”

“good,” aaron started. “jack wanted to have a movie night and he’s been dying to see you and i wanted to see if you wanted to come over?”

his voice seemed to go up an octave towards the end, as if to cushion the non-existent blow of the question. 

you beam. “i would love to.”

aaron’s eyes lift. it’s not a smile, those are rare even for you, but it’s close to it.

“perfect. does seven work?”

you nod.

“great, we’ll see you then.”

you hide your smile in the file you’re working on.

right as aaron had instructed, you showed up at aaron’s apartment right around seven. you knocked twice, stepping back to wait for the door to open. when it did, you weren’t met with your tall solemn boss, but the smaller hotchner.

“y/n!” jack exclaimed, surging forward to hug your waist. 

you giggled, hugging him back. “hi jack.”

aaron appeared behind his son, lips upturned at the sight of you two. “hi,” you greeted him. 

“come on in, it’s all set up.”

you let aaron take your bag. usually on nights like these, you and aaron stayed up much later than you expected and you crashed at his place instead of going home.

you took a seat at the edge of the couch, letting aaron decide the distance between you two. when he returned, he sat a few feet away. it wasn’t enough to be inferred as him clearly trying to make distance but it wasn’t close enough either.

jack had clambered into his dad’s lap, curling into his chest with just enough vision to still see the movie.

once he had settled, however, his head turned to where you still sat. he extended one of his hands, opening and closing his fists in a grabbing motion. he wanted you closer.

“i wanna lay with you too.”

“of course jackers.”

you smiled and scooted a little closer to aaron. you looked up at him cautiously. being close to jack meant being close to him too. aaron didn’t respond verbally. he lifted his arm from where it sat at his side to rest along the back of the couch. open invitation. 

you curled into aaron’s side, legs pressing against his. jack wasted no time in readjusting himself to be strung across the both of you. you could feel aaron’s eyes peer down on you but you didn’t meet his gaze. instead, you settled further into the couch and watched the screen.

as the final few scenes of the movie played, jack began yawning and rubbing his eyes. you knew it was his bedtime but would fight until the movie was over. you brought your hand to his back, running your fingers up and down to help soothe his tired state. 

when the end credit popped up, aaron leaned to shut off the tv. “alright buddy, let’s get you to bed. can you say goodnight to y/n?”

jack slid fully into your lap, arms interlocking around your neck to hug you.

“goodnight y/n. thank you for coming over.”

“goodnight jack,” you spoke, squeezing him a little tighter.

when you let go, the boy wasted no time in all but sprinting down the hall to pick out the bedtime story aaron would read.

“i’m going to get him ready for bed,” aaron started. “i shouldn’t be too long.”

you smiled up at him. “take your time.”

aaron too disappeared down the hall and you were left to your own devices. 

you knew he wanted you to wait in the living room but your overnight bag was discarded in his room and you really wanted to wash your face and get in more comfy clothing. 

you tried to be as quiet as possible as you walked down the hallway, fully intent on going into aaron’s room just to grab your bag. that was until you heard the conversation between aaron and jack. you stayed pressed against the wall next to the door.

guilt climbed in your chest at what you were doing but what the hotchner boys didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

“-don’t get it.” that was jack.

you could almost see aaron’s eyebrow quirk. “what don’t you get, buddy?”

“why aren’t you and y/n dating yet?”

you suck in a breath, cheeks turning rosy at the question. you absolutely knew you weren’t meant to hear it. the thought of turning away and completing your original task passes over but you want, need, to hear aaron’s response.

“i don’t think she likes me like that, bud.” 

“she does,” jack nearly giggles. “she talks about you a lot.”

you just got betrayed by a seven year old. 

aaron seems to change the conversation after that and that’s when you tune out, replaying aaron’s words over and over. i don’t think she likes me like that. does that mean he liked you too?

you’re so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t notice jack’s door open and aaron step out.

he sighed, not surprised in the slightest at seeing you waiting. “i know you heard all that.”

busted. 

you stammer, trying poorly to come up with an excuse.

“come on,” aaron’s hand is strong as he guides you to his room. “he just got to bed, don’t want him waking up while we talk.” 

fear courses through you. you could lose your job over all this. dramatic reaction but still a possibility. above all, however, you could lose aaron personally. it was already a barrier you felt like you were pushing

“jack sometimes doesn’t think before he asks a question,” aaron starts. oh. “i’m sorry you had to hear that.

he was sorry?

“why are you sorry?” you’re trying to save yourself the potential heartbreak.  

aaron sighs.

“i’m your boss. it’s unprofessional to have feelings for my subordinate. you watch my son too, i don’t want you feeling like i’ve been taking advantage of you.”

you wanted to laugh. aaron was always overly professional with his words.

“i really like you aaron.”

he didn’t respond at first and for a moment you think your confession was a little too strong. but then his eyes meet yours and he smiles.

“can i kiss you? properly this time.”

you hummed. “please.”

aaron’s lips met yours tentatively. his hands cupped your cheeks effectively holding you to him. it was new, though not unwelcome.

you leaned up to loop your arms around his neck to pull him closer. 

aaron pulled away first and you whined, clearly upset at the sudden lack of contact. you had waited ages to kiss aaron and in no way did you expect for it to end so soon.

“relax baby,” aaron chuckled. your heart leaped at the pet name. “need to adjust.”

he sat down on the bed. arms snaked around your waist to pull you close to him.

“so you like me too?” the question slips out before you can think about it. 

aaron leans up to kiss the corner of your mouth, the same spot where your cut had turned into a scar. 

“i do.”

[msbigredmachine]

New To This - Chapter 8

A/N: So glad to be back and writing again. Thanks to every single wonderful one of you who checked on me and sent me well wishes! You all know who you are and I appreciate you all so much!

This is quite the chapter 😈Enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Three sets of workout gear for the week, one for each day of the tryout. Two extra t-shirts. One good pair of jeans. Three outfits for nights out, most likely with her fellow recruits. Deodorant. Makeup bag. Skincare products. Certain that she had everything, she zipped her carry-on luggage closed. She checked her watch. 6.30am. Her Uber would be arriving any moment from now to drive her to the airport.

“Babe?”

The sound of Andre’s voice turned Delilah’s head towards the bedroom door, where he stood holding something in his hands.

“You forgot somethin',” he whispered, a hint of mirth struggling with the sadness in his voice as he held out what looked like a denim jacket. And not just any denim jacket. It was her favorite one, with the back embroidered with the words “Dee & Dre Forever”. She’d had that jacket since she was a teenager and had worn it through many milestones in her life so far; her high school graduation, her first job, Andre’s proposal. Despite her annoyance with him, she allowed herself to smile as she went to take it from him. “Thanks,” she murmured.

For a moment, the couple stood there, regarding each other silently. Then, he extended his hand to her, which she took, letting him pull her in for a big hug. Her heart began to thaw as his arms tightened around her waist, his face nuzzling her neck before lifting to press his lips to hers. Her blood still simmered because he was making her take this trip alone, but he seemed to be trying. Plus, she couldn’t resist responding to his sweet kisses, and she found herself missing him already.

The buzz of her phone broke their embrace, as well as the honk of a car horn blaring through the quiet of the morning. “I gotta go. My Uber’s here,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly misty at the thought of leaving him alone for an entire week, the longest they’d ever been apart.

With his arm around her shoulders, Andre escorted her through the front door and helped her stow her luggage in the trunk. He kissed her one more time. “I love you, baby. Good luck out there,” he said.

“Thanks.”

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

Four days later

The final day of tryouts arrived with a bittersweet feeling as Delilah joined the assembly of her fellow recruits around the ring. It was almost eight in the morning and they should have gotten started by now, but she appreciated the little break in transmission. 

She thought Tank was a tough trainer, but he was a teddy bear compared to the coaches of the world-renowned Performance Center. Their drills were brutal and the promo classes were intense. She was sore and strained, but she could honestly say she had never felt stronger. She was hanging with D1 athletes and former pros, ranking among the top ten women in all the combines. Her promo skills needed some more work but she was in the perfect place to improve. She was getting encouragement from people who were experts at spotting talent, and she was eating up all their advice with a spoon.

The head coach, Matt Bloom, clapped his hands and called for everyone to settle down before making his announcement. “So guys, for our last day, we got a special guest coach who will be overseeing your progress today.” He paused to absorb the curious chatter among the recruits. “Without wasting any time, please join me in welcoming one half of the greatest tag team in WWE history, Main Event Jey Uso!”

Goosebumps sprouted on Delilah’s arms before Coach Bloom even finished saying his name. Sure enough, there he was, strutting through the door to the recruits’ rapturous applause. They had talked just yesterday and not once did he mention that he was coming. The star power oozed from him even from across the room. He was dressed for a workout, showing off that fabulous body of his, and Delilah couldn’t help but stare. She wasn’t the only one, as she could hear a number of the girls fawning over him, stirring an emotion inside her that had no business being stirred. 

The recruits stood on the apron surrounding the ring, watching him demonstrate the perfect Samoan drop. He looked good. Really good. Throughout, she kept her distance, not wanting to rouse any suspicions. He stayed out of reach too, but that didn’t stop the electricity from crackling when he was near her, or the jealousy that simmered inside her when females flirted with him, a few of them laying their desperation on thick with their flirty gestures and hushed, lewd comments about getting him in their beds. To Josh’s credit, he seemed unfazed by it all and Delilah wanted to believe his aloofness had something to do with her. No matter what those bitches tried, none of them had any chance with her m–…him.

At the end of the tryout, the prospects got to mingle with Josh and all the other trainers for one last time. Delilah remained at arm’s length as she watched him work the room, keeping her cool when he finally made his way over to her.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she smiled, elbowing him in the ribs and making him chuckle.

“Wanted to surprise you. You ain’t miss me too much, did you?” he joked, his eyes drifting down her body for a split second before meeting hers again. A blush crept up Delilah’s neck. 

“Consider me surprised. But I’m glad you came,” she said sincerely.

“Me too. You killed it out there, girl. All your hard work is payin’ off.”

“I know. It’s been a dream and then some,” Delilah sighed happily, looking around in awe at the place that had been her classroom for the last three days. “I still can’t believe I’m here, this is so surreal,” she gushed.

Josh laughed at her dreamy expression. “Aw, you so cute. Tell you what, how about dinner with me tonight,” he offered.

Delilah’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”

“I ain’t stutter,” he smiled. “You’ve had a long week. You should celebrate in style. Come kick it with ya boy.”

Wow. Was he seriously asking her out? Was that what this was? “There’s a party tonight for all the recruits and we’re all gonna be there. Won’t it look weird if I’m not there?” she asked, acutely aware that it sounded like an excuse.

“You can stay at your party for a bit and then come to me,” Josh replied smoothly. “The hotel I’m staying at got a great steakhouse. You’ll love it. I’ll get you a ride for eight-thirty. Sound good?” 

The confident tone of his voice left no room for any protest. Not that she was going to. The lure of free fancy food and his company was too great. “Okay. Eight-thirty it is,” she answered.

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

The atmosphere inside the hookah lounge was great. Everyone was in a mellow and good mood. Laughter and drinks were plentiful as the recruits let loose and enjoyed the night. Delilah was on cloud nine. This was the kind of camaraderie she had imagined when she first embarked on this wild dream of hers, to bond with elite competitors and become friends over a shared dream they all hoped would come true. 

But she looked forward to seeing Josh too, and she was counting down the seconds to eight-thirty. Her heart leapt when his text came in informing her that a car was outside waiting for her. Sneaking away was quite easy and as she slipped inside the Chevy Suburban to head to his hotel, a million thoughts ran through her head as to what else was in store tonight. 

Josh was waiting in the lobby for her, his eyes lighting up when they landed on her. Delilah forced herself to close her mouth as quickly as it dropped. Words couldn't quite describe how delicious he looked.

Dressed in all black, his tattoos glistening on his skin and the jeweled gold Cuban link glittering under the collar of his short-sleeved dress shirt. He wore a devastating smile while clutching a bouquet of red roses in his hands. That visual alone made her glad that she'd chosen to wear a bodysuit instead of a dress.

“You look beautiful, baby girl. These are for you,” he murmured before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

Delilah blushed, holding the bouquet to her bosom as she inhaled their scent. She let him take her smaller hand in his and led her into the fancy restaurant. The maitre’d was waiting for them already, ushering the pair to a private corner table. The little lanterns above were soothing and illuminated the elegant space. After Josh helped Delilah into her seat and took his place next to her, the waiter handed them their menus and left to give them some privacy. 

“This place is really nice. I get why you wanted us to come here,” Delilah smiled at Josh. 

“Only the best for you, baby girl. Order whatever you want,” he told her simply.

The food was delicious - steak for him, lobster for her - and conversation was fun. There was always such an easy, natural flow between them, and as the night wore on they seemed to grow closer, their laughter softer and their gazes more intent and intimate. They sat side by side, with their shoulders pressed close together. She was soon leaning into him, feeling nice and warm from a mix of Daiquiri and white wine and his bigger muscular body warming hers. It wasn’t the wisest move on her part, but she felt so cozy just being in his presence and she was genuinely enjoying his attention.

It had been a while since she did something like this with Andre.

“I’m lookin’ for a new place in P-cola,” Josh informed her as he took a sip of his champagne. “You said your man’s a landscaper, right?” 

With her dessert fork, Delilah cut up a piece of her red velvet ganache cake slice. “Yeah.”

Josh felt his body flush with desire as he watched her slide the cake into her mouth, licking the fork with long leisurely swipes of her tongue as she relished every delicious crumb. Clearing his throat, he soldiered on. “A’ight, cool. I might hit him up to do some stuff for me.”

Delilah scoffed and took another bite. “Yeah, let’s not do that.”

“Why? What’s the problem? You don’t want him to find out about us or somethin’?” he joked. Or at least he hoped it sounded like one.

She rolled her eyes. “Um, what ‘us’? I’m engaged and you’re married. Remember?”

“Separated,” Josh corrected.

“Right. Not divorced. Big difference.”

“So if I was divorced, would things be different?” Josh inquired.

“With who?”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “With you and me, duh.”

There he went again. ‘Us’. ‘You and me’. Why did she feel like she was being put on the spot? More importantly, why did she feel guilty for not giving him the answers he wanted? Putting her fork down, her shrug was shy and half-hearted. “I dunno,” she mumbled.

Josh kissed his teeth with a wry smile. “Damn. Way to break a man’s heart, baby girl.”

Delilah shook her head and sipped her drink. “You been sayin’ some wild shit lately.”

“Maybe. But in my defense, I can’t help myself around you sometimes,” he said in a voice so husky that she had to turn her head to face him. His arm had circled her shoulders, bringing her just a little closer to him. The weight of his stare was crushing, and she tried to focus on something else, struggling to steer away from the path she’d thought she could manage venturing down.

“Gee, this is some good cake,” she breathed and picked up the plate of cake a little too aggressively, cursing to herself when some frosting smeared her index finger.

“Let me get that.” Josh reached out to capture her wrist, bringing her finger to his mouth and sucking off the frosting slowly, teasing her, testing her willpower. She sat still, wide eyes locking with his own hypnotic and mesmerizing irises, the color of hot coffee on a cold winter's day. He was such a beautiful man, so sexy that she felt paralyzed, her heart thrumming with a familiar warmth that rushed down south to make her slick between her thighs. The restaurant seemed to shrink around them in the minutes that they stared at each other, that simmering tension finally boiling over to the point of no return.

Josh released her hand to caress her cheek, his tongue snaking out to moisten his lips as he stared her down with a bone-melting intensity.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, dipping his head and brushing his lips over her own.

It was as if an unstoppable force collided with an immovable object when their mouths met. The first taste of each other only served to heighten the suffocating lust between them. Her fingers raked through his short hair, a low moan escaping her throat when their tongues tangled, her heart thumping rapidly from his sweet taste. This kiss awakened her body in ways only one other man in her lifetime had, burning her from the inside out, burning away all memories of him and leaving her famished for someone else. 

Without breaking the kiss, Josh wrapped his arms around Delilah’s waist and pulled her on top of him. Instantly, she felt his dick, hard and persistent, through his pants and it rubbed against the thin material of her romper, right on her clit. His erection felt big and she instinctively rolled her ass on it, making them both moan. Her lithe, smooth body grinded intimately against his, driving their arousal up another notch. The temperature ratcheted up by several degrees as he gripped her backside in his big hands and moved her back and forth on him, making her ride him like they were naked. In an even bolder move, his fingers weaved under the hem of her bodysuit, spreading her ass cheeks open to tease her pussy from behind.

The feel of his fingertips grazing her entrance snapped Delilah out of her trance, and she jumped as if she’d been burned. She pulled away abruptly and clambered off him, breathing hard like she’d just run a marathon.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry I can’t,” she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes. “I have to go.” Without another word, she snatched her purse and rushed away from their table and out the door. Josh watched her flee, bewildered by her reaction.

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

Ooooh. Thoughts?

Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.

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[kingofpopmj]

I Don't Know Whether To Live Or Die

Summary: Michael struggles to appreciate his life in the present after receiving a surprise visit from a ghost from his past.

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader!

Warning: SAD, READING MAY RESULT IN SOBBING, SCREAMING AND THROWING UP, DON’T HATE ME!

Requested: yes

Loud pounding came from the front door, Michael ran over, laughing at how impatient she sounded.

“You forgot something didn’t you babe?” He shouted before opening the door, revealing a face he was sure he’d never have to see again.

“Michael.” She smiled, her hand sending a shy wave his way. “Hi, how are you?”

“Lisa, what are you doing here?” His ex-wife, a woman who he thought he loved, but all she did was use him. She never truly cared for him which is why she didn’t put up much of a fight when she received the divorce papers.

“I’m sorry to show up like this. I needed to speak with you.”

“What’s going on?”

“May I come in?”

“Uh, let’s— we can talk out here.” He said, stepping out and firmly shutting the door behind him. This visit was going to be problematic enough without him inviting her into his home— their home.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Well, I don’t have all day, so—”

“Michael, I still love you.” She blurted out, her eyes widened when she realized she didn’t ease into like she’d planned.

“Excuse me?” He stepped away from her, looking at her like she was insane.

“I’m still in love with you.” She reiterated, trying to reach out for his hand.

“I— What?” He rejected her advances.

“I know you’ve moved on and it’s so wrong for me to say this to you. I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. It was eating me alive.”

“Yes, I have moved on and I’m very happy.”

“I know and that’s great. I’m happy for you. This was wrong. I’m so sorry. Can we just forget I said anything?” She bit her lip nervously, unsure of what to say next.

“It is wrong. Jesus, it’s been years Lisa. I finally moved on and I feel like myself again. I found someone. I found my someone. Y/N, she’s my person.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop thinking about us and it started to feel like maybe we could work now. We’re older, wiser. We’d be better this time around. It feels like the whole idea of right person, wrong time, you know? We were always right for each other, but back then, was the wrong time, but maybe now is the right time.”

“Is this a joke? You come here, to the home I share with Y/N and say this to me?” His voice growing louder. “Do you even understand how disrespectful that is? Lisa, we were never right for each other. We just weren’t. We don’t work together that way. The way I work with Y/N— she’s my right person, right time, all the time, every time. She’s it. She’s who I belong with.”

“It’s not a joke, I wish it was, but it’s how I feel. Yes. You’re right. I shouldn’t have come here. I should’ve kept this to myself. You’ve obviously made your decision. I’m sorry. She’s a very lucky woman. I hope she knows that.”

