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halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

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The Invisible String Theory

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).

WORDCOUNT: 9.2k

WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021

LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY

TIME OF EVENT: 0230

MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'

You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows.

Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala.

You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before.

They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts.

You wished you were only a tourist.

You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time.

This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed.

For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you.

It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted.

You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman.

Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.

Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.

You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.

A doll.

The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket.

The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.

But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again.

“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways.

Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better.

That was when you first saw him.

You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came.

It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.

The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark.

“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.

Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable.

“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head.

“Are you…sure, Ma’am?”

“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words.

His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.

König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.

Ivon hangs up his phone.

“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact.

This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering.

Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee.

You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.

Yet it could only last so long.

Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble.

König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that.

The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone.

That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different.

Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place.

But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms.

This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures.

You were always kept on the ground floor.

'CLEARANCE: APPROVED

TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…

STAND BY…

Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.

Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'

You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress.

“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well.

You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.

A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp.

Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched.

Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain.

Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again.

Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing.

There was someone….out there.

Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with.

Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.

Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.

Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen.

A yell.

A scream.

The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.

You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass.

The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still.

But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet.

What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.

Silence.

You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you.

'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.

Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.'

The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort.

Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.

A monster.

Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls.

“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you.

“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”

You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct.

The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.

“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”

You stare blankly, panting.

After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English.

“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.”

Military? Raid?

“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood.

A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise.

König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.

The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway.

Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull.

“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.”

That certainly got the attention that was needed.

Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind.

Home.

Did you even have one of those left?

As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it.

You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver.

“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over.

You’d forgotten about König.

He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie.

You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light.

“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”

“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible.

Blue-gray.

You stare, mouth parting in shock.

König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.

That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter.

“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock.

It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates.

“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it.

König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt.

A protective knife sides into his side.

“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?”

You blink.

“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision.

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”

Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would.

“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.”

König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?”

Again, you shake your head.

“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch.

“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile.

But now wasn’t the time for that.

“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”

You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.

Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you.

“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.”

You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street.

The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer.

Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.

“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”

“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”

You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree.

Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.

It was like listening to a bird’s song.

“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.”

He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward.

“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”

You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall.

“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you.

“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.

“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.”

You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more.

The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.”

The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears.

Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus.

Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment.

“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”

“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.”

“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you.

König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal.

You can’t help but smile.

'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases.

Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'

You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door.

It nearly made you cry.

Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly.

“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.

“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.

“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?”

Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?”

Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return.

“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way.

“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room.

Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning.

Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so?

But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it.

Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling.

That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it.

—

König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope.

Tap-tap, tappity-tap.

His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood.

But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala.

He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving.

“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”

König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay.

The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva.

‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”

König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you.

The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings.

Curfew was long past—this had to be quick.

Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it.

He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.

“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”

The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten.

It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation.

Was this appropriate?

König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid.

He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself.

After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder.

“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain.

With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in.

He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open.

König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them.

Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.

“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks.

Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.

“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse.

Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.

With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.

“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.”

“Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck.

“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?”

The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”

König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns.

“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”

“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.

“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?”

Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock.

“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”

He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”

You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.

“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.”

He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?”

You watch him before nodding tinily.

“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?”

Why had he said that?

The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.

“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it.

“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly.

“What are you laughing at, then, hm?”

“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin.

König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.”

You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs.

“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”

“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.”

Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet.

'…Signed,

[REDACTED]

SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021

END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’

RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…

STAND BY…'

It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost.

There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked.

You take a long, deep, breath.

Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course.

You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go.

Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.

Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on.

At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword.

König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.

The coat.

“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.”

“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer.

“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”

You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold.

König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head.

“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat.

It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat.

“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable.

Enigmatic.

König’s reverential face is soft with care.

“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”

Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat.

It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material.

The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17.

König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone.

Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses.

At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after.

It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.

“Thank—”

“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you.

You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?”

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.”

The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope.

Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side.

Live well.

You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness.

The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it.

‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’

'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE

REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]

ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021

TIME: 1422

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED….

RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…

FILE SELECTED….

TRANSLATING…

STAND BY…

REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED…

SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'

You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.

“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.”

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”

“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.”

The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat.

It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them.

A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry.

Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.

After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.

There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.

Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device.

Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering.

Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact.

A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.

He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women.

His voice graces your ear.

“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.

“How do you feel about coffee, König?”

Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.

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cupid-styles · 16 days

Text

call it fate, call it karma (olderry x alt!y/n)

in which harry's getting an unfortunate tattoo covered up at the shop y/n works at, they're 12 years apart, and they have big, fat crushes on each other. also, harry hates frappuccinos.

word count: 10.1k

content warnings: age gap (12 years), harry's kind of an idiot at first, angst (all is solved in the end), smut (daddy kink, p in v penetration, fingering, dirty talk, choking, slight size kink, crying)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

When Harry was 29, he made a mistake.

Well, maybe not a mistake. Perhaps… a series of poorly thought out decisions.

It started out when he met May. They were seniors in college and for years, Harry swore it was love at first sight — and with the enthusiasm and dopey, loved up grin he had when he told the story of how they met, May believed him for a long time. It always started the same: He didn’t want to go out that night but his friends begged him, telling him it was his last year in college to party before they went into the real world at full force. Finally, they wore him down enough to the point where Harry agreed, except he felt no desire to drink or smoke once they got to whoever’s house was throwing the get-together. He sat on the couch all night, nursing a warm beer from a plastic red solo cup, waiting for his buddies to decide when they’d had enough so Harry could ensure they got home safe — and then, May Wilkins walked in.

Harry always claimed that it seemed like the weed and cigarette smoke parted the second she entered the room, though he promised to revise the story when they told their future children. As soon as he laid eyes on the clean-cut brunette girl, he insisted that May would be his.

And, by the end of the night, May was his.

In fact, May continued to be his until he was 32 years old.

For the first few years, it was heaven. People doubted them — they said it was stupid to get into such a serious relationship when graduation was looming, just a few months away, but it only fueled them further. After they received their degrees, they moved in together. The following year, Harry proposed. By 25, they were married.

Within a year of marriage, the fighting started.

It seemed that they had a problem with everything the other did — if Harry stayed late at work, May was angry and accusing him of cheating on her. If May went out for a girls night with some friends, Harry was calling her at 1 a.m., demanding to know where she was. They didn’t trust one another, and the insecurities ate at them; first slowly, and then all-consumingly. Eventually, May couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as Harry. He started getting tattoos and she hated every single one. Every time he came home with a new one, she rolled her eyes and asked why he couldn’t put that money towards their savings, so they could buy a house in the suburbs like they’d planned to five years prior.

Harry wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet, though. After that, they tried couples counseling. When that ended in a screaming match, they decided to try sleeping in separate beds to put some space between one another. That worked for about three days before May got wine drunk one evening and crawled into his new bed that he purchased for the guest room. By the end of the week, they were back to sharing a mattress again.

And, believe it or not, it’s only then that he made his big mistake.

He thought maybe May despised his tattoos so much because he had so many for other people — his sister, his mum, his godchildren. Maybe if he got her name inked on his skin, she would see how much he really did love her, despite all the arguing and fighting.

Except, when he walked through the door to show her that evening, she was so angry that she stayed at her friend’s house that night.

A week later, May filed for a divorce.

He was exhausted. He wasn’t sure how they got there, but he knew it was time. There was nothing they could do to save their marriage.

The divorce was settled relatively quickly. Neither of them had much more fight left in them. They split all their assets down the middle and since they didn’t own a house together, Harry offered to move out of their shared apartment and let May live there until the lease was up. She didn’t, though. She broke their lease four months early with a mumbled explanation of not wanting to live there anymore.

When it was officially over, Harry’s friends took him out to celebrate. An evening of debauchery filled with enough alcohol and drugs to keep Harry satiated for the next decade.

But that’s when he realized that the hard part was just beginning.

Divorced life in your early 30s wasn’t easy. He threw himself into his job, but he felt lonely and empty without May by his side. It wasn’t even because he loved her anymore — he’d just spent so many formative years with her that he didn’t know who he was without her.

For five years, Harry focused on himself. He worked hard, he bought a house, he spent time with his family. He made himself the best son, brother, friend, uncle, and godfather he could be. And at 37, he was mildly content with that — he owned a beautiful home and was at the top of his company. Dating was so far down on his list of priorities that he didn’t even know how people met anymore. His friends encouraged him to join “the apps”, offering to help create a profile for him, but the only girls he dated had been from his years in school. He could admit that he was a little lonely, but the thought of starting over with someone completely new was intimidating and scary. Plus, there was one very big reminder of his past still inked on his arm.

So, that’s when he came up with his plan: He would cover up his tattoo of May’s name. He’d never gotten a coverup tattoo before but based on his research, they weren’t easy to do. It could take multiple sessions, which he was more than okay with — because, when her name was finally banished from his skin, he would officially throw himself back into the dating pool and try to find someone new.

A month later, he was walking into Jaded Tattoos for his first session.

. . .

Tuesdays are Y/N’s least favorite days.

When she comes into work on Monday, she at least has some sort of energy. She typically feels semi-refreshed from the weekend and always makes sure to stop for an iced latte on her way into the shop. Plus, Mondays are one of the calmer days at Jaded Tattoos — after all, there weren’t a ton of people coming in to get tattooed on the first day of the workweek.

But Tuesdays are just… icky. Y/N works as the makeshift secretary at the shop, so she manages everyone’s schedules and handles client booking — it would all be terribly boring if she didn’t work at Jaded, but she can get a new tattoo or piercing anytime one of the artists has some down time. Plus, no one ever judges her for the existing art on her skin, which she can’t say about other jobs she’s had in the past.

However, on Tuesdays, for some reason, the shop is always bustling. Clients are always canceling or showing up late (or, worst of all, missing their appointments altogether without saying a word), which in turn makes the artists annoyed. Y/N understands that — it’s annoying and rude, but then the energy in the shop gets all wonky and everyone feels tense and stressed out. Even her mid-afternoon break, when she takes a walk around the block to get herself a coffee and a pastry, isn’t enough to pull her out of the weird mindset.

She’s just settled into the last part of her day, using the iPad to look through the schedule when a fairly looking clean cut man walks through the door. At first, she assumes he’s lost, but only an idiot would come in without knowing it’s a tattoo shop. He has neatly groomed brunette hair and wears a navy blazer over a white tee-shirt, complete with matching trousers. It makes Y/N involuntarily quirk her eyebrows, a pesky wrinkle appearing between them as she accidentally stares at him. He offers a tight, awkward smile when he walks up to her desk, placing his elbows on the surface.

“Hi. I have an appointment at 3 with Jan.”

Y/N tries her best not to let her jaw drop. She knows she should really be less judgemental, but based on the slight crows feet wrinkles that creep at the edges of his eyes, this guy has to be nearing his 40s. Was he having some kind of midlife crisis? She supposes it’s possible, but why wouldn’t he just opt for buying a new car or house or something? He looks rich enough.

“Hello?”

Y/N realizes that she hasn’t said a single thing since he approached and parts her lips, mumbling out an embarrassed apology as she scrolls on the iPad to look at Jan’s schedule. Sure enough, she’s blocked off from 3 to 4:45 p.m.

“Um, is this your first tattoo?” Y/N asks, cocking her head to the side. Her eyes quickly roam over his body, but most of his skin is covered. There’s a spiel she says with people who are tattoo virgins — making sure they’ve eaten and they’re hydrated and if they’re not, she gives them snacks and water. It was one of the policies she implemented when she started a few years back, and it makes her happy to know that she helps newbies feel more comfortable before getting jabbed with a needle for an hour.

“No,” he chuckles with a shake of his head, “No, sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. Jan’s helping me with a coverup.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, Jan is great with those.” she replies as she slides the iPad across to him. “I’m just gonna have you fill out this consent form and some other fun stuff. I’ll let her know you’re here, but my name is Y/N if you have any questions.”

He nods and flashes her a bright smile, and Y/N swears her heart skips a beat. She wonders what tattoo he’s getting covered up. She doesn’t often ask clients what they’re having done unless they decide to talk to her about it. It can be a rather personal experience for some — while she has some completely asinine, ridiculous tattoos herself, she also has a few with meaning, and she would certainly be taken back if someone randomly asked her about them.

Jan is busy getting some sketching done when Y/N gently knocks on her open door. She turns around in her wheely chair and smiles before asking her what’s up.

“Your 3 p.m. is here,” she says, leaning against the doorframe, “He says you’re covering something up for him?”

“Yup, that’ll be Harry Styles.” Jan replies with an affirmative nod. “We chatted a decent amount through email. Took the guy like, a month before deciding to come in.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “What’s he getting done?”

Jan stands from her chair and stretches her back and arms out, revealing a sliver of her tattooed stomach. “Wants his ex-wife’s name covered up. You know how it goes. You can send him in whenever he’s ready, I just need to photocopy some stencils.”

Y/N nods and hopes Jan didn’t catch the way her eyes widened at the mention of an ex-wife. She supposes she shouldn’t be too surprised — she did figure he was on the older side, at least 10 years her age — but is still a bit shocked that someone who looks that wealthy and put together would tattoo his partner’s name on him. Y/N, despite having a plethora of permanent tattoos herself, didn’t believe in any of that. She felt like it was bad luck. Plus, she didn’t see herself ever loving anyone enough to do that. The thought itself made her shudder.

When she returns back to the front, Harry’s drumming his fingers along the surface of her desk and looking around the interior of the shop. He doesn’t look nervous, but she wonders if he is. She’d seen her fair share of grown men pass out or vomit from being under the needle.

“All done?” she asks, pointing to the tablet. He nods. “Cool. You ate before this right? Hydrated and everything?”

Again, Harry nods, but this time a crooked smirk appears on his face. “Yes. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Just making sure,” she murmurs, plugging the iPad back in the charger, “Okay, you can follow me to Jan’s workstation.”

“Sure. Just one question — is there a place I can put this?”

Before Y/N has a chance to ask him what he’s talking about, he sheds the blazer he’s wearing to reveal two heavily tattooed, very muscular arms. She has to forcibly prevent her jaw from falling to the floor as her eyes roam over the myriad of black ink that swirls over his tanned skin. There doesn’t seem to be much of a theme, but her tattoos lack coherence, too. She swallows like some kind of lovestruck cartoon character, and when she finally glances at Harry’s face, he has a stupid, cocky smirk on.

She narrows her eyes. “There’s some jacket hooks by the door.”

“Perfect,” he grins cheerfully. He turns, showcasing a few more scattered designs on the backs of his arms, and places his jacket on one of the hooks. “Now you can stop judging me like I’m some old man going through a midlife crisis.”

This time, Y/N’s jaw really does drop.

“I’m not!” she immediately scrambles, even though they both know it’s a complete lie. “I just— I didn’t see any tattoos and I wanted to make sure you were prepared—”

“Sure, sure,” he cuts her off, pointing to some of the workstations in the back. “Jan’s is back there?”

“Yes, but I really wasn’t judging you, I have a million stupid tattoos myself—”

“Right, but because you’re half my age, it’s fine, right?”

“That’s not what I thought at all—”

“Have a good rest of your day.”

Y/N’s left standing there, confusion and embarrassment seeping into her bones, as Harry walks over to Jan’s station.

. . .

Exactly one hour and 45 minutes later, Harry leaves the shop.

Y/N spent the entire time nervously straightening up, sweeping the floors and rearranging their supply closet, trying to decide on what she would say to him when he walked by. She wanted to apologize, especially because she hoped he didn’t say anything to Jan. A client had never complained about her — not once in her three years of working at Jaded, and it would ruin her to know that somebody had a poor experience because of her.

Instead, she chickened out and watched him grab his jacket off the hook. Like every tattoo client leaving, he had a clear piece of film wrap stuck to the inside of his left arm. She wished she could see Jan’s work.

A few minutes later, Jan is heading out, too.

“Don’t stay too late tonight, Y/N. The needles and ink can get sorted tomorrow.” she says, nudging her chin the direction of the closet she’s currently busying herself with. Y/N hums and peeks her head out.

“How was the coverup?” she tries her best to make her voice seem nonchalant, as if she’s sincerely curious in how it went as opposed to finding out if he made any mean comments about the nosy girl in the front.

“Fine,” Jan shrugs as she pulls her car keys from her tote bag, “We didn’t get too far. He’ll be coming in for the next three or four weeks. It’ll take some time to cover that shit up. I’ll see you tomorrow though, yeah?”

Y/N nods robotically and forces out a “get home safe!”.

Three to four weeks?

Harry Styles is going to be the death of her. She’s sure of it.

. . .

The following Tuesday, Y/N has a plan.

When she arrives to work that day, she double checks the schedule to ensure she hasn’t been driving herself insane for a week over nothing (and maybe she has, considering her brain has been a hamster wheel of overthinking a man who uttered a few snarky sentences to her). Sure enough, Harry Styles is scheduled to come in for his second session of covering up his tattoo at 3 p.m. sharp.

Here’s what she decides to do: She’s going to dig her Doc Marten-clad heels into the (metaphorical) ground and politely but assertively tell this Harry Styles that it wasn’t very kind of him to assume she was judging him. After all, isn’t that more judgemental on his end? He had been acting like a classic, wealthy, powerful man, asserting his so-called power over a young woman who was simply trying to make his tattoo experience as seamless as possible. What a dick!

It goes without saying that when he shows up at Jaded at 2:45 p.m., her eyes automatically narrow his form. She’s slightly hopped up on caffeine (she’ll admit, she’s been waiting for this moment all day). She doesn’t even allow herself to to assess his outfit today, which consists of another white tank top, a dark gray blazer, and a pair of matching trousers. It’s similar to what he arrived in last week — all business and ridiculous and stupid, she thinks, especially in comparison to her cutoff denim shorts, vintage band tee-shirt, and platform shoes.

“Hi Harry,” she says, greeting him with a fake, rage-filled smile, “Do you have a moment to chat before your appointment?”

Harry raises his eyebrows, almost as if he’s surprised that she’s even speaking to him to begin with.

“Sure.”

Y/N nods and stands from the front desk, motioning for him to head outside. He does and she follows him, immediately crossing her arms over his chest the second they’re no longer within earshot distance of the shop.

Instantly, a stormy look comes over her face and she flares her nostrils. “Last week when you accused me of judging you for going through a midlife crisis? Yeah, that wasn’t cool. You can’t just do that to people. I get it, you’re a privileged guy who’s used to getting whatever you want in life, but I’m here to put my foot down and tell you that it wasn’t nice. It actually really hurt my feelings! And, you know what, why does it even matter what—”

“You’re right.”

Y/N’s head snaps up.

“What?”

Harry shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pants pockets. “You’re completely right. The second I left, I felt awful. I wanted to say something when I was leaving, but I felt it was better to give you your distance.”

Confused, she fumbles over her words, forgetting where she was in her speech. She clears her throat and nods curtly.

“Yeah. You should feel awful.”

A small smile appears on his lips. “I do. I even brought you a cookie from my favorite bakery by my office building.”

“Really?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

Harry nods and digs into the work bag on his shoulder. Sure enough, he produces a cookie that’s the size of Y/N’s face. She recognizes the sticker on the wrapping as a bakery that’s downtown — she’ll order pastries and snacks from there for the staff sometimes, but it’s usually too expensive and far away for her to treat them. She accepts it from him, but not before she peers up at him with narrowed eyes.

“What kind is it?” she questions, as if it’s a test.

“Raspberry white chocolate,” he answers. “I didn’t know what you like, obviously, so I went with my favorite. I hope that’s okay.”

She won’t tell him that that’s also her favorite, but she offers him a short nod of approval. She swallows tightly as she looks back up at the taller man. “Thank you for the apology cookie. Do you wanna share it with me?”

The edges of his lips curl up into a grin. “Sure. I have some time to spare before my session.”

Y/N digs into the bag and retrieves the cookie, breaking it in half. She hands a piece to Harry, who murmurs out a soft thank you. Together, they stand outside the shop in silence, each nibbling on their half of the cookie. After a few moments of quiet, Y/N sneaks a glance at his tattoo. Jan was right — they haven’t gotten very far in covering it up since she can still clearly read the three letters that spell out MAY.

Harry must have followed her gaze because he glimpses down at her. “Do you guys get a lot of people covering up dumb tattoos?”

She does her best not to choke on the bit of cookie in her mouth.

“Um, I mean, some people end up regretting… certain things they get,” she replies, stumbling over her words. “You’re, um, definitely not the first to… y’know. Get their partner’s name done.”

He chuckles, but it seems more humorless than anything. “Yeah. Stupid mistake for sure.”

Y/N shrugs her shoulders. “It can’t be that stupid if you learned something from it.”