“I’m the lucky one.” Michael corrected.

He watched as she walked away, climbing into her car and leaving him utterly stunned. It wasn’t until she’d already driven off that he was able to snap out of it. He made it back inside, slamming the door in frustration.

What the hell is wrong with her?

Eight hours. Eight hours had passed since she pulled out of his drive way and he found himself unable to wipe it from his memory. He was sat on the floor of his dance studio, desperately trying to distract himself but nothing worked.

He couldn’t understand why her visit had him so twisted up.

“Babe! I’m home!” Y/N’s voice rang from downstairs, he could tell just from the sound of it that you were smiling. Shit. He’d really lost track of time. He stood up and made his way to you. He was determined to clear his mind during the time it took to get downstairs, but once again, he had failed.

“Hi, my love.” He smiled, kissing her temple as she stood in front of the sink, washing her hands.

“I missed you today. How was your day?”

“Mhm, I missed you. Alright. Yours?”

“Are you feeling okay?” She dried her hands with a dish towel and turned to him, a concerned look on her face.

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Stressful rehearsals?” She asked, cupping his face lovingly.

“Oh, yeah.” Michael was a no show to rehearsals, he’d completely forgotten. Now, he’s lying to Y/N because of his uncertainty. Whether it was to protect Lisa or himself, he wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Don’t worry too much. I’m sure you were incredible, you always are.”

“That’s when you’re there. I’m always better when I have you to impress.”

“Invitation accepted. How about I make your favorite for dinner?” She was completely unaware of what had transpired today. She had no idea what Michael was truly thinking and it made him feel guilty.

“I’d love that. Thank you, my love.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michael spent the night chasing after sleep. He’d gone back and forth, staring up at the ceiling and watching you sleep peacefully beside him. You were lying close, your arm draped around his torso.

He loved you so damn much.

He had to forget about Lisa and everything she said. She needed to be left in the past where she belonged.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

He was so lost in his thoughts, thinking of every possible scenario and outcome, that he almost didn’t notice the sun rising. He glanced over at the clock, your alarm would be going off any moment. If you saw him awake you’d get worried, so when he heard the alarm sound, he closed his eyes.

He pretended to be asleep, silently making note of how considerate you were. You had woken up immediately, turning off your alarm so it wouldn’t disturb him. You got out of bed carefully, tip toeing over to his side of the bed, pulling the blanket up to cover him and leaving a sweet kiss on his cheek.

You were so damn sweet.

When he heard the bathroom door shut softly, his eyes shot open and he felt a wave of disgust wash over him. He has everything.

You are everything.

He couldn’t lay in bed any longer, so he dragged himself away and his feet carried him to you.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Y/N asked as he took the place behind her, pulling her back into his chest.

“No, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” She offered, buttoning up her fitted blouse. “I’m a great listener.”

“We probably should.” He said, his shoulders were slumped over as he feared what was coming. He couldn’t keep anything from you. He couldn’t lie to you. He felt like he was betraying you and he hated it.

“I’m here.” Y/N leaned against the counter, her smile bringing him some comfort.

“I saw Lisa yesterday.” He avoided her eyes, afraid of the impending reaction.

“Lisa?” Her head tilted to the side as she tried to put the pieces together.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Lisa-Marie, your ex-wife?”

“Yes.”

“My love, that’s why you were so stressed.”

“She said some stuff.”

“What? I don’t understand what her problem is. Are you okay? Did she storm into your rehearsals and yell at you in front of everyone like last time?” She was becoming increasingly protective as she questioned him. Usually, it made him smile, but right now all he could think was how he didn’t deserve it.

“No, she came here.”

“She was here?”

“Yes, she showed up unannounced. We spoke outside on the deck. It threw me off and I ended up missing rehearsals.” He felt the weight being lifted off his shoulders as he told her the truth.

“Oh, well, are you okay?” She knew how vindictive his ex could be, her main concern was making sure Michael was okay.

“Not exactly. I haven’t been able to get the things she said out of my head.” He sounded ashamed as he explained the effect his ex had on him. Y/N felt angry, but more than anything, she ached at the thought of Michael feeling less than.

“Michael, you’re a good man. The best, most beautiful man. Inside and out— you’re perfect. You’re kind, caring, funny and so damn talented. Please, don’t listen to her. Don’t let her get in your head. She says things only to bring you down.”

“She confessed that she still has feelings— she’s still in love with me and it— I don’t know— I— It freaked me out.” He spoke, feeling full of shame.

“That’s a surprising revelation. It makes sense that it would throw you off. I’m sure it was difficult enough to see her again.” Y/N did her best to stay calm even though she wanted to find Lisa and drag her up and down Main Street for even daring to come near Michael.

“I can’t stop thinking about her— about it— about what she said.”

“What?” She wasn’t expecting that. She was sure she heard him wrong until he went on.

“I keep thinking about it. I don’t know— I keep thinking about all the mistakes we made back then and what we could’ve done differently. I just I needed to be honest with you.”

“What?” She repeated. He said ‘we’, but he was referring to Lisa and him. Y/N felt she was being pushed out of the picture right before her eyes.

“She told me she loved me and—”

“It shouldn’t matter. We’re together. You’re with me. It shouldn’t matter what she was to say.”

“It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter. I don’t know why I’m having such a hard time forgetting about it. I never thought she would show up and say that to me. I haven’t thought about her in years. I don’t understand what it’s triggered in me.”

“What you could’ve done differently.” She repeated his words with heartbreak written all over her face.

“Seeing her and hearing her confession twisted me up for some reason.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure. I never thought she actually loved me.”

“Did you love— Do you still love her?” She rephrased her question because she realized how silly it would’ve been. Michael had married Lisa, so he obviously loved her at some point, but loving her still— that’s something she needed to know.

“Y/N…” He shook his head, struggling to look into her eyes and give a definite answer.

“You do, don’t you?” Her voice grew softer, it was the first time he’d ever heard her sound unsure of herself.

“I— I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Y/N—”

“How could you even say that? You should know. Michael, it’s a simple question. Oh my god. Do you even love me?” She dragged her fingers through her hair, hoping this was a nightmare, it had to be. She wanted so badly to wake up.

“Yes. Yes, I love you. Of course I love you. I just feel a little confused.” His words spewed out as he attempted to answer the question as quickly as possible, so she’d feel no doubt. However, it was too late. If he really loved her like he said he did, then nothing and no one would cause him to feel so confused.

“Confused? Lisa showing up and telling you she still loves you confuses you, why? You lied to me about attending rehearsals because instead you were fantasizing about life with her, what could’ve been…” She looked away from him for the first time and he took that moment to steal a glimpse of her.

“I wasn’t expecting it. No, no, it wasn’t like that, I thought about the things I could’ve done better.” The way Y/N’s face fell, made him want to punch himself. “No, I mean more along the lines of the things I’ve done better with you and it felt so natural. That mess of a relationship with her, how awful she is, it prepared me, made me better to find you, to deserve you. Because you’re perfect for me, you’re everything she isn’t.” He had to admit it sounded better in his head. Basically, he was putting Lisa down to lift Y/N up, but it only made her feel more inferior.

“Do you want to get back with her?”

“I— Y/N…” Once again, no real answer.

“Oh my god. Michael, what does that make me? What even am I to you? A place holder?”

“No, Y/N. God, no. No.”

“You can’t stop thinking about her?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything, but it didn’t feel right to keep it from you. I wanted to be honest.”

“You can’t stop thinking about her.” She reaffirmed his statement and hoped that this time he told her otherwise.

“I’m sorry.” That’s when she truly broke, hearing him say sorry meant there was something to apologize for. There was something real, a place in his heart that wasn’t for her.

“What am I— am I not enough?”

Her words shocked him, but what shocked him even more was how throughout this whole conversation she remained composed. She was angry, but she never raised her voice at him. She was hurt, but she continued to empathize and try to understand his feelings. She’d still looked after him when she shouldn’t have and somehow that made him feel worse.

“Y/N, you are enough. You’re more than enough. You’re so out of my league. I’m the one— I’m not enough. Please—” She practically flew backwards to avoid his touch.

“It’s okay. I’m fine.” She forced herself to smile even though she couldn’t feel anything but pain. The man standing in front of her feeling more like a stranger the longer he spoke.

“Y/N…” Michael struggled to find the words yet again. She put her hands up, silently begging him to stop.

“I’m fine. Everything is fine. I have to go or I’ll be late for work.”

“We can finish talking about this tonight? I know there’s more you’d like to say, rightfully so.”

“There’s nothing left to say.”

She took small steps, backing away from him and eventually disappearing into the bedroom. He stood there dumbfounded. He wondered what the hell was wrong with him. He didn’t care for Lisa. He didn’t love her, not anymore and not the way he loves you. It was a surprise to hear from Lisa, nothing more. He didn’t care to ever see or speak to her again.

“Would you like to go out for dinner?” His voice desperate, carrying through the entire house.

“Sure.” Her short response made him smile. Although, they definitely weren’t fine, he knew that he still had a fighting chance. He could make this up to her. He could fix this.

“You look beautiful. As always.” He smiled nervously, following her out of the bedroom and into the hall.

“Thank you.” She walked fast in front of him not sparring him a second glance.

“Um... can I give you a ride to work?”

“It’s okay. I’ve got a few errands to run during lunch, so I’ll need my car.”

“Alright. Well, I’ll see you tonight.” She shifted uncomfortably, nodding as she descended the first few steps. The sight of her back made his stomach turn. He felt like a complete idiot.

“Wait!” His hand grabbed her arm, stopping her abruptly. She spun around on her heels, giving him a frightened look. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

“It’s alright.”

“I’ll see you later?” He leaned into her, but she flinched, straining her neck in the opposite direction, causing his lips to land on her jawline. “I love you. I love you so much.”

She looked at him through sorrow filled eyes. All he wanted to do was absorb the pain he’d inflicted upon her. He’d gladly welcome pain if it meant she’d never feel it again.

“Sorry. I guess— I wasn’t expecting that. You took me by surprise.” He wanted to ask why. He wanted to ask what was so surprising about him giving you a goodbye kiss— something they’d done every morning, but he decided against it.

“It’s okay.” He whispered.

She moved back up the steps, standing directly in front of him for a moment. Slowly, her arms wrapped around his torso and she rested her head against his chest. He didn’t waste a moment pulling her closer. He was thankful she’d let him.

Y/N pulled away, looking into his eyes as she closed the space between them.

She moved so slowly he was able to take in the small details of her face. The crease in the middle of her eyebrows, the way her lips were pointed down in a subtle frown and the tears that were puddled against her eyelashes just waiting to fall. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to explain his stupidity further. He wanted to apologize again, but he didn’t want to interrupt this moment, not yet.

Her closeness igniting warmth throughout his body as she reached up, her lips finding his.

She threw her arms around his neck and he pulled her closer, losing his balance in the process. They stumbled until his back slammed into the wall, they were chasing each other’s touch while trying to regain their footing.

The kiss grew needy, sloppy and desperate as it felt like a temporary escape for both of them. Y/N tugged at his clothes as his hands roamed her body, caressing every curve. She pulled back gasping for air, she shut her eyes and leaned her forehead against his.

“I’m going to be late.”

“Okay.”

“Goodbye, Michael.”

“I love you.”

“I— I love you too.” Her voice cracked as she stepped out of his embrace, turning away and walking down the stairs. She was out the door when he felt himself breathe again. They were going to be okay he said to himself.

Michael got ready for the day, when he left the house he found himself eager to return at the end of the day.

He missed her already.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun had just set when Michael arrived home. He parked the car in the garage and basically ran to the front door. He wanted to see her, hug her, kiss her and tell her how much he adored her.

He only wanted to come home to her.

Michael darted up the stairs, looking for his love, but when he made it to your shared room, he felt his heart drop.

Everything was gone.

The drawers once filled with her clothes— empty. The closet half occupied by her coats and dresses— empty. The shelves in the shower that held her shampoo and conditioner— empty. The house without her in it— empty.

He stood there in disbelief, squeezing his eyes shut as if everything would reappear when he opened them again, but it didn’t. That’s when it all came flooding back, the weight of it all making him feel like he was being buried alive.

This morning, she was barely holding it together and he didn’t pay attention.

“There’s nothing left to say.”

How could he miss it? She’d made it clear. That was clue number one and he overlooked it. The way she moved away from him when she said it, that was just the beginning of his new reality. She’d said there was nothing left for her to say, then walked backwards giving him ample time to speak up. She wasn’t the one who had explaining to do, it was him. That was his chance. She’d thrown out a lifeline and he didn’t take it.

“Goodbye, Michael.”

She never said that, she always said “See you soon, babe.” And, she paired it with that beautiful smile.

He couldn’t believe he didn’t notice it sooner.

He realized it all too late.

It was right in front of him, she sent him every clue, every hint and he should’ve picked up on it, but he didn’t.

She’d essentially handed him every puzzle piece, hoping he’d solve it and stop her from walking out, but he didn’t.

He saw the tears in her eyes and didn’t question them. He didn’t fight to hold her tighter— to hold her longer. He didn’t insist on kissing her cheeks until eventually she’d stop crying, forgetting what brought them on in the first place.

He didn’t fight for her.

He let her slip through his fingers, leading her to believe it was what he’d wanted. He’d made her feel like she wasn’t the one— the only one in his heart, but she was.

She is. She’s the one.

She’d left believing she was doing him a favor. She’d left because even though she loved him, she wanted him to be happy— with or without her. She left him despite the pain it brought her because she’d rather be broken than see him suffer.

This can’t be real. He prayed that this was a dream, but as he felt hot tears hit his chest, he knew it wasn’t. It was a nightmare, but it was real. It was his life.

“I— I love you too.”

She never said that either. He’d say “I love you.” She’d respond, “I love you more.” To which he’d argue, “Not possible.” Then, they’d kiss, damn would they kiss. She’d show up a few minutes late to work everyday because of their ‘kiss’, but today she was on time.

It was corny, yes, but it was their thing. Their routine and when she went off script he hadn’t even given it a second thought. He’d just dropped a bomb on her— one that she didn’t deserve. And, he didn’t press to fix it. He didn’t beg her to hear him out.

He was so focused on apologizing— later. Fixing everything— later. Reminding her what she meant to him— later. Telling her how much he needed her— later. He was so immersed in the idea of later that he didn’t see what was happening in the present. There wouldn’t be another time. They wouldn’t have another later— at least not together. It was like a punch to the gut and he could feel all the air dissipating from his lungs painfully slow.

He wouldn’t get another chance.

You’d said goodbye this morning and it took him until nightfall to realize that he’d lost you.

You’d uttered the final I love you.

You’d held him for the last time.

You’d kissed him goodbye. And, he missed it.

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Safety Measure

A/N- i’m sure i’ve mentioned it beforehand but i live in the midwest and a few weeks ago we were basically in a polar vortex AGAIN 😂 the highs for almost two weeks straight didn’t go over -5 and i nearly got stuck at my boyfriends a handful of times so i got this little idea 🥰

Summary- During a surprise snow storm, Eddie promises to keep you safe.

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- None

Tag List- @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @esme-viridian @munsonology @gvf23 @wheels-of-despair

Word Count- 1.2k

Your yawn was Eddie’s first hint that it might’ve been time for you to go home.

He adored getting to spend time with you, and this time was no different. A relaxing movie night at the trailer, pajamas, a comfy blanket, and enough snacks to feed at least eight people was exactly what you needed with this kind of weather.

It had snowed plenty during these harsh winters, and you had been checking the forecasts all day long just to make sure it would be safe when you left. Eddie even promised to drive you home if you weren’t comfortable driving while the roads were still icy. But you kept assuring him that everything would be alright, it was only supposed to snow around an inch or two during the day, by the time it was dark out you would be alright.

Oh, how you wished the weatherman was right.

You reluctantly grabbed your things and bundled up for a quick walk out to your car, still wanting to stay nice and warm in Eddie’s arms on the couch, but you still had a curfew wether you liked it or not.

“You’re sure you can’t stay a little longer?” He pleaded.

“I’m sure,” You said defeatedly, “i want to stay later, i really do, but you know i have to be home by 11.”

“Alright, fine. At least let me walk you to your car?”

“Of course! But bundle up first, i know it’s right outside but i don’t want you freezing.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and rummaged through the coat rack next to the door for his winter things, quickly slipping on his jacket and hat, along with a pair of gloves. He stepped into his boots next to the door and gave you a quick kiss onto your forehead,

“Ready?”

“Yeah…” You said, upset, putting a little smile onto Eddie’s face as he turned the knob on the front door.

Almost instantly, a wave of freezing cold air hit you both, your eyes squinting as the icy snow hit your faces as you stepped out onto the porch. You could barely see five feet in front of you, and when you turned your head you couldn’t even see your car parked in the gravel driveway in front of the trailer.

Eddie quickly stepped back into the trailer and held tightly onto your arm, bringing you back inside with him. Your nose and cheeks were already burning from the quick temperature change, even after only being outside for no more than 60 seconds.

“There’s no way i’m letting you go out in that, you have to stay here.”

“I can’t! I have my curfew and i need to get home-“

“(y/n).” Eddie said sternly. “It’s freezing out, we can barely see five feet in front of us, and that’s not snow, that’s ice that was coming down. There’s no possible way you can get home safely, even if you only drive 5 miles an hour and have your brights on. I’m not sending you out there like that, i want you here where i know you’ll be safe and i’m sure your parents will understand. I’m going to call them and tell them you’re staying here.”

You sighed and took another quick glance outside. He was right. It wasn’t safe for you to be out there driving in that kind of weather, and you were sure your parents would understand if you had to stay the night. You looked back to him and nodded,

“Alright, but let me talk to them. And you’re sure Wayne is alright with me staying the night?”

“Of course he is! You’ve stayed over before (y/n), he doesn’t care. He said he’d call once he was off work but i’m pretty sure with the weather he’s going to catch a ride with a buddy and stay somewhere close by and just come back in the morning. He’s worse than me when it comes to things like this.”

You giggled, shrugging off your coat and handing it back to Eddie for him to hang up before moving to the phone, dialing your home phone number and waiting for someone to pick up. You felt relief when you heard that little ‘click’ of the handset on the other end,

“Hello?” Your mom. Thank god.

“Hey mom, me and Eddie just tried to leave but the weather is horrid right now.”

“I know hon, i was just about to give you a call, i know me and your dad have been strict on your curfew but we’ll let it slide tonight. We don’t want you on those roads.”

“Thanks. I’ll give you a call tomorrow morning before i leave.”

“Yes you will. Be safe and stay warm, ok? Love you sweetheart.”

“Love you too!” You set the phone back onto the receiver and turned to Eddie again, who had already changed himself back into the sweater he keeps saved for those really cold nights in the trailer, “They said they agree it’s best if i stay here.”

“I would hope so, what kind of parents would want you out in weather like that?”

You shrugged and peeked outside through the breaks in the blinds, seeing the dark white that was cascading over everything in sight. Snowstorms were nothing new in the midwest. It wouldn’t be winter if there wasn’t at least one that screwed everyone over.

But there was something different about this one. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but it gave you such an unsettling feeling.

Like you were a kid again, not able to see a thing past your front porch because of how severe the snow was outside, just a vast sea of grey that seemed like it would ever end.

You jumped as Eddie put his hand to your shoulder,

“Everything alright babe?”

“Yeah.” You said plainly, but Eddie knew you too well to let that get past him.