“What do you mean?”

She swallows the rest of her cookie and leans back against the cool, brick wall of the shop. It feels nice in comparison to the rising temperatures outside. Now that they’re slowly dipping into warmer climates, she finds herself appreciating small instances of cooling down, like an air conditioned coffee shop or the evening draft when the sun’s gone down.

“We all make mistakes or decisions that don’t end up working out. You’re certainly not the first person to get divorced or even get their significant other’s name tattooed,” she explains. “But did you get anything out of the process? Did you learn anything from it?”

Harry thinks for a moment. He hadn’t really considered that — not in the five years since he and May made their divorce official. It was a shitty experience from start to finish, that much was apparent. But when he ponders whether or not anything decent came out of it, he wonders if she has a point.

“I mean, I guess I did. I don’t think I would be where I am, standing here now, if it hadn’t happened.”

She hums. “It wasn’t a complete waste then.”

He shrugs. “I guess not.”

Y/N pulls her phone from the pocket of her shorts and glances at the time. 2:58 p.m.

“We should probably head back inside. Your appointment’s starting soon,” she says, straightening out her posture. “Thank you again for the cookie.”

“Sure,” Harry nods. “Thanks for the advice.”

She shoots him the smallest of bashful smiles in response.

. . .

The following Tuesday, Y/N feels far less intimidated about seeing Harry.

In a weird way, she’s actually looking forward to his 3 p.m. appointment. He’s way more talkative than some of the other clients that come in, and she’d be lying if she said his little cookie stunt from last week hadn’t placed him in her good graces. She also felt as though it was a crime not to acknowledge how attractive he was — she’d noticed it from the first moment he stepped into the shop, but now that they were on better terms, she was more open to recognizing it. Beyond the plethora of tattoos that covered his skin, he didn’t look much like other people Y/N had gone after in the past — not that she was going after him in any way.

Her exes consisted of a rough roster of less than satisfactory partners: There was Declan, who she dated in college, but they broke up after he got kicked out for doing stick-and-poke tattoos in his dorm room. After that was Alice, but it turned out she was just using Y/N to figure out her sexuality and, after three months of dating, decided she didn’t like going down on girls. Lastly and most recently there was Jonathan, who had so many tattoos he lost count. He had big dreams of becoming either a professional skateboarder or a drummer in a punk band, but he didn’t own a bed frame so his mattress took permanent real estate on the dirty, hardwood floor of his loft, and he was constantly sending Y/N Venmo requests for money with captions like “pls babe haven’t eaten in 2 days.” (It’s safe to say that all of those relationships ended for good reasons.)

While she didn’t have any plans to approach Harry romantically, there was something about him that piqued her interest. Well, maybe it was multiple somethings. For one, he was 12 years older than her. She’d never thought about dating someone that much older, but she happened to sneak a glance at his consent form to see his date of birth just out of plain — and legal — curiosity. Harry seemed to have his life together. Every time he came to the shop, he was coming straight from work in what appeared to be a put-together, expensive suit. He always tipped Jan well (30% for each session — Y/N knows because she did the math) and he was kind to all the artists, even if he’d never spoken to them before. And, she had to admit that the communication and vulnerability he offered last week had been a stark change from the treatment she was used to.

Yeah, so maybe she had an eensy, tiny, miniscule crush on Harry. But she’s sure it’ll fade away once he’s finished with his coverup — he only has two sessions left, anyway. How much damage could be done in that small of a timeframe?

. . .

“Y/N, I need you to postpone Harry’s session today!”

Jan’s haphazardly running around and grabbing her things, mumbling out nonsense as she looks for her car keys. Confused, Y/N gets up from her seat at the front desk.

“Is everything okay?” she calls out as she walks over to the jacket closet, grabbing Jan’s keyring off the hook. Shutting the door behind her, she finds Jan scrambling through her office. When her eyes flit up to see the keys in Y/N’s hand, her eyebrows relax as she grabs them.

“Not really,” she mutters, yanking her phone out of her pocket, “You know that girl I’ve been seeing? Lizzy? She was at my place with my dogs today and apparently one of them must’ve eaten something bad because now they won’t stop throwing up. I’m meeting her at the vet downtown. Tell Harry I’m really sorry, okay?”

Jan is gone in a flash, running down the sidewalk to get in her car. Y/N can’t blame her — her dogs are her entire life, so her stomach sinks as she thinks about something bad happening to them. She makes a mental note to text her and check in with her later, but not before she messages Harry to let him know that his appointment is canceled.

When she heads back to her desk, she brings up Harry’s digital paperwork to retrieve his number. They don’t have a phone specifically for the shop, so she has to text him from her personal number, which makes her heart beat a little too quickly for her own good. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she types out a message: Hey Harry, this is Y/N from Jaded. I’m just texting to let you know that Jan had an emergency and can’t tattoo you this afternoon. She’s really sorry about the inconvenience.

She places her locked phone down on the dark mahogany of the desk and tries to ignore the pit of disappointment that settles in her stomach. Had she spent a few extra minutes primping her appearance this morning in preparation to see him? Maybe, and there’s a teensy, tiny part of her that despises herself for it. Harry doesn’t want anything to do with her. She’s 12 years his junior and she’s nothing more than the nice receptionist at the tattoo shop he’s getting a piece done at.

With a self-deprecating sigh, she picks at her fingernails when her phone lights up. She reads Harry’s name across the screen and assumes he’s probably responded with something kind and unassuming; something that will make her heart beat embarrassingly fast in her chest.

That’s okay. Thanks for the heads up.

Are you still at the shop? Maybe we can get together instead.

Y/N’s eyes are the size of saucers as she quickly replies: okay! Where should we meet?

. . .

Harry chooses a coffee shop that’s within walking distance of Jaded. He’s never been there before but each week he noticed Y/N sipping on iced drinks with the name of the cafe sprawled across the cup, so he figured she must like it.

It’s been a long while since a girl has been Harry nervous, and he’s somewhat surprised that she comes wrapped up in a body with sprawling tattoos and piercings, always in cute skirts and platform Doc Martens. She’s sweet — he likes that her shoes are so heavy that he can hear her walking before he sees her and that she fiddles with her nose ring when she’s bored. He likes that her wardrobe is a rotation of baggy band tee-shirts and black jeans or plaid skirts, that her soft, smooth hands are covered in nonsensical designs that likely have stories similar to his — a friend with a tattoo gun, a boring Tuesday afternoon. She’s nothing that Harry has ever been attracted to and yet, she’s everything he wants.

He’s made careful efforts not to put her on a pedestal. At first, he wasn’t sure if he was just horny and depraved — I mean, what kind of guy would walk into the shop and not drool over the pretty, young girl working the front? And while he’s not entirely proud of what he did next, he found it to be a necessary next step: He sorted through his rolodex of hookups, texted his most foolproof girl (a tall, leggy brunette who modeled on the side), and invited her over.

It turns out, Harry could only come when he pretended she was Y/N.

In hindsight, it made him feel gross and icky; lusting over a girl who’s certainly at least 10 years younger. It’s why he forces himself to try — if she rejects him, he can move on with his life and find someone more age-appropriate.

But she doesn’t. In fact, she replies within a minute and asks where she should meet him.

It’s how Harry ends up clutching a small Americano in his hand, sitting in a back booth at Buzzybee Cafe.

He’s nibbling on his bottom lip, nervous and jumpy, keeping his eyes glued on the front entrance. Every now and then, he’ll glimpse down at his phone on the table to check the time. He halfway expects her to text and let him know that she’s not coming — an understandable and believable excuse about getting busy at work or, Harry doesn’t know, maybe not wanting to meet up with someone who’s older. Why would she? She’s capable of getting nearly anyone she wants in this world, she’s pretty and funny and smart and stands up for herself and—

“Hey, Harry.”

His spiraling thoughts come to a screeching halt when he glances up to see the object of his affection standing over him with a small, timid smile on her lips. He blinks, somewhat surprised that she’s there.

In front of him.

And he hasn’t said a thing yet.

“Hey,” Harry finally forces out, his throat bobbing as he swallows nervously, “You made it.”

“Of course!” her eyes light up and he feels his heart thump noisily in his chest, “What’d you get to drink? Do you need anything?”

“Just an Americano,” he answers, trying not to feel lame about his boring drink choice. Y/N wrinkles her face in response.

“You would be one of those manly ‘I-only-drink-espresso-and-black-coffee’ kind of guys, wouldn’t you?”

She says it with a teasing smile and it offers him permission for a small scoff to leave his throat followed by a joking roll of the eyes.

“What, was I supposed to get one of those sugary drinks you always seem to get?” he fires back, making Y/N’s eyes widen.

“They’re not that bad!” she exclaims through plush, lipstick-stained lips, “Here, now I’m gonna order one and make you try it. You’ve dug your grave, Styles!”

She’s turning on her Doc Marten-clad foot to order before Harry has the chance to offer to pay for her order. That had been the plan, but like most things about Y/N, he realizes, those pre-decided upon strategies get tossed out the window the second she pops up. It makes Harry jiggle his leg beneath the table, both as an expression of unfamiliar excitement and nervousness.

She returns to their table with some sort of coffee-hued concoction with whipped cream piled high. It makes Harry’s nose crinkle, and he doesn’t notice that Y/N smiles at the way his skin ripples underneath the cute expression.

“Okay, since you were kind of a dick to me the day we met, you have no choice but to try it.”

Harry’s eyes instantly form into rounded saucers, apologies quick to make it to the tip of his tongue. Before he can start, she puts her hand up.

“I don’t care about it now, you’ve already apologized for it. But the only way for us to move on is if you try my white mocha frappé.”

“Y/N,” Harry sighs. He scoots his elbows forward and peers up at her. “What the fuck is a frappé?”

She giggles before wrapping her lips around the straw, taking a hearty sip of the drink, “It’s like a blended coffee. It’s my go-to when I’m having a shit day.”

“You drink this when you’re having a bad day?” Harry asks as she pushes the cup in his direction. “You don’t think this will fuck your stomach up enough to absolutely ruin your day?”

“No, because it’s a fun treat. And a little treat will brighten up anyone’s day.”

Y/N answers his question like it’s plain and simple science. He wants to continue on about the sugar content, how this is likely a heart attack neatly compiled into a 16-ounce cup, but he can’t — not when he looks at her and she stares back with an expectant expression, waiting for him to take a sip.

“Fine,” he mumbles, flexing his fingers to wrap them around the cold plastic cup, “But promise you won’t bring up my… shortcomings anymore?”

Y/N grins. “Scout’s honor.”

It tastes exactly how Harry expected — sugary, way too sweet, and slightly nauseating. But when he sees that puppy-like look of excitement painted over her face, he can’t help but let out a quiet laugh and shake his head.

“See? That wasn’t too bad.” Y/N replies as she takes her drink back.

“No,” not when you look at me like that, “Not at all.”

. . .

Harry and Y/N sit tucked away in their booth at Buzzybee for far too long.

It’s easy to talk to her, Harry finds. She’s receptive and kind and lets him finish his stories without interrupting. She doesn’t judge him for his divorce, not even when he tells her that he played just as much of a part in ruining his marriage as May did. He tells her about his job as a museum curator, his affinity for playing tennis on the weekends, his six year-long trek with veganism, and his secret passion for hunting down vintage band tee-shirts from the 1970s and ‘80s.

Y/N isn’t ashamed to reveal just as much which, if she’s being honest, is quite uncharacteristic for her. It typically takes weeks, if not months for her to completely warm up to a person and start telling them about her hobbies, family dynamic, and the time her grandma cried when she realized she got her nose pierced. She tells him about how much she loves playing cozy video games on her Nintendo Switch, the myriad of plants and greenery that decorate her loft apartment, and how she actually started working at Jaded to become a tattoo apprentice, but ended up falling in love with working the front instead.

By the time the cafe is closing up and the nice employees are now glaring at them, silently pleading that they leave, Harry feels like he’s known Y/N for a million years. In some weird way, he doesn’t know how he’s gone this long without her bright smile and saccharine laughter in his life. It’s all he can think about as they throw their empty cups away and slowly stroll down the sidewalk, back in the direction of the tattoo shop. He doesn’t mean to be lost in his thoughts as

Y/N chatters on about the latest game she’s been playing in her down time, but he can’t ignore the small shining pit of happiness that’s glowing deep in his belly right now. He’s missed this — this hopeful feeling with the promise of someone special on the other end.

It’s all he can think about as they approach Y/N’s car and, when she turns to face him to say goodbye, he’s already blurting the words out without a second thought.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

She blinks, parting her plush lips as her tongue peeks over the ridges of her two front teeth. “Oh… I thought— this wasn’t a date?”

Harry’s eyes widen, “Oh! I mean— it could if you wanted it to be. I just— I didn’t ask you beforehand and I’d want to do that. And pay for you and all that.”

“I’m sorry if I misunderstood, I just thought— I don’t know what I thought—”

“No, you were right, I was just being dumb—”

“No, no!” Y/N shakes her head and the smile that edges at her lips makes Harry’s chest pulse with relief. “We’re both being silly, I think. I would love to go on a date with you, though.”

“Yeah?” he asks, the slight disbelief apparent in his voice, “Are you free this weekend?”

She nods with a small smile.

“How about Saturday? You can come over and I’ll cook you dinner?”

She has to bite her lip to hide the growing grin on her lips. “Okay. I’ll see you Saturday.”

He watches as she starts her car and pulls away from the curb to make sure she’s safe on her way home.

. . .

On Saturday evening, Y/N shows up to Harry’s house. She wears her favorite black midi dress and matches them with a pair of clunky boots. When she arrives, the smile that encompasses Harry’s face makes her chest glow.

He’d texted her earlier that day to make sure she didn’t have any dietary restrictions and made them a delicious pasta dinner. Afterwards, they cuddle on the couch, Y/N’s heart thrumming quickly in her chest at the close proximity. When it’s finally time for her to go home, Harry seals the deal by smearing his lips against hers. It’s warm and soft and his large palms splay over her hips as she wraps her arms around him, gently playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

By the time she gets home that evening (texting Harry to let him know she got back safely, per his request), they both know they’re head over heels for one another.

. . .

Perhaps quite predictably, Harry and Y/N start seeing each other more regularly after that first afternoon at Buzzybee Cafe. It’s slow at first — Harry’s nervous about scaring her away, so he sets boundaries with himself, only pledging to text her a few times a week. She’s receptive, though, and he’s thrilled that her messages start coming in more often: Sometimes pictures of dogs that come in with clients to the shop, other times it’s memes that remind her of him. (She’ll sometimes have to explain them to him because he, embarrassingly enough, doesn’t always understand.) Weeks of casual texting complimented by his weekly appointments with Jan tumble into daily good morning texts accompanied by selfies and outfit shots. When his tattoo of his ex-wife’s name is finally covered up by a detailed illustration of a sailing ship, he’s anxious in his realization that he’ll have to come up with new ways to regularly see her, but she’s already two steps ahead of him with an invitation to their second (official, third unofficial) date for the upcoming weekend.

The rest is somewhat history.

Well, sort of.

It’s a month and a half in when Harry asks Y/N to accompany him to a work event at some smarmy art museum in the city. His office had had a huge hand in sourcing the pieces and there were a ton of donors involved, so the museum’s director was throwing some type of soiree to celebrate the opening. Inviting Y/N as his plus one was a no-brainer — call him old fashioned, but he had plans to ask her to be his girlfriend sometime soon. He wanted to make it special, though, maybe with a candlelit dinner at her favorite Thai restaurant or a well thought-out picnic in the park they loved to walk through on the weekends.

“This isn’t, like, on the level of the Met Gala or something, is it?” Y/N asks that evening as she swipes a q-tip beneath the sharp cat eye of her eyeliner. Harry snorts and shakes his head from his spot in the doorway, where he watches as she diligently finishes up her eye makeup. He’d picked her up from work and eaten an early dinner together before they planned to head out to the museum.

“It’s really not a big deal, it’s just a small event with a bunch of snooty art people,” Harry replies nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a fashionable set tonight, consisting of a powder blue undershirt and a navy blazer with matching trousers. As usual, his fingers don their usual jewelry. When Y/N saw what he was wearing, she’d wanted to match him, but she didn’t have any dresses in her closet that weren’t black. He insisted that it was fine, but there was a teensy sliver of her that felt bad about it.

“How snooty?”

He thinks for a moment. “I mean, no one will be mean to you if that’s what you’re worried about. I’d never let that happen anyway.”

She ignores the way her cheeks warm as she sweeps some bronzer over the structure of her face.

“It’ll be fine, baby,” he murmurs, coming up from behind her. He knows better than to disturb her while she’s doing her makeup, so he waits for her movements to still before he drops a kiss to the top of her head. Her heart stutters at the pet name. “Almost done, yeah? We gotta leave soon.”

“Mhmm,” she nods, picking up her freshly sharpened lip liner, “Just gotta do my lips and put my dress on and we’re good.”

“I don’t know why you’re putting lipstick on when I’m not gonna be able to keep my mouth off yours all night.” he instantly fires back as he issues a squeeze to her waistline. Y/N squeals and bats him away, eager for some peace from Harry’s playful teasing. He chuckles, presses a kiss to her temple, and murmurs out something about calling the Uber as he leaves the bathroom.

Y/N has to force the smile off her face so she can finish applying her lip liner.

. . .

Apparently, when Harry meant “snooty”, he really meant to say, “the most annoying, judgemental, snobby people on planet Earth”.

From the second Harry and Y/N had stepped into the museum that evening, she was on the receiving end of horrified stares. From the colorful ink that decorated her arms to her arm being threaded through Harry’s, it seemed like everyone had something to gawk at. Truthfully, she was used to people looking at her — not in an arrogant, “pick me” kind of way, but in the way where she understood she had tons of tattoos that some people liked and others hated.

But the snide eyes weren’t just because of her ink, and she knows that. It’s because she’s here with Harry.

Harry, who knows nearly everyone at this event.

Harry, who’s apparently one of the most high up curators at his job and Y/N had no idea.

Harry, who’s capable of rubbing elbows with even the rudest of people while Y/N just stands there, unsure of what to say, because when the first person asked her what she does for work and she said “I work at a tattoo shop”, they replied with a simple, disgusted, “oh.”

She feels like an idiot.

She feels small.

She feels judged.

And the person she came here with is doing nothing, aside from the occasional grimace when the conversation finally ends.

Y/N’s last straw comes in the form of one of the museum’s assistant directors, who comes over to thank Harry once again for all of his hard work. When her eyes dart to Y/N, who has one hand curled around yet another glass of fizzy champagne, they widen and pingpong back to Harry.

“Harry, you didn’t tell me you had a daughter!” she exclaims as her lips stretch into a huge grin. Immediately, Y/N’s arm drops from Harry’s and she swallows as bile begins to build in her throat.

“Oh— Gwen, no, this isn’t— t-this isn’t my daughter,” Harry stutters nervously, blinking as he watches the horrified look in Y/N’s eyes. “Um, this is Y/N. We’ve been seeing each other.”

Gwen’s eyebrows raise, “Oh, my mistake. Apologies to you both. I just assumed Harry would spend his time with someone a bit more… savory.” her gaze flits back to Harry. “You must understand.”

Y/N doesn’t allow herself to hear Harry’s response. She knows he’s too kind and professional to chew her up and spit her out the way she wants him to. Instead, she simply slams her glass down on the nearest waiter’s tray, turns around, and rushes out of the building.

The words continue to replay in her head as tears flood her vision. All she wants to do is go home. She never should have entertained this relationship — who does she think she is? Someone a bit more… savory.

You didn’t tell me you had a daughter!

You must understand.

Fat, salty slip down her cheeks as she walks outside, her platform heels clicking against the concrete sidewalk. She doesn’t know where she’s going, instead just picking a direction and walking in it as she uses the back of her hand to wipe the wetness away.

You must understand.

Because everyone, including Y/N now, gets it — she doesn’t fit in to Harry’s world. She never has and she never will, and it was pathetic for either of them to think she ever would.

Gripping her silky dress in her hands, she continues walking as far as she can get from the museum. As her vision begins to clear, she makes half-baked decisions: She’ll order an Uber when the distance from Harry is decent enough to feel comfortable. She’ll block his number. She won’t even care to pick up any of the clothing she’s left at his house, and she’ll simply throw away the few tee-shirts and sweatshirts he’s left at hers.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been walking but she’s ripped from her thoughts when she hears loud calls of her name. She recognizes the voice — how couldn’t she, not when he’s the only person that’s seeped through her psyche and into cotton candy tufts of her dreamland — and tries to quicken her pace. She mentally curses the heels on her feet, sniffling as she begins to limp from the pain of the high platforms.

“Y/N, please! Stop!”

The sound of his shouts only makes her eyes blur with tears once again and suddenly, the tall figure is beside her, panting and breathing loudly. He wraps a careful arm around her shoulders as he matches her slow pace and shushes her, caroling them over to the side in front of a business that’s already closed for the night. Through weepy eyes, she can hardly make out his face, but she can tell it’s Harry just from his touch and scent alone.

“Baby, please,” he says, slowly smoothing his hand down her back. It’s comforting and she wishes it wasn’t. “You have to breathe, honey. C’mon, inhale and exhale.”

Y/N’s brain is a wash of noisy static so she welcomes the direction, quickly abandoning her plans to remove herself from Harry’s life. It helps that he’s reminding her of how to do the most basic of human functions, guiding her in slow, deep breaths that start to regulate her speeding heart.

“There you go, sweetheart. You’re doing so good.”

When she finally manages a glimpse up at him, his eyes are bleary and red-rimmed. She finds it difficult to believe that he would’ve been crying over her, too, so she quickly blinks and looks away.

“What happened back there?” Harry asks, his throat bobbing with a swallow, “I know that was weird, but why did you run? Why couldn’t you have talked to me?”

Y/N can’t fight the scoff that forces itself free from her chest. “All night, people were staring at me like I was some kind of alien. As if my tattoos weren’t enough of a reason to gawk, they were looking at me like I didn’t even deserve to be standing next to you. I felt pathetic, Harry. I just— I don’t fit in with this lifestyle and I think it’s better if we just… just leave it.”

“What lifestyle?” Harry demands as his eyebrows thicken with anger, “I’m not like them, you know that—”

“I don’t want to go places and have people think I’m your daughter, Harry!” she yells with wide eyes, “I don’t want to be looked down upon if we go to a work thing for you! People acted like I was your fucking sugar baby. Do you know how demeaning that is?”

“And do you realize how disgusting that makes me feel?” he seethes. “Bringing someone 12 years younger than me? Being in love with someone who wasn’t even around for the first part of my life?”

“You don’t mean that,” Y/N breathes, shaking her head in angry dismissal. “You’re just saying that.”

Harry takes a hesitant step closer and reaches out to cradle her elbow. “Yes, I do. I would never lie to you, Y/N. But I love you— I love you so much that it’s killing me that you would ever think you don’t have a place in my life.”

“I don’t, Harry—”

“You do,” he cuts her off and reaches to take her hands in his palms, squishing her cheeks together. “I don’t give a fuck what anyone else says or thinks. I don’t care what they think of us. I love you, Y/N. I want you in my life.”

Y/N swallows harshly. She can’t escape his locked-in gaze, but she doesn’t want to. It’s all she needed, even if she didn’t realize it until now — the verbalization that he wants her there. And that’s enough.

“Okay,” she whispers, nodding her head in his grasp. His eyes widen. “Okay. I want to be in your life, too.”

“You promise?”

A small smile curls at the edges of her lips. “I promise,” she says, leaning forward to press a light kiss to his lips. “Take me home now, please.”

. . .

The second Harry and Y/N walk through the doorway of his place, it’s a blurry scene of spit swollen lips, wet kisses, and sprawling touches.

Harry imagined their first time being far more romantic than this, but he doesn’t care. Neither of them do. Now, more than ever, they need each other.

The air is thick with tension when Harry momentarily breaks their kiss only to shed Y/N of the straps on her shoulders. He gently tugs them down to her shoulders before slowly traveling down her body, sliding his large palms over the silky fabric of her dress to meet her platform heels, where he diligently unbuckles them and slips them off her feet.

“Thank you,” she breathes, watching as he gets back up from his knees. He hums and cups her chin with his fingers, bringing her closer to lightly kiss her lips.

“I want to show you that you’re not making a mistake,” he whispers as he gently leans his forehead up against hers. “That giving me a chance is something you won’t regret.”

Immediately she shakes her head. Despite the close view of her face, Harry can tell her eyebrows knit together; a familiar furrow whenever she’s particularly determined.

“I know it’s not. You don’t have to show me anything.”

He notices that her fingers shake as she brings them up to his neck, winding them around to the back of his head. He swallows, allowing her the space to experiment, both verbally and physically.

And then: “I love you, Harry.”

At first, he doesn’t say anything. His heart races and his chest feels warm as he blinks, repeating the words in his brain.

Finally, raspberry lips part.

“You don’t have to say that just because I said it,” he murmurs, thumbing over the apple of her cheek. “We can go slow. There’s no pressure.”

“I know,” she nods, “I know. But I do. I love you so much.”

A pause.

“I love you,” Harry says, sliding his hands down the curves of her sides and to her waist. “Fuck, I love you, Y/N.”

“Don’t stop saying it.” she whispers. His fingers dip below the material of her dress and she swallows when he finds the bare skin of her hips. Exhaling shakily, she allows him to pull her lacey underwear down over the bend of her bum, letting them pool uselessly at her feet.

“I love you.” he says again, his hands suddenly at her wrists. He uses his gentle grasp to lift her arms up so he can push the dress up and over her body, leaving her in just the strapless bra she’d fit herself into for the evening. Just as quickly, his skilled fingers pop the clasp open, and they’re in a futile pool of Y/N’s clothes while Harry stands before her, still in his navy blue ensemble.

It’s a vulnerable place to be but she doesn’t hate it — not when he stares at her with soft eyes, dragging his gaze up and down the expanse of her form. She wants to cover herself, but she doesn’t. Instead, she reaches forward and thumbs open the button of his blazer before sliding the fabric off his torso. Just as he did to her, he watches as she slowly sheds him of his shirt, then his trousers, and finally, his briefs.

His cock is thick and long and Y/N’s hand immediately loops around it the second it slaps up against his lower belly. He hisses and grabs her hips, pressing blunt fingernails into the soft skin as he pushes her back against the couch. All too flawlessly, he’s now given himself the upper hand, hovering over her naked body, his biceps bulging as he keeps himself up.

“Please,” she says breathily, “I want you. No teasing.”

Harry huffs out a guttural chuckle as he begins to plant kisses along her collarbones and down to her chest, landing just above her belly button.

“I’m big,” he murmurs into her skin. “‘M not trying to tease. Just don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can do it,” Y/N insists, her voice growing whiney with need. “Don’t wanna wait any longer.”

"You're cute when you beg." Harry mumbles out in response as his lips curve into a smirk. Her jaw drops a smidge, prepared to respond, but he quickly stretches over her body to press his lips to hers again. Just as it was the moment they came home, the kiss is frantic and driven with energy, filled with tension and electricity. Harry catches each of her noisy whimpers with his lips, a groan of his own on the verge of tumbling out. He feels her squeeze her thighs together and assumes it’s an attempt to relieve some of the pressure building in her core, making his cock continue to swell between their bodies. If he wanted to, he knows he could get them off just like this — him grinding against the soft skin of her stomach while he dips a few fingers into her sopping pussy. But they both need more than that.

Again, he breaks this kiss, this time resulting in a rather frustrated Y/N. Her lips are slicked with spit and swollen from the frenzied kissing, his likely appearing the same.

"Is this okay?"

"Yes," she breathes, nodding her head like a bobblehead, "Yes, I want you. Please."

"You want me?" he teases, and she has to resist rolling her eyes at the sudden uptick of arrogance. "That's awfully forward of you. What happened to my sweet good girl?"

"I'm still here," she whines, "Harry, please, you're— you're being mean, you know what I want."

He ducks under her jaw to press soft kisses along her neck, gently sucking at spots of skin. Light splotches appear from the welcomed assault, ensuring that they remember this long after it’s over. She instantly weaves her painted fingernails into his curly hair.

"Tell me what you want." Harry demands, placing his hands on either side of her head. He keeps his palms flush against the throw pillow, caging her in. Her face begins to flush and her lips flutter over the words, so he leans down to brush his nose against hers; a reminder that she’s safe. "Go ahead, bun."

"I want you to fuck me," she mumbles, her bottom lip nearly quivering with need. She looks like she could cry all over again — only this time, for good reasons.

He reaches his hand up to her mouth, jutting his thumb out to pull at her lip. Immediately responsive, she parts her lips, making him smile as he pushes his finger inside. She sucks at it lightly.

"You're so good. So cute, so good," he says softly, watching her. "I want you just as bad, sweet girl. Y'sure you're ready for my cock? I haven't even seen your pretty pussy yet—"

"Shut up," she mutters out, his thumb laying heavy on her tongue. "I can take it. Promise.” He lets out a laugh at her sudden boldness. He removes his finger from her mouth, mumbling out a greedy girl as he leans down to wrap his lips around a nipple, moving his hand down to her mound.

At risk of her snapping at him again, he presses a thumb to her clit, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. He begins to circle his thumb tightly, her muscles suddenly tightening underneath his grasp. Selfishly, he takes joy in watching her slowly crumble underneath him, her soft whimpers growing into moans when he dips his finger further down, circling her hole once, twice, before dipping in.

"H," she whined, her eyes screwed shut."What, bunny?"

"I— please, need your cock, no more teasing."

He stills his fingers inside of her, gently pulling them out. On any other day, maybe he would have persisted with the slow burn of pleasure, but he’s feeling just as desperate as her. He wraps his fist around the head of his cock, using strings of her arousal to slowly pump, relieving some of the built up pressure.

"Y'still good, baby?" he asks, resisting the groan at the tip of his tongue.

"Yes, daddy."

His head snaps up to see an arrogant smirk painted on her features. "Are you gonna fuck me now?"

This time, he finally does let out a moan.

Shuffling his knees forward, he rubs his cock against her core, painting the tip from her clit to her hole, up and down, until she wiggles her hips down. He smirks as she lets out a pathetic whine. Slowly, he pushes forward, the tip of my cock instantly encased by her tight walls. He hisses at the feeling and reaches down to grab her hip, his hand gripping her skin tightly.

"More," she chokes, nodding her head eagerly, "Please, more, daddy."

Once he knows that she’s not in any pain from the intrusion, he keeps going until his hips are flush against her warm skin, his cock buried deep inside of her. Her plush lips form a soft 'o' as she reaches forward to rake her nails down my chest, a silent plea to move.

"You feel so fucking good, bunny," he mutters out as he begins to snap my hips, slowly building a steady pace. He’s careful not to push her too quickly, but the fear of coming too fast is consistent in his brain. Despite sleeping with his fair share of people, he’s never felt so complete inside of someone. The way her pussy is so snug and tight around his cock makes him feel like an addict.

She’s a moaning mess beneath him, her fingernails pressing harshly into his back. Her eyes are wide and teary now, making him smirk as he lifts a finger to wipe the liquid away.

"Don' need to cry, babe, you're doing so good for me." he says, leaning down to pepper kisses over the surface of her face.

"Yeah?" She gasped, her hand snaking down the length of her body. Her fingertips quickly find her clit and he looks down to watch her make tight little circles into the skin.

"So fuckin' good," he mumbles, entranced by the sight of her touching herself, "y'gonna cum all over daddy's cock, angel girl?" She nods eagerly and he speeds up his thrusts, desperate to make her finish before he manages to explode. He can feel his muscles clenching, her pussy somehow getting even tighter with every movement.

"What do you need?" he grits out with a clenched jaw.

She’s moments away from finishing now; he can feel and see it, but he’s determined to push her over the edge. Swallowing harshly, her jaw drops as she mumbles out, "c-choke me, please."

Groaning, he wraps his hand around the column of her throat, pressing gently against her windpipe. He watches as her eyes roll back and feels the way her muscles instantly contract around his cock, triggering his own orgasm to approach. At the sounds of her moans, he quickly pulls out and pumps his cock twice before finishing all over her stomach and chest, a splatter of come painting itself on her soft skin. They’re both breathless and Harry resists the urge to completely collapse against the girl beneath him. He would have, if not for Y/N’s closed eyes as she catches her breath. In the silence of the moment, he takes in the appearance of her naked body covered in his come. Grimacing slightly at his softening prick, he grabs his boxers and shuffles them over his hips. He stands from the couch and straightens his posture when he hears a sleepy mumble from below. "Where are y'going?" "Gonna clean you up," Harry says softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, "be right back, 'kay, bunny?” Y/N asleep before he returns a few minutes later with a wet washcloth. He sits at the edge of the couch and gently runs it over her body, wiping away the remnants of their intimacy. Her eyes blink open when she realizes he’s returned, granting him a small, lazy smile. He returns it. “You did so good for me,” he murmurs, tossing the dirty cloth on the floor. He’ll throw it in the washing machine later, but right now, taking care of this sleepy, fucked out lump is the top priority. “Do you wanna go upstairs and change? Go to sleep in my bed?” She shakes her head. “Let’s sleep down here. Too tired to move.” And yeah, maybe Harry hasn’t slept on a couch since he was in his 20s because he has back problems. Yes, his hips will surely ache from sharing the space with the girl he’s been crushing on for months. Surely, they’ll shift positions multiple times throughout the night as they attempt to find something that’s semi-comfortable for the both of them. But he’ll do anything to see Y/N smile. “Sure, baby,” he replies, grabbing a soft throw blanket from the end of the couch. He wiggles himself into her side so he’s holding her from behind, tossing the cozy material over their bodies. “G’night. Lemme know if you need anything.”

She hums, and then it’s silent.

Harry allows his eyes to fall closed, sinking into the comfort of the warm girl beside him. It’s only then that he hears her inhale, followed by seven soft words: “I love you, Harry. I mean it.”

He tucks his face into her shoulder and hides the grin that stretches over his face.

“I love you, Y/N. I mean it.”

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fairy-angel222 · 1 month

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𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 ft. Choso Kamo

—You meet Choso at a bar after babysitting him eight years ago

cw: small age gap (25 n 23), smut

It’s been a long time since you’d seen Choso Kamo. Having babysat him back when he was twelve and you were fifteen. A mere three years gap which deemed you mature enough for the job by his parents.

He’d never tell it to you, but you were his childhood crush. The girl he wanted to marry. The girl he told his friends about. His parents kept you around for only two years. Concluding that the boy was old enough to take care of himself.

He was devastated, especially when you found out that you’d be moving only a week later. He knew his feelings weren’t returned, but it hurt to see you go. He cried for weeks, couldn’t eat or sleep. He just wanted to see you again.

He hoped that maybe you’d text him, check up on him like you did when it was your duty. But you didn’t. You’d be turning eighteen the next year and would go off to college. And he’d be stuck there, without you for the rest of his life.

It had been eight years, and Choso sat in a bar with his friends. Their glasses clanking loudly against each other as they downed its contents. He hated crowded places like this, he wouldn’t even be there if not for his friends.

He’d gone to college, gotten his fair share of girls. Everything you promised him that he could do one day, the only thing missing was you.

“Choso? Oh my God is that you?”

It couldn’t be.

Choso’s mouth went dry as his head snapped in the direction of that familiar voice. A wide smile on his face as he took you in. “Y/n.. you.. I- wow.”

There you stood, after so long, grown into your body and as pretty as ever. You didn’t look a day over nineteen. It hurt to remind himself that you were not twenty five. It had been that long.

You giggled softly, that same giggle that he swore made his heart flutter. “It’s so good to see you Cho. It’s been so long.” You pulled him in for a hug and he stiffened, taking in that sweet scent that you always carried. It really was you. He allowed himself to hug you back tightly, pulling your shorter frame into his chest as he closed his eyes. Enjoying your embrace.

“It really has. I missed you.” He let slip out, and you smiled sadly as you pulled away. “I’m sorry Cho.. i didn’t think i’d have to move. Would have been nice to see you graduate and stuff.”

“No no it’s okay. It’s fine. I’m really glad to see you.” He could see his friends winking at his side, all watching intently at the interaction. It made him fidget, lip between his teeth as his face flushed a pale red. “How about i buy you a drink?”

“Sure.” You smiled, allowing him to lead you to the counter with a hand on the small of your back.

The two of you sat and talked. A long conversation about your lives and how each of you had been over the years. It made him happy to know that you were single, and it made him even happier to know that your ex had been your only since you were his age.

He started at you intently as you spoke. A special adoration in his eyes as you went on about your job and your friends. You were still so perfect. He wondered how you would feel if he told you that he never got over you. He’d first have to tell you that he had liked you, of course.

You could not lie. He was extremely handsome. He’d grown to be your type. Nothing like the adorably introverted boy you’d known back then.

Choso on the other hand, could not think straight. His mind was taking in everything at once. Your stories, your face, your lips, your hair, your dress which hugged your body in a way that made his mind wander. You somehow managed to captivate him even more. Especially since he was grown now, he knew what he wanted. His parents told him you were just a harmless crush, a phase. But he knew what he wanted for certain now. You.

It was how you ended up in his apartment. Both your hands roaming each other’s bodies as Chosos kissed you passionately. His hand around your throat gently to push you to the nearest surface. He kissed you like you would disappear at any moment, letting his lips trail down to your neck before leading you to his bedroom, your dress and his shirt having been discarded by the time you reached the door.

Choso pulled off his pants, and you allowed yourself to take in the muscles on his body. And the way his arms flexed as he held you tight.

He slipped on a condom, backing you up to his bed until you fell back onto it, Choso climbing over you with your tongues still intertwined.

You moaned when you felt him prodding at your hole. Easing his length into you with a groan of his own. He started off slow, rolling his hips into yours while breathing heavily onto your skin, his tongue swirling around your nipple while his hand squeezed at the soft flesh.

Your fingers were tangled in his hair, tugging on dark strands when he began to speed up. Thrusting into you expertly as you moaned out into the room. “Choso, hmm— fuck.” You mewled, back arching off the sheets when he started hitting you g spot with every movement. Pulling out nothing but moans past your lips as you fell into pleasure.

“Swearing’s bad, remember?” He breathed jokingly, reminding you back to when you’d say that each time he said a bad word.

You moaned out a small laugh, breaths ragged as your toes curled, feeling his fucking you deeper than you thought could be reached. “O-oh God— don’t stop. Please don’t stop. F-feels so good.” You cried, noises pretty and high pitched as your stomach burned, feeling your inching closer and closer to orgasm.

“S-shit. Had a crush on you f’ so long. Never thought this would be happening.” He grunted deeply. “Though i got over you till i saw you tonight.” His eyes met yours and you fought the urge to tell him that you knew, you’d known all along. He had just been a little boy with a crush. But now.. it was so much different. You craved him after seeing him. You wanted him.

“Ahh, ‘m so close Cho.. ‘m gonna cum.” You moaned, vision going black as you let your eyes shut, arms wrapping around his shoulders as your body was rocked back and forth.

“Go ahead sweetheart, cum f’ me yeah? I’ve got you, just let go kay?”

You nodded with a cry, body shaking as you let go. Allowing yourself to crumble underneath him as you came. Drenching his cock in your slick.

Choso’s thrusts became sloppy and he groaned, “That’s it. So good for me. Haah— shit.” Burying himself deep inside you before spilling into the condom which separated you. Unable to stop himself from imagining breeding you raw.

You both panted as you struggled to catch your breaths. Holding onto each other in a comfortable silence after he pulled out.

“That was..”

“Yeah,” He agreed. There was no going back after this.

He got both you and him cleaned up, giving you one of his shirts to wear as you let yourself cuddle into him on the couch. Watching a movie with two beers as he stroked your skin gently. Chin on your head as he tried to wrap his head around exactly what just happened.

This was serious. It didn’t feel like another one of his one-night stands, it felt real. It felt like there could actually be something between you. And he would do whatever he could to make it happen.

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #choso x reader smut #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso smut #choso kamo #choso x reader #dividers by fairytopea

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joelalorian · 2 months

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Fall Into Me

dbf!Joel x f!reader

The first TLOU fic I ever read was a dbf!Joel story and it left an indelible mark on my soul. Unfortunately, I never bookmarked it so I have no idea which one it was. It's only natural that I had to try my hand at one at some point. So, here we are.

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Word Count: 4.1k

Series Warnings: Mature to start, but will ultimately be Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. There will be angst, drama, fluff, humor, romance, smut... basically, the works. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname from her dad, which will be explained at some point.

Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Chapter One: The Day That I Met You

If you asked him over a decade ago where he’d be now, Joel Miller would not have placed himself as a single father to a tenacious pre-teen desperately trying to keep things afloat. He spent too many hours in the week working to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. He would be lost without the help of his brother and the few friends he had. He had no social life to speak of and could not for the life of him remember the last time he went on an actual date.

No, back then, Joel thought he’d be living the good life in ten years’ time – traveling, going out with the boys, maybe have a girlfriend or wife. Basically, just getting to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Don’t get him wrong, though. He was still living a good life; it just was a different sort of good than what he hoped for back in the day.