“Don’t lie to me.” Eddie smiled and placed his hands onto your shoulders, guiding you away from the window and back to the couch, “You’ll be alright, i promise. This place has stood through storms that you couldn’t imagine. And don’t worry about the power or anything like that, we’ve got tons of candles just in case and i’d be more than happy to read to you to pass the time.”

You smiled softly up to him, knowing that it wasn’t the trailer that would keep you safe, Eddie would keep you safe. He always kept his promises and if that meant he had to brave this storm too then that’s exactly what he would do.

“Thank you.” You smiled up at him and he slowly moved himself to sit next to you on the couch, pulling you closely into him and gently kissing your temple as he dragged the throw blanket you had been using before over your bodies.

“Don’t thank me, it’s my job to keep you safe and comfortable. I wouldn’t be a very good boyfriend if i didn’t promise to make sure you were ok.”

You leaned your head up to gently peck his lips, settling into him as he reached for the remote on the coffee table, turning the TV back on. You snuggled into his warmth as you were settled on the couch, and though you wanted to stay up you couldn’t help but close your eyes and take in this moment.

You didn’t care about the cold weather outside, all you were worried about was keeping each other warm through the night.

But that wouldn’t be too hard.

[stsgluver]

synopsis. mcdonald's date with gojo after work [part of the dynasty series]

wc. 870

tags. gojo x reader, rich boy!au, fluff, self indulgent, not proofread x

a/n. I wish I had a gojo to fund my maccies addiction

"dinner is served, m'lady," gojo dropped his head elegantly in a small bow as he held out a mcdonald's bag to you and you can't help the grin that graced your features. your snow white-haired boyfriend dared to take a glance up, his expression mirroring yours as he felt the spread of the warmth that came with making you happy. his cheeks and the tips of his flushed a light shade of pink at the idea he was the reason behind your smile.

"you shouldn't have," you responded dramatically, leaning forward to grab the bag of food with one hand and the collar of his hoodie in the other. tugging him forward lightly, he followed through, not hesitating to dip his head down to meet your lips for a well-deserved kiss. your teeth clashed and he huffed a quiet laugh, pulling back, lips drifting to peck the corner of your lips, the flush of your cheeks and then one final kiss to the tip of your nose.

you scrunched your nose up in response, and gojo grinned. "eat, before it goes cold."

silence settled between the two of you as you flicked through the bag and organised what burger belonged to who. the car park gojo had parked in was almost empty, the sun having long set and most people having gone home. you, on the other hand, had just finished an eight hour shift at your local cafe and your boyfriend insisted he treat you to the finest of dinners.

christmas was only a couple weeks away now and the temperatures were significantly dropping, so every minute of your day had been just one gingerbread latte and hot chocolate after another. several spillages, a kid vomiting, and two muffin drops later, you were more than grateful for drive thru mcdonalds.

gojo’s thumb brushed lightly against your thigh as he held you whilst you both ate. yes, he would risk knocking the dips over as he haphazardly held all of his food on his lap and dipped his chicken in. "the stars are so pretty tonight."

shifting in your seat, you peered out at the night sky. he was in fact right – thousands of stars and satellites alike flickered above. "oh my god you can see them so clearly." you pulled out your phone to take several pictures that you’d almost definitely be posting on your next dump on your spam account. 

your boyfriend, on the other hand, was clearly not impressed with your response, delivering a harsh pinch to your thigh that had you jumping in your seat.

"ahem," he coughed, dark glasses dropped to the edge of his nose as he peered over the lenses at you.

"what?"

gojo could come across as intimidating to some, with his towering height, black glasses, and overall cocky nature. however, he looked anything but as he pouted and crossed his arms over his chest, twisting his body away from you in his seat. "you were supposed to be like 'yeah they are' as you gaze at me."

you laughed at the notion, leaning across to steal some of his cold chips from his lap. "i'm sorry but what level of delusion are you living in?"

gojo gasped, swatting your hand away, "i'm never buying you dinner ever ever again."

"oh no, how ever will i be able to afford my…” you glanced at the receipt on the bag you’d left on the dashboard. “£7.95 meal again. £7.95!"

when he spared you a glance this time, he couldn’t help but smile despite his best efforts not to. how could he not? not many that he’d met could put up with his eccentric personality, and even fewer would play along with his dramatics. and yet here he had the prettiest girl he’d ever met entertaining him without judgement.  

"you won't. you'll starve,” he said matter-of-factly. “i'll still go to your funeral."

"i'll let you tell everyone we were best friends so you'll get sympathy points."

if gojo had jumped any higher in his seat, he would’ve had a concussion from hitting the ceiling of his car. "best friends?! you mean boyfriend and girlfriend? husband and wife? soulmates for life?"

"sure those work too i guess," you waved your hand dismissively, reaching for more of his fries.

this time, gojo doesn’t hinder your effort. sinking further into his seat as he gripped his top over his chest. "you're breaking my heart here baby."

you kissed his cheek gently, a small print of your lipgloss left behind on his pale skin. “you’ll live.” 

gojo puckered up his lips, “one more and maybe i will.” you rolled your eyes but complied nonetheless, tasting the salt from your dinner on his lips as you leant over the console. if it wasn’t for oxygen, he didn’t think he’d ever let you go. 

“wanna take me to subway so i can get some cookies?” you mumbled against his lips. gojo hummed when he felt your hands lightly caress his undercut and that was all it took for your earlier offences to be forgiven. he was putty in your hands after all, had been since the moment he’d laid eyes on you.

“anything for my girl.”

taglist. @jar-03 @animeflower26 @hyori2

[illiterateaffairs]

DISTRACTIONS I | LONDON CALLING

pairing: jamie tartt x f!reader (ted lasso)

rating: T (language) 

word count: 4,772

summary: you arrive in richmond anxious about starting your new life, but quickly feel at home among this new cast of characters. one of them is of particular interest to you for some reason. 

A/N: thank you to everyone who read the prologue, sent messages, and left nice comments in the reblogs and tags!! would love to continue to hear your thoughts. 💕

distractions masterlist | previous chapter

The next two weeks are somehow the slowest and quickest two weeks of your life. You put your notice in at work the second you can. The coworkers you mingled with the most are sad to see you go, especially Kara. On your last day, she surprises you with flowers and candy, and you wish you’d spent more time with her. You make a mental note to reach out to her from time to time. 

Your landlord lets you leave most of the furniture behind since you won’t be needing it all at your new place. Rebecca promised the flat she had for you was both homey and chic. Despite being eager to get out of there, you feel a sense of loss as you say goodbye to your apartment before heading to the airport. Even though your relationship was far from perfect and ended tumultuously, you and Mason made some good memories there. You watched your first Richmond game there, even though you had no idea what was going on. And now here you are on an eight hour flight to London, getting ready to work for Richmond. 

You thankfully sleep most of the trip, having opted for a late night flight, so by the time you land, it's the afternoon in local time. You have no idea how you’ll manage to sleep at a reasonable time tonight, but that’s later-you’s problem. 

The butterflies that have taken up home in your stomach since you left finally take a break from aggressively fluttering around when you see Ted and Beard waiting for you outside. You break into a huge grin before jogging over to the duo. You instantly feel at home when Ted is engulfing you into one of his signature hugs, and you come to the realization you haven’t seen him since he started coaching over here. Same with Beard, and while the two of you wouldn’t normally go for a hug, you find yourself wrapping your arms around him briefly anyway, and you can tell he doesn’t mind at all. 

“How was your flight, Kiddo?” Ted asks as they lead you to a fancy black car parked nearby with an even fancier-dressed man. 

“It was good,” you respond distractedly, “I’m sorry, do you have a driver?” 

Ted smiles as he pulls out the back door for the two of you, Beard rounding the other side, loading your bags into the trunk. “Courtesy of Rebecca. She wanted to make sure you arrived in style.” 

In the back of the car, you fit snugly between the two coaches and you couldn’t be happier. 

“And don’t worry,” Ted continues, “We came over here as soon as training ended, so most of the team should be out for the day. And as far as everyone else knows, we’re just two generous colleagues who offered to pick up the newly-minted foreigner from the airport. No one will know we’re secretly two of your favorite people in the world.”

You chuckle, but you appreciate his words. Turning to glance at Beard, he mimics zipping his lips shut and you mirror him with a giggle. 

The car ride back is filled with loud chatter as the three of you- mostly you and Ted- catch up, while you try not to be alarmed by the fact you’re driving on the left side of the road. When you pull into the parking lot of Nelson Road Stadium, you feel the butterflies start to return. Here we go. 

The driver follows you, promising to wait in the lobby until you’re ready to head home for the night. Beard heads to the coach’s quarters while Ted introduces you to everyone you pass on the way to Rebecca’s office. You try not to seem overeager to meet her in person - which you are. You cautiously follow Ted into the room, overhearing the familiar sound of Rebecca’s voice mixing with someone else’s. When their attention is drawn to where you and Ted are standing, Rebecca enthusiastically stands from her couch to greet you and you’re instantly taken with her presence- she’s even more beautiful and tall in person. 

You go to shake her hand but she opts for a warm hug as she tells you how excited she is for you to join the team. She and Ted introduce you to Leslie Higgins, Richmond’s Director of Communications. He shakes your hand with a kind smile, but you can tell he’s surprised when he hears your American accent for the first time. The three of you don’t give him a chance to question it as Ted drags you back on your welcome tour. But not before Rebecca demands you text her later that night to tell her what you think of the flat she readied for you.

Ted takes you back downstairs to where the locker rooms and coaches offices are. To Ted’s earlier point, not many players are around but you can’t help but be intimidated by the few you meet briefly. You’ve never been around famous athletes before. You try to remember their names - Colin and Isaac are the two that have stuck so far. You smile at Beard’s familiar face when Ted takes you to their office, knocking on the window to grab another man’s attention. Ted informs you that the man is Roy Kent, a name you recognize from the handful of games you’ve watched over the years. He’s another coach for the team now. Roy grunts out a ‘nice to meet you’ without bothering to turn around, but Ted lets you know that's a pretty nice gesture when it comes to Roy, so you take it. 

As you leave the locker room, you meet the team’s kitman, Will, who immediately seems like the sweetest person in the world and you hope to get to know him better during your time here. 

Finally you make it to what Ted describes at the main event - the pitch - and he was right, it was glorious. You’ve never been in an arena of this size, and despite not being too big of a sports person, you feel excitement engulfing you. You’re only pulled out of your trance as Ted calls out to one lone straggler who seems to be getting in some last minute practice on the field. 

“Hey Jamie!” Ted yells across the field, “Practice ended over an hour ago bud! Grab a shower and go home and get some rest.”

Jamie jogs over to you two with the soccer ball under his arm, “Aye aye, Coach.” Out of breath, the not-unattractive footballer looks you up and down. “Who’s this?”

You introduce yourself and Jamie shakes your hand once before dropping it.

“She’s Rebecca’s new PA we told y’all about earlier this week. She’s going to be helping out with some social media posts and what not.” Ted reminds him and Jamie seems to nod in recognition.

“Guess I’ll be seeing ya around then.” he smiles politely and then heads back inside. 

You and Ted spend a few more minutes admiring the stadium but your interest shifts to Jamie. He looked familiar, but not from the football matches you’ve watched, you don’t think. But where else would you have seen him?

Eventually Ted leads you back inside, finally showing you where you’ll be spending most of your time. He explains that your office used to belong to the team’s PR person, Keeley Jones, before she left to start her own firm. He says the club is still one of her top clients, so you’d be working closely with her from time to time, and that he couldn’t wait for you to meet her, claiming you’d absolutely adore her. You believed him. So far you were taken with everyone you’ve met. Rebecca was incredible, Higgins seemed great, Colin and Isaac a fun pair, Will a sweetheart, and Roy an interesting man you looked forward to learning more about. Even Jamie - who you couldn’t get a read on just yet - still intrigued you. 

You plop down in the desk chair now belonging to you and can’t help but spin around a few times. Ted chuckles and tells you he’ll leave you to get comfortable for a bit while he finishes up some things for the night, promising not to be long before he comes back to take you home. 

Finally having a moment to yourself after almost 12 hours, you let out a long breath you didn’t know you were holding in. Distracted by the excitement of being in a new city, catching up with Beard and Ted, and meeting your new coworkers, you hadn’t had a chance to process that you did it. You uprooted your life and successfully made it halfway across the world to start a new one.

Before you let complete panic sink in, you open the laptop sitting neatly on your desk. There’s not much on the computer, but there’s a folder with information about AFC Richmond and the players. You decide maybe you should start learning everyone’s names since you’re going to be responsible for curating their social media presence and such soon. Looking at the team roster, your eyes immediately find Isaac and Colin’s pictures, feeling proud that you at least know a couple players' names. Same with Jamie, but then you scan the rest of the roster and realize there are a lot more names and faces you don’t recognize. Your mind scrambles to come up with some mnemonic device to help you remember everyone, but before you can come up with a comically long sentence, there’s a knock on your office door. 

Looking up, you expect to see Ted, but instead find a younger man with a bright smile. You feel a burst of recognition and glance down at the roster on your computer, matching the face of your visitor with one on the screen.

“Oh, hi! Are you…Sam Obi…”

His smile doesn’t falter as he steps into your office. “Sam Obisanya,” he pronounces smoothly, and then says your name just as eloquently. “I just saw Ted, and he told me you’d just arrived and I wanted to take the chance to say hello and welcome to the team.”

Warmth spreads across your chest as you smile back at him, “That’s so kind, thank you.”

“Of course! I know you haven’t been here for long, but how are you liking things so far?”

“Oh it's been good,” you trail off, finding yourself unable to lie to his sweet face, “A bit intimidating.” 

He frowns, “Why’s that? If Jan Maas said something strange to you, he’s just blunt because he’s Dutch.”

You chuckle, briefly glancing back down at the roster to put a face to that name. “Noted. But no, I think I’m just realizing how much I don’t know about soccer, or football, I guess. And that there are a lot of you to remember.”

Sam laughs, “We are a large team. Anything I could do to help?”

Part of you wants to be nice and tell him he doesn’t have to stick around any longer, but the anxious part of you grabs onto the life line, “Actually, yes, could you help me get to know all the players’ names- like, tell me things about everyone so it's easier for me to remember?” You lean back and tilt your computer towards him so he knows he’s welcome to stay, and he immediately gets settled in one of the chairs on the other side of your desk. 

You spend the next thirty minutes getting to know Sam as well as the rest of the team, and you already feel more at ease. Sam proves to be even more wonderful than his first impression gave off. He shares hilarious anecdotes about every footballer on the team, and before you know it you’re able to recall who people like Dani and Zoreuaux and Bumbercatch all were. 

Sam and you also exchange some personal stories. You tell him about your life in Chicago and how you were looking for a fresh start, albeit leaving out a few details you don’t want to burden him with on the first meeting. Sam shares that he'd moved to England a few years ago from Nigeria, and that he was going to open a Nigerian restaurant here soon for a little taste of home. You told him you couldn’t wait to try it. By the end of your conversation, you feel like you have someone you can call a friend in Richmond, and Sam even offers to show you around the city during some off time later this week. 

As Sam gives you one last quiz about AFC Richmond’s player’s and your eyes linger on Jamie’s picture again, your brain finally remembers how you know him. You flashback to a memory of Kara practically giving a full PowerPoint presentation to your office back home on the drama going down on her favorite British reality show. 

“Oh, my God,” you yelp, scaring the hell out of your potential new friend who rests his hand over his chest, “Sorry, I just realized how I know Jamie.” 

“You’ve met him before?” Sam questions, surprised. 

“No, I’ve just seen him on that one show, Lust something…”

Before you have the words out, Sam is cackling, “Yes, Lust Conquers All! Not Jamie’s finest moment but definitely a memorable one.” 

“God, he was such an asshole,” you comment, recalling the way he acted in the few clips Kara showed you. 

“Oh, he was,” Sam nods, “He used to be a total prick. He still is sometimes, but more in a loveable way.” At your unsure expression, Sam elaborates, “Jamie’s been through a lot. And yes, he used to be very self centered. But since Ted’s been around, he’s become a better teammate, and a better friend.”

You can’t help but smile at the nod to Ted’s impact. It doesn’t surprise you in the least; he’s always bettered the lives of the people he’s met. Still, your heart swells with pride. 

“Well, either way, I look forward to seeing what he’s like off the screen.”

Sam heads out a little after that, with another promise of being your tour guide this weekend and another to have lunch tomorrow. Then Ted’s coming back to collect you to take you home for the night. You bid a farewell to Rebecca in the parking lot before you’re driving off. After making sure you can get into your apartment building, you say goodnight to Ted, who promises to walk with you back to the stadium for your first official day tomorrow. 

When you enter your new flat, you’re taken back by how much you love it already. The furniture is feminine but not overly posh. The décor and colors are bright without being over the top. It feels more like you than your old apartment, even though you picked out that place and the furniture yourself. You quickly remind yourself of Mason inserting his opinions over yours when it came to those choices, before you push all thoughts of him away for the night. 

You spend the rest of the night unpacking your clothes and other small belongings. You’re pleasantly surprised that you're eager to sleep as it gets close to an appropriate time for bed. You quickly change into the first set of comfy clothes you find and climb into your very large and very comfortable bed. You text Rebecca to express how much you adore the flat and how grateful you are for everything. She responds pretty quickly, telling you that you never have to thank her but she’s glad you’re settling in. 

You bury yourself under your covers, trying to coax your thoughts away for a good night’s sleep. But your mind runs rampant with thoughts of working with Rebecca tomorrow and hanging out with Sam. A new country, new job, and (hopefully) new friends. It’s only been one day but you were already feeling reassured about your decision to move here. Which is good because you only bought a one way ticket. 

Your first few weeks with AFC Richmond could not have been more of a dream. You didn’t expect to enjoy working for a football club as much as you do. Where your old job was drab and had you focused on making boring food and clothes sound appealing, with this job you got to spend time with the players who were actually interesting people you got to promote. On most days, you got to hang out with the team and film content while they practiced or played. Sometimes events occurred after training or games so that’s when you’d gotten to know a lot of them. You were closest with Sam, who you’d begun to spend more time with when neither of you were working. On other days, you’d work more closely with Rebecca, assisting her with more mundane tasks, but still more enjoyable than any of the grunt work you did back in America. And Rebecca had quickly become one of your favorite people to be around. You didn’t think you’d meet a more remarkable woman until a week in when she introduced you to Keeley, who you’d already heard so much about. No surprise she lived up to the hype. 

Keeley is the friendliest and most talkative person you ever met, and you hope her and Rebecca’s energy rubs off on you even just a little. The pair of them quickly included you in their girl talks and invited you to sit with them during games when you’re not busy capturing content. They also quickly caught you up on the gossip around the club, first and foremost that Keeley is still getting over a breakup with Roy, and apparently she doesn’t quite understand why they had parted ways. While she seems to be mostly handling it alright- meaning not taking a job an ocean away from home to run away from him- it gives the two of you something to bond over.

When you have time to yourself, you try to sit down and write. Sometimes you’re able to get a few sentences typed out in a Word document, before you’re furiously smashing the back-space button because you hate every word. One day, you share your writer’s block struggle with Trent Crimm, a former journalist who Ted is letting shadow the club for a novel he’s writing. Roy and the team had been pretty bothered at first, but everyone is on better terms these days. Despite your respective preferences for non-fiction and fiction, Trent gives you the advice to not force anything. You’ll write when you’re ready. And while you appreciate and try to take the advice, you wish you were ready now. With a job that doesn’t make you want to rip your hair out and a beautiful city you’ve been exploring, you should be more inspired than ever. But so far no such inspiration has struck. So you try to be patient. 