He loved his daughter with every fiber of his being. Sarah was the best damn thing that ever happened to him, his entire world, and he wouldn’t change the past ten years for anything. He bent over backwards doing whatever it took to make his little girl feel cared for, happy, and loved. He just wished there was a little energy left for something for himself at the end of the day.

Joel Miller was drained. Mentally, physically, and emotionally.

He awoke with a groan as the bright sunlight broke through the gap in his curtains. It was Saturday – his birthday – and he hoped to sleep in, at least a little. Between the brightness of the morning and the stifled sounds of clanging pans and voices carrying up the stairs from his kitchen, sleeping in was not happening.

He hauled himself out of bed with a groan worthy of a man twenty years his senior and stretched out his limbs to ease the achiness in his bare back and chest from too much manual labor. Throwing on a pair of well-worn sleep pants and a faded tee shirt, Joel slipped from his bedroom and down the stairs. He moved rather quietly for a man of his size, stealing a moment to lean against the entryway into the kitchen and watch as Sarah and Tommy worked together making breakfast.

The counters were a mess of spilled pancake mix, eggshells, and… was that coffee dripping over the edge and onto the floor? It was a toss-up on who made the bigger mess, his ten-year-old daughter, or his grown ass brother. Still, Joel could not stop the smile spreading across his face as he watched them laughing and teasing each other. That, right there, was the reason he worked so hard, why the loneliness was worth it.

When Tommy flipped the stovetop off, Sarah turned to find her dad smiling goofily at them. “Happy Birthday, Dad!” she exclaimed, launching herself at his chest. Her lanky arms wrapped around his neck as he lifted her off the ground in a big bear hug.

“Thanks, baby girl,” Joel replied, pressing his lips to her forehead in a quick kiss before he settled her feet on the ground.

“We made you breakfast!” Sarah declared, gesturing toward the disaster zone formerly known as his kitchen.

“I see that,” he chuckled, voice still slightly rough with sleep.

Tommy turned with a smirk, hands grasping two plates filled with bacon, eggs, and pancakes. “Take a seat, brother. Let us take care of you on your birthday.” Placing the food on the small dining table, Tommy roughly patted his brother’s shoulders. “Don’t worry ‘bout the mess, I’m on cleanup duty after we eat.”

“We expectin’ company? That’s a helluva lot of food,” Joel grumbled. He needed coffee, stat.

“Yeah, JB is comin’ over to see ya before heading to the airport. His daughter finished grad school over the summer and is moving back home.” Tommy set more food and a full mug of dark roast coffee in front of his brother. The scent alone made Joel perk up a little.

The Millers hadn’t met you yet, having only become friends with your dad through work after you’d already left for college on the east coast. Your dad had a good decade on Joel, but he and the Miller brothers got on like a forest fire from what he told you. With visits home always short and rushed, busy catching up with family and your own friends, there was never time for your dad to introduce you all. Now you were coming home for good and would have plentiful opportunities for spending time with your dad and his friends.

“Speak of the devil,” Tommy muttered as the doorbell rang. Sarah bounded to the door to greet your dad with a hug. In many ways, the girl reminded him of you when you were young, and it always brought a smile to his face.

“There he is! The man of the hour. Happy Birthday, buddy!” Your dad, John, or JB as the Millers called him, ruffled Joel’s already mussed hair, leaving a few locks standing straight up in further disarray. Pulling a 12-pack of beer from behind his back, your dad set it on the table in front of Joel, topped with a little red bow. “I gotcha a lil’ something to celebrate.”

“Good man,” Joel replied with a chuckle. “Have a seat and help me eat all this. Tommy just told me your lil’ girl is coming home, finally.”

Your dad’s face lit up even more at the mention of you coming home. “She’s not so little anymore, but I sure am glad she’s moving back here. Said she had enough of the east coast, but I think she just missed her ol’ man.” After wolfing down some food, he added, “Think we could host a small barbecue here this coming weekend to celebrate? Your backyard is way nicer than mine and you got the pool and all.”

“Not to mention that fancy ass grill,” Tommy chimed in.

Swallowing a long sip of his morning go juice, Joel nodded. “Of course. Invite whoever you want. I’m looking forward to finally meeting your daughter.”

“Me too!” Sarah added. She heard a lot about you from your dad and hoped you were as cool in person as he made you out to be.

Joel’s mind started spinning upon hearing his daughter’s excitement. With her school hours being so different from his typical work hours, he was spending a small fortune on after school care for Sarah. She was still too young for him to leave home alone, especially on those days where he’s stuck late at a job. He was barely scraping by as it was and couldn’t really afford the cost of after school programs. Perhaps…

“JB, ya think your daughter would mind watching Sarah during the week while she’s home. Drop off and pick up from school and keeping her company ‘til I get home from work? I could pay her – it wouldn’t be much, but better than nothin’, I imagine.” He watched Sarah’s eyes light up at the suggestion and knew it was a good choice.

“I’m sure she’d love to. She wasn’t planning on finding a real job until after the holidays, so I know she’ll be free during the day,” your dad replied. “I’ll talk to her about it on the ride back from the airport and let you know.”

Three suitcases and a carry-on bag. That’s all you had left from six and a half years of pursuing higher education in North Carolina. You sold or gave away anything that did not fit into your luggage or hold sentimental value of your time away. Now, you were moving back home to save some money before you had to start chipping away at the mountain of student loan debt you accrued.

You loved learning, always have, but you were relieved to be done with school. Equipped with a bachelor’s degree in earth sciences and a master’s in education, you felt like a real adult ready to take the world of middle school by storm… well, starting after the new year, maybe. For now, you needed several months of limited to no responsibility to recoup your mental and physical energy. That last couple years of school really burned you out. Not to mention the last-minute rejection of a teaching position you thought was in the bag…

Anyway, you were better off leaving North Carolina behind and returning to Austin. You missed your dad something fierce and his particular brand of caring for you was exactly what your weary soul needed. It was you and him against the world, just like when you were a kid.

You flight was smooth and uneventful, yet you were relieved to deboard the plane. Something about being stuck in a tin can at the mercy of someone else’s ability to keep the thing from plummeting to the ground really aggravated your anxiety. Flying was something you would never enjoy; it was merely a means to an end when you wanted to travel long distances.

The journey to baggage claim was a slog with the crowd of passengers all heading to the same place. You were wondering how you’d wrangle three large suitcases by yourself when you caught sight of your dad. His broad smile took over his face when he spotted you, rushing over to sweep you up in a big bear hug.

“Hey Spud, how was the flight?” he asked as you waited for the baggage carousel to begin moving. “Looks like it was a full plane.”

“It was, but the flight was good. I’m really glad to be home.”

“Me, too, kid.”

You settled into a comfortable silence, watching various pieces of luggage pass by on the carousel. Your bags were scattered, and you had to wait several cycles to get all of them. Your dad lugged the final suitcase over the carousel with a grunt. “Jesus, what you got in this one? Bricks? A body?”

“That one has my gaming system and half a closet full of clothes,” you replied with a laugh.

Before long, everything was loaded into your dad’s truck, and you were heading back towards town. The radio hummed at a low volume as you both chatted about everything and nothing all at once.

“Hey, so I know you said you weren’t looking for full-time work until after the new year, but I have a proposition for you.” Your dad’s eyes stayed focused on the road, and you merely quirked a brow waiting for him to continue. “My buddy Joel – you know the one I told you about? Well, his daughter is ten and he needs some help with the school run and after school care. Our work hours aren’t exactly the same as elementary school, you know?”

You nodded, remembering all the times your dad spoke to you about Joel, as well as his daughter and brother. Despite never meeting them, you felt like you already knew their whole life story. “So, he’s looking for a nanny or something? I could do that. It would keep me from getting lazy while I navigate getting my Texas teaching certificate.”

Your dad grinned, one hand patting your leg. “I was hoping you’d say that. Joel will pay you, of course, but just… don’t expect much. It ain’t easy for him being a single dad trying to keep everything afloat.”

Again, you nodded, a soft smile creasing your lips. You knew all too well how challenging it could be for single parents, having grown up with just you and your dad. Much like what your dad told you about Joel’s experience with the mother of his child, your mom split when you were barely a toddler. Things weren’t always sunshine and roses, but your dad sure did his best to make sure you had a great life. Honestly, you wouldn’t trade it for the world, that life with your dad. You had a feeling it was much the same for Joel and his daughter.

“I’m happy to help, even if he doesn’t pay me. I’m sure his daughter will enjoy having a female influence in her life if nothing else. What’s her name again? Sarah?”

Your dad’s eyes twinkled with pride. “Yup, that’s it. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become, Spud.”

A mist of tears prickled your eyes as you mumbled out a “Thanks, dad.” After a beat, you added, “Must you keep up with that nickname?”

“Of course. You’ll always be my little Spud,” he laughed as you rolled your eyes. “Oh, by the way, we’re going to the Millers on Saturday for your welcome home party.”

“What’s all this?” Joel questioned as Tommy and Sarah placed a heavy, wrapped package on the table before him along with a few smaller presents. The remains of a birthday cake sat nearby, having been delightfully devoured by the Millers while celebrating Joel’s birthday.

“Just a little somethin’ from me and Sarah,” Tommy replied, a boyish grin alighting his handsome features.

Joel gazed between them with curiosity. Not big on celebrating his own aging, he rarely got big gifts. “You wanna help me open this, nugget?” Sarah’s eyes lit up, small hands reaching to tear the wrapping paper into shreds. It only took a few moments for the contents to be revealed, leaving Joel confused at the modern contraption sitting in front of him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“You play video games on it, dumbass.” Tommy harumphed as he began a diatribe on the features of the gaming system – he had one just like it at his place and it provided hours of entertainment when he didn’t feel like going out. “I figured it would be a good hobby for you since you never want to join me in going out.”

“Huh,” Joel grunted in return, brows furrowed as he read the instructions on how to setup up the machine. His attention was diverted by Sarah shoving the smaller parcels into his lap.

“Here, dad! These go with it.” Together, they tore into the wrapping paper to find several video games, a few of which were family friendly. The final gift was a spare controller for the gaming system so he and Sarah could play together.

Despite still being unsure that the gift was a good fit for him, Joel was grateful to Tommy for the effort. “This is too much, man. You shouldn’t spend this kind of money on me, Tommy.”

His brother waved him off. “I found a great deal and you never get anything for yourself, brother. You deserve something to indulge in. Believe me, you’ll have fun with this.”

The rest of the evening was spent with Tommy setting up the system and showing the father-daughter duo how to play some of the games he picked out. The living room filled with lots of laughter and teasing, and Joel found himself really getting into the fun of the video games.

After tucking Sarah into bed, Tommy showed Joel a game that was too violent for the little girl but entertaining for the men. The game was set in Washington DC which had been ravaged by a brutal pandemic and the main character was part of a group of agents fighting off nefarious gangs trying to take over the city. Joel caught onto the gameplay quickly and the two men found themselves building the loadout for Joel’s character, taking out bad guys, and chatting well into the night.

At two in the morning, the pair looked at each other with bleary, red-rimmed eyes and finally called it a night. Joel directed Tommy to crash in the spare room as he shuffled off to bed upstairs.

It didn’t take you long to get settled into your dad’s house. It wasn’t the home you grew up in and you only visited a few times after he bought it. After years living away on your own, you thought it would be an adjustment being under his roof again, but it wasn’t. He understood the need for personal space and never hovered unless you were hurt or sick. He gave you the downstairs bedroom – it was the largest in the house, with an ensuite bath and huge walk-in closet.

“Dad, no! Why in the world is this not your room?” you questioned when he placed your bags on the brand-new, king size bed he had delivered the week prior.

“Hell no, Spud. What do I need all this space for? I like the upstairs rooms better – the light is all wrong in this one anyway.”

You looked around, holding in a giggle. The room faced south, giving you just the right amount of natural light all day. That’s what your dad didn’t like. He preferred to live like a bat in a cave with blackout curtains and limited lighting.

“Alright, well, I love it. The natural light is perfect for me. I can actually put some plants on the windowsills. Thank you!” You kissed his cheek as he left you to get settled.

You spent the week rearranging the bedroom how you wanted it, setting up your gaming system, and putting all your clothes into the walk-in closet. Your dad hadn’t done much with the room other than furnish it, so you made a few trips to the store to get a bathroom set, floor lamps, and wall décor to make the room your own.

Before you knew it, Saturday morning dawned bright and warm. The day of your welcome home gathering arrived, and you would finally get to meet the Millers. An excited energy had you moving about your space in a flurry, tidying up and getting ready early. You’d seen some photos of the Millers that your dad sent you – Sarah was adorable with her dark, springy curls, and Joel… Joel was handsome, in a broody, overworked kind of way, with dark, riotous curls and big, warm chocolate eyes. Kind eyes, you called them.

“Hey Spud, you ready?” your dad called from the kitchen as you put the finishing touches on your hair. It was pinned up, leaving the smooth skin of your neck bare. The sundress you picked hugged your curves in just the right way, falling just at your knees in a flow of lightweight material. In early October, Austin was still hot, and you hoped the Millers’ yard was shaded.

“Bring a swimsuit! They have a pool!” he yelled as you grabbed the last of your things. Turning back to your closet, you grabbed a dark green one-piece suitable for family-friendly swimming and tucked it into your bag.

“I’m ready!”

Your dad smiled at the sight of you. “Let’s go then. We’re heading over early so you can officially meet the Millers and we’ll help them setup before everyone else arrives.”

“Sounds good. Who all’s coming anyway?” Your eyes widened as your dad rattled off a list of people he invited, including his work buddies and some of his and Joel’s neighbors. He would have invited some of your old friends from high school, but you all lost touch over the years. The party was turning out bigger than you thought. Your heart swelled with how happy your dad was to have you home for good.

The Millers lived in the same neighborhood, only a few blocks away, so close you could have walked if not for the scorching sun. The drive took only a few minutes before your dad pulled into the driveway of a two-story home similar to your dad’s, with simple landscaping and two wooden rocking chairs on the wide porch. Lovely and quaint, the house made you more curious about the people who lived there.

“Dayum! Get a load a JB’s daughter, Joel,” Tommy called from the living room, leaning over the couch to look out the front window. “She’s smokin’ hot!”

“Dammit, Tommy. Stop spying on ‘em,” Joel growled, sneaking a peek over his brother’s shoulder to do a little hypocritical spying of his own. Breath caught in his throat at the sight of you and he couldn’t break his gaze away, even as JB led you toward the front door.

“What was that about spyin’, brother?” Tommy teased, practically dragging Joel away from the window as a knock sounded against the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

Tommy opened the heavy wooden door revealing the pair of you standing there, matching bright eyes and wide grins greeting him. “Well, hello there, beautiful. I’m Tommy.” Reaching a hand toward you, Tommy completely ignored JB, who just scowled at him.

“Nice to meet you, Tommy,” you replied, offering him your hand and name in return. Joel’s scowl matched your dad’s expression as Tommy held your hand for several beats too long.

“Back off, Tommy,” your dad grunted, swatting at the younger Miller brother. “This here is Tommy’s brother, Joel. The one who actually owns this house and the better Miller, if you ask me.”

“Ain’t no one askin’ you, old man,” Tommy’s smart mouth shot back at your dad.

Joel ignored both men, eyes like dark pools as he gazed at you, awed at how small and delicate your hand felt in his. “Howdy, darlin’,” his voice rumbled from his chest. “Come on in. There’s someone else lookin’ forward to meeting you.”

Leading the way through the kitchen into the backyard, Joel felt the heat of your gaze burning his back. Were you checking him out? There was no way. You were beautiful and likely in your early twenties. He felt ancient, though he was only in his early thirties, the hard labor of construction work having taken its toll on him.

“Hi Dad!” a young, sweet voice called from a small swing set where a precious little girl entertained herself. “Who’s this?”

Joel introduced you to his daughter, leaving the two of you to get acquainted as your dad called him away.

“You were away at college?” Sarah questioned, motioning for you to take a seat on the swing next to hers.

“I was,” you replied. “But I’m back for good now.”

“That’s good. What grade did you get to? I’m in fourth grade.”

You thought about it a moment. “I guess it would be 18th grade. But you stop counting grade numbers after 12th and start using different words to describe what year you’re in during college.”

Sarah listened raptly while you explained the different terms, what you studied in school, and what kind of job you were hoping to get.

“You want to be a teacher?” she asked, awed.

“I do! I want to teach middle grade science.”

“I love science! Maybe you could be my teacher when I get to sixth grade!”

Joel returned with your dad and Tommy in tow to find you and Sarah having a blast. The little girl sat in your lap as you kicked your feet out, swinging as high as you could, singing some camp song you remembered from your youth.

“See? Told ya she’d love to spend time with Sarah,” your dad said to Joel. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, staring at the two of you with a glazed look in his dark eyes.

Shaking himself off, Joel turned to your dad. “Guess I better work out some details with her.” He stepped over to the swing set, taking a seat on the empty swing and hoping to the heavens above that it held his weight. He struggled internally on how to start the conversation and was just about to blurt something out when his amazing daughter saved the day.

“Dad! She wants to be a teacher! A science teacher! Isn’t that cool? Did you ask her about watching me yet? I think she’d love to.” Sarah rambled on excitedly, amusing you and Joel. Turning to you before Joel could chime in, Sarah turned to you with baby cow eyes, adding, “You would love to, right?”

How could you ever resist that look? No one could. Both you and Joel were powerless as you nodded, and the offer became official. Cell numbers were exchanged and before you knew it, you had a job starting Monday.

Hours later, slightly drunk on spiked fruit punch and buzzing with energy, you thanked Joel for hosting the barbecue and giving you a job. You kissed his stubbled cheek, forcing thoughts of how attractive he was as far down as they could go. You could not develop a crush on your boss. “I’ll see you Monday morning, bright and early!” you declared before following your dad through the front door.

TBC

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel x female reader #the last of us #tlou #dbf!joel #Fall Into Me #pedro pascal #eventual smut #eventual romance

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pitchsidestories · 2 months

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Just a little crush II Kim Little x Beattie!Reader

masterlist I word count: 3192

a/n: sorry, It's a lengthy one, but we hope you still enjoy it. ❤️

“Lee, who’s that girl talking to Jen?”, Kim Little asked Arsenal’s vice-captain while licking her lips nervously. They and some other family and friends gathered for a party to send Jen Beattie off who was going to California to join Bay FC.

There was something about that young woman standing next to her friend which was making her feel and think things the midfielder never did before, but she didn’t want to dwell on them any further as it would lead to much more questions and less clear answers.

Amused Leah Williamson raised her eyebrows:” Oh Kimmy, you don’t recognize her? It’s Jennis baby sister, she’s fresh out of Edinburgh University!”

“That’s not Jen’s sister! She looked so much younger last time.”, the Scottish woman shook her head in disbelief.

Still smiling the England captain replied: “Yes, it’s, she’s 25 now.”

“Oh wow.”, Kim muttered.

Noisily Beth Mead took part in their conversation:” Who are you two gossiping about? I want to know.”

“Jens little sis.”, Leah answered with a smug smile on her face.

“She turned into a real beauty, right?”, the blonde forward winked watching Kim turning red.

Much to her dismay the defender noticed it:” think our captain would agree with you.”

“Stop it.. I’m not.”, Kim explained slightly embarrassed.

“Having a little crush?”, Beth teased her teammate grinning.

Tuning in Steph Catley chirmed:” Oh Kim, that’s so cute.”

“I don’t have a crush.”, their captain disagreed. She felt relived when Jen came along distracting from the gossiping football players.

“Hi guys, remember my little sister?”, the tall Scottish defender asked.

Cheerful you greeted them:” Hi, everyone.”

“Hello great to see you again. Even though the reason is kind of sad.”, Beth responded with a sad smile.

Empathetically you nodded:” No, I agree but shamefully can’t wait to visit her soon in Cali.”

“You all act like I’m disappearing forever.”, your big sister laughed. Even though you knew the farewell felt equally as bittersweet to her.

Quickly Lia Wälti hugged her: “We can’t help how we’re feeling, Jen. It’s a big loss for us and a big win for Bay FC.”

“You girls are the sweetest.”, Jen whispered, she was so grateful for the friendships she made during her time at Arsenal.

Big eyed Steph Catley responded:” I’ll miss my favourite neighbour.”

“I’ll miss living next to you too, Steph.”, the defender answered truthfully.

This was the moment you found the time to talk to Kim directly to express your gratitude towards her:” Thanks for letting me stay at your place for a few weeks, Kim.”

“You’re welcome. Now that your sister can’t let you stay anymore.”, the older woman waved it off.

“I really appreciate it.”

With a small smile the midfielder told you in a reassuring tone:” You can stay as long as you want. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a great time together.”, Jen intervened confidently.

You gave your sister a nod: “I’m sure we’ll.“

As the evening progressed, the atmosphere became more and more relaxed. You felt right at home with your sisters teammates who happily shared stories about Jen with and made sure your glass was never empty.

It was only after midnight that Kim appeared right in front of you, reaching out a hand towards you: “Come, I’ll get you home.“

“Now?“, you asked, surprised by how drunk you sounded already.

Kim just raised an eyebrow but did not comment on it: “Yes, it’s late.“

“Bye, Jen!“, you shouted across the room to your sister while Kim helped you into your coat.

With one swift motion, Jen came over and pulled you into a tight hug: “Bye, you two.“

Luckily, the way home in Kims car was short. You were by sleep and found it difficult to keep your eyes open. Once Kim led you into the guest room of her apartment, you let yourself fall onto the bed with a relieved sigh. Kims dog curled into a ball at your feet.

“This is really cozy.“, you mumbled, burying your face into the soft pillows.

Kim watched you from the doorway: “Glad you feel at home here.“

“Good night, Kim.“

The corners of her mouth quirked up as she closed the door behind her and you fell into a dreamless sleep.

You woke up early the next morning and decided to make coffee for yourself and Kim. The coffee was just done brewing as Kim came back from walking her dog. Beaming, you handed her a mug: “Morning, this one is for you.“

She gave you a surprised look first but then took the coffee from you: “Oh. Thank you.“

“You’re welcome. Also I hope I didn’t say anything weird when we went home last night.“, you said as you sat down at the kitchen table together. You took a sip of coffee to hide your reddening cheeks behind the cup.

“No. Like what?“, Kim asked inquiringly.

You decidedly ignored her question and only reacted to the first part: “Oh good.“

“You almost immediately fell asleep.“, she explained plainly.

Changing the topic, you suggested: “Do you like Pizza? When I’m done with my interview, I could get some on the way back.“

Finally, a small smile appeared on the football players face: “Sure, why not?“

“Okay, great.“

With a glance toward the kitchen clock, Kim announced: “I have to leave for training now. So, see you later?“

“Yes, see you.“, you smiled at her.

Just before Kim walked out, she paused for a moment: “Oh, wait.“

“Uhm, yes?“, you patiently looked at her as she walked back into the kitchen.

“I forgot to give you the keys.“, she said, carefully tossing them in you direction.

You caught them with a grin: “Right. Thank you, Kim.“

“See you later. Good luck with your interview.”, Kim replied.

You were almost at the door when you turned around to face her beaming with hopefulness: “Thanks. Have fun in training!”

During training Kim warmed up with Cloé Lacasse. The Canadian striker asked her curiously:” So you got yourself a roommate, Kim?”

“I was more or less assigned a roommate, Cloé. She was supposed to stay with Jen, but she decided to leave us.”, the Arsenal captain explained with a deep sigh.

With a mischievous smile on her lips Leah came to a stop right next to the older women: “The most important part is though that Kim has a Girl crush on said roommate.”

Annoyed by her comment Kim rolled her eyes at the defender:” I don’t have a girl crush, Leah.”

“Kim is straight too.”, the Canadian forward added.

“Right.”, the Scottish midfielder nodded. Although deep inside of her something didn’t sit right with it although it has been true for so many years at this point. Why did your presence make her question things she thought she knew about herself.

This didn’t impress Leah in the least: “You should have been there Cloé when they met at Jens Farewell Party.”

“Well, I can’t wait to hopefully meet her soon.”, Cloé answered politely.

Frustrated Kim intervened:” You guys are making a way too big deal out of it.”

“If you need to chat though we’re here for you, Kim.”, Beth offered warmly.

Stubbornly the Scottish woman shook her head: “I don’t need to chat. She’s just staring at my place.”

“Alright, just saying.”, the England forward mumbled.

“It’s not a big deal.”, her captain repeated in a serious tone which made obvious that she was done with talking for now.

Reading the signs Leah decided:” Let’s get back to training.”

Finally, Kim thought relieved as they started to move again, distracting from the whirlwind, which was currently inside of her, giving her a peace of mind for the moment.

In the early evening you returned to Kim’s place announcing cheerfully:” Hi, I got the pizza.”

“Thanks. How did your interview go?”, she wanted to know from you.

As you were setting up the table for dinner, you told her about it:” Not too bad, actually. They said my writing is promising but they asked me if I really want to stay focused on women’s football.”

Interested the Scottish woman looked up to you:” What did you say to them?”

“That I don’t want to change my focus, I love writing about women’s football and the culture surrounding it.”, you responded.

Proudly Kim remarked:” Your sister would have done the same in your position.”

“She would’ve, right?”, you asked her cautiously.

Kim nodded once with conviction: “Absolutely.“

“There’s still such a long way to go… although the recent success helped a bit.“, you thought out loud, a sad smile tugging on your lips.

“You don’t have to tell me.“, Kim replied with her gaze trained on the kitchen table.

You could sense that the football player felt a similar way about the topic. Your curiosity was piqued so you continued: “For you and Jen it must have been an amazing progress to live through.“

“Yes. We’re lucky to be part of this generation. Selling out stadiums is something that a few years ago we thought was impossible.“, she explained calmly.

You were reminded of your sisters first football games. She was not getting paid to play yet and the number of fans was ridiculously low compared to this season. You bit your lip: “Yes, I remember that too.“

“I appreciate that you want to keep focusing on womens football.“

Hearing her say that made your heart flutter for a brief moment. But you were also reminded how quickly the atmosphere had changed. You sighed and with all the enthusiasm you could muster, said: “We should eat the pizzas now before they get too cold.“

“You’re right.“

As you both sat down, taking the first slices of the pizza, you admitted: “But I do love talking about football with you.“

“We can continue at another time if you want.“, Kim suggested a little more relaxed.

“Yes, I’d like that very much.“

“Me too.“

“Great.“

Kim put her slice of pizza down and looked at you thoughtfully: “We’re playing at home on the weekend. You should come watch.“

“Yes, I’ll be there.“, you politely smiled back at her.

Kims focus had already shifted back to her pizza: “Great.“

The stadium was starting to fill on the following Sunday while players walked out to warm up. You were engrossed in a conversation with your friend Emily who after a long time of convincing had finally agreed to come to the game with you. You completely missed that Cloe Lacasse walked out on the pitch with Kim and curiously nodded in your direction: “So that’s her?“

“Yes, that’s her.“, Kim replied, a frown on her face as she spotted you close to the field.

“Is that her girlfriend? The one who’s standing next to her?“, the Canadian wanted to know.

Kim shrugged and shook her head: “She didn’t say anything about a girlfriend.“

Still, her gaze lingered on the two of you for a little longer.

The game ended with an easy win for Arsenal. Apart from the goals of Cloe and Alessia Russo, Kim also converted a penalty. The atmosphere in the stadium after the game was great and you immediately felt at home. However, the mood between the players on the pitch was less elated.

Leah Williamson bumped her captain with her shoulder: “Kim? You’re even quieter than usual.“

“What? I’m just focused.“, the midfielder replied, pulling away from her teammate.

The younger player couldn’t ask any further as you hugged the Scottish woman and sung:” Kim, you had a fantastic game, Kim!” Seeing the England captain you added blushing:”Hi Lee.”

Smiling Leah couldn’t help but to notice the height difference between you two, you were almost as tall as Jen while your roommate was fairly small: “Our skipper was great, right?”

“Yes, she definitely was.”, with that said you let Kim down.

Much to your surprise she didn’t look happy despite the comfortable win:”Thanks.”

The midfielder didn’t say anything further instead she left the room and left you clueless. Puzzled you turned around to look at her teammate: “Well, that was a bit strange do you know what’s going on, Leah?”

“I think she’s a bit jealous.”, the blonde replied seriously.

Baffled by that you let out a shaky laugh:” Jealous? Kim?”

Leah grinned: “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because you brought your girlfriend.”, the defender replied, crossing her arms in front of her.

“My girlfriend? Emily is just a friend!”, you corrected her, shaking your head in disbelief.

Sceptical Leah rose an eyebrow at you:” Oh, is she?”

“Yes, wait, did Kim think that Em was my girlfriend?”, you questioned her.

Thoughtfully Leah responded:” Maybe.”

“I need to talk to her.”, you decided.

With an empathetic smile on her lips the blonde held you back: “Maybe not now.”

You listened to her advice, so you went back to Emily and brought her home before making your way slowly to Kim’s home. In your mind it already was yours too.

On her car ride home Jen phone called the Arsenal captain:” Hi mate, great game!”

“Thanks, Jen. How’s California?”, Kim asked her.

“It’s been really great so far., the defender sounded happily before turning more serious, but you texted that you needed to talk?”

Earnestly Kim told her: “Yes. About your sister. Did you know that she’s dating someone?”

“What? No, she’s single.”, she mumbled convinced.

“What do you mean? She brought someone to our game today?”, the midfielder frowned.

Quickly Jen explained: “Yes Emily, she’s just a friend of her, Kimmy.”

“Are you sure? They seemed close?”, Kim almost felt something like relief by her former teammates reply. Although she didn’t dare to trust the news yet.

“Kim, I’m sure of that besides Emily has a boyfriend.”, Jen chuckled.

“If you say so.”

“But you can ask my sister again. Kim are you jealous?”, the defender wanted to know from her friend.

Offended Kim scoffed at her:” Why would I be jealous? I was just wondering why she’d stay with me when she’s got a girlfriend here.”

“Now you know. I need to go to training, hope to hear from you soon, mate?” After a few goodbyes they ended the phone call and the Arsenal captain tried to focus on the drive instead of the turmoil which was inside her.

When the door closed behind Kim, you looked up from the food you were cooking. While the Arsenal players showered and debriefed at the stadium, you had hurried to get home and surprise your housemate with a freshly cooked dinner. “Kim? Hi, I started cooking…“, you greeted her.

The football player raised her eyebrows in surprise: “You’re already here?“

You nodded: “Yes, Emily had to go back to her boyfriend who has a bit of a cold. Otherwise we might have gone to a pub. Do you want a drink to celebrate the win?“

“No, thanks. I usually don’t drink after games.“, Kim answered plainly, putting her bag down next to the kitchen table.

You grimaced: “Oh, right. Sorry. So water?“

“Sure. What are you cooking?“, Kim asked, looking over your shoulder at the food while you poured two glasses of water.

You smiled while handing her one of the glasses: “Some pasta dish. It’s one of the few things I can cook.“

The football player nodded impressed and smirked slightly: “That’s more than your sister can cook.“

“That’s true.“

You both sat down to enjoy your home-cooked meal, talking about the game again even though Kim kept her answers short. You took the empty plates and set them down at the sink: “I guess I’ll let you sleep now.“

“You don’t have to. I can’t sleep yet anyway.“, Kim replied to your surprise.

You slowly turned back to her, biting down a nervous smile: “Okay but you know you can just ask me on a date instead of running away and sulking after the match, right?“

Her eyes widened in shock: “Wait, what are you talking about?“

“Leah said you were jealous because of Emily and you really don’t need to be.“, you shrugged, trying to keep the nonchalance in your voice.

“I wasn’t jealous.“, she protested.

You looked back at the dishes in the sink, waiting: “Good.“

“That’s ridiculous.“

“Kim…“, you started but when you looked back to her, she had already bridged the gap between you two and pressed her lips to yours. You gasped into the kiss: “What?“

“That was a mistake. I’m sorry.“, she sighed, shaking her head in a mix of confusion and guilt.

She wanted to turn away from you but you grabbed her wrist: “No, please, do it again.“

There was an urgency in your voice that made Kim search for your eyes: “Are you sure?“

“Yes.“

“But… okay.“

She kissed you again, more patiently now. This time you could savour the taste of her lips on yours and only then you realized that she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach you. You were so charmed by this that you could not stop yourself from smiling.

As you both pulled away, you could see an uncertainty in Kims eyes. It was definitely not the kiss, you could feel that you both enjoyed it. Another thougth raced through your head: “Am I your first woman? Don’t worry, we have time. When is your next free day? Maybe we could go to a restaurant.“

“I have tomorrow off.”, she told you straight away.

A relieved sigh escaped your mouth:” Perfect, with a smirk you continued, also, you’re not a bad kisser, captain.”

“I never said I was.”, Kim laughed, you could tell some weight fell off her shoulders.

“No just saying.”, you shrugged.

The midfielder put a loose string of hair behind her ear:” Thanks.”

A month later Kim and you had a video call with your sister. The first thing you told her was that you two became a couple. “You two are dating?! You better take good care of her little sis!”, Jen warned you in a jokingly tone.

“What?! Me?!”, you huffed.

Grinning the defender nodded: “Yes, you heard me.”

“Wow.”, you ran a free hand through your hair.

Meanwhile your girlfriend seemed to have ignored that part of the conversation as she reassured Jen:” Don’t worry, I’m taking good care of your sister.”

“I can already see that.”, your big sister observed amused.

“Jen, you’re a terrible big sister.”, you teased her.

“I’m the best big sister.”, she countered quickly.

“Sure.”, you rolled your eyes at her.

“Stop it you two.”, Kim demanded in her captain voice.

Smiling Jen answered:” No, get used to it, Kimmy. You’re part of the Beattie family now.”

“Oh yes.”, you added, while giving the midfielder a kiss on her blushing cheek.

Coming to London to move in with one of your sister’s oldest friends was one of the best things that could had happen to you.

As for Kim she never knew she could fall for a woman until you came into her life, but the midfielder was very happy to have let her change her mind about that. Turned out you were more than just a little crush.

#kim little #kim little x reader #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #woso one shot #woso community #arsenal wfc #arsenal wfc x reader #leah williamson #jen beattie #beth mead #lia walti #arsenal women

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nats--sw · 6 months

Text

In your head | Leah Williamson

Leah Williamson x reader It's England's match against the Netherlands, and your girlfriend is willing to do anything to win. Warnings: I think you may find some of the comments a little suggestive. note: set in England's last game, but I changed a few things here and there

You hadn't seen Leah for days, each of you in a different country preparing for a big game as it was every time England played the Netherlands. Your team a little more comfortable than Leah's in terms of qualification, but you would be playing at Wembley in front of an abysmal crowd and as Leah used to say, "The English are never done", so at the end of the day it was a tough game.

At your feet was the chance for your girlfriend to qualify for the Olympics next year, but there was also the chance to take your team to the Olympics.

"Good morning, Miss England" Jill sat down next to you for breakfast, ruffling your hair as she passed behind you.

"Shut up" you said arranging your hair back to how it was before "Why are you only picking on me, Viv is sitting right in front of me and no one says anything to her."

Viv raised her head and smiled mischievously. "Don't drag me into your fights, kiddo."

"Well Viv's face doesn't change every time she has to play against her girlfriend" Jill said as if it was nothing "But you instead haven't smiled for days because you keep thinking about how you don't want to kick your girlfriend's ass."

"These are tough days" you muttered lowering your head "This week it's this game, but then when I go back to England it's Arsenal against Chelsea".

That was another factor, you were playing for Chelsea, having only just won a starting place this season, and winning that game would mean securing the top spot in the table, but Arsenal was desperate for those 3 points and of course Leah was too.

"You're messing with your own head," Viv commented, folding her arms on the table, "Leah knows how to separate things and you should do the same."

"Just worry about giving 100% of yourself" said Jill patting you on the back "Because I assure you Leah will."

"How was the flight?" Leah looked radiant through the screen, smiling practically from ear to ear "You look tired".

"Uh... yeah, I didn't get much sleep during the flight" you mentioned settling better in your bed "How have you been feeling these days? No complications during training?"

Leah narrowed her eyes "Are you trying to get information out of me?"

"What?! Of course not!" you quickly defended yourself "I'm concerned about the physical health of my girlfriend who is apparently going to have her first game as a starter since her injury"

"I'll pretend I believe you" Leah replied laughing "But everything's fine, according to Sarina I'm fit enough to start."

"Good news then"

"Huh, tell your face that" muttered Leah frowning "You know you don't have to go easy on me during the game, right?"

"Yeah" A lie.

"Babe, we're professionals, it's our job to do this. A lot can happen in a match, whoever wins this isn't better than the other, okay? Everything will still be fine."

"I know... it just feels weird."

Leah disappeared for a few seconds from your screen.

"Uh, the girls are calling me. I should go, but please stop thinking about us like that, okay? Go to sleep, I love you."

"Hm, I love you more. Bye."

The atmosphere in the stadium was overwhelming, the energy of the crowd could be felt from the tunnel.

"Looking good, number 25" Leah's voice sounded behind you.

"Uh, you too" you muttered without even turning to look at her, your eyes fixed on Jill's back, who was watching the situation out of the corner of her eye.

"Oh… but love, you haven't even looked at me" her tone was full of teasing. That plus the mixture of her perfume in the air was starting to get to you, "Babe?" your girlfriend's fingers took your chin and made you turn to look at her. "Hi" her smile was dazzling, she knew she was getting what she wanted "How do I look?" she asked raising her eyebrow.

You looked her up and down instinctively, did she look better than usual today? Probably. She always looked good when she wore her England kit, but today she looked amazing.

"You look... amazing" you replied almost as if Leah's gaze had you under a spell.

"What the fuck" Jill turned away, fed up with the situation, slapping Leah's arm to get her to let you go "Get out of here, Williamson."

Leah immediately raised her hands, pretending to be innocent, when she saw Daan also approaching to see what was going on.

"Good luck" she said looking at them and walked off to the start of the tunnel but not before winking at you.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" said Jill giving you a little shake.

"What?"

"Your girlfriend is getting in your head" Daan said looking sideways at Leah who was still smiling "Please YN, we all here know Leah, we knew it was going to be like this because she needs to win this game"

"I told you Leah would give her 100%, and if she's resorting to these stunts it's because she doesn't care if she has to beat you, she'll get it one way or another." said Jill "Listen to me, you will go out there, do your job, you will destroy Earps goal and only after that you will remember again that your girlfriend is the England captain, do you hear me?" this time Jill whispered in your ear as all the other girls from the England team had arrived in the tunnel.

"Okay, enough you two" you said getting a little annoyed "I'm a professional woman, I won't let my relationship affect my work and you should trust me as my teammates and friends.”

"We just want to make sure that-"

"No, I'm not a child who should be told what to do, now shut up you two" was the last thing you said to focus your eyes straight ahead, totally concentrated.

You were so focused on the game that you didn't even notice Daan and Jill high fiving behind you.

The first goal for your team came after the first 10 minutes, thanks to you and your ability to leave Lucy Bronze behind you. You also had another advantage, it wasn't the first time you had faced Earps so you knew where to shoot at the right time, so it was no surprise that your shot ended up in the back of the net.

Jill was the first to jump on you as you ran to a corner of the stadium where you could see some fans wearing the Netherlands shirt.

"That's what I was talking about!" Jill shouted in your ear as she kept hugging you.

Leah was watching out of the corner of her eye, chatting with Lucy, her jaw clenched thinking about how hard it would be to stop you.

Lucy was the one in charge of marking you, but now on every corner kick the person behind you was your girlfriend.

"Nice goal" she murmured close to your ear.

It was the first corner kick in favour of the Netherlands, so you were scared when you heard her voice, thinking that another girl would mark you.

You didn't say anything back, just pressed your elbow against her abdomen when you felt her too close.

"Too bad it was the last one." She muttered again, this time placing a hand on your waist and squeezing.

"Get the fuck off" you mumbled, starting to move from side to side to get her off.

"That's cute" was the last thing she said before the ball was kicked into the box, specifically looking for your head, but finding Leah's head first, who had no trouble clearing it out of the box.

"Shit" you muttered, glancing at Leah who was ignoring you again to focus on her team's counterattack.

"Focus on the game, YN" Vic said walking past you, giving you an encouraging pat on your back.

The first half ended with the Netherlands holding a one-goal lead. You had had a couple of chances at goal, but now in addition to having Lucy behind you, Leah was making a double effort to mark you in the same way, managing three times to get the ball away from you as cleanly as possible, as she always did.

During the half time talk no one mentioned the issue of Leah getting into your head, because from the look on your face everyone could tell that you were 100% focused on the game.

There were only 45 more minutes to go.

But to increase the lead you only needed 20.

"Hey, gorgeous" Leah's voice was in your ear again at another corner kick.

"God, shut the fuck up" you said pulling your body back, pushing her away. Leah, taking advantage of your action, raised her arms when she saw the referee signalling for you to stop the contact.

"You know what you do to me when you talk like that?" she whispered pressing her body against you once her teammates blocked the referee's view "It makes me want to make you- Hey!"

Before Leah could finish her words, your elbow had hit her abdomen hard.

"You two!" the referee came running up to where you were, giving words of warning to you and Leah.