Instead you focus your energy on helping Keeley with the new Bantr campaign she has AFC Richmond collaborating on. Most of the team is staying past practice to get new promotional pictures shot and in a few weeks you’ll be helping Keeley shoot video footage for the ads. You couldn’t help but feel excited to be on this side of the advertising world, and actually be a part of the team that's being advertised.  

You're squatting on the ground, off to the side so you’re not blocking any shots. Your phone is unlocked and ready to capture some BTS of the photoshoot as Isaac is the first team member to get his picture taken. As you're about to press record when the photographer begins to shoot, you can’t help but giggle at how serious Isaac is taking this. He stands stick straight with his hands clasped behind his back and lips in a straight line. 

“Something funny, new girl?” he asks without breaking eye contact with the camera. He’s been calling you that since you arrived despite now having been around for a month. You think he means it affectionately, though he probably wouldn’t admit it. 

“No, it's just you look so…stern?” you chuckle as you start recording a clip, “If this is for a dating app, shouldn’t you try to look more appealing to any potential suitors?”

“I thought they were blurring our faces?” he asks with furrowed brows, referring to the fact that the app was anonymous and this ad campaign would be following suit.

“Yeah, but don’t you want to be a sexy blur?” 

This makes Isaac crack a smile as he lets out a surprised laugh. You snap your fingers at the photographer, “There, get that!” 

Satisfied with your first piece of content for the night, you stand up and join Keeley where she’s observing everything from behind the monitor displaying the photos as the photographer takes them. 

Keeley smiles at you, “That was pretty good! They could all stand to loosen up a bit - they’re not taking mugshots.”

“That’s literally what all of their football headshots look like,” you joke, “Is there no smiling in football?” You laugh together as another idea strikes, “Hey, what if we play some music? That might relax everyone and loosen them up?”

Keeley’s light up. “That’s a great idea,” she turns to face the other players waiting for their turn, “Oi, does anyone have a speaker?”

Colin raises his hand, “I’ve got one in my locker.”

Moments later, the locker room is filled with upbeat music from a playlist Keeley curated on the fly. The team’s energy instantly escalates, and so do the pictures of them. As Dani takes over Isaac’s spot in front of the camera, you hear someone whispering your name from outside the locker room. You find Sam waving to you from the doorway. You smile and jog over to meet him.

“Looks like a party in here,” he comments amusedly. 

“Yeah, why aren’t you participating by the way? Got a secret girlfriend you’re not telling me about?” 

Sam flushes, “Not quite. I just don’t want to appear too…available.” 

You quirk your eyebrow, “Suspicious but I’ll allow it. So what's up?”

“I wanted to know if you were free Friday night? We end practice early that day and I was wondering if I could take you to that museum I told you about if you still haven’t been?”

“No, that sounds perfect, I would love that!” 

You share excited smiles. “Great! I’ll see you tomorrow then?” 

“Bright and early.”

As you bid good night to Sam and return your focus back to the shoot, you note that Jamie is getting his photo taken now. You accidentally catch his gaze and successfully fight the urge to break eye contact. You offer a smile as you go to get more footage for Richmond’s Instagram, but Jamie returns the smile seemingly half heartedly. You try not to take it personally since you haven’t really had the chance to get to know the guy since you’ve been here. You wonder why that is. While you weren’t very close with many members of the team, aside from Sam, most of them have taken opportunities to get to know you a bit. Except for Jamie.

You try not to dwell, knowing enough about his reputation to know not being close might not be a bad thing. 

The rest of the photoshoot goes extremely well. The Instagram stories you post of the guys are already gaining a lot of attention, and the photos look incredible. You ask Keeley to see if you can get Bantr to let the club use the photos as some of their new imagery online, knowing it would be a shame to just blur them and not have the world see the player’s personalities. As the team files out for the night, you stick around to help Keeley and the photographer pack up, wishing them a good night as you need a few things from your office before you head home. You think you’re the last one there until you hear a voice coming from the parking lot as you exit. Once you’re outside, you recognize the voice as Jamie’s with his distinct Mancunian accent. He appears to be on the phone but you can't make out anything he’s saying on the other side of the parking lot. Even from afar, you get the sense that it's not a pleasant conversation, so you linger by the door to give him some space. Luckily, Jamie’s hanging up with whoever it is a few seconds later, giving you the chance to resume your journey home. You try not to startle him as you get closer but you do anyway. You immediately apologize, letting him know you’re just passing by and you didn’t mean to sneak up on him.

“It's alright,” he assures, though he still seems a bit off, “Didn’t know anyone else was still here.”

“Just me,” you shrug. You know you shouldn’t say anything and just continue walking home, but you have to ask. “Is everything okay? I swear I wasn’t eavesdropping, but that phone call sounded tense and you look…unwell?”

Jamie eyes you like he’s trying to figure out what your angle is. You hurry to reassure him.

“I know we hardly know each other, so in no way do you owe me an explanation, but just figured I’d check in.” 

Jamie nods slowly. For a second you think he might share something with you, but instead he just lets out a quiet sigh, his shoulders sinking, “Nothing you need to worry about.”

You accept his answer and nod. You’re unsure of what to say next, or if you should say anything. You’re about to turn around and wish him a good night when he’s the one that speaks up. 

“So you and Sam seem quite close.” 

You turn back to him and narrow your eyes at him, “Yeah? He’s been showing me around the city.”

Jamie nods thoughtfully, “Are you two…,” your eyes narrow in a full squint as you cross your arms to egg him on, “Seeing each other?”

You can’t help but laugh. In no way were you expecting him to ask that. “Why do you care? Do you have a crush on Sam or something?”

Jamie’s face scrunches up, “No!”

“What then? You gonna tell me Sam’s nice-boy persona is actually an act and he’s secretly been plotting to murder me?”

“No, Sam really is that nice.” 

“Then why are you asking if I’m dating him?” 

“I’m just curious,” he spits out defensively, “Wasn’t sure if it was alright for players to hook up with the club’s employees or whatever.”

“Oh,” you lower your defenses for a second, “...So you have a crush on Beard then?”

Jamie’s defensive resolve melts away as he actually lets out a laugh at your teasing. “No he aint my type. Beard’s too scratchy.” 

You laugh along with him and enjoy that he played along. 

“Well then to answer your question, no Sam and I are not dating, we’re just friends. And no, I don’t think there’s technically any rule against any consensual mingling between the staff and you footballers.

“Hmm,” Jamie nods, his lip pouting a bit, “Good to know.”

“I’m glad to be of help, but I should get going,” you start walking backwards towards the parking lot’s exit, “But I’ll see you tomorrow I guess?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jamie steps towards you, “You’re just going to walk home alone? At night?” Jamie glances around and answers his own question when he doesn’t see another car in the lot besides his own. “Can I drive you?”

You shake your head assuredly, “Don’t worry about it. I walk home everyday. My place isn’t far.”

You can tell he wants to respect your answer, but asks one more time, “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you smile, “Have a good night, Jamie.” 

He gives you a small smile back, “You too.” 

You wave before shoving your hands in your coat pockets and take off down the road. When Jamie’s sports car drives past you, he honks the horn twice and you chuckle. 

During your short commute to your flat, you replay your interaction with Jamie. You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to be like. While your conversation was brief, it seemed like he was a decent guy and that he had a sense of humor. The way his hair fell messily on either side of his face was nice, but that was neither here nor there. Maybe Sam was right. Jamie Tartt wasn’t so bad. 

A/N: mwahahahaha

[saragarnier]

Delivery (Departure pt2)

pairing: Jay halstead x reader

summary: y/n is in labour and jay takes her to the hospital

warnings: none. just fluff (maybe a little bit aìof angst at some point)

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

previous part

When you hoped of Jay’s comeback during his eight months in the Army, you were not expecting that; you wanted to spend some time with your husband, talking about the baby with him, telling him everything that happened during those months while he was away. You wanted to have time for all of that, but you had not.

Jay was driving you to the hospital, hands tightened around the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road, arms tense. He was so much nervous, and you could feel it from distance, everyone that knew Jay could have felt it too; you wanted to reassure him in some way, but you were to focused in not losing your mind, taking deep breaths, and trying to stay as much calm as possible.

“How are you?” He asked, turning his head towards you when he stopped at one of the red lights; you watched him closely and you tried to smiled at him sincerely; it wasn’t easy though, you started to feel pain because of the labour and all you wanted to do was seeing your doctor.

“I’m goo, Jay… it’s just…” You couldn’t avoid to moan in pain, feeling another contraction; you were just hoping to arrive at the hospital in time since there was so much traffic. “It hurts when the contraction kicks in, but I have endured worse pain after being shot at work, you know.”

Jay nodded and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, watching at the lights to be sure that they were still red; he just wanted to push the accelerator, arriving at the hospital as early as possible. “I wish I have the police lights right now; I could use them to bring you to the hospital in just few minutes.”

You smiled a little and, after taking a deep breath, you took his hand in yours, smiling a little bit and looking at his eyes.

“Jay, don’t worry, okay? Me and the baby are still good, our child just wants to meet his father as soon as he can.” You smiled softly, caressing his hand, and letting it go just when the green lights appeared, letting him drive again towards the hospital.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” He at once asked you, smiling softly and relaxing a bit.

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to discover it without you, so I wait you and here you are. I guess we will find out the baby gender after I gave birth and, well… we still need to find a name for him or for her. What do you think?”

He smiled softly, driving towards the hospital, and thinking about everything that was happening to him; he came home eager to see you again, to hug you and kiss you, to kiss the love of his life. He wanted to tell you that he came back and that he would have stayed with you forever, that he wouldn’t leave you anymore, but he wasn’t expecting that. He didn’t know that he would have become father and, driving you to the hospital, he started to get nervous.

He kept asking himself if he was ready for that, if he would have been a good father.

You notice that something was wrong because you recognise at one the frowning expression he usually had when something was not right. Was he still angry with you? Was he nervous about something?

“What’s going on, Jay?” you asked him, breathing heavily because of the pain of the labour. “Why are you so strange? Are you still mad at me?”

He turned his face towards you after parking in front of the hospital, then he shook his head and he took your hand between his own, smiling softly at you and sighing. “I’m not mad at you. I was angry because I wanted to know it, but right now I’m just worried about you both and I’m nervous. I just wonder if I will be a good father for him, because I really want to.”

You smiled, shaking your head, and leaning forward; you placed a soft kiss on his lips for the first time after all those months and you smiled wider. God, you missed him so much. You would have kiss him for hours and hours if it wasn’t for the baby that was kicking its way out.

“I love you, Jay, and I know for sure that you will be the best father in the world, I already knew that the time I discovered I was pregnant.” You smiled, trying to reassure him somehow. You really wanted him to live the labour in the best way possible, especially since he didn’t have the chance to live the pregnancy as you did. “I never doubted it and I will never do.”

He ran one of his hands through his hair, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down. He needed to be strong for you, he needed to be calm for you; after all you were the one in labour, not him.

“Thank you, babe.” He whispered, nodding slightly, and looking at you with a smile on his lips. He was much calmer after your words, and he was now ready to become a dad. “Let’s go now, I’ll call Will to let him know that you’re pregnant and that you’re in labour.”

You reassured him, exiting the car and thanking him for his help when he got you in his arms, trying to help you walking toward the enter of the hospital. “Will knows that I’m pregnant. I asked him not to tell you because you were in Boliva and because was afraid that you would have done something stupid, that you would have become less focused on your job. He tried to convince me to tell you the truth so many times but, in the end, I always won.”

Jay was angry at the beginning, to discover that also his brother knew about the pregnancy, as well as his friends and everyone in the unit. He was the only one that left in the dark for so many months and he was also the first that should have known about it in the first place. He really wanted to scream, to yell, to let go all of his frustrations, but he didn’t want to do it now; he didn't want to scare you or to make you worried since you were in labour: he needed to stay calm and to be there for you both. It was difficult, he really was, but he did what was the best for his wife and for his future child.

“Okay, don’t worry.” He simply said, sighing. You both finally entered the hospital, and, after that, you were brought up into the obstetrics department of the hospital, were you will have been monitored till the right moment.

You started to become more nervous after every second; you just wanted to take the baby in your arms, to cuddle him and to show him to his father, the man of your life. You hoped and dreamed of that moment for months and, when it came, it wasn’t as you expected. The first visit you made with your doctor showed that there was something wrong. You and Jay immediately understood that when you saw their faces and you started panicking at once.

“What’s happening? Something’s wrong right?”

Jay tried to reassure you, stroking your hair, placing small kisses on your forehead, on your cheeks, trying to make you feeling better, trying to calm you down. The doctor and the nurses started to talk quietly and only after some minutes they talked to you.

“The umbilical cord is wrapped around the baby’s neck.” He said, the exact moment Will entered the room after being told of what was happening. Jay’s heart skipped a beat as soon as he heard the doctor, he looked up and he found Will’s gaze. Before the doctor could have said everything else, you started crying while Jay walked toward his brother.

“Will, tell me that everything is going to be fine.” He immediately asked his brother, not paying attention to the doctor that gave you the news; he tried to answer instead of Will, but Jay stopped him before he could. “I’m asking my brother’s opinion, not yours.” He pointed out.

Will shook his head and placed his hand on Jay’s shoulder, trying to reassure him. “Jay.. I’m not y/n’s doctor and you should listen to him. He knows what the best for the baby is and for her too, okay?”

Jay calmed down a little bit and he sighed deeply; he looked up at the doctor and he nodded at him to let him know that he had his full attention.

“I’ll have to move that from the baby’s neck during the childbirth. It may be painful, but we have to do it for the baby’s sake. It won’t be difficult, okay? It’s nothing to be worried about, I made it so may times and everything went as expected. I need you to stay calm, you both.”

Jay went back to your side, and he took your hand in his, trying to be there for you; he saw how nervous and worried you were and he needed to be strong for you, he needed to be calm for you and the baby. “You heard the doctor, love. The baby is gonna be alright, okay? We need to be positive right now. Maybe we can think about some names, what do you think?”

You nodded, trying to take deep breaths, and trying to be as calm as you could. Having Jay by your side made it so much easier and you were grateful for having him there with you. You both started to say names for the baby and, one hour later, when the contractions were very close to each other and painful, they brought you to the birth room. Jay followed back, keeping telling you that everything would have been alright, that the baby would have been healthy and that you just needed to be calm for him. He was always by your side. He didn’t leave you, he kept reassuring you with soft and sweet words, he kept stroking your head and kissing your forehead. He was with you every second, he never left. Even when the doctor used his hand to move away the umbilical cord from the baby’s neck, that was very painful, Jay was there.

“Hold on, love. Hold on for me, y/n, everything is gonna be alright after that, okay?” he kept telling you, caressing your hand while you screamed in pain. When, finally, the doctor gave you the permission to push again, you did it, hoping that everything would have ended as soon as it was possible. He was just too much to handle, and you just wanted to cry and to rest a little bit.

“Just one more push and you will meet your children!” the doctor encouraged you, and you did it. You squeezed Jay’s hand as strong as you could, screaming in pain and pushing again for the last time. you could even describe how it felt when you heard the baby crying. Your heart stopped beating and tears ran down your cheeks but, this time, those were not tears of pain. Jay, on his side, just couldn’t believe it, nor even when he heard the baby crying. He just couldn’t believe that he was a dad.

A nurse immediately placed the baby on your chest, wrapped around a pink towel. She smiled at you and Jay. “Congratulations. Mom and Dad, it’s a baby girl.”

You looked down at your baby and you cried again and again, looking at her baby face and at her hands. She was so small and beautiful at the same time. you just couldn't believe that such a beaty came out of you, you just couldn't believe that you were finally see the baby that you felt growing inside of you. You never felt so good, you never felt so alive.

“Do you want to take her?” You asked Jay, softly.

All the pain you felt just vanished when you took her between your arms, and, when you passed her to your husband, you were even more happy.

The way Jay’s eyes lit up when he took her in his arms was something you would have never forgotten.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He said softly, crying when the baby squeezed one of his fingers in her small hand. “God, she’s beautiful.”

He just couldn’t look away; she was too beautiful. He could have stayed there, cuddling, all the time, even for years. He just looked away from her when the nurse asked them about her name, that needed to be written down on her bracelet.

“Halstead, Kate Halstead.” Both of you said, smiling at each other.

[agaypanic]

The Fella Part 9 (James Maguire X Quinn!Reader)

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The Fella Masterlist

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Summary: The girls have been waiting for months to see Take That in Belfast. When a polar bear is on the loose and Mary forbids them from going, they have to take matters into their own hands.

A/N: only took a million years but i finally wrote a new part lol BIG thanks to @crumpets-are-better-with-jam for writing out the episode’s script for me, without them I probably would’ve never found the time to be able to write this. Also the word g*psy is censored and used as little as possible because it’s considered a slur but some say that if you say it with the right context it’s ok, but i don’t wanna take any chances, you know?

***

The weekends were always the best part of the week for Y/n. No school or work, no obligations except for church on Sunday, and being able to sleep in late. Y/n wished to be an adult, so her life could be like this every day.

But this was going to be the weekend of all weekends. Months ago, the girls and James scrimped and saved every coin and bill and were able to buy concert tickets to see Take That in Belfast. And today was the day of the concert. The girls sat all squished together on the couch, watching said band on the TV, with James perched on the arm of the sofa, subtly clinging to Y/n. Their relationship was still a secret somehow, today marking their third month together. They were honestly surprised nobody noticed how their affection was more than friendly.

“God Almighty.” Grandpa Joe spoke in horror, glaring at the screen. “I don’t know what the world is coming to. Bloody perverts.”

“You’re overreacting, Da,” Mary said from the kitchen. Joe scoffed in disbelief.

“Overreacting? That lad’s got no trousers on, for Christ’s sake.” Michelle grinned at the detail that had been pointed out.

“He’s wearing too much still, if I’ve anything to say about it.” She muttered to the girls, who giggled apart from James and Clare.

“Why do they keep touching themselves?” Grandpa Joe asked the telly, as if it would provide any answers.

“‘Cause they’re artists, Granda,” Erin said, but he just grumbled.

“Dirty English bastards is what they are.” He turned to look at James. “No offense, son.” Although he didn’t really sound like he cared whether or not he had offended the boy. Y/n patted James’ thigh in comfort as the scene on the TV changed from the girls’ beloved boy band to a news anchor. 

“Come on, girls. Time to hit the road here.” Gerry announced as he came in. He gestured at James. “Have they roped you into going as well, son?” Y/n laughed, leaning against James to look at her father.

“Hardly. He’s practically riding Gary Barlow. Aren’t ya, Jamie?” He rolled his eyes at the statement, as if they had had this kind of conversation a hundred times.

“I’m not! I just respect him as a songwriter, that’s all.” Michelle rolled her eyes at him, as if she had also had this kind of conversation a hundred times.

“Aye, dead on, James, so you do.”

“Will we need our passports, Gerry?” Orla asked, giving her lungs a break from blowing on her mother’s spray tan.

“For Belfast? I don’t think so, Love.”

“Belfast?” Joe asked, but was ignored.

“Are we not a bit early, Daddy?” Erin asked, checking the time on the wall.