"Come on love, let's be professional" Leah said once the referee left, her face was serious, but you knew her tone of voice showed how much she was enjoying the whole situation.

"Yeah, professionals" you muttered before you heard the referee's whistle.

The ball this time didn't go to your head, but to Daan's head instead, who's attempt unfortunately hit the crossbar, making the ball bounce back to your feet, Leah away from you because she had gone to clear Daan's first attempt.

It wasn't the best position to shoot, you didn't use your good foot either, but still the ball hit the net with the little push you gave it.

Now the Netherlands was 2 goals up on the scoreboard.

The whole team went up to you, celebrating between the rest of the English players who looked at each other blankly, including Leah, who was shaking her head with her hands resting on her waist.

It was all up to you to score a third goal, there were still 15 minutes left, not counting extra time. In a counterattack you were left with only Earps in front of you, but Lucy didn't hesitate to put her foot between your legs making you fall.

The foul had been called and Lucy had got a yellow card, because although she had made you fall it was not a red card action. But after a minute you were still on the ground.

You had fallen badly, with your wrist taking all your weight, plus apparently you had hit your head, or so said Vic who was the first to get to your side to keep you on the ground.

"The stretcher is coming" she said brushing some of the dirt and grass off your face.

"Babe? What hurts?" for the first time in the whole match you heard the tone of voice that Leah was used to using with you, a tone full of softness. One of her hands was placed on your abdomen, and she used her other hand to help Vic wipe your face.

"It's my hand," was all you said, opening your eyes to see that she was kneeling next to you. You weren't sure, but it felt like Leah let out a sigh when she heard that the problem was your hand and not your leg.

"You'll go to the bench." Leah murmured, watching one of your teammates take off her jacket to enter the field.

"Oh, you'll be happy now, Leah?" Vic teased her with a smirk.

"Shut up, Pelova" she said denying, but smiled anyway "Good, here comes the medical staff. I hope it's nothing serious" she said giving you a squeeze on the shoulder before getting up and returning to her position.

When you sat on the bench you were not unhappy with your performance, you had scored the two goals that led your team to a momentary win, but within minutes of you being substituted Leah's iconic phrase was ringing in your ears.

"The English are never done."

It only took your girlfriend and her team the remaining fifteen minutes and 3 minutes of extra time to turn the game around and take the 3 points.

"I can't believe it" was what you muttered as the final whistle blew, covering your face with your jacket, tears on the verge of flowing.

One of your teammates placed her hand on your thigh to reassure you, you didn't know who it was because you didn't remove your jacket from your face until several minutes later.

"Come on, YN" Viv grabbed your arm, forcing you to stand up.

You walked hugging her all the way to the centre of the pitch, where Beth and the other Arsenal girls were.

"Damn YN, I didn't know you had those goals in you" was the first thing Beth said, giving you a hug "You did well, don't worry" she murmured in your ear, knowing -thanks to Viv- how much you were worried about this match.

"You were a real nightmare," said Alessia, who then gestured to you to exchange shirts. "I hope I never see you doing what you did today again" she said with a laugh, referring to the next league match.

"I can't promise anything" you said shyly, still a little upset about losing. You were about to add something else, but in the distance you heard Leah's voice approaching. "Uh, I'll go inside, I think my arm still hurts, so I'll see if they can give me something for the pain."

Viv noticed the lie, but didn't say anything, just gave your healthy arm a squeeze. As soon as you started walking away from the group Leah did too, but Viv was quicker and managed to grab her arm to integrate her into the conversation and stop her from going after you.

"Great game today," Viv said, forcing her to focus on the conversation.

"Yeah, but you guys did well too. I think it was just a bit of luck that goal in extra time."

"That was a masterpiece!" Alessia defended herself, as she had been the one to convert that goal. "But of course, no goal will be that great for you unless it's from YN" she teased Leah, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"It's the truth, what YN touches turns into a masterpiece" Leah said, puffing out her chest proudly "I love watching her play, but I'd rather do it from the stands and not a few feet behind her."

"Look at you, flattering your rival, never seen that before from you" this time it was Beth who teased her.

"Since she's been with YN she has become a softie" said Viv, pinching Leah's cheek "Oh, why that grumpy face Williamson?"

"You're all idiots" she said smacking Viv's hand "So what if I've become a softie because of YN? I don't care if you laugh at me."

"We know why you have that grumpy face, Williamson" Jill said appearing behind her, jumping almost on Leah's shoulders "It's because your plan to get into YN's head didn't work out!"

"What do you say?"

"I think you achieved quite the opposite with YN, your words instead of distracting her made her try twice as hard, so thank you for that. Shame we didn't manage to keep the lead but that's the way it goes sometimes."

"Damn" Leah folded her arms "You're saying if I hadn't picked on YN she wouldn't have scored those goals?"

"I mean, she would have anyway, but I think you gave her a little push, so thanks."

At the end of the conversation all the girls laughed at Leah, who had planned all morning to get into your head, but in the end her plan didn't work out.

No one mentioned anything else about the game, let alone Leah. And the truth is, you didn't think about her either, well, that was until after you showered at the hotel, you found a bouquet of flowers on your bed and Jill and Leah chatting on the side.

"No funny business, you hear me?" Jill said to Leah before walking out of the room and leaving you two alone.

The atmosphere was awkward, but Leah didn't care.

"Uh, I brought you flowers" she hurriedly said and took the bouquet, walking over to you and handing it to you, smiling as she saw you accept them "You were amazing today... you were a real nightmare for Lucy and me."

"Don't exaggerate, it wasn't that big of a deal" you said smiling as you saw the card with a dedication in the middle of the flowers "I was the player of the match you think?"

"Yes, I can't deny it" Leah took the flowers from your hands to put it back on the bed "I did what I did because I knew it would be physically impossible to hold you back" she said taking your face, caressing your cheek. "It was a lot easier when you were subbed off, but Lucy got a couple of words from me afterwards."

"You're an idiot for that stupidity to be whispering in my ear the whole game, how old are you? 10?" you said resting your head on her chest.

"What did you expect? You scored a brace, I had to stop you somehow." Leah defended herself.

"Whatever you say... So, we're good then?"

"Yeah, I told you. It's just a game and things happen. I thought you wouldn't want to see me for how much I pissed you off today" she said laughing taking the opportunity to caress your back. "How's your hand?"

"Fine, nothing serious but I need to rest it for a couple of days."

"Good" she said and then started walking to your bed without letting you go, sitting down and making you sit on her lap. "Now... about what I said during that corner kick before your goal..." she said putting her hands on your thighs.

"Hmm..." you settled on top of her, not taking your eyes off her lips "I think that's the first time it's ever bothered me to feel you against my back if I'm being honest."

Leah couldn't hold back her laughter, taking the moment to slip her hands under your shirt "I wanted to do this every time I was behind you" she said before she started kissing you.

You guys stayed like that for a couple of minutes, with Leah murmuring how much she loved you every time she stopped kissing you to catch her breath.

"I've been worried about this match all week" you confessed as you stopped the kissing knowing you couldn't do much more than that.

"Yeah, I know. I think I got text messages every day from your team cursing me out. But I didn't want it to be like that, I like you to give your all always, even if it means being against me."

"It was just a difficult situation, your first game as a starter, qualification, Wembley...."

"I didn't want you to worry about me" she said tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. "But I want you to know that despite the defeat, I'm proud of what you did today, and I feel like the luckiest person knowing who my girlfriend is and what she's capable of."

"You're such a sweet talker" you laughed but kissed her anyway.

"I know"

Leah patted your thigh to get you off her lap, standing up immediately after that.

"Well I gotta go, see you in a couple of days love."

"Good luck in your next match." You said giving her a last kiss on her lips.

"May the best team qualify, babe."

"Right. Go before you start your little mind games with me" you said pushing her out of the room.

"I love you!"

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson x you #woso x reader #woso imagine #leah williamson imagine #no beta read sorry

739 notes · View notes

thetriumphantpanda · 11 months

Text

nobody sees, nobody knows

Alright, here we are, me adding my two cents into the dbf!Joel trope which we all love so much. I've read so many incredible fics like this so hopefully mine can stand up with them all. This will be a series, so strap in for more of our favourite neighbourhood DILF.

Pairing | dbf!Joel x female reader

Summary | Back to Texas with a degree under your belt and a school girl fantasy to fuck your dad's best friend. What could go wrong?

Warnings | I mean, dbf!Joel comes with his own warning right? Other than that, swearing, alcohol consumption, age gap (Reader is 25, Joel is 36), dirty talk, and fingering.

Word Count | 3.3K

PART 2 | MAIN MASTERLIST

There was something about summer in Texas that just hit differently. The way the heat crawled on your skin from the moment you woke up to the moment you tried to sleep at night. The way your father used it as an excuse to cook primarily on the grill, regardless of the food, and the way your mother always made sure the fridge was stocked with cold drinks. The way traffic seemed to cease to exist during the high points of the day, meaning you went to the store every day at midday to buy ice cream. The haze you got from sipping cold beer by your parents’ pool which made you want to do reckless things like you’d done in New York before you realized that the beady eyes of your parents would be all over you if you tried. Reckless things like tell Joel Miller you’d wanted to fuck him for years.

Every time you’d come home from school, and he’d be there you could have sworn he’d just gotten more and more attractive. The last time you were home, for Christmas and New Year’s, you could have sworn he’d started at the gym, his biceps bulging in the arms of his fitted t-shirt, when your dad commented on it, he's chalked it down to particularly heavy lifting on the job he was working then. He’d had his hair cut in a way that made his face even more handsome and you’re pretty sure the last few times you’d been home he’d noticed how you’d flourished too.

There were moments where you’d catch his eyes as they drew themselves up your legs, or the time you decided to test your theory and wear a low-cut top and your best bra to a dinner party. His eyes had trained on your chest for most of the night, there was a moment where you’d stood up and leaned over the table to pick up the salt instead of asking him to pass it. He’d choked on his drink and your dad had slapped his back to try and help him. At least you knew he was thinking like you.

Neither of you had tried crossing the line though. Past the point of no return. You wanted him to make the first move, save yourself the embarrassment of rejection if it came, but it felt like waiting for Joel Miller to kiss you was like waiting for rain in the drought Texas was currently experiencing. Useless and disappointing. You wished sometimes that you could burrow into his brain and figure out what it was that he was really thinking about you. You suspected there would be some code of honour he was sticking to because you were his best friend’s daughter – sure it might complicate things, but you weren’t going to be back in Texas forever – what was the worst that could happen during the secret, torrid affair you’d been cooking up in your head since you arrived back from college a week ago?

“Did you hear me when I spoke to you?” Your mother’s voice pulled you from the daydream you were having whilst polishing the cutlery.

“Sorry mom, I was miles away.”

“I know!” She exclaims, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you since you came back, you’ve been away with the fairies,” She sighs, “I said, once you’ve set the cutlery out back can you help your dad with filling the fridge with the beer, please?”

You hum in agreement which is enough to send her back to the endless chopping she seems to be doing at the kitchen counter. It was just a cookout with the Millers and few other family friends to celebrate your return, but you think your mother thinks she’s catering for a garden party at the White House with the number of sides she’s preparing.

You make quick work of the rest of the cutlery, wanting to avoid any more questions about why you seem miles away all the time – you can’t exactly tell your mother it’s because you’re thinking about how Joel might eat your pussy.

“Need any help, old man?” You greet your dad in the garage, he’s on his knee’s pulling out bottles of Budweiser to stack in the fridge.

“Here, grab these and start putting them in,” He’s smiling, he’s always been an overly happy and laid-back man, “I hope we’ve got enough in.”

“How many people are you expecting?” You chuckle, taking a bottle from him to add to the growing number already stacked on the shelves.

“Probably ten or so,” Hu shrugs, “But one of those people is Tommy Miller and he’s not changed a bit since you’ve been away.”

“Between your drinks and mom’s sides we could host the entire neighborhood.” You joke.

You continue to fill the fridge up with drinks until there’s no room left. Your dad stores the leftover crates next to it for refilling throughout the evening, “Now, go and make yourself look nice, everyone’ll be here soon.”

You’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t picked your shortest and lowest cut dress for the evening. It was a pale blue colour, with pink flowers dotted about the material. It fell to your mid-thigh and you had to keep reminded yourself to kneel down instead of bending over, in case people who you didn’t want to look caught an eyeful of the scant lace covering your ass.

There are a few people milling around already, cold beers in hand, mainly some of your dad’s older friends, who have all congratulated you on graduating and then moved on to talk about mundane neighborhood gossip.

“Now, where is that smartass?” You hear from the sliding doors; it’s Tommy and he’s bounding over to you to give you a hug.

He scoops you up into a bone breaking hug, “Congratulation’s girl, your dad said you graduated top of the class!”

He’s set you down and you can see Joel standing awkwardly next to him, “He’s exaggerating, I wasn’t top, although pretty close to it,” You turn to Joel, “Hey there.” He bends down to give you a one-armed hug and a peck on the cheek.

“Good to see you back, sweetheart.”

“Good to see you too, Joel,” You chirp in response, “Where’s Sarah?”

“She’s at camp for the first part of the summer,” He explains, “Back in a couple’a weeks, she’ll be thrilled to see you again.”

“Boys!” Your dad’s booming voice interrupts your conversation, “Good to see you both!” He turns to you, “Why don’t you go and get these two some beers, I need to speak to them about fixin’ up the attic.”

You turn quietly and head for the garage. Of course, you’d become waitress at your own welcome home party. It takes no time at all for you to come back with three beers, two for the Miller brothers and one for yourself. You hand them off wordlessly, but you don’t miss how Joel grips the bottle just above your fingers, brushing against them. Of all the places for him to grab the bottle, that couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?

The rest of the evening goes by as expected. You spend most of it running around helping your mom set the food out, fetching more beers for everyone and trying to field questions from everyone about what you’re going to do in Texas with an MA in Archival Studies. You bite your tongue every time, and reply with something like, “I think I’ll probably work in an archive.”

The night is winding down, your mom already in bed having finished her wine too quickly, your dad sat outside in the quickly fading sunlight with Joel and Tommy and a few other stragglers. It fell to you to make aa start on the dishes, which is what you were currently doing. Rinsing them off over the sink before stacking them in the dishwasher, pausing long enough each time to take a sip of lukewarm beer.

“They got you tidyin’ up your own party?” You hear from behind you. It’s Joel.

“I’m the only one sober enough not to break anything.” You shrug without turning around to face him.

“Seems a little unfair if you ask me, sweetheart.”

“Well, why don’t you make yourself useful and help?” You counter, “Then I can be sat outside drinkin’ beer with you all.”

You hear his boots on the floor and then he’s next to you, reaching around to grab the pile of cutlery on the side, he opens the dishwasher further to put the cutlery in their designated tray and then stop, “Has no-one ever taught you how to stack a dishwasher?”

You pause in your rinsing to look up at him for the first time, “What do you mean?”

“This is awful sweetheart,” He chuckles, “You’ve got the bowls and plates in the wrong place – you’ll be doing three washes if you carry on like this.”

“Well, go on then, maestro, show me how to stack it.”

He’s unloading everything you’ve put in so far, apart from what you suspect he thinks was his expertly placed cutlery, and you’re watching as he’s stacking in completely differently to you. Annoyingly he’s not wrong, the way he’s doing it means you’ll likely fit everything in at once, “Can’t believe you’ve lived on your own for five years and didn’t learn how to stack a dishwasher.”

“Joel, I was in a dingy studio apartment in the ass end of New York, you think I had a dishwasher?”

“Well, consider yourself taught now, I don’t ever wanna see a dishwasher looking anything less than perfect, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Mr Miller.” You watch as his eyebrows raise at your new greeting, oh. He liked that.

He picks up your almost empty beer bottle and hands it to you, “Go on, down the rest,” He’s grinning, “Then go and sit down and I’ll get you a fresh one.”

You decide to push it a little further, “Yes, sir.” You watch as he swallows deeply at your words before you’re brushing past him, far too close than necessary to go and sit down.

It’s another hour of sitting around in the garden before everyone else is gone – Tommy is finishing off his beer and telling Joel he’ll be heading to his to crash.

“I’m going to call it a night too,” Your dad says, “Stay and finish your drink though Joel, there’s no rush, I’m sure this one can keep you company with her stories from New York.”

And then you’re alone with him, finally. He’s taking a long drink from his beer bottle, which you mirror, realizing suddenly that you didn’t eat much, and you’ve drunk far more than you probably should. You’re not drunk, but there’s a pleasant buzz through your body that��s making your eyelids a little heavy.

When the light goes off in your parents’ room, you figure it’s safe, “I’ve seen you staring at me, you know.”

He doesn’t miss a beat, “You make it hard not to, sweetheart.”

“Do you want me, Joel?” You don’t know where you’ve come from all of a sudden, but this confident girl isn’t someone you recognize.

“It ain’t a question of wantin’ you sweetheart, it’s a question of doin’ the right thing.” You watch as he rubs his hand over his forehead in frustration.

“But you do,” You push him, “Want me?”

“Course I do,” He’s swallowing thickly again, just like he did in the kitchen, “But I can’t have you.”

“Says who?” You pry.

“Says the fact that I’m one’a your dad’s best friends, not to mention far too old for you.” He’s looking at you and taking another big drink from his bottle, like if he finishes, he can leave you alone.

“No-one has to know,” You shrug, “Could be our little secret?”

“You been readin’ too many of them romance novels,” He snorts, “It don’t work like that, if they find out they’ll fucking kill me.” He’s tilting his head to the window of your parents’ room.

You stand from your seat opposite him, walking around the table to stop just in front of Joel, “Come on Joel, have a little fun for once.”

There’s a moment where you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, trying to weigh up being shot for touching his best friend’s little girl and finally satisfying the craving he’d wanted for a while now. Then, he’s putting his bottle down on the floor next to the chair he’s sat in. You watch closely as he shifts his position to sit more towards the edge of the chair, before one of his hands reaches out to grip the back of your thigh, just above the crease of your knee.

“You’ll be the death of me,” He mumbles before he looks up at you, “C’mere.”

He’s pulling gently on your leg as he shifts back in the seat, guiding you so your hips are straddling his. You try not to press yourself too fully into him just yet, letting your clothed heat rest above his lap. One of his arms comes to wrap around the back of your waist, the other tangling in your hair at the back of your head whilst he looks at you with eyes that say he wants to devour you.

“You gonna kiss me, Mr Miller?” You ask, innocently.

“Oh darlin’, I’m gonna do so much more than that.”

His head is tilting to the side and looking up at you from your higher ground, perched on his lap. Then his lips are on yours and God all those years of longing were worth it. They’re pressed tentatively against your own, but you can feel they’re slightly chapped. His hand resting in your hair grips a little tighter and he’s moving your head slightly so that when he opens his mouth against yours it’s the easiest thing for you to open yours right back and let his tongue into your mouth.

You let out a gasp, swallowed into his own mouth when his hands drop back to your thighs before they’re trailing up the small skirt of your dress to cup the cheeks of your ass, “You wear this for me?” He pulls away, speaking before he’s trailing his lips along your jawline, “Thought you’d get me worked up in this tiny little thing, naughty girl?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

He huffs a breath out of his nose as if to say, of course it did. He’s trailing his hot mouth down your neck now, dragging his teeth along your skin before licking with his tongue to soothe any red marks he might leave. Your head is thrown back as his hands drag you down so you’re sitting flush against him. You can’t help but notice the bulge in his jeans when your clothed pussy makes contact with him.

You’re whining as his hands are on your hips under your dress, the hot skin of his hands setting fire to you, “What do you want, pretty girl?” He asks, his tongue trailing down to the valley between your tits.

“Fingers,” You rasp, “Make me come with your fingers Joel.”

He lets out a low chuckle against your skin, “Needy little thing, already beggin’ me to finger fuck her.”

But he’s already obliging your request, one of his hands is moving down from your hip to the front of your panties, running his thumb over the material from top to bottom, “God, I can feel how wet you are already,” You look down and he’s grinning, “I’m gonna take these off, sweetheart, but you gotta promise to keep quiet okay?”

You nod in agreement before you’re lifting your hips up, just enough for Joel to hook his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and pull them down enough so his hands can touch you. He mimics the same movement he’d done over the material, this time his fingers touching the bare skin of you seam and he’s groaning when he feels the slick gathered near your tight hole.

“God, you really are wet, aren’t ya?” He chuckles, a flush creeping over your cheeks, “Ain’t nothing to be embarrassed about sweetheart,” He reassures, “Means I’m doin’ somethin’ right.”