“It’s a two-hour drive with traffic, love.”

“This thing’s in Belfast?” Sick of not being acknowledged, Grandpa Joe stood from his favorite chair to stand with the girls and Gerry.

“Da, it’s eight hours till the doors open,” Y/n said, almost laughing at her father’s sense of urgency.

“I know. We’re cutting it fine.” He seemed completely serious about the matter, which just made Y/n want to laugh more.

“Belfast?” Joe said again, now effectively catching the room’s attention. “Sure, why didn’t you just sell the wains into white slavery and be done with it?”

“Gerry will be with them, Da.” Mary tried to reason, but that just seemed to set him off even more.

“Well, that’s worse. Sure, they hate his kind there.”

“My kind?” Gerry asked, not knowing what Joe could possibly be talking about.

“Pricks.” Y/n laughed, shrinking in her seat when Gerry whipped around to look at his daughter in offense. “Sorry, Daddy.”

“That is enough!” Mary finalized, still working in the kitchen. “They’re going to the concert, Da, and that’s the end of the matter.”

The news switched to another topic again. Something about how a polar bear escaped from Belfast Zoo. Hearing the name, Y/n started to worry.

“Now, will you see sense?” Grandpa Joe asked his daughter, pointing at the TV. Erin snorted.

“Aye, Granda, ‘cause an escaped polar bear’s gonna track us down and kill us. As if Mammy’s bothered by that.” There was a beat of silence, and suddenly, all the girls were panicked.

“Wise up, Mammy!” Y/n squealed frantically, shooting up from her seat on the couch to get a good look at her mother. “As if a polar bear’s gonna rock up a Take That concert!”

“He wouldn’t get a ticket for a start,” Orla added. “They sold out months ago.”

“You’d be surprised, girls,” Mary said.

“The concert’s nowhere near the zoo.” Gerry tried to reason. As usual, Joe countered him.

“But he’s not in the zoo anymore, is he, Simple Simon? He’s sauntering about Belfast without a care in the world!”

“Aye, keep up, Gerry,” Sarah said, blowing on the wet tan that coated her fingers. 

“What I’m saying is that it would be quite a lot of ground for him to cover.”

“They’re quick on their feet when they wanna be, love,” Mary said. Y/n sped to her father, grabbing him by the shoulders to make him face her.

“Daddy, please, don’t listen to her.” She pleaded. “We should go now so we’re not late. Please, Da!” Gerry put his hands on his daughter’s wrists, rubbing his thumbs over the joints while giving her a sympathetic look.

“Oh, love, I’m sorry, but I’d rather keep my head.”

“Come on, Mary.” Michelle pleaded with the girl’s mother. “If you don’t let Y/n and Erin go, then our ma’s won’t let us go.”

“Well, neither they should, and I’ll be ringing them to say as much.” The teens looked at Mary in despair as she went to the phone, likely to ring everyone’s mothers. While dialing, Mary looked back to the living room. “Look, girls, I know how much you were looking forward to seeing This and That.”

“Take That.” Erin corrected.

“But there’ll be other concerts.” Y/n laughed humorlessly, resting her head on her father’s shoulder momentarily before letting go of him completely. 

“No, there won’t.” She felt hysterical. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. Months of looking forward to this concert just to be banned by her mother because of a polar bear. Only something like this would happen to her. “The fact that this one’s happening is a miracle ‘cause no one good comes here ‘cause we all keep killing each other!” James shifted on the arm of the couch to make room for Y/n to sit next to him. He rubbed her back as she leaned against him for support, devastated.

“And now we’re overrun with polar bears.” Sarah sighed, pulling out a cig.

Frustrated, Y/n stormed up to her room, the girls and James close behind. They had found her face down on her bed, screaming into a pillow. James sat beside her, pulling the pillow out of her grasp before she could suffocate herself. While everyone settled in Y/n’s room, she rested her head on James’ thigh. Her anger and sadness were slowly washing away from James rubbing her back.

“This is so fucking unfair.” She muttered.

“I know,” James responded, brushing hair out of her face.

“Well, I dunno about you lot, but I’m not letting that fat furry fuck ruin the biggest day of my life,” Michelle announced harshly, pacing the floor.

“What can we do?” Erin asked, lying across her sister’s legs.

“Right, listen, girls.” Michelle drew their attention. They hoped that she had come up with a plan to save the day, but were quickly let down. “I’ve never told anyone this before, but… sometimes, when Robbie’s being interviewed, it’s like he’s sending me messages through the TV. You know, like telepathically or whatever, It’s like he’s saying…” She sighed, clearly in a dreamy daze. “We’re meant to be together.”

Everyone stared at her.

“Aye, maybe don’t tell that to anyone again, Michelle,” Erin said. “Ever.”

“I think she might be more cracked than Orla,” Y/n muttered to James, who snorted.

“What?” Orla looked at Y/n after hearing her name.

“Nothing, love.”

“Look, this is too important,” Michelle said. “I’m going to that concert. I’m not afraid of a fucking polar bear!” Everyone enthusiastically agreed. They shouldn’t pay mind to a random bear or what their parents have to say about anything. Nothing would stop the girls and James from seeing Take That.

“I’ll kill it with me own two hands, if I have to.” Orla declared. 

“Bring it on!” Erin egged on.

“Okay. We seem to have gone down a weird road here, people. I think we just got a bit confused.” Ever the realist and anxiety-riddled girl, Clare tried stopping her friends from the odd discussion. “We don’t actually have to fight a polar bear, and if we did, I wouldn’t fancy our chances because, well, they’re massive.” Orla looked around, confused.

“But there’s six of us.”

“Aye, I think we’d have a real chance,” Y/n said, albeit slightly sarcastically.

“The point is, the polar bear’s not the one stopping us from going to the concert. It’s our mothers, and we’ll never get them to change their minds.” Y/n gasped, sitting up suddenly, seeming to have an idea.

“So we fight Mammy.”

“No, definitely not.” James shot down the idea immediately and welcomed his once again pouty girlfriend to rest in his lap. Michelle leaned toward the group like she was gonna tell them a secret.

“We’re not gonna try and change their minds.” She smirked, and everyone became slightly fearful because Michelle always had less than bright ideas that she’d have them execute. “We’re gonna do something else.” 

“What?” James asked.

***

“I’m still trying to figure out whether or not this is a good idea,” Y/n muttered to James, who she clung to while sitting on his lap. Michelle had somehow convinced everyone to sneak away and get on a bus to Belfast. The group sat in the back of the bus to avoid anyone who may be suspicious of six teenagers traveling by themselves. There wasn’t enough seating for all six of them to sit together, so everyone squished together, and Y/n sat on James’ lap. No one said anything about it besides the comment from Michelle about how James must be giddy to be so close to a girl. He told her to fuck off.

“Same here.” He sighed, hands gripping her closer as the bus crossed a few bumps on the road.

“We’re gonna get caught; I just know it,” Clare said anxiously to the group.

“We’re not gonna get caught, Clare, because as far as our ma’s are concerned, me, you, and James are ’round Erin’s, and Erin, Y/n, and Orla are ’round mine,” Michelle explained, trying to calm Clare down.

“But we’re not ’round yours, Michelle,” Orla responded, confused. “We’re on the bus to Belfast.” 

“Christ.” Y/n rolled her eyes, having heard her cousin say this multiple times since they left the house.

“I cannot explain it to her again. I’m gonna scream.” Michelle looked away from Orla, probably because she would strangle her if she had to deal with the confusion for another second.

“What’s in the suitcase, Michelle?” James asked, staring at the case his cousin had set on the remaining seat near the group. Y/n could’ve sat there, but Michelle wanted a close eye on whatever was in the suitcase without holding it in case they got caught. Everyone stared, curiously waiting for an answer. There was a beat of silence.

“Vodka.” You brought an entire suitcase full of vodka?” Erin asked incredulously.

“Jesus, Michelle, you’ve got a problem,” Y/n added.

“No. There’s mixers as well. I’m not a savage.” Michelle took a second to think, looking down at the case. “You can mix vodka with cider, right?”

“God, I am boiling.” Clare sighed, fanning her face.

“Gee, I wonder why, Clare.” Y/n laughed, looking at her friend who was completely bundled in jackets and scarves.

“What are you wearing?” Erin asked.

“Yeah, you look like a fucking Provo.”

“I don’t want anyone recognizing me, okay?” The bus paused its venture, opening the doors for people to come in and out.

“No one’s gonna recognize you, Clare.” Michelle chastised.

“Clare Devlin, is that you?” Panic ran through everyone. The voice sounded very familiar and fear-inducing. The girls looked towards the front. Sister Michael was moving past the seats and right for them.

“Jesus Christ.” Clare squeaked, trying to hide in her mountain of clothes. Erin leaned into her.

“Relax, Clare.” She said. “She has no authority over us at the weekend. She has no right to question us, and if she tries to, I’ll tell her as much.”

“Aye, I’d like to see you try, Erin.” Y/n hissed to her sister before Sister Michael reached the group.

“Morning, girls.” She said.

“Morning, Sister Michael.” Everyone said in unison.

“What takes you to Belfast?” There was a heavy pause. The girls were silently trying to decide who would speak and what they would say. Erin volunteered herself, speaking quietly from nervousness.

“I’m not really sure that’s-”

“Speak up.” Sister Michael interrupted her. Erin gulped.

“I’m not really sure that that’s any of your business…” Sister Michael stared blankly at her. Everyone waited for her to jump and murder Erin for saying such a thing. Soon, she found words.

“I’m going to assume that was an ill-judged attempt at humor, Miss Quinn.”

“Yes,” Erin whispered, sinking into her seat. Y/n silently prayed that the bus would start moving so Sister Michael would be forced to leave and find a seat somewhere. But God never seemed too kind to the girls.

“Now, answer the question.”

“... We’re going to the museum.” Erin devised a good lie; the girls just hoped they could keep up with the inevitable follow-up questions.

“Which museum?”

“Ulster Museum,” Clare answered.

“What for?”

“A project,” James responded.

“A history project.” Y/n amended. Sister Michael looked at the two. It seemed like she was about to ask why Y/n was in James’ lap, but she decided against it, not wanting to go through the trouble.

“What about?”

“Ulster,” Erin answered once again. Sister Michael gave an unconvinced hum and turned around to find a place to sit. Everyone sighed in relief as the bus started to move again.

“A history project,” Clare said in disbelief. “This web of lies we’re spinning is getting out of control now, girls.” Y/n put a hand on her friend’s shoulder to take her attention.

“If it makes you feel any better, Clare, I actually have a history project due soon.”

“I thought we finished that,” James said quietly to her. She turned to him.

“Yeah, but now I’ve gotta put it all together.”

“It’s grand, Clare,” Michelle said, rolling her eyes at Clare’s constant anxiousness. “I think she bought it.”

“Of course, she didn’t buy it. She’s onto us, I’m telling you. Oh God, I’m sweltering here.”

“Then take it off,” Erin said.

“I can’t take it off; I’ve nothing underneath it.” Everyone paused, looking at her confused.

“What, not even a bra?” Erin asked.

“Jesus, Clare, you’ve no bra on?” Michelle asked incredulously.

“I haven’t got a bra on,” Orla commented.

“Aye, me neither,” Y/n said.

“What?” James practically choked. Suddenly aware of his girlfriend’s body and this new information, he moved his hands down to sit at her hips. Y/n shrugged.

“They dig.”

“What’s she doing now?” Clare asked, and everyone looked at Sister Michael, who sat a few rows ahead of them. She was reading a book, laughing every now and then.

“Reading her book,” James answered, as if they all couldn’t see it. She suddenly turned to the woman in the seat next to her. She had a look of disgust while the woman ate a sandwich. “Now she’s looking at the woman beside her.” Sister Michael stood from her seat. “Now she’s getting up.” She moved towards the back of the bus, closing in on the girls. “Now she’s coming this way.” Soon enough, Sister Michael stood before the group, staring at them. “Now she’s standing right in front of us.”

“What’s he doing?” Sister Michael asked, looking weirdly at James.

“Now she’s-” James’ words were halted by Y/n putting a finger to his lips.

“Stop narrating, Jamie.”

“I want to sit here.” Sister Michael said with finality, pointing to where Michelle’s suitcase sat. Michelle started to panic.

“What? Why?”

“Well, you’re just such wonderful company, girls, what with your stimulating conversation and razor-sharp wit.” Everyone knew she was being sarcastic. Except for Erin.

“Really?” She asked, seemingly flattered. Sister Michael rolled her eyes.

“No, not really. The woman next to me is eating an egg and onion sandwich, and the smell is enough to turn an Orange March.” The girls cringed at the description. Sister Michael grabbed the suitcase, trying to move it. But she was evidently struggling. “Christ, but this is heavy.”

“Sister, no, let me,” Michelle said, leaning over to grab the case.

“What do you have in here, girls?”

“It’s not ours!” Clare quickly responded with a shriek. Everyone glared at her lie.

“Not yours?”

“We have never seen it before in our lives, have we, girls?” It was better to just agree, so that’s what the girls did. They nodded, giving different mutters of confirmation. 

Sister Michael turned to look at everyone else on the bus.

“Excuse me, everyone. Can I have your attention, please?” She raised her voice to get everyone to listen. Confused, the passengers looked at her while she pointed to Michelle’s suitcase. “Does anyone own this red suitcase?” No one claimed it. “Now, let me be clear. No one can claim this bag, is that correct?” Everyone confirmed her question. She looked down at the suitcase. “I think we have a Code Red on our hands. Driver, pull over!”

***

The girls were definitely fucked. Everyone had to evacuate the bus while they waited for the military to come and extract the suitcase. Now, a crowd watched as a military robot examined the case.

“Jesus Christ!” Clare squeaked in a panic.

“Aye, this isn’t great,” Erin said, watching the commotion. Michelle shrugged.

“It’s not that big a deal.”

“They’re about to blow up an entire suitcase of vodka, Michelle.” 

As Michelle and Erin quietly argued, Y/n leaned into James’ ear.

“And here I thought Clare’s paranoia would be our biggest problem.” James rested his head on Y/n’s, eyeing the situation in front of him in disbelief.

“Why is this place so mental?” He asked. Michelle scoffed.

“That’s enough, James. You have serious fucking anger management issues. Do you know that?” Before anyone could give a rebuttal, there was an explosion. The robot had successfully eliminated the threat in the red suitcase, which was the girls’ ticket to a good time.

There were lots of talks among the soldiers over the radio. The girls silently celebrated when one said they could pack everything up. Soon enough, they’d be back on the way to Belfast.

“Powerful smell of vodka down here, over.” The girls froze in their places as they heard the soldier over the radio. God really did seem to have it out for the teens.

“Vodka, did he say?” Sister Michael asked, slowly turning to her students. “Interesting.” The girls gave her nervous smiles. Suddenly, Y/n pointed over Sister Michael’s shoulder.

“Oh my God, Sister! What’s over there?!” Sister Michael whipped around, and Y/n made a break for it. All of her friends followed after her. 

They ran like hell, not knowing where they were going. After a while of wandering around, they slowed to a walk down a dirt road, all trying to catch their breath. The girls debated whether or not they could reach Belfast on foot, especially with that polar bear on the loose. But the conversation dwindled as some men came into view on the side of the road.

“Is it just me, or is that g*psy an absolute ride?”

“As usual, I think it’s just you, Michelle,” Y/n said, groaning at her sore legs.

“Michelle, you cannot say that.” Erin scolded.

“What?”

“They’re called ‘travelers now. Y’can’t say ‘g*psy’ anymore. It’s insulting.”

“Okay, but you just said it, Erin.” Y/n pointed out. Michelle and Erin continued arguing over the correct word to use for the men. It continued for a while, and only stopped when they had gotten closer to the men.

“Howya, girls.” One of them said, with a bit of a slurred speech. The girls politely greeted him and continued walking. They got a few feet past them when the one who greeted them started calling after them. “Hey, hold on.”

“What does he want?” Clare asked in a panic.

“I don’t know,” Erin replied, just as nervous.

“I’m talking to you!” The man shouted. The girls ignored him, but he kept walking after them. “Hey, are you deaf or what?”

“Just keep going.” Y/n urged her friends, grabbing James’ hand to yank him along while she pushed her tired body to go faster. The teens started walking more quickly, and soon enough, the shouting man and his friends were all tailing after them. 

“Get back here!”

“Faster. Walk faster.”

“Am I gonna have to come after you, am I?”

“Jesus Christ, he’s following us,” James muttered, now being the one to pull Y/n further.

“Run!” Y/n yelped, breaking into a sprint and out of James’ grip because the sudden change in pace had caught him off guard. Everyone ran after her, the teens to catch up with Y/n and the travelers to catch up with the teens. The girls were terrified, except for Orla, of course, who could always find the fun in a fucked up situation.

“Piss off!” Erin went to the edge of the dirt road and came back to the strange men waving a giant stick around. They backed up in alarm, and the girls stopped to stand behind Erin.

Except for Y/n, who was still running like hell. James yelled for her, but she couldn’t hear him over the thumping of her feet and heart. She didn’t even notice that her friends had all been left in the dust behind her.

“Jesus fuck!” Y/n screeched when she was grabbed suddenly by the shoulders and yanked back into someone’s chest. The person who caught her breathed heavily, slightly using her as a crutch. Y/n immediately recognized the whines and groans of exhaustion and smacked the man in the arm. “Scared the fuck out of me, James.”

“I know, ‘m sorry.” James brought her closer to him, back pressed against his chest as he rubbed her arms up and down to comfort her. “Can’t run off like that, love. Could’ve lost you.”

“Sorry.” She apologized sheepishly, and James kissed her head to show she shouldn’t be. When the couple regained strength, they turned around and started walking back to the group that was currently arguing with the strange couple of men when they abruptly ran to the side of the dirt road. A van sped past them as if they weren’t even there, honking the horn and stopping in front of the stand-off of travelers and teenage girls. Y/n and James hesitantly watched, not knowing what was happening.

Soon, Erin stuck her head out from behind the van so her sister was in her view. She waved her over frantically.

“Y/n, come on!” Erin then disappeared, likely into the strange van. Knowing everyone else was probably in there, and not wanting to be left stranded, Y/n broke out into another sprint, leaving James in the dust once again.

“Not again.” He mumbled.

***

When Y/n had snuck away from her family and hopped on a bus to Belfast with her friends, she obviously didn’t expect the bus plan to go to shit, and she and her buddies would be riding around in someone’s van. Yet here she was, jostling around in the back, surrounded by half-assed Take That shirts. Erin was trying to converse with the driver; Rita was apparently her name. Meanwhile, Michelle hogged a cardboard cut-out of Robbie Williams, and Clare and Orla were sifting through all the different merchandise.

“Robie?” Clare said to herself as she held up one of the shirts to look at before frantically digging through the rest of the boxes. In the driver’s seat, Rita seemed to have some type of drunken meltdown. Clare turned to Y/n, panicked like always. “Y/n, what are we gonna do?”

“Pray.”

“She’s spelt ‘Robbie’ wrong on every single t-shirt.”

“Huh?” 

“How are we gonna break it to her?” Y/n snorted. That was not what she expected her dear friend to be worried about.

“Clare, we’re being driven around by some crazy tipsy woman, and I bet she doesn’t even know which direction Belfast is in. And yet you’re worried about a spelling mistake?”

“I find it disturbing.”

“I find your priorities disturbing.” Rita continued talking in her drunken, weepy state, leading to another discussion between Erin and Michelle about the correct label to use for the intimidating men they had run into.

But everything was cut short by the van ramming into something, causing everyone to jerk forward. There was a moment of silence as everyone tried to figure out what had just happened.

“Jesus Christ.” Michelle groaned, rubbing her head as she sat up.

“What was that?” Erin asked no one in particular.

“Did we hit something?” 

Orla opened the sliding door of the van and stuck her head out. Everyone heard a gasp of both surprise and delight.

“Oh my God, it’s the polar bear!” The sentence made everyone, excluding Rita, who smoked her cigarette in the driver’s seat, jump out of the van and surround the body. 

“Orla, this is not a bloody polar bear.” Y/n sneered, looking down at the dead sheep that lay before her feet. Everyone slowly looked over at her.

“You’re soundin’ like James,” Michelle said in slight disgust.

“Shut up.”

“Get it shifted, girls!” Rita commanded from the van, taking another drag. Reluctantly, the girls grabbed the sheep carcass and tried carrying it to the side of the road to clear their path. There was a lot more struggling than they intended.

“Why’s it so heavy?” Erin said with a strained voice. “Aren’t they meant to be ninety percent wool?”

“Just put your back into it. The sooner this is done, the sooner we’re back in the van and on our way to see Robbie.”

“Shut it about Robbie, Michelle!” Y/n groaned, trying to pull the sheep. There was much more arguing, and after a very short while, the girls decided they were officially over this task.

“Fuck this!” Michelle shouted. “Let’s just make James do it, the lazy bastard!” Everyone dropped the sheep on the ground and waited for James to do all the work.

But he never did. It was just the girls on an empty road with a dead sheep and a crazy woman. 

“Wh… Where is James?” Clare asked, looking around, hoping he’d suddenly pop out of a bush or something. 

Y/n thought long and hard. She might have been the last one to be with James. Backtracking to her last known moments with James, Y/n gasped and raised a hand to her mouth. The girls looked at her expectantly, waiting to find out where he was. Her response was an embarrassed and horrified whisper.

“I left him with the travelers.”

***

It took much persuasion, mainly for Michelle, but the girls had gotten Rita to go back for James. It was primarily the revelation that James was the one who had the concert tickets. After a long drive, the van skidded to a stop in front of the traveler’s stands of vegetables and fruits. James was among the men, helping them. Y/n yanked the van door open, relieved that her boyfriend hadn’t been mugged or stranded or something else of the sort.

“James!” She yelled in delight, immediately catching his attention. He grinned but stayed stuck in his place.

“What are you playing at? Get in the van, fucko.” Michelle commanded, less thrilled to see James than Y/n was. The man who first chased the girls put a hand on James’ shoulder.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, James.”

“With all due respect, this has nothing to do with you.”

“Yeah!” Y/n added, desperately waiting for her boyfriend to get into the van.

“The way you treat this fella, it’s disgraceful.” The traveler reprimanded.

“Fucking excuse me?” Y/n felt beyond insulted.

“What’s going on, James?” Michelle asked.

“Jonjo and the lads…” James looked at said lads with a smile. “They just get me. And it turns out, I’m a really good salesman.”

“He’s a natural,” Jonjo said.

“So, what, you’re a g*psy now?” Michelle asked, clearly thinking this was an unfunny prank.

“Traveler.” Erin and Y/n corrected in unison, Erin louder than her sister.

“Actually, g*psy’s fine,” Jonjo said. Michelle smirked, finally being able to prove to Erin that she was right. Rita yelled at everyone to hurry up, and Michelle nodded.

“Right, get in the van, come on. And do not test me ’cause we’ve already missed PJ and Duncan.”

“Is that who was supporting them?” Clare asked. When confirmed, she pouted. “Oh, I really like them!”

“I’m not leaving, Michelle,” James said with finality.

Y/n sighed, stepping out of the van. The tense gaze James had for his cousin softened when his girlfriend walked up to him.

“Not even for Gary Barlow, Jamie?” Y/n knew she made the right move because now James looked unsure of himself.

“I don’t really rate him as a, as a songwriter, y’know?” Jonjo said. The horrified look James suddenly had painted on his face made Y/n smile, both because she knew that the girls would now be leaving with him and because he looked so adorable. 

James took off his fanny pack and handed it to Jonjo in disappointment, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry, Jonjo, but you’ve just crossed the line there.” 

Y/n wrapped an arm around James’ back and guided his sad self to the van, where the door was just behind them. She brought him to the back of the van so he could mope a bit in peace. The girls all talked excitedly amongst themselves about the concert.

“I’m sorry I stranded you,” Y/n said quietly, moving her hand down James’ back to squeeze his hand. He squeezed it back and smiled softly down at her.

“I’m just glad you came back.”

“Of course, I came back. You have the concert tickets.” James shoved Y/n away and couldn’t hide the growing grin from hearing her laugh. “Kidding, kidding.”

After a long drive, long lines, and a big fight to get to the barricade, the Derry girls were finally able to enjoy Take That in all its glory. They screamed the lyrics, jumped to the beat, and danced all together in excitement. They didn’t care about the consequences when they would get home to their parents, who were probably worried sick. They didn’t worry about how they’d get home that night. All that mattered was that they were currently in the presence of one of their favorite bands of all time.

Somewhere in the middle of the set, the excitement winded down a bit as a piano intro played. Y/n squealed, tugging on James’ sleeve, as she recognized what was dubbed as her and James’ song, A Million Love Songs. James grinned at her excitement.

“Oh my God! I have something for you!” Y/n exclaimed over the music, digging around in her pockets. James looked down curiously as she brought out a folded piece of paper. “If it’s bad, you’re not allowed to make fun of me.”

“What is it?” James leaned down so he was closer to eye level with Y/n, making her blush. She pinched the edge of the paper, creasing it a bit.

“Do you remember when Erin became magazine editor, and we were going through those essays and… and Michelle found mine?” James nodded, remembering the day clearly because he was devastated when he heard the title of her little essay. “Well, I figured, since it’s our third month together and all… I wanted to give it to you.” He was gentle when taking the paper from her, so incredibly curious about what she had written. “Especially since my fancy isn’t so one-sided as I thought.”

All Y/n could focus on was the beautiful song in the background and the beautiful boy in front of her, reading words that had come straight from her heart when she thought her love for James was just a hopeless crush. She didn’t know if it was a good sign, seeing him become more flustered and blushy as he read on. When he was finished, he slowly and carefully folded the paper back up while Take That started to play a more energetic song.

“Again, you can’t make fun of me if it’s bad!” Y/n shouted over the noise. “I know Erin’s the writer or whatever, but- oof!” She was interrupted by James pulling her to his chest, arms wrapped tight around her and face buried in the crook of her neck. She immediately returned the affections. 

“It’s amazing.” He said in her ear. “Amazing, and lovely, and perfect. Just like the girl who wrote it.” Unable to help herself, Y/n brought James’ face to hers and kissed him with such passion, a passion he reciprocated instantly. It was as if it was only them existing at that moment.

Of course, it wasn’t. Clare would later tease and squeal at the two and interrogate them about when they had finally gotten together and why they didn’t tell her. Too enamored with the men just feet away from them, the rest of the girls didn’t even notice the couple.