You feel one of his thick fingers slip inside you, just a little, before he’s dragging the slick he’s gathered up to run light touches over your clit. You bite down on your lip to keep you from crying out into the dark, hips bucking into his hand to try and get more friction from his fingers. He takes the hint and is pressing his finger more firmly into your bundle of nerves and it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to keep quiet.

When Joel’s hand drops from your clit you almost cry from frustration, put then he’s sinking two of his fingers straight into your soaking pussy and the relief is palpable. He’s moving them in and out of you, curling them in just the right way that has your hips moving in time with him, literally fucking yourself on his fingers. You let your head fall into the crook of his neck, placing kisses to his skin as you ride his fingers.

“This what you wanted, pretty girl?” He asks, his free hand coming to cup the back of your head against his neck, at least this way you could make some noise – testing out your theory you let out a throaty moan, listening carefully as his skin muffles most of the sound.

“I need… god Joel, my clit, please.”

With his fingers still buried inside you, working you to the edge, his thumb moves to your clit, resuming the circles his finger had been drawing over it before, “I can feel your pussy gettin’ tight around my fingers,” He’s turned his head so it’s buried in the hair at the side of your head, “You gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

You push back from him a little, looking down between your bodies where you can see his hand working you and that’s really all it takes. Your legs are shaking and you’re biting down on your lip hard enough that you can taste blood as pleasure bursts through you – not even you had made yourself come like this. Ever. Joel’s fingers have stilled inside you, but he’s still tracing your clit with gentle movements of his thumb, reveling in the way you jerk through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Did so well for me, pretty girl.” He coos at you once he’s pulled his hand from your pussy.

You’ve collapsed onto his chest to catch your breath, but you’re already subconsciously grinding your hips into his, God you want more. You’re about to reach for his belt when you can feel something vibrating in the pocket of his jeans.

He’s mumbling an apology, lifting you just enough to fish his phone from his pocket. He answers without looking at who is calling. You can hear Tommy’s voice through the phone from your place, draped over Joel’s lap.

“You just turn it to the side, jackass,” Joel is mumbling in answer to Tommy’s question on how to work his shower, “You’ve used it a million times,” Tommy say’s something you can quite make out, “No, not that one, the one underneath it,” Joel is sighing, “You were not this drunk when you left, if I find you’ve finished the good whiskey I’m gonna kill you,” Another sigh to a question you couldn’t quite hear, “Fine, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Disappointment is pooling in your stomach. You don’t want him to go, not when there’s so much unfinished business here, “I gotta go, sweetheart.” He’s mumbling, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“But what about this?” You ask, reaching between you to cup his cock through his jeans, “Let me help you.”

His hand is gripping your wrist, “I would love nothin’ more, but I gotta go before Tommy floods my house,” Another kiss to your lips, “Next time.”

“You want to do this again?” You ask, almost surprised.

He takes the hand that had been buried in your pussy not minutes before, lifting the fingers he’d fucked you with to his mouth before sucking them right in front of your face, “Now I’ve gotta taste for you, sweetheart?” He raises an eyebrow, “Of course I wanna do this again.”

1K notes · View notes

iwanty0uu · 20 days

Note

How would aot boys react to reader saying she want a break and goes to sleep on the couch

Ony :

- “Baby girl what’s the matter?” He asked as he wrapped his hands around you, nuzzling into your warm body on his bed, his dark features enhanced by the blue light of your phone. You didn’t respond which earned a poke in the hip from him. “ You dont wanna talk t’me? What i do?” You hummed in response, scrolling through his following and his liked posts, all the girls that you felt looked better than you.. the insecurity started to get to your head. “Hey Ony..I think we should take a..you know..brea-” You heard the bed creak beneath you as he straightened himself up. “Y/n.. don’t play with me. You not deadass. How you finna be upset with me and not tell me what I did so we could fix it?” He said, his tone changing in frustration and confusion, but internally, he was afraid.. “Ony I dont wanna agrue nd I can tell Im just gonna make this worse.. I’ll sleep on the couch for tonight” You mumbled softly. “Like hell you will, the fuck. You gon talk to me whether u like it or not and if i gotta read your notes app to figure out who or what the fuck got in my baby’s head I will.” He grabbed your face peppering it with butterfly kisses.

• “We’ll figure it out together girl”…

Armin :

Armin was very observant, so when he noticed your distance, he panicked and it bothered him for days. “Love?” He asked from the living room, slowly entering making sure not to invade your space. You looked up in response turning your phone off to give your boyfriend your full attention. “ I got your text.. about, you sleeping on the couch tonight and stuff, n I don’t know if this is because mood swings or if its something that I did or if its something that you’re upset with me about not saying that I have to be the center of your life and emotions and everything because I know that you work really hard in school and-” He paused abruptly collecting his thoughts. He averted his eyes from your now concerned gaze. You never knew it would affect him this much. “What I’m trying to say is.. I got you chic-fil-a and a new blanket to make you feel better.. and hopefully we can watch a movie and talk about it?

• “I’ll give you your space but I’m only a call from our bedroom away okay?”…

Connie :

The ping of the basketballs in the gym echoed in your ears. You watched as your boyfriend got a little too friendly with his personal trainer who you weren’t jealous of, but you simply weren’t fond of her. Who would want their man getting touched up on by a girl for lord knows how long.. but Connie assured you that the only reason she’s here is because his usual trainer broke his arm and in three weeks, he’ll be healed enough to get back in action.He wanted to ask if you wanted to join him for the day but your energy was low so he let you be.. All was well until you were facing the window in the car, being less talkative than usual. The sun retired for the day and the sky was dark, “I’m gonna sleep on the couch tonight”… “ No ur not..”… “You cant tell me what to do..”…. “ k .”

11:04 pm

You felt a sudden jerk, which made you open your eyes skightly, and a pair of hazel eyes met yours.“Hope you got all the space you needed girly..you wont see her training me again tomorrow, she was annoying anyways..”

• His plump lips met your temple as you nustled into his neck, “night”…

Jean :

You never knew when to stop playin. You set up your phone in the kitchen to record your boyfriend’s to your little “prank”.

8:15 pm- jean comes home

8:30- jean showers after greeting you

9:25- jean lays on couch

9:28- “Jean baby.. I’m gonna sleep here tonight..I need some space..”

9:30- “Back in my day, when the women needed space, they’d sleep with the oxen and mules..so”

You stared blankly at his unfunny joke, walking into the kitchen keeping deadpan eye contact, revealing your phone. “It was a prank fucking old ass man.”

• “Oh aii…”

HOPE YA LIKED IT- 𝓵𝓮𝓵𝓮 <3

319 notes · View notes

the-oblivious-writer · 6 months

Text

Comfort Crowd

Core Four x Fem!Reader | Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader

One-Shot: Social Media Au, No GF Au

Summary: Just you, the core four, and a few other scream characters being chaotic

Warning(s): Swearing, "kys" being thrown around (once & jokingly ofc), no gf au, best friend's older sister & age gap (sam is 25/26 & r is 19)

Notes: First time doing a social media au thing for a fic soo if you have any feedback lemme know. Hope you enjoy, this was honestly fun to make

3/7 for Seven Days Of Christmas

mindythegreat

liked by chadtheman_meeks, ambers_notafreeman, and 8,563 others

mindythegreat: can’t take these bitches anywhere @y/n @justalilguy

view all 8,432 comments…

chadtheman_meeks: I just know your asses are freezing 💀

>justalilguy: SHE THREW ME ASS FIRST

>y/n: THREEWW?? YOU JUMPED ON MY BACK THEN SLIPPED

>justalilguy: LIESS

>y/n: YOU CAN SEE IT SO CLEARLY IN THE FIRST PHOTO

>justalilguy: GASLIGHTER

>y/n: LITERALLY STFUP

chadtheman_meeks: now they're at it in the replies 😭

>ambers_notafreeman: LMAO

—

y/n

liked by justalilguy, chadtheman_meeks, and 4,127 others

y/n: we studying tf outa this exam 😤

view all 2,598 comments...

chadtheman_meeks: you spent the first 20 mins deciding on what playlist to use and then another 10 flirting with the librarian

>y/n: and you spent the first half hour giggling with liv on face time 🤨

mindythegreat: chad knows how to read??

>chadtheman_meeks: fuck you.

justalilguy: I see you've started without me 😒

>y/n: WE WERE SUPPOSED TO MEET LIKE TWO HOURS AGO??

>justalilguy: IT'S NOT MY FAULT MY ALARM DIDN'T GO OFF

>y/n: WE WERE MEETING AT 4 HOW MUCH SLEEP DO YOU NEED???

samcarpenter1997: @justalilguy This is the study session you slept through?

>justalilguy: sam?? since when did you have insta?

>samcarpenter1997: Mindy helped me set up an account

y/n: @justalilguy why have you never told me that your older sister is so breath taking? that's breaking girl code 😔

>justalilguy: no. just no. stay away from her.

>y/n: I was just making an observation? btw can I come over?

>justalilguy: NO.

>y/n: so in 30 mins work? great! tell sammy I won't be long

>justalilguy: YOU DID NOT JUST-

chadtheman_meeks: @justalilguy it's a canon event.

>not_ethanlandry: she hit on my sister too

>justwes: and mine

>livvy: mine too

>ambers_notafreeman: same.

>justalilguy: @y/n you have a fucking problem

—

y/n

liked by ambers_notafreeman, mindythegreat, and 8,752 others

y/n: bro's too stubborn to admit she needs help reaching the top shelf

view all 4,673 comments...

ambers_notafreeman: lmao she's so short not even tip-toeing would help her reach

>mindythegreat: rip amber

>livvy: was nice knowing you ames

>justalilguy: oh? well if I'm so short then ig I can't kiss you

>ambers_notafreeman: I didn't mean it in a bad way bby 😢

>justalilguy: there's a good way? please. enlighten me.

ambers_notafreeman: @y/n wat do I do.

>y/n: hm? oh, sry, I was too busy laughing at your ass being in the doghouse for the 3rd time this week 💀

>ambers_notafreeman: kys.

—

samcarpenter1997

liked by y/n, mindythegreat, and 6,732 others

samcarpenter1997: (sam? putting a caption? funny.)

view all 4,873 comments...

y/n: KSHFSKH I mean- Gorgeous as always 💕

>samcarpenter1997: Thank you! 🙂

>justalilguy: GTFO OF HER COMMENTS as for you @samcarpenter1997 wtf was that???

>samcarpenter1997: Your friend gave me a compliment. I literally just said thank you.

>justalilguy: since when do you actually reply to comments?? second of all, THE EXCLAMATION MARK AND EMOJI??? Sam. for you, that's basically jamming your tongue down her throat

>samcarpenter1997: I was just being polite, you're really overthinking this

>y/n: yeah, @justalilguy just listen to the drop dead gorgeous woman

>samcarpenter1997: @y/n Talking about yourself?

>y/n: oh!! 🤭

>justalilguy: I've died and this is hell.

—

y/n

liked by samcarpenter1997, justwes, and 9,892 others

y/n: me and my fav drummer boy @juswes are back at it again

view all 8,992 comments...

justwes: anything for my favorite guitarist 😊

>y/n: ❤️

chadtheman_meeks: I better be the first to hear it!

>y/n: was there any doubt??

samcarpenter1997: That guitar looks good on you

>y/n: bet you'd suit me better

>samcarpenter1997: We could test that theory

>y/n: oh, how I'd love to

>justalilguy: what. the. actual. fuck.

—

mindythegreat

liked by ambers_notafreeman, chadtheman_meeks, and 8,968 others

mindythegreat: LMAOO guess what she just walked in on

view all 8,572 comments...

chadtheman_meeks: I KNEW IT I KNEW IT

ambers_notafreeman: @justalilguy I just got your text, I'm so sorry babe 😭

>justalilguy: IN THE FUCKING LIVING ROOM

not_ethanlandry: I don't get it?

>justwest: same

>chadtheman_meeks: y/n and sam were making out and Tara saw them...

>justwes: OH...y/n's gonna be annoying asf now right?

>chadtheman_meeks: 100%

—

y/n

liked by samcarpenter1997, nik, and 6,432 others

y/n: LOST IN THE LABYRINTH OF MY MIND

view all 5,897 comments...

justalilguy: this is my new waking nightmare.

>chadtheman_meeks: I tried to warn you

>ambers_notafreeman: you should see the look on her face rn

nik: aww, you guys are so cute together 🥰

>y/n: thank you anika<33

not_ethanlandry: you said you weren't looking for a relationship?

>y/n: with you. I wasn't looking for a relationship with you

>not_ethanlandry: noted

mindythegreat: @ambers_notafreeman pay up

>ambers_notafreeman: @y/n you couldn't have waited another week before posting how down bad you are??

>y/n: the heart wants what the heart wants

samcarpenter1997: 🖤

>y/n: 🤍

>samcarpenter1997: Are you coming over later?

>y/n: ofc I am 😉

>samcarpenter1997: Then I'll see you later, beautiful

>y/n: skhfkhfksh see you 🥰

mindythegreat: @justalilguy weren't you just telling me you think they look good together?

>justalilguy: MINDY

—

chadtheman_meeks

liked by justalilguy, ambers_notafreeman, and 8,997 others

chadtheman_meeks: @y/n was supposed to put them in for 10 minutes...she put them in for 30 😐

view all 8,542 comments...

justalilguy: @y/n how tf do you mess that up

>y/n: I don't appreciate being attacked rn

>justalilguy: hm?

>y/n: ...I wanted them a extra crispy

>justalilguy: you're such a dumbass sometimes 💀

>y/n: actually I'm just a girl

ambers_notafreeman: @y/n aren't you always saying how you'd be a housewife for the right woman and shit

>y/n: that still stands!!

>ambers_notafreeman: how do you expect to do that when you can't even bake cookies??

>y/n: wow. I wasn't expecting such sexism from you- chad maybe but you? it's the betrayal for me 😦

>ambers_notafreeman: idk how I tolerate you

>chadtheman_meeks: um hello???

—

y/n

liked by justalilguy, samcarpenter1997, and 9,896 others

y/n: Merry christler🎄❄️

view all 9,047 comments...

-----------

A/N: Tara and R in a nutshell (poor chad getting caught in the middle)

725 notes · View notes

dreamgrlarchive · 1 year

Text

High Maintenance 101

Prissy Girl Beauty Regimens 🎀

my prissy girl guide to beauty services and building a beauty lifestyle that fits you 💗

Skincare:

Essential Skincare Routine ❤︎︎

twice daily, in the morning and at night

daytime: gentle cleanser, toner, serum, eye cream, moisturizer, SPF

prep and protect skin

nighttime: double cleansing with oil and cleanser, exfoliation, treatments, moisturizer

wash away the day and help skin accept treatments and actives during your beauty sleep

products will change depending on skin type and goals, but sequence will more or less stay the same

Face Masks + Treatments ❤︎︎

Face Masks -

typically done at home 1-3x/week

clay, gel, mud, cream, liquid

my fav masks at home:

aha + bha liquid mask by the ordinary: a literal overhaul of my pores. it’s refining and helps reduce texture and hyperpigmentation. 1-2 x/week

korean modeling mask: i use this after doing everything in my routine. it’s super cooling and smooths my skin out. the low temp of the mask reduces flushing of my skin and helps the steps in my routine absorb better. 2-3 x/week

Treatments -

done either 1-3x/week and/or exclusively at night

consumer grade Retinols, AHAs, BHAs at high strength

little extra things i like to use to enhance my routine:

gua sha, ice pack, rose quartz roller, however often i choose

Facials ❤︎︎

done every 1-2 months by licensed estheticians

often includes exfoliation and extraction

Classic Facial: cleanse, extract, massage, moisturize

HydraFacials: extracts pores while infusing serums to boost skin’s vitamin and nutrient content

dry, dehydrated skin

Microdermabrasion: microabrasive tool removes outermost, textured, damaged layer of skin using suction to reveal a smooth and refined new layer of skin

sun damaged, aged, textured skin or skin with hyperpigmentation

Chemical Peel: application of medical grade AHA, BHA, Lactic Acid, Fruit Enzymes, or Retinol to peel away top layers of skin over the course of 1-2 weeks

pore refining, brightening, and anti-aging

after care is crucial. skin will be peeling and sensitivity to sun is increased. SPF MUST be used. it’s heavily advised that clients stay home for the first few days.

HydroJelly Facial: facial made of electrolytes, algae, organic white grain oat flour, rice flour, and white willow bark powder. leaving your skin hydrated, plump, and nourished. forms a vacuum-like seal that compresses facial contours.

there are 25 different hydrojelly pro masks for most skin concerns you may have, check here

More Facials ❤︎︎

Contouring Facial: sculpting, tightening, and lifting of facial muscles

LED Facial: uses LED light to soothe inflammation, aiding in acne healing and prevention

Vampire Facial: plumps skin and improves wrinkles by extracting blood, removing its platelets, then either re-injecting it into the skin or applying it topically

Diamond File Facial: finely ground diamonds resurface skin by filing to improve dark spots

Glass Skin Botox: multiple tiny botox injections just below the surface of the skin. alleviate fine lines, redness, texture, and more achieving glass skin

AquaGold Facial: microinjections that combine vampire facial methods, hyaluronic acid, botox, stem cells, antioxidants, vitamins, peptides, etc. improves fine lines, wrinkles, pores, pigmentation, acne scarring, dryness, tone, texture, skin elasticity, and more

cite

Hair:

Hair Care ❤︎︎

Wash Routines:

curly textured: wash and condition every 2-3 weeks, deep condition every 1-2 weeks

straight: wash and condition every 2-3 days, deep condition every 2-3 weeks

Styling ︎❤︎︎

Hair should have a style everyday! At home hairstyling is limitless and really depends on your taste and lifestyle. The everyday woman does her own her once every 1-4 weeks using natural hair products, heat, or other tools.

Professional Stylists:

hair is styled every 1-3 months: uses heat to straighten or curl, extensions to lengthen and add volume, shears to maintain/attain a shape and length

trim ends: every 6-8 weeks

hair color: touched up roughly every 6-8 weeks (depending on how fast your hair is growing and how fast your color will fade)

Silk Press:

after a clarifying wash and deep conditioning, natural hair is straightened using flat iron and/or pressing comb, then usually curled in feathers or pin curls to preserve the style

lasts 3-4 weeks depending on maintenance

preserved by wrapping hair at night, keep hands out of hair, and using a wide toothed comb only

can be further styled with different kind of rollers, or with pin curls

Braids:

afrocentric hairstyles typically done to protect hair while maintaining beauty

lasts 3-8 weeks

styles include knotless braids, faux locs, stitch braids, french braids, etc

Extensions:

hair added to natural hair to enhance length or volume

can be done at home with patience and proper materials

sew-in extensions: (my personal fav) 1-2 months

your natural hair gets braided down flush to your scalp and the bundles are sewn on by the wefts in a flat pattern typically with a section of hair left out to cover the wefts $100-600

microlinks: up to 4 months

i-tip extension is added to hair using micropliers, clippers and loop tool. takes far longer than most extension methods but looks the absolute most natural $500-1000

tape-in extensions: up to a year, touch ups every 4-6 weeks

medical grade tape is used to attach extensions to small sections of hair $200-400

clip-in extensions: 3-6 months

extensions are clipped on by the wefts. the hair itself can last up to six months, but it’s not recommended to sleep, shower, or swim with the extensions in $50-100

Natural Styles:

all last roughly 1-2 weeks at most. allowing hair to completely DRY is crucial for these styles. your natural hair can be further changed in styles like buns, puffs, etc once dry

natural hair essentials: scalp oil, leave in conditioner, detangling brush, wide tooth comb, curling cream, styling gel, edge control and edge brush

wash n’ go

wash and detangle, then use leave in conditioner to keep hair moist. oil on the scalp and ends is recommended for growth and healthy ends

bantu knots

a traditionally african style where the hair is cleanly sectioned (usually parted in a cute pattern) and twisted into knots. style can be worn just like this or taken down for curls

braid/twist out

a specific pattern of curls is achieved after hair is twisted or braided with curl preserving products. end result depends on how big your twists or braids are

roller set

hair is sprayed with water and curl cream applied before roller of your choice is added. hair is left to dry usually overnight for springy well formed curls

Brows and Lashes:

Brow Shaping ❤︎︎

in salon or at home

Waxing - every 3 weeks

Threading- every 2-3 weeks

Razor Shaping - weekly

Brow Enhancement ❤︎︎

Tinting - monthly

can be done at home or by pro in the salon

Microblading - every 1-3 years + annual touch ups, exclusively professional work

cosmetic tattooing using a manual tool with nearly invisible hair-like needles to inject pigment in brows to create your desired brow look

Lash Enhancements ❤︎︎

*done exclusively by professionals

Lifts - every 6 weeks

basically a perm for your lashes to curl them semi-permanently for lashes to appear longer

Lash Extensions - new set every 6-8 weeks, fill ins every 2-3 weeks depending on quality and style

false individual strands of lashes glued to natural lashes to create semi-permanent length and/or volume

lash baths: wet lashes and apply a small amount of gentle cleanser or a “lash bath” to lashes. cleanse lashes and eyelids for about 10 seconds. hold a towel under your eye and use a nozzle bottle to flush soap and bacteria from lashes then dry with a disposable lint free towel. finish by brushing your lashes with a spoolie. daily.