And somewhere in Derry, while the rest of her family was fighting, Y/n’s father Gerry smiled fondly at his television where he saw his daughter having the time of her life at a Take That concert with her best friends and boyfriend. A boyfriend he’d absolutely be asking her about in private when he had the chance.

~~~

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[tojiscumdumpster]

CHAPTER ELEVEN- TOJI

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀✧ summary page

 Life has really been fucking with me these last six weeks. Work’s hell. The apartment we live in went up by four hundred dollars. And to make matters worse, Megumi and I have been rockier than ever. 

 That’s the thing that’s bothering me the most.

 It’s over simple shit, too. 

 I try my best to be a laid back parent and only go full on dad mode when needed, but I think the kid has taken advantage of that. All I ask is three things from Megumi:

 Don’t get into fights, and if you do, don’t get caught. 

 School night curfew is eight. Weekends are eleven.

 And lastly, tell me your whereabouts.

 But what does he do instead? Miss curfew. Leave the house without telling me where he’s going, and now he’s on a two week-suspension from school since he got into a fight. 

 Grant it the fight was justify because some kids were fucking with him and talking shit about his lack of English, but shit, Megumi. 

 At least he won. 

 One side of me was saying that’s my boy, and the other side had to ground him. 

 Let’s just say he wasn’t too happy with me after that. 

 I’m surprised he actually listened to me, though. But with him listening, I’ve been getting the silent treatment, no eating meals together, and been avoided like I’m the plague. 

 Parenting is not a walk in the park, I know that. Especially when you’re a single parent. When times like this hit, I think of my late wife more than ever. 

 With her death anniversary right around the corner, I can’t help but miss her and wish she was by my side. 

 I can’t do this shit alone. I was not raised in a loving environment, and considering the fact that my old man was an abusive drunk that used me as his punching bag, I damn sure don’t know what the fuck it feels like to have a father. 

 A mom? Don’t know either. Old man wasn’t faithful and was sleeping around with different women, so my mom could be dead or alive. Who knows? 

 My late wife knew all of this, not the severity, but she knew I had a shitty family. Yet she managed to see something good in a motherfucker like me, to the point we had a kid together.

 A kid that fucking hates me. And I’m the only one to blame. 

 God, maybe I should listen to Kong for once. I’m forty-two. Shit, maybe it is time to settle down and look for a housewife. Someone who’s willing to help raise a fifteen-year-old boy. 

 No, what the fuck am I saying? Since when do I listen to that fucker?

 Never. I trust him, though. Hell, do I really have a choice since he helped me take care of Megumi when I was going through my episodes in the early years of my wife’s death? 

 But my kid is my responsibility. Getting a woman involved isn’t going to help my relationship with Megumi. That’s some shit I need to fix myself. 

 Kong and I have one unorthodox ass relationship, but he’s the only bastard I actually consider a friend, and I know he means well. 

 He is Megumi’s godfather after all. Besides, the last thing I want to do is to ever make Megumi feel like I’m trying to replace his mom. Far from it. 

 Maybe loneliness is just catching up to my old ass.m, and the only woman I think of breaking me from my no relationship rule is Y/N. 

 Y/N fucking L /N. 

 That woman drives me insane in more ways than one. 

 After our first date over a month ago, we’ve been talking nonstop. Texting. Calling. Casual dates every now and there when time allows us. If I’m being real, Y/N is the only reason why I haven’t ripped my fucking hair out. 

 People would usually turn to alcohol to depend on the burning sensation it gives you to get drunk when feeling stressed. But me? Y/N is who I get drunk off of. Her energy is fucking addicting, and the reassurance she gives me… who know I needed so much of it. 

Like any other man, I don’t turn to anyone to help with my problems. I’m a prideful motherfucker who has the ego the size of a galaxy. However, I don’t have to be the way around Y/N. I sound sappy as shit, I know. 

 Guess that’s what happens when you become vulnerable. 

 The only reason why I haven’t had sex with her yet.

 I know myself. When I was younger, I only saw sex as a way to make extra cash when I was struggling after I got disowned by the Zen’in. The older I got, sex became more meaningless to me. I can be balls deep in pussy, no matter how good it is, and have no type of feelings attached. Me making a woman come or them making me come doesn’t mean I’ll start buying them roses and shit. 

 It wouldn’t be the same with Y/N. 

 Not saying I’m on the verge of falling in love with her, let alone loving her. But seeing how much we talk, how jealous I fucking get, especially after figuring out she works at the same school as her ex-fiancé, I don’t want any other fucker to even breathe the same air as her.

 Not even myself, but I’ll still be selfish enough to do it.

 That’s the thing about Y/N. I feel myself growing more selfish when it comes to her. I want her time and energy to only be for me. She’s mine without her knowing and I’m planning on keeping it that way. I can admit that’s probably a dick move, but I can’t find myself falling in love again. 

At least, I’m forcing myself not to.

 Hearing her moan my name. Seeing her face when she comes. Knowing what it feels to have that sweet, tight, warm fucking pussy clench around my fingers. I’ll become a starved and possessive man the moment she’s like that around my dick. 

 I’ll catch feelings.

 I’ll want her above me, beneath me, all over me twenty-four-seven. I’m not an easy lover. I can admit to that.

 But that won’t stop me from…

 No, I won’t say that.

 It’s strong. Whatever emotion I feel about Y/N, and I can’t help but think it has something to do with her being so damn familiar. The more I talk to her, the more I know who she is. Maybe in another lifetime I’ve loved her before. 

 Even saying that in my head sounds crazy as shit. The dreams about her aren't helping, either.

 “Get a hold of yourself, Fushiguro,” I mutter to myself. I look at the time to see it’s eleven thirty. “She should be on her free hour right now.” 

 Maybe a phone call wouldn’t hurt.

 “I’m busy,” I grunt.

 I couldn’t even call Y/N before Kong called me to fucking be clingy. He claims he only calls me to check on the kid, but Megumi has his own phone. 

 “Mad because I’m not your girlfriend? Sorry, I had you first, Fushiguro.” I hear him puffing out smoke from his cigarette. “Be grateful you have a fucking friend to check on you, you fucking jackass.”

 I chuckle, sarcastically saying, “Awe, I consider myself very lucky.”

 “Fuck you.”

 “Sorry, not interested,” I replied. And this is what I mean by unorthodox friendship. “Assuming you got some information for me?” After that Zen’in fuck purchased the club ownership last month, I had Kong do some digging for me.

 All the bullshit he was spewing about Naobito forcing everyone in that family who doesn’t have a kid, to have one, and taking interest in finding Megumi, I couldn’t take shit like that lightly.

 Not when my kid is potentially involved.

 Knowing how those Zen’ins’ get down, they always find a way to get what they want. Even if it results in blood.

 “I found some files about that Naoya shitface you told me about… Looks like he’s the real deal,” he says.

 “Meaning?”

 “Meaning he is your cousin. Looks like your old man’s brother had some unwanted kids of his own.”

 “Having kids in the family just to leave them dry is a fucking ritual in that shitty ass family.” I get up from bed and go to the kitchen to grab a ginger ale. “What else you find out?”

 “Zen'in owns half of the real estate in Tokyo,” he tells me, clicking his tongue. “Those bastards keep growing and growing by the minute. So if what this Naoya is saying is true, I can only imagine Naobito is doing this to have the city fear the name Zen’in, even after he’s six feet under.”

 I scoff. “For an ego stroker? So what the fuck does this have to do with my kid?”

 “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

  Over my dead fucking body if they think they could come even twenty feet near Megumi. I have no problem going back to that violent lifestyle that I’m trying to escape when it comes to protecting my kid.

 Actually, I’m hoping that they do because I’ve been itching for a stress relief and permanently getting rid of those Zen’in fucks just might be the way to do it.

 Maybe I should pay them a visit on my trip to Japan in a few months.

 I run my hand through my hair and sigh. “Alright. Keep me posted.” An incoming call comes through and I see Y/N’s name flashing my screen. “Gotta go.”

 “Your girlfriend’s callin-” I disconnected our line before he finished his bullshit to answer Y/N.

 “I’m so close to fucking pulling these braids out and choking my boss with them.” Ha, that’s a funny way to say hello.

 “I’m trying to wrap my head around why hearing you threaten to kill someone is turning me on?” I tease.

 She lets out a soft breath. “I’m sorry, big guy. Work is being a pain in my ass right now.”

 “I see that. You cursed twice. That’s something expected from me.”

 “Well, it’s kind of inevitable when you’re a high school teacher,” she argues. “And actually, no. I expect four curse words in under a minute from you. So I think my two words will be alright.”

 I smile while walking back to my room and close the door behind me. “Talk to me, sweets. What’s going on?”

 “Other than finding out that my name was unknowingly submitted to take part in the state’s teachers summit, nothing really.”

“Is it that bad?” 

 “No. It’s actually a good opportunity to voice your concerns as a teacher to the school board, but quite frankly, I’m tired of going. Only one teacher is selected every year to represent each school in the county and it’s always me.”

 “And what is this summit shit? Why do they need teacher representatives?” I hear her smile through the phone when she explains the summit, and I’m pretty sure it’s because of me cursing already. “Probably this isn’t what you want to hear, but I can see why you’re always chosen. You speak your mind well, and I can see the passion you have when it comes to your students.”

 “Well, yeah, but every teacher should be that way,” she counters. “And the summit this year is four hours away from us, so they made it a weekend convention. A weekend, Toji?” 

 I arch my brow. “And who submitted your name?” Her silence tells me my answer. “You sure this fucker isn’t trying to win you back? Abusing his power as your boss to get you to himself for the weekend seems like a man move I probably would’ve done, too.”

 “You would?” she incredulously asks.

 “When it comes to you? Absolutely. Zero questions asked.” I can almost guarantee the silence from her again is because she’s blushing, something I find fucking adorable about her. “You there, Miss L/N?”

 “Toji, I’m at work,” she answers.

 “Admitting that your mind is in the gutter?”

 “I-uh, no. Just reminding you to get your head out of it.”

 I tip my head back and laugh. “Cute. So when’s the summit?”

 “In three months.”

 “And you can’t pull out?”

 “Unfortunately, no. Unless I can prove that it’s due to a medical or family emergency, I’m out of luck.” No doubt in my mind that her ex pulled this shit intentionally. I mean, I get it. If I lost someone like Y/N as my fiancée, I would be going through hell and back until she was mine again. 

 But too bad for this fucker that isn’t the case anymore, and I don’t tread lightly when it comes to people fucking with what’s mine.

 Mine, that’s exactly what Y/N is.

 “I’m way too hungry for this crap,” she says, pulling me from my possessive musings. 

 “And you didn’t eat because?”

 “Someone kept me up last night on the phone, so I overslept and couldn’t get a decent breakfast before work this morning.” 

 I chuckle, remembering our two a.m. conversations that turned into her masturbating while I was talking her through it. “I’m sure that person is sorry.”

 “Doubt it.”

  I look at the time again to see it’s noon. “What time is your free hour over?” 

 “One. Why?”

 “Grab lunch with me.”

 She playfully hums to consider my last minute invitation. “I guess I can squeeze you in.”

 “Squeeze me in?” I mock her response while laughing. “Appreciate it, Miss L/N.”

 “I’m sure you can find a way to show me your appreciation.”

 I smirk. “Forgot you were at work?”

 “Whatever, Mr. Fushiguro. Text me the address and I’ll meet you there.”

 “Alright, alright. I’ll see you,” is the last thing I say before disconnecting the call.

 Smiling to myself like a fucking lovesick idiot knowing that I’m about to see Y/N has me surprised myself. Like I said earlier, this woman drives me insane.

 And I think I’ll grow to not mind it.

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no discussion question this chapter. but would love to hear your thoughts ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[bts-hyperfixation]

Outside of the Fox

Chapter 33 of 35

3759 words

Y/N longs for a new life when the one she’d been living comes to an abrupt stop. Without much thought to those she is leaving behind, the little fox packs a backpack and disappears. She stumbles across the shelter and makes an interim home for herself while she works out exactly what she wants from her second chance.

Last

The doctors' office is a little too cheery for your liking. It's painted in bright sunshine yellows with smiling photos on the wall. Jin had said that his friend specialised in family therapy and so the office would reflect that but he had also assured you that the man had experience in Jungkook's level of anxiety.

The rabbit practically vibrated as he sat next to you. You wish there was more you could do to alleviate his anxiety but holding his hand and gently stroking his hair is all you can provide right now. You are just thankful that is only the two of you in the room. The doctor's secretary had allowed you to wait in the treatment room before the doctor returned from lunch away from other patients waiting for other doctors.

You glance at Jungkook's face, trying to gauge exactly how bad he might be feeling on a scale of hiding under the covers to an actual heart attack. So far he seems to be at the point of his eyes popping out of his skull. You try to pull him more into your lap in the protective way you've seen Namjoon do in the past. He settles a little more into your side but his demeanour doesn’t change. You want to say something soothing but you keep coming up blank."

Just as well, because the door opens and in walks a man can only assume is Jin's therapist friend. He is shorter than you had pictured, with round spectacles and the bald patches that come naturally to some with age.

"Good afternoon both! My name is Doctor Treiver!" he says cheerily "I was awfully surprised when Jin asked me for this favour, I was starting to think the man was never going to find a mate, let alone two."

"Actually there's seven of us, not including Jin so eight I guess." you supply awkwardly.

Jungkook cowers into your side trying to evade the therapist's gaze.

"Ah even better, the doctor deserves an entire family to spoil" The older gentleman smiles fondly. "Anyway enough about him. I assume we are here to talk about you?'

He turns to Jungkook making the rabbit squirm. You try your best to make him face the therapist but it doesn't work he buries his nose in your scent gland and refuses to move away.

The man raises an eyebrow at you but all you can do is shrug apologetically.

"Would it make you feel more comfortable if I talk about me for a little while?"

Jungkook still doesn't respond so he forges on. He talks about being a dog hybrid and about his family: how his wife has gone back to school, and his daughters just had a dance recital that he'd been so proud to watch.

He eats up all of the time talking about himself. But miraculously it seems to distract Jungkook. He begins to unfurl, listening to Dr. Triever talk, he still won't offer any conversation of his own but he doesn't have a vice grip on your arm as the session draws to a close. He almost looks disappointed as the doctor winds to a close.

“Unfortunately that’s all the time we have, my next patient will be here shortly so we will perhaps have to take a rain check on me getting to know about you Jungkook. Jin has booked this session for you for the next few weeks, would you like to keep it?”

Jungkook nods slightly and Dr. Treiver smiles and claps his hands. 

“Wonderful,  that’s settled then, I’ll see you next week!”

The elder man rises and shows the two of you to the door. Jungkook’s arm wraps fully around yours again as he nervously makes his way through the full waiting room. Only when you are back at the car, does the colour start to reflood his cheeks. 

“Do you want to drive?” You ask him as you approach.

“No.” He manages to squeak out. 

You open the passenger door for him and run around to the driver's side.

“Are you hungry?” You ask

“Yoongi left us some snacks,” He responds.

“And Jin left us his credit card for your treat. How about you and I hook a laptop up to the big screen and start shopping for everything we need for the new rooms?”

He looks excited at the prospect and now you’re alone, his sunshiny attitude has returned and he babbles on about trinkets he wants to buy for himself and the others. It’s clear he has been thinking about this the most out of all of you since the house upgrades had been suggested. Considering you had all assumed he would be taking it the hardest you were all rather surprised by this outcome, but then he had only really spent ten months in the original hovel, and he was now being offered his wildest dreams (or his most reasonable dreams if Namjoon had a say).

You want to ask him how he is feeling following the appointment but you hold your tongue, thinking it might be better saved for a family meeting later this evening so he doesn’t have to rehash his feelings on more than one occasion. 

As soon as you walk into the apartment Jungkook bounces into the kitchen and gathers his favourites of the snacks Yoongi left behind. In the meanwhile, you rummage through the drawers for a HDMI cable.

You play through Amazon listings like Tinder, adding yes’ to the basket and judging the hell out of the no’s. You find yourselves looking through more and more bizarre furniture listings until you stumble across tables with animal legs and chairs that look more like avant-garde art pieces. 

Namjoon comes home early and crashes into the bed next to you. He seems less than impressed that you are adding so many things that he cannot buy you into the basket but Jungkook knows the right things to search to have him join in your little game. The rabbit puts the ugliest typewriter he can find on the screen making Namjoon physically retch. It has Namjoon snatching the keyboard away from him and you launching to get it back.

Namjoon catches you easily, keeping the keyboard far out of your reach.

“That thing is a crime against reality! You’ve both just lost your keyboard privileges,” he says.

He places the electronic on to the sofa and then readjusts you into his lap properly.

“We are just putting things in the basket, right? You’re not actually buying anything?” Namjoon asks timidly.

“We haven’t bought anything yet no… only because we thought getting things delivered here would cause logistical issues,” you shrug.

“Then I guess I can play…” Namjoon confirms.

He places the keyboard back into your lap and wraps his arms around you so he can type. Jungkook cuddles up to Namjoon’s arm and your game continues. Namjoon’s mind is much more creative than yours and Jungkook’s had been. He enters things you would’ve never thought of pulling up bizarre appliances and inventive contraptions, he also finds some rather concerning yet arousing intimate apparatus that has you blushing and hiding your face, even though the thought is intriguing. Apparently, Jungkook feels the same way as you hear a whine involuntarily escape his throat.

You are interrupted from going any further as the door slams open and Jimin and Yoongi walk through. You haven’t realised how late it had gotten. 

The pair join you in your little game until Jin comes home. You had wanted to wait for Taehyung before you ate dinner, but he rang and told you he wouldn’t be able to leave his family estate until very late today. So you all eat without him, leaving a plate of leftovers in the fridge with a note for him.

__________________

Taehyung pov

Returning had become a tedious exercise long before Taehyung had met the pack, now it was practically unbearable. Unfortunately, as the tax year came to a close, his parents' businesses required more attention, and by extension more appearances of their eldest son.

They had been disappointed with him for a while now. A series of tawdry flings and a couple of minor arrests in his late teens had really made them lose faith in him. No one could blame him for the way he acted, there was always just so much… pressure. And having skipped out the night before in favour of watching you and Jungkook had done nothing to enamour him to them right now.

“You waste so much of your potential Taehyung,” His father sighs dejectedly.

“You knew last night was important, why weren’t you here?” His mother implores

Taehyung doesn’t know how to answer exactly… He hasn’t exactly mentioned the pack to his family. They wouldn’t approve of him partnering with someone they deemed to be in a lower economic class. He explained his absence from the family home with a selection of trips, flings, and slumber parties to try and offset the amount of time he was spending away. He was sure they had their suspicions, after all, he always returned reeking of specific scents. The knowing glances his sister kept shooting him confirmed that he wasn’t being as subtle as he had hoped.

He had rather hoped to find a time to introduce them to just Jin to start with, sure they would accept a doctor as his partner. Although it kills him to think they may never meet you or Jimin or anyone else, not as his mates anyway. He can’t risk losing his trust fund by pissing his family off too much though, he needed it to support all of you.

“Ah Eomma, I told you, I was at a friend's and had car trouble. I promise it won’t happen again,” he replied. 

“It better not young man, you know this is an important time for our company. You need to be seen at all events.” His father said sternly.

They sit through an incredibly awkward family meal of food that is far too fancy and nowhere near filling as Taehyung’s father explains each of their roles in the coming weeks. As per usual, Taehyung is to be seen and not heard. It is all pretty standard, His family have given them the same role since it became clear he was probably not going to be the head of the entire business (They only gave him the visa business as it was their least lucrative asset)

However, at the usual end of his father’s speech, he pauses and looks at Taehyung directly.

“You’re not going to like this part Taehyung-ah, but it’s time,”

“Time for what?” Taehyung asked, suspicion peaked.

His parents look at each other, a silent conversation passing between them until his mother nods.

“Time for you to marry,” His mother continues

Taehyung sits there with his mouth agape like a goldfish. His siblings shuffle uncomfortably on either side but he can’t work out if it’s a sign of surprise or guilt.

“We have spoken with the Hirely family and we believe their second daughter would be an advantageous match for you.

The Hirely’s are a family that owns a lot of businesses in similar facets to the Kim’s.

“That’s absurd. You cannot expect me in this day and age to agree to this!” Taehyung shouts.

He slams his hands on the table as he stands in indignation.

“Sit back down Taehyung!” His father shouts. “Their second daughter is a perfectly acceptable young woman and it is time for you to stop with this behaviour of yours. If you do not accept, we will be forced to exclude you from the business,”

“Look, Taehyung, we didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left us with no choice. Your reputation reflects poorly on our family dear. We really do believe this is for the best,” His mother has the gall to look guilty about the situation.

The room is silent. Taehyung grips the edge of the table until his knuckles turn white. He is left with very few choices. He can go through with the engagement, he can come clean and become immediately disowned, he could accept the engagement and hope to convince her to call it off, or he can bargain. He makes his excuses and leaves the house trying to think of his exit strategy. 

The obvious choice is to turn them down flat, but then he wouldn’t be able to help provide for the new lifestyle you had all been getting so excited over. Then introducing his family to just Jin would be potentially messy, the entire pack would need to know the situation and he would have to expose how… old fashioned his family were. Going ahead with it to try and get her to call it off was even riskier, he had no idea what was at stake for his supposed bride.

By the time he returns to Jin’s flat everyone is asleep, he tiptoes passed the three of you in the living room and into the kitchen for a drink but when he opens the fridge, he finds the leftovers with Jimin’s note attached.

Taehyung-ie we missed you Yeobo, eat well and sleep well, Love.

He smiles and kisses the note before slipping it into his pocket and scarfing down the leftovers. He sits at the breakfast bar and watches you, Jimin, and Jungkook as you sleep. He watches as you and Jungkook cocoon Jimin in between you, nuzzling into his scent markers and making him whimper a little in his dreams. He knows right then that giving in to his parents is not an option.

_____________ 

The next few days continue similarly for you and Jungkook. You grow bored of looking for new furniture that you can’t have yet and move on to paint swatches. But there is only so much you can do without a wall to paint.

Next, the pair of you try baking, but it only takes Jin seeing the state of his kitchen after an all-night shift to put a stop to that (Jungkook had never used a blender that was able to start without its lid before, how was he supposed to know it would spray that high…

You suggest gaming but Jungkook had only bought his switch without the tv dock so you have to pass the console back and forth.

You had never realised how tiring it was to think of things to fill your day. Even at your parent's home you had managed to find things to do like study or clean or read. But Jin’s place was spotless (save the batter on the ceiling) and his books were largely medical journals that were far too wordy.

You contemplate asking Tae if you can go back to work for a few days a week, but he always comes home so late and seems so busy at the moment that you never get the chance.

Eventually, you and Jungkook settle into a routine of TV and napping, and maybe a little fooling around in the process. The others all shake their heads as they walk in after work and see the two of you curled up together yet again.

Before you know it the week rolls around again and it’s time for Jungkook’s second therapy session. 

______

Jungkook still attaches himself to you with a vicelike grip as you walk into the doctor’s office. This time dr Treiver is already waiting for the two of you, large grin in place as he says his hellos.

Jungkook manages to squeak an introduction this time and you find yourself exceedingly proud of him. He doesn’t manage too much more, although he occasionally nods to the doctor’s questions. Dr Treiver writes some notes on an iPad about the limited motions Jungkook provides.

“I’m glad you’re feeling more open this time Jungkook, I know this isn’t easy for you. I hope we can build a much more successful relationship over time. For now, though would it make you feel better if I also asked Y/N some questions,”

The rabbit looks at you uncertainly but you nod and put him at ease. If it will help him, you don’t mind. 

The doctor doesn’t really ask you anything of interest, he mostly just asks for surface-level information, things similar to what he spoke about the week before. You tell him a little about your parents and your husband, nothing you haven’t told the pack before. Then you tell him a little about your life now. It makes you blush talking about how happy you’ve been. Jungkook smiles wide and his grip relaxes as he listens to you.

Once again the session comes to an end without Jungkook having said a word. He is however sitting independently now, having shuffled away a tiny bit so he could look at you better while you spoke. You noticed that the doctor wasn’t paying particular attention to you anyway, he had been watching Jungkook’s body language the entire time.

You take him to the drive-through for ice cream after this session. He is far less wound up than the last time. 

_________________

He finally talks to the doctor in the fourth session. He stammers, he stutters, he fumbles his words. But he talks.

Not about anything in particular, he avoids a lot of questions and mostly focuses on other people. He talks about Namjoon’s new book, Yoongi and Hoseok’s song, Jin being too tired. It sounds like a whole lot of nothing to you, but Dr. Treiver leans in like it’s the most fascinating information in the world. And for all you know about psychology, it might’ve been.

______________

Eight weeks after work began, you are informed that the building work on the outside annexe you had requested has been completed. It’ll be another six or so months until the main house is completed, but Jin’s lease was coming to an end and he hadn’t wanted to renew it for a full year if it wasn’t going to be necessary, hence the addition of what is essentially a granny flat in the yard.

You and Jungkook head out to see it after everyone heads to work. You’ve set up for two large beds and some sofas to be delivered ready for you all to use. Taehyung and Namjoon promised to meet you there later to help move things around. But for now, it was just you, Jungkook, and an empty building waiting to be painted. 

The granny flat had four rooms: a bathroom, two bedrooms, and open space for a living room with a small kitchen. You had asked for the living room and bathroom to be fully decorated and ready but Jimin had thought it would be more fun if you could put your own spins on the bedrooms and personal spaces. Taehyung and Jin had moaned a little about the manual labour, but Jungkook had puppy dog eyes that no one could refuse so he and Jimin got their ways.

You cart in a selection of paint can swatches and set about pasting them all onto the walls. You start in the first bedroom. Jungkook picks ten colours for himself leaving you with ten more and you both get to work. He starts on the wall facing the window and you start on one with less direct lighting and then you switch.

You stand back and swipe hair out of your face, after finishing 20 foot-by-foot squares.

“I think we might have gotten too many options…” You point out.

Jungkook stands back to admire his work as well.

“I’m not sure we have enough…” Jungkook counters.

“You don’t like any of them?”

“I like all of them, but I’m not sure any of them are right for us,” he shrugs.

“Well this is only our spare rooms, they don’t have to be perfect,” you reason

He whines dejectedly in response and you hold your hands up in surrender.

“How about a combination of these?” You point at your favourite of the cream options and a blue. “Looks kinda like the sky, we could do something with that,”

“Maybe we should have someone paint a mural?” Jungkook suggests.

“Or you could paint one for us,” You say.

Jungkook had a few paintings and supplies he had been working on through the week that had caught your eye, he really came with many surprise talents. 

He contemplates the idea for a moment, then his hand flicks up as if mimicking a brush. The only problem is, he is still holding a brush, one loaded with paint. 

Paint that is now splattered across your t-shirt... You look at him with mock indignation. He begins to apologise, but before he gets the chance you pick up your brush straight from the tin and splatter blue all down Jungkook’s jeans. 

“Hey, mine was an accident!” He pouts

“Mine too,” you shrug teasingly.

He growls, although the sound is rather unthreatening, and closes the gap between you, hugging you close and printing his paint splatter onto you in the process. 

You think that might be the end of it until you feel the brush bristles against the fabric on your bum. Jungkook giggles as he draws a pattern, keeping you restrained with one hand. 

He lets you go when he is finished and you turn to see the reflection in the window. There is a little bunny emblazoned on the left cheeks of your jeans.

That begins an all-out war. Paint gets poured over heads, and handprints can be found in suspicious places by the time you surrender.

“We should shower,” he says, looking down at himself

“We don’t have any towels,” you point out.

“I don’t mind watching you air dry…”

“Why do I feel like that would lead to something where we might have to shower a second time!”

“I mean we could just do that in the first shower… two birds one stone,” he winks.

“We also don’t have spare clothes,” you reason

“I’ll text Namjoon-ie to bring us some,” he counters.

You can see the horny glint in his eye and know you’re fighting a losing battle, it would be best just to do as he wants. And so you do. He tells Namjoon you need new clothes, and the older man doesn’t even think to ask why, he just lets you know he will be around 45 minutes, an amount of time Jungkook deems as perfect as he takes your hand and escorts you to the new bathroom so you can ‘christen’ the shower together. 

Next

Masterlist

Send me asks - doesn’t have to be fic related. Can be smutty, thirsty, fluffy, angsty, whatever you’re feeling regarding BTS. Can be literally anything doesn’t have to be BTS

two chapters to go... unless... I may have planned a 36th chapter but it has more extra content than the actual plot, maybe an epilogue

[bullet-prooflove]

Galindo!Series - Part Three: Ashes to Ashes - Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life @danzer8705 @drabbles-mc @alwaysachorusgirl @witches-unruly-heart @est1887 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @thanossexual @lexondeck @weiwei0210 @trublu2u @justreblogginfics @oklahomapeach @keyweegirlie @wnbweasley @skyesthebomb @msjava1972 @fleureeee @jp1019 @thiashazzywriting @fanfic-n-tabulous @ravennaortiz @just-a-throw-away @thekirbishow

Galindo!Series

Part One: Weakness - Miguel returns to Nestor’s life.

Part Two: Revelations - You reveal the truth to Miguel.

Nestor’s waiting for you when you step outside the house that Miguel has been living in. He’s leaning against his bike, in a black leather jacket, his arms crossed over his chest. When he lifts his head to meet your gaze, you see the sorrow in him, the grief. He knows what you were coming here to do, you didn’t hide that from him, but it still hurts.

This thing with Miguel was bigger than just the two of you, it’s bigger than Emily and Cristobal. You know that if either you or Nestor had buckled under that threat then Miguel would have had his hooks in the network. If that had happened, he would have used it to courier his drugs, his people, his guns. All the good work you’ve been doing would have died along with the two of you.

“He had an email queued up to go out at 9am.” You tell him as you lean back against the seat of the motorcycle. “I’m sorry Nes, but it had both of our information on it. He was going to send it out anyway. It didn’t matter if we helped him or not.”

Nestor sighs, his palm rubbing over the back of his neck.

“I wish I could say I expected something different.”

There’s silence between the two of you for a minute before you tuck your hands into the pockets of your quilted jacket. It’s taken years for Nestor to realise the depths of Miguel’s manipulation, how every single gesture just another way of securing his loyalty.

“It’s a relief.” Nestor says finally, tilting his head to look at you. “It feels like I can breathe for the first time in years.”

“I thought you’d hate me.” You say quietly, kicking at the gravel of the driveway with the toe of your boot.

“No.” Nestor says, reaching for you. He cradles your face between your hands, his thumbs ghosting over your cheeks as his nose trails along yours. “I’m not brave like you; I’ve never been able to slay my monsters.”

“You face yours instead.” You remind him as you look into his eyes. “It’s what you’ve done your whole life, you face everything head on.”

“Except this.” He tells you, his lips brushing over the corner of your mouth. “I can’t help you with this.”

“I know.” You whisper as you hear Coco’s car pulling up behind yours. “And it’s ok, Coco and I will take care of everything.”

***

You cremate Miguel’s body, Coco’s wife Stitches has a hook up at the funeral home that allows you to use the cremator off the books. The whole process takes six hours. Nestor picks you up along with the coffee can full of ashes outside of the funeral home before you begin the trip to Maine.

It takes over forty-eight hours to get to the home you relocated Emily to. You split the driving between you, staying in roadside motels and leaving Miguel’s ashes tucked in the footwell behind the passenger seat.

Emily’s already waiting for you on the porch with Cristobel when you pull the car into the driveway. She raises to her feet, waving with one hand and you see no sign of the woman you met back then. The one who had been so gaunt and wrecked from living under the weight of Miguel’s misdeeds.

You spend the next couple of hours playing with Cristobal in the garden whilst Emily and Nestor talk in the kitchen. They haven’t seen each other since Miguel fired Nestor over his relationship with you, you’ve always wondered what he told Emily about the dismissal.  

It’s Nestor’s turn to drive when you climb back inside the car. He doesn’t turn on the engine, instead he just sits there with his hands on the wheel staring at the house. You can see the Emily and Cristobal through the window, the little boy smiling as he takes a cookie from the plate on the table.

“She says she’s going to scatter him out by the lake.” He tells you. “She’d prefer to flush him, but she thinks it’s important for Cristobal to get closure.”

“She’s not wrong sadly.” You say as you draw your seatbelt across your body. “He deserves a lot worse.”

Nestor sighs, the back of his head coming to rest against the seat.

“He did so much damage...” He says quietly, his gaze comes to rest on the family before you. “I think about that all the time, my complicity in it. I don’t think I’ll ever be free.”

“You’re making up for it now.” You remind him as you study the profile of his face. “The work we’re doing, it counters the balance. We’re putting some good back into the world, helping people.”

“I’m not sure that it’s enough.” Nestor says softly as he thinks about all the shit he’s done over the years. “I’m not sure any of it is.”  

“Then we do it until it is.” You say, taking his hand in yours. “We keep chipping at it a little at a time until it makes a difference.”

Love Nestor? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[munson-blurbs]

STEVE + ARGYLE + READER, afternoon palm tree delight

Warnings: absolutely filthy smut (18+ only, minors DNI), voyeurism?, public sex, drug use, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up), male masturbation, pet names

WC: 1.5k

A/N: Ziggy didn't give me a place in this ask, so I asked her privately and she said the Wheeler basement. So that's where it came from.

--

“Forty-seven, forty-eight—shit, babe, you totally made me lose count!” Argyle groans as you tug gently on his hair to get his attention. 

You roll your eyes. “You were counting the wood panels on the wall, not performing brain surgery.” Your sarcasm garners a laugh from Steve, and Argyle flips you both off. “I was gonna ask you to pass me a joint,” you continue, pulling out your lime green lighter. It’s been a long day, and you could really use some Purple Palm Tree Delight.

Your boyfriend wrinkles his nose. “Won’t the Wheelers get mad if we smoke in their basement?”

“Doubtful,” you scoff. “Nancy told me that Mike once hid a girl down here for, like, weeks. Their parents were oblivious.” You stretch out your hand as he takes the joint from behind his ear and places it in your palm. “Thank you!” you trill, pressing a kiss to his cheek and lighting up. 

“Speaking of Nancy,” Steve interjects, rubbing his palms on his jeans, “do we have an ETA for her, or…?”

“Emergency newspaper club meeting,” you tell him. “But I’m surprised you didn’t already know that, loverboy,” you tease, inhaling and passing to him. He looks at it before taking a hit, shooting you a puzzled look. 

“Don’t try to act coy with us, Harrington,” Argyle laughs, plucking the joint from Steve’s fingers and placing it between his own lips. “You’re gonna sit here and say you’re helping your ex-girlfriend plan a surprise party for her boyfriend out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” Steve mumbles, breaking the puff-puff-pass rotation and taking the joint before you can. “Yup, I’m still in love with Nancy.”

You lean over to snatch it back from him, and he gets a perfect view of your cleavage peeking from your tank top. “Wait your turn!” you scold him, but you’re smiling as you say it. 

“Aw, c’mon, princesa,” Argyle nuzzles into you, already feeling the effects from the weed, “cut him some slack. It’s exhausting pining over Nancy all day.” He kisses your neck and snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer. He always gets extra frisky when he’s high. 

“Ugh, enough with the PDA!” Steve grumbles as you and Argyle shotgun smoke into each other’s mouths. “Seriously, I’ll leave right now.”

“Someone wishes he was doing this with Nancy Wheeler,” you giggle, only interrupted by your boyfriend nibbling on your earlobe. 

“I don’t want Nancy!” Steve shouts a bit too loudly, startling you. “I’m just being a good friend. That’s all.”

“Bullshit,” you retort. “You love her. Why else would you always offer to drive us to work, when the mall is out of your way? Or bring us coffee when you know we have an early shift? Or how you come to all of my volleyball games,

because she’s the one who reports on girls’ sports?”

A deep blush sets into Steve’s cheeks, and Argyle adjusts his position to sit up straighter. “Uh, babe?” he starts. “I don’t think Steve wants to be with Nancy. I think he wants to be with…you.”

“Oh my God!” Steve buries his head in his hands. “Tell me this is a bad dream, and I’m gonna wake up any second now.”

“Wait, seriously?” Your eyes widen. “Dude, why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Yeah, man,” Argyle says smugly. “You know we’re always down for a third.”

Steve shakes his head. “Nah, I’d feel too weird…like, touching your girl, y’know?”

There’s a brief silence before you have an idea. “So don’t touch me,” you grin mischievously. “You tell Argyle what you want him to do to me, and he’ll do it. And you’ll only be touching yourself.” You bite your lower lip; you’re already getting wet at the idea of Steve watching you. 

“O-Okay,” Steve stammers, swallowing thickly. “If it’s cool with you guys.” He feels his jeans tightening around his crotch. 

“‘S cool with me,” Argyle chimes in. “What about you, princesa?”

You nod, climbing onto your boyfriend’s lap and straddling his waist. “Whenever you’re ready, Stevie.”

Steve already looks flustered, but he manages to tell Argyle to kiss you. Your boyfriend chastely presses his lips to your cheek, purposely ornery. “Like that?” he goads Steve. 

“No, fuckin’…kiss her, man. Kiss her like you wanna fuck her.” His animalistic side is starting to show, but you barely have time to enjoy it before Argyle’s tongue parts your lips. You moan into it, and Steve palms himself over his jeans. 

“You like her pretty little sounds?” Argyle instigates, chuckling as Steve nods weakly. “There’s plenty more where that came from, Big Boy. Keep going. And, uh, make yourself more comfortable.”

Steve unbuttons his pants obediently, tugging them down along with his boxers. He takes his hard cock in his hand and spits on it. “Is she wet?” he asks. 

Argyle slips his hand under your skirt, bunching up the material and running a thick finger over your panties. “Soaked.”

“Shit,” Steve breathes, using his saliva as lube and pumping slowly. “Rub her clit. Make her feel good.”

“You got it, boss.” Argyle takes your lace thong off and tosses it to Steve. “A little souvenir,” he says with a wink, bringing his attention back to your pussy. 

“Touch me, please,” you beg. “Need your fingers.” He obliges, circling your sensitive bundle with the pad of his middle finger. “S-So good, babe. Right there. I’m gonna…” You grind your hips as he quickens his pace. You feel your orgasm creep up on you, just within reach—

“Stop!” Steve cries out; you and Argyle freeze. “Don’t let her cum yet. Make her work for it. Need to hear her fuckin’ scream.” He’s put your panties over his cock, thrusting into them as he gives instructions. “Go nice and slow.” Argyle complies, and your pathetic whimper only turns both men on more. “Thassit. Now, put one finger in her. Not too fast, though.”

Your fingertips dig into Argyle’s shoulders as you bounce on his thick digit, desperate for some sensory input. Steve notices, clearing his throat in disapproval. “Hey, Cheech,” he calls out, “our girl’s getting greedy. Better put her in her place.”

“Oh, she’s our girl now, Harrington?” Argyle smirks, tilting your chin so your eyes meet his. “You heard him, princesa. Only take what I give you.”

“Y-Yes sir,” you whine, silently praying that he’ll slide another finger inside you.

After a few agonizing minutes that feel like hours, you hear Steve finally mutter, “‘M close. Pull out–fuck–all the stops.” His fist flies over his erection, groaning as the fabric from your panties adds friction. “Wanna see her ride you.”

You couldn’t be more grateful as you pull your boyfriend’s cock out of his pants, grazing it along your wet folds. “Someone’s eager,” he teases lightly, but you have no patience to think of a witty comeback. Instead, you line him up with your wanting cunt, hissing gently as he stretches you.

“T-Tell me how she feels,” Steve pleads. A bead of sweat trickles down from his forehead. “Bet she feels perfect, huh? Bet our girl always feels s’perfect.”

“She’s so fuckin’ tight, dude,” Argyle agrees, throwing his head back as you grind down, allowing his length to hit every square inch of your walls. “Got the tightest little pussy; makes me cum in seconds.”

“Baby?” you squeak out, and both Argyle and Steve turn their attention to you. “C-Can I cum now? Please?” Argyle looks at Steve for approval, and he manages a nod. With that, Argyle pins your thighs against him as he pistons harder and faster, spilling into you as you finish all over his cock. Steve’s panting breaths echo around the room as he cums in your already ruined panties.

“Holy shit,” he says to no one in particular. “That was–wow. Didn’t know I was into that,” he adds with a chuckle. He cleans himself off with the lace, and Argyle reaches for the tissue box to wipe his own cum from you. “Wait–I wanna see. If…if that’s okay?” He realizes that he’s just asked, his ears tinging pink with embarrassment.

Argyle waits for your consent, which you give enthusiastically. “Just no touching,” he warns him, and his possessiveness makes you wet all over again.

Steve nods, feeling his cock twitch up as he watches Argyle’s load drip out of your pussy. He’s speechless for a moment, mumbling, “Clean her up before I get hard again,” tucking your thong into his back pocket.

You’re about to argue that that might not be a bad thing when you hear Nancy’s voice call out to her parents that she’s home. “Shit!” You tug down your bunched-up skirt as Argyle quickly cleans up. You’re all trying to act casual as Nancy bounds down the stairs, crinkling her nose. “Were you guys smoking down here?”

“Mhm, yeah, sorry,” Argyle blurts out. “Won’t happen again.”

Nancy narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Did I miss something?”

“Absolutely not,” you chirp too enthusiastically, and the two boys nod in agreement. 

Steve stands up suddenly, perspiration still clinging to his face. “I, uh, gotta pee,” he says lamely, but as he walks to the bathroom, your panties fall out of his pocket.

“Is that–” Nancy starts, shaking her head. “Actually, I don’t wanna know.”

--

[farfromstrange]

Cavities | Matt Murdock x Reader

masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x gender neutral!Reader

Summary: based on this request by a lovely anon. You need to have your cavities taken care of. Matt offers to stay by your side.

Warnings: none (not proof read)

A/n: I hope you like it! I’ve never had any cavities and the last big procedure I had was my wisdom teeth removal, so I tried my best to write something that’s comforting enough. It’s pretty short, I think you can count it as a Drabble. I wish you all the best of luck, anon, and that everything works out!

If you take a look at the doctor profession, there are some doctors we are naturally programmed to fear. One of those being the dentist. Don’t get me wrong, you go to your mandatory appointments — albeit hesitant — get your teeth checked like any other adult and then go on your way. You’ve always been a little queasy, but it’s been tolerable so far. Until your doctor walked into the room the other day and revealed that your perfect teeth, that you have claimed to be perfectly healthy, are actually quite a little damaged.

When he came in to tell you that you had eight cavities, you almost instantly lost your mind. It would mean you’d have to get it fixed because cavities and crowns are not something you want to wait with. But it’s one of those procedures that make you want to rather die than sit in that godforsaken chair and let them drill into your mouth.

You have already searched for your passport and found your travel-sized bag in the closet of you and your boyfriend’s shared apartment. If you left the country, it surely wouldn’t kill you, right? You can’t say it hasn’t actively crossed your mind. You hate going to the dentist, especially when higher things need to be done than just the occasional check-up. Your past experiences have not left you with a good memory. And even though your dentist is the kindest doctor you can think of, you can’t bring yourself up to relax. All you can think about is how you don’t want this and you’d rather die than let your mouth be poked open and drilled into. The sounds, the feeling, everything that you connect with the experience already drives you crazy long before you’re set for your appointment.

But unlike all the times before, you’re not alone this time.

“Eight cavities,” you whine as you roll over in bed, the piece of paper that signed your demise on the living room table. “Eight cavities, Matt!” you say louder and he flinches at your voice so close and loud to his sensitive ear.

“And they want to fill four. Four, Matt! At once.”

Matt chuckles. He's already dressed in his work attire while you’re left in your pyjamas. “You’ve said that about a million times, sweetheart,” he says.

“Because it’s not fair! What did I ever do to deserve this?”

“It’s a standard procedure. It happens. Most of us will get cavities at least once in our lives. There is literally nothing to be ashamed or worry about.”

You give a dramatic sigh. “God hates me.”

“He doesn’t.” He kisses your forehead gently from where he bows over you. “I strongly believe God loves you more than anything. You’re gonna be fine. I’ll be there and hold your hand all the way through, okay? I promise you. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

“The drill is gonna hurt me,” you retort.

When you weakly told your boyfriend about the whole Dilemma, he didn’t laugh at you, although it seemed like he wanted to. Instead, he understood and he offered his help. You were more than surprised to find him so willing to hold your hand, but you agreed. You wouldn’t say no to his everlasting support. Though the closer the date comes, the more nervous you’re starting to feel, and suddenly his support seems a little less important because it still feels like they are going to kill you in that stupid dentist’s office.

You haven’t properly slept since you got the news, he knows that, but he also knows he can’t take away your fear entirely, no matter how much he wishes he could.

“They’ll numb the area,” Matt explains. “You won’t feel a thing. The pressure, maybe, but that’s normal. It’s not gonna hurt you. You’ll see, you’re gonna feel so much better after. There is nothing you can’t do, okay? You’re one of the strongest people I know.” This time, he plants his lips on yours in a living kiss that screams in his supportive nature.

You ease into his touch, allowing yourself to relax a little.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he says.

You sigh. “I love you too.”

“Good. Can I leave you alone now or are you gonna start tearing the walls down?”

“I’m okay.”

“Alright. I gotta get work, get a head start so my missing tomorrow won’t be as bad. You know, new client and all that.”

His steps disappear out of the bedroom and into the living room. As soon as he’s even just an inch from you, your mind begins to reel again.

“What if they take my teeth?”

Matt groans. “They will not take your teeth!”

“They might,” you say. “And you can’t tell if they are because you can’t see them. You’d just be like, what are they doing? Sounds weird, but I’ll allow it. And in the end I’ll wake up without my teeth.”

“They won’t take your teeth. What would they want with a whole set of teeth anyway?”

“I don’t know, sell them? Use them as prosthesis for other people without teeth?”

“Okay,” he laughs, “No one’s gonna sell your teeth. They’re important, you still need them. Dentists are not teeth thieves. And even if they were, your boyfriend’s a lawyer. I can sue them.”

“You would do that?” you say.

He pokes his head around the corner of the bedroom. “Of course, I would. You’re the love of my life. Now stop overthinking or I’ll take you with me and tie you to Foggy’s desk.”

You don’t stop overthinking, not until you walk into your dentist’s Office the Next day and the sterile smell as well as the sight of all the instruments before you almost give you a heart attack.

You turn around. “Nope, not gonna happen.” But Matt has already grabbed your shoulders and forced you to stay.

“Sit,” he instructs.

“No.”

“Sweetheart, I know it’s scary, but you’re not alone. This is not a torture chamber and you are not on death row. So sit down!” He pushes you into the chair.

You groan. “Matt, please, let’s just fake my death. I… I don’t want to do this.” Your lip quivers and your voice starts to shake. The stress is tearing away at your bones and you’re this close to getting your passport and feeling.

This close.

Matt catches the frustrated tear that slips your eye with his finger. Your arms are crossed over your chest, and your head is turned away from him and all the torturous Instruments before you.

“It’s gonna be okay, baby. After this, I promise I’m gonna cuddle you for as long as you want,” he says oh-so-sweetly. “And when you’re allowed to have ice cream again, I’ll get all your favorite flavors. We’ll have an ice cream party.”

“Even chocolate?” you ask.

“Even chocolate,” he says.

“But you hate chocolate.”

“I’d do it for you. I’d do anything for you.”

You look at the hand he is offering you, then his soft smile and the white light reflected in his red glasses. And though your limbs are shaking violently, you take his hand and he instantly pulls you close. He holds your hand with an intensity that gives you strength. The look on his face and his hand are enough to ease some of the anxiety.

The nurse compliments you at some point, “What a great boyfriend you have!” she says. You smile and nod, but it doesn’t hit the mark.

You’re still shaking by the the time they pull out the sedative.

“I don’t like this,” you murmur. “Can’t we just go?”

“It’s that or the pain,” says the nurse.

“I don’t like to be numb.”

Matt squeezes your hand. “The pain is only gonna be worse if you don’t take it,” he says. “I’m here, okay?”

You think about it, but eventually nod to give the go-ahead. Your nails dig into his skin and it must hurt, but he doesn’t say anything.

As soon as the sedative has set and you can barely feel your mouth anymore, the rest of the procedure goes smoothly. There is no doubt in your mind that without Matt, you would have gotten a heart attack.

“Bad experience with dentists?” the doctor asks halfway through the procedure when he catches sight of how tightly you’re holding your boyfriend’s hand.

You glare at him. With his pesky little fingers in your mouth, you can’t speak.

Matt jumps to your defense. “Bad is an understatement,” he says.

“Well, we’re almost done.”

You thank whatever God he believes in once the ordeal is finally over and you allow yourself to breathe again. Your tongue is flapping around funnily in your mouth and you can't feel anything, but it’s better than the pain.

“Good job,” Matt cooes into your ear. “I knew you could do it.”

You huff. “Jus’ ‘ake me home.”

“You sound even funnier than when you’re drunk.” His eyes crinkle and he giggles when he senses the murderous look in your eyes.

“‘M gonna shove my foot s’ far up your ass…”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. You’d have to reach that far first.”

You land on the bed exhausted, drained and numb. When Matt tries to leave, you grab his hand, afraid he might leave you miserable like this.

He shushes your pleas. “I’m just getting some comfortable clothes and some water for you. I’ll be right back and then I’ll cuddle you, okay?” he says. “I promised to take care of you. I’m not gonna leave you.”

And he does. He comes back with a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. He gets you dressed, fluffs your pillows and gets an extra blanket. There’s water and some snacks once you can eat again on the nightstand and his arms land around you, finally, after what feels like an eternity.

Until you’ve found a comfortable position it takes a while, but once you do and his heartbeat sounds strong in your ear, you can’t help but sigh and let the exhaustion fall off of you.

“And,” he muses, “was is it really that bad?”

“The worst,” you slur.

He chuckles, rubbing your back with his large hand. “It’s alright. Dentists are scary. But you’re okay now. You did it and you didn’t kill anyone in the process.”

You snort.

“Kidding! You really did good. I’m proud of you. And now it’s over and you don’t have to worry anymore. There is nothing you can’t conquer,” he says, “and you prove it every day, sweetheart.”

Another tear slides down your cheek and onto his shirt. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for telling the truth. I love you, sweetie.”

“Love you too, Matty.”

“C’mon, get some rest. I’ll be right here with you. And tomorrow, ice cream.”

You snuggle into his warm arms, completely disappearing as you melt like an ice cube.

“Ice cream,” you sigh in approval.

You couldn’t have asked for a better companion, let alone a better boyfriend. There is no one than can match up to Matt Murdock and the dedication he gives to the people he loves — the dedication he gives to you. And with him by your side, getting a few cavities filled feels just a little worse than it actually is.