Lash Styles:

Classic: one lash on each fan, thin lashes

Volume: fluffier lashes with more lashes on each fan

Hybrid: uses classic and volume lashes to make an alternated look

Russian: volume lashes made with very thin individuals, 5-6 extensions per natural lash, fanned out look

DIY Lash Extensions - lasts about a week (sometimes longer)

lash fragments or individual wisps are glued either under the lashes or on the lash line. KISS Falscara is a product that makes this concept simple and easy

Nails:

all these services can be done at home with the proper materials and KNOWLEDGE

Classic Manicure ❤︎︎

every 1-2 weeks

nail service that consists of soaking hands in warm soapy water then drying them. nails are trimmed, filed, and buffed. cuticles are pushed back before applying nail polish (base coat, color, top coat), then finally cuticle oil is applied.

nails can be enhanced with rhinestones, glitter, or charms and attached with uv gel or nail glue

my fav styles are pink, cream, white, black and any french tip using those colors

Pedicure ❤︎︎

every 2-4 weeks

sister to the classic manicure, but can be upgraded depending on materials. steps are similar to manicure, except feet are scrubbed and exfoliated before feet are washed and dried to apply nail color

regular polish, acrylic, or gel can be used on toenails

Gel or Shellac Mani ❤︎︎

every 2-3 weeks

same process as the classic manicure, but traditional nail polish is replaced with uv base coat, gel or CND Shellac polish, then uv top coat that’s cured in a UV or LED lamp

longer lasting and more strong/3d than classic mani and is typically removed by soaking in acetone

Apres Gel-X Nails ❤︎︎

every 2-3 weeks

my personal fav at home nails using the artme yoko matsuda nails. after doing a classic mani sans polish, you apply a dehydrator and primer to prep nail for gel. then you apply builder gel to your natural nail and cure. then you apply that same builder to the nail extension after etching it using an electric drill or acetone. marry the gel to your nail and cure. then just shape to your liking and top with uv top coat. tutorial here

Acrylic Nails ❤︎︎

every 2-3 weeks, nails are fully grown out after 6 weeks

manicure done with liquid monomer and acrylic powder to build and extend natural nail, then polished with color or just a top coat if desired

Russian Mani ❤︎︎

every 4-5 weeks

essentially a gel manicure, but more invasive. the eponychium is snipped away so polish can be applied more closely and flush to the cuticle. this aids in visuals and longevity

service is seen as risky because the skin is more susceptible to fungal or bacterial infection. this is actually how i do my nails at home.

Body:

Bathing ❤︎︎

2x daily

self explanatory, we all know how to bathe. i have other posts that talk about my shower and bath routines.

use a gentle cleanser then a scented body wash to complement perfume and smell fresh all day.

if needed, you can use body soaps with actives like aha, bha or retinol to exfoliate or treat skin at night

exfoliation - 2-3x/week. using scrubs, loofahs, bath brushes, etc.

Hair Removal ❤︎︎

shaving - 2-3x/week

waxing - every 3-5 weeks

sugaring - monthly

ipl device - a device that uses light therapy to slowly destroy hair follicles and unwanted pigment in skin. i use mine after every 5-6 shaves but i could really use it more often.

Vajacial ❤︎︎

1-2x/month

a “facial” for your lady area

the esthetician will first wax, then cleanse and apply an enzyme exfoliant. then they extract any blackheads or ingrown hairs from the area before applying a soothing mask usually in the jelly form.

Moisture and Hydration ❤︎︎

body cream or lotion - daily right after bathing to hydrate skin

body oil - daily to seal in moisture and protect skin from debris and dryness

masks - weekly to address particular skin concerns

ex. when i was having eczema flare ups on my back, i used a dead sea mud mask every 1-2 weeks to help treat it

done at home or at spa

glycolic, clay, mud, salicylic, etc.

Enhancement Procedures:

the goal is to look younger and balance facial features. all these services are exclusively done by professionals usually in a medspa and are widely considered luxury.

Botox ❤︎︎

every 6-8 months; between brows, smile lines, outer corners of eyes, etc

discourages muscle movement to reduce wrinkles

Lifts ❤︎︎

lasts about 10 years; face, neck, brow, eyelids

skin is lifted to desired look, then excess skin is removed

Fillers ︎❤︎︎

every 6-12 months; under-eye, lips, jawline, wrinkle sites, cheekbones

injects acids (usually naturally occurring) like Hyaluronic Acid and Calcium Hydroxylapatite to add volume to your face

Body Contouring ❤︎︎

every 2-4 months until desired results are achieved

non invasive liposuction to achieve desired physique

CoolSculpting - cryolipolysis freezes fat cells for the body to the metabolize and and remove them

SculpSure - essentially the same as CoolSculpting, but uses heat and laser technology to destroy fat cells

Laser Hair Removal ❤︎︎

every 5-6 weeks; bikini, underarms, legs, arms

touch ups done every 1-2 years

hair growth is inhibited by exposing follicles to light at frequencies that kill them

Building the Regimen 🗒️💕:

when making appointments with your “glam squad” you can stagger your services by week depending on what’s being done. for example you can get your mani and pedi done one week. then your facials, brows and lashes another week.

Things to Keep in Mind 💭💞:

these frequencies won’t be the same for everyone depending on personal wants, budgets, etc. but will most likely land somewhere in the ranges i gave. if you need touch ups or redos any sooner than i mapped out, then the service most likely was of poor quality.

anything done at home may or may not be up to the level of detail and longevity as salon or spa work. if you see yourself doing the majority of your beauty maintenance at home, this can save money but may end up taking more time than professional services. so it’s a give and take.

More Resources:

manage your routines, services and products using a beauty binder

a look at my skincare routine

at home beauty treatments for the summer

my hair care routine at home

pretty on purpose by @shefromhouston

monthly beauty routine by @angeljpg

dream girl routines by me

#the prissy girl agenda #dream girl journey #prissy lifestyle tips 💕🎀#dream girl routines #masterpost #my posts #skincare

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girlgenius1111 · 6 months

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You Can Let It Go

not really sure what this is yet, apart from angsty reader and platonic barca femeni :)

warnings: anxiety, panic attack, reader punching wall [in a depressed way, not a straight male way]. general angst + fluff. more comfort probably in the next part

Your alarm rang throughout your dim bedroom, waking you from a deep slumber. With a groan, you rolled over, turning it off. You were exhausted, only having fallen asleep a few hours ago. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you forced yourself up out of bed, getting dressed for training. You ate a quick breakfast, which was 75% coffee and 25% food, before heading to your car. You hadn't snoozed your alarm today, so you were on time, thankfully. You didn't need another reason for your teammates to keep a close eye on you

The last month or so had been... challenging to say the least. You had had an incredible world cup, and were having an incredible start to the season; and as a result the pressure on you had mounted significantly. If anyone had asked, and they had, you would tell them that you were handling it fine, just a little stressed. Nothing you couldn't deal with. In reality, you felt like you were buckling under the weight of other people's expectations. No matter how well you played, it seemed like people always had something to say, making you feel like you couldn't ever perform well enough.

You knew if you could just get yourself out of your own head, you would be fine. The noise would fade away, until it was just you a football again, the way it had always been. You were an anxious person, and you'd dealt with bad months like this before. It had just never been quite this bad. Anxiety and stress swirled within you constantly, and it was a continuous battle to not let it affect how you were playing. You were hoping that even though this time it seemed worse, it would pass like it had before. Preferably before your teammates grew anymore concerned with you.

You didn't think there was a single person on the team who wasn't worried, but there were certainly some that seemed to take their job as older players very seriously, and you'd felt them watching you constantly in recent weeks. You were a younger player, only 20, and everyone was very protective of you. None more so than Alexia and Mapi. Alexia, you assumed, cared because she was the captain and it was her job. Mapi made a little less sense to you, but she had very much taken you under her wing when you'd arrived at Barcelona at only 17.

You could barely breath recently without one of them hovering behind you, worry creasing their eyebrows. You were determined, though, to handle this yourself. No one else was suffering the way you were, so you decided that the problem was you, not the pressure you felt. So, while they couldn't get you to tell them what was going on, they noticed a change in you, definitely. You weren't sure if it was because you were quieter when you were anxious, the bags under your eyes, or the increased intensity with which you'd been practicing. Either way, they'd been bugging you for a while to talk to them, and you resisted.

You pulled into the parking lot, another day of ignoring the older girls' searching looks ahead of you. You tried to muster up some more energy before walking in. It must not have worked very well, because the minute you walked into the noisy locker room, you felt several pairs of eyes on you. Looking up, you made eye contact with Alexia, sending her a half smile. Next to her sat Mapi, Ingrid, and Patri. It seemed that they'd recruited some new people to the "worry about y/n" club, holding their very first meeting right across from you.

You felt them study you as you pulled your training kit on, and wished you'd tried a little harder to hide the bags under your eyes. You talked easily with Claudia and Ona, their lockers on either side of you, about the upcoming game. You were set to play Eintracht Frankfurt the next day in a champions league group stage match. You began to walk with your friends toward the door of the locker room, realizing it was time to head to the pitch. You were interrupted, though, by a hand on your shoulder, and the soft call of your name. Turning, you came face to face with Alexia. Sighing you relented, and remained with her in the locker room as everyone else filtered out. Once the room was empty, Alexia spoke.

"How are you today, pequeña?" She asked, words less firm than her voice was. She'd clearly lost patience over the weeks with your resistance, and had completely abandoned her soft approach.

"I'm good." You replied, forcing yourself to meet her eyes. She raised an eyebrow at you, before tilting your chin up with a hand.

"Really? Because your face is telling me that you barely slept again last night."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I slept fine. Like always." You said, somewhat defiantly, shrugging her hand off of you.

"Watch your tone," Alexia warned, and you withered slightly. "I assume you still won't tell me whats going on with you?"

"There's nothing to tell, Alexia."

She let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand over her face. "Other people are starting to notice, pequeña, the coaches and physios especially. You can't keep this up forever." You didn't respond, opting instead to stare behind her at the wall. She gave up. "Alright, go to practice, but if Jona asks me what's going on, I'm not covering for you and telling him you're fine to play. You'll have to do that yourself." She said sternly, and you rolled your eyes, darting out of the room before she could reprimand you for that too.

Your talk with Alexia had put you in a bad mood, and it only continued for the rest of practice. You were always irritable when you were anxious, even more so when you weren't sleeping. The other girls had gotten used to your extremely random moods, and knew to leave you be after a talk with Alexia. This time, however, your exhaustion seemed to take all the fight out of you, until you were practicing, no emotion at all expressed on your face.

You didn't protest when Mapi wrapped an arm around your shoulders after a drill, leaning imperceptibly into her. You didn't even really realize what you were doing, until you caught Alexia staring at you. You pulled away quickly, and kept your distance for the rest of practice. You made it through, thankfully without Jona calling you aside. In some miracle, he seemed to not be noticing your exhausted state, or was pretending not to, leaving you to pull yourself together. You smiled when you saw your name on the starting line up, vowing to get some sleep tonight, whatever it took.

-----

You thought you were going to have a good day when you woke up the next morning having slept completely through the night. You were anxious, as you had been on game days recently, but able to function.

You stood in the tunnel, ready to make your way out onto the field. You stood right behind Mapi, and she turned to look at you right before you had to go out. She was always the softer, more lenient one of her and Alexia, so the grin she sent you didn't surprise you.

"You look better today, pequeña. Still, if you need to come out, please tell someone," she instructed. You nodded, with no intention to do that.

It was a tough game, much tougher than the team had been expecting. You were tied 1-1 going into the 25th minute. You'd scored, and you felt like you actually may have been having a pretty good game. Until one of their defenders took our your legs, studs up, leaving a gash on your leg that had to be wrapped up. You were frustrated, even more so when no card was given. It was a completely late tackle, and the ref had seemed to be working against you guys the whole game.

You returned to the field, thigh taped heavily, giving your teammates a quick thumbs up. The ball had gone out for a corner, and Mapi stepped up to take it. You were in the box, prepared to jump for the header, knowing you were the target when Mapi made eye contact with you. Surrounded by teammates and opponents, you jumped, straight into another player. She was bigger than you, and she completely knocked you to the ground, falling on top of you. She crushed all the air from your lungs, and you were furious. There was no whistle, and this girl had just body checked you.

It should have been a penalty, which you were shouting at the ref, as you shoved the offending player off of you. She rolled off dramatically, and you rolled your eyes, accepting Patri's hand helping you up.

"Estas bien chica?" She asked, brushing grass off your legs.

"Si," You replied, eyes on the ref, who was walking towards you. She was reaching for her pocket, and for a moment, you thought she was going to card the other girl. Instead, she pulled out a red, holding it up above you.

"What??" You shouted, your protests echoed by your teammates. You were stunned. A straight red... for what should have been a yellow for your opponent. You were fuming, absolutely fuming. Alexia and Irene argued with the ref as you stood in complete disbelief. The ref was unrelenting, though, and she motioned once again for you to exit the field.

Mapi placed a hand on your back, walking you to the sidelines. "That's a bullshit call, it's not your fault. Keep your head up." She told you, the words not really processing in your head. Numbly, you walked off the field, through the tunnel and slammed the door to the locker room open. You felt staff members patting you on the back, but you ignored them and their words, nothing really processing in your brain.

You'd just gotten a red. Leaving your team with 10 players for the rest of the match, and it was barely even a quarter of a way through the game. And they were tied. And it was a champions league game. They were going to have to play even harder, and someone could get hurt, or we could lose, or both.

You're heartbeat was speeding up, and the world was going hazy around you as you paced around the empty locker room. You were losing control, quickly. In a fit of anger, and a need to regain control, you threw a punch at the cement wall.

"FUCK," You yelled, hearing a crunch. It hurt like a bitch, but it had succeeded in momentarily bringing you back into the present. You cradled your hand to your chest, throwing yourself down in your cubby, now fighting tears for multiple reasons. You sat motionless, staring at the ground in front of you, panic quickly returning. You jumped as the door opened, even though it opened rather softly.

"Hey, someone heard you yell. Y/n, what happened was not your fault, that was an insane call, you have to know that." Came the gentle voice of Ingrid. She was on the bench tonight, resting from a muscle injury, and had clearly been elected to come check on you. You nodded mechanically in response, because you DID know that, you just couldn't accept it. "Y/n... what happened to your hand?" She questioned, moving to crouch in front of you.

You looked down, taking in the sight of the already swelling, and slightly bleeding, limb. Ingrid's touch was feather light when she moved your hand, yet you still winced.

"I got angry. Kinda freaked out and hit the wall." Your words were kind of choked up, as you were still having a hard time breathing. You met her eyes, taking in the concerned look on her face. She didn't seem to know what to say, running a hand back through her ponytail, thinking hard. She focused back on your face, and moved to stand. You assumed she was going to go get someone else; a physio or maybe one of the other captains. You and Ingrid were friendly, she was Mapi's girlfriend so you spent a lot of time together, but you didn't expect her to stick around and help bring you out of your head.

Instead, she took a seat on the bench next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you to lean against her. Your head was pressed right over her heart, and you could hear it rhythmically beating. Unconsciously, you began to try to match your stuttered breaths with hers.

"You're alright. I'm here with you, and you're fine. You can breath, just follow my breaths." Her voice was soothing, and you unconsciously obeyed, slowly calming down. You hadn't realized how bad it had gotten until you had come back to yourself, wiping frantically at the tear tracks on your cheeks with your good hand, horrified that Ingrid had seen you like this. You tried to move out of her grasp, but she didn't let you, keeping you pressed against her.

"Let's just wait another minute, alright? Drink some water and we'll go get your hand looked at." She told you, and again, you found yourself following her instructions without a second thought. You took the bottle of water she offered you, gulping it down, trying to avoid eye contact. Ingrid pulled her phone out of her pocket, looking at it for a second before standing up.

"It's almost half. Let's go to the physios. If Mapi and Alexia see you like this, they'll freak out. Is that okay, or do you need one of them?" She asked. You scoffed at the notion, trying very hard to put back up the barriers that had fallen against your will. Still, Ingrid waited for an answer, undeterred.

"No, I'm fine," You said, "I can go by myself." Ingrid gave you a weird look, helping you up.

"I'm coming with you." She told you, as if were obvious. Her tone left no room for argument, which frankly you were too exhausted for anyway. She led you out of the locker room and towards one of the medical rooms, as you desperately hoped there was nothing seriously wrong with your hand. Having to explain what happened to it seemed like it might contradict your efforts to convince everyone you were fine.

Once again, it seemed as though luck wasn't on your side. The physios took an xray, confirming a few breaks in your knuckles. They put you in a brace, telling you that if you didn't wear it all the time, they'd know and put a cast on you. Ingrid stayed with you the whole time, silently standing next to you. The only time she spoke was to update you on the score, which was steadily growing in your favor. Thank god. You felt weirdly protected by her presence, not that you'd ever admit it. You were released, and Ingrid walked with you back to the locker room.

"Why don't you shower and then sit somewhere thats not the locker room to wait? You should have enough time before everyone gets off, and that way I can tell Alexia and Mapi what happened, and you won't have to see everyone all at once." Ingrid suggested, hand resting on your back as you walked.

You wanted to tell her that was unnecessary, you really did. It was exactly what you needed though, and while you weren't exactly sure how Ingrid knew how to help you, she clearly did.

"Okay. Thanks, Ingrid. I really appreciate your help." You mumbled the last part, talking mostly to the ground.

"We're all here for you, y/n. Whatever you need." She said, and you nodded. She was slightly surprised; as far as she could tell, it was the first time you responded to an offer of help with anything but direct refusal that something was wrong. You headed into the locker room to shower, and she headed back out to the tunnel to watch the end of the match.

-----

Alexia and Mapi made their way off the pitch directly after the game. Your absence in the locker room during the break did not go unnoticed by them, nor did Ingrid's from the bench for the entire second half. While the rest of the team loitered outside, greeting fans, the two players walked inside, finding Ingrid waiting for them.

"What happened?" Alexia asked immediately, sure beyond a doubt that something had. Ingrid recognized Alexia's captain voice, and got right to explaining. She told them what happened, as fast as she could without sparing any details.

"She's just finished showering, she's in on of the media rooms though, she didn't want to see everyone all at once and answer a million questions." Ingrid finished.

"So she broke her hand, hitting the wall. Was she trying to hurt herself?" Mapi asked, not sure at all where your head was at. Ingrid felt her heart melt a little at the way Mapi's eyebrows creased in concern. One of the Norwegian's favorite things about her girlfriend was how much she cared.

"I'm not really sure. I think she was more angry, but she was fully panicking by the time I got in there, so I'm I don't know." Ingrid said thoughtfully.

Alexia sighed, for what felt like the 15th time that day. "Alright, lets get ready fast and we can go talk to her before anyone else gets in. Ingrid, tell Jona what happened?" She asked. Ingrid nodded, and they went about their tasks.

-----

You were glad this was a home game, at Johan. You knew the building well, and you went to one of the lounges, knowing it would be empty. You curled up on one of the little couches, watching out the window at the parking lot as everyone streamed by.

You felt so incredibly stupid. First the red card, then breaking your hand, then having a panic attack in middle of the locker room. You didn't know what was wrong with you, you just had no grasp on your emotions. Angry tears fell down your face, and you didn't bother to wipe them off. You wondered how Alexia and Mapi would know where to find you, seeing as though you hadn't told Ingrid where you were going.

You underestimated them, though, and how well they knew you. This became evident when the door to the room creaked open, and a soft light spilled in from the hall. Alexia slipped in, followed closely by Mapi. Both of their hair was wet, and they, like you, were in the cozy Barca sweats.

No sooner had you turned slightly in their direction, than Alexia was almost tackling you in a hug, still minding your hand. You let out a huff of air, but relaxed into the contact. Alexia held you close to her as Mapi took a seat on your other side, pulling your injured hand into her grasp, inspecting it carefully.

"Did you tuck your thumb in?" She asked critically, and you snorted.

"Maria!" Alexia scolded, but you were laughing, so she really didn't care that much.

"No, I left it out. Untucked thumb still isn't a match for a cement wall though," You said, trying to joke. It fell flat, and Alexia tugged you closer, resting her chin on your head.

"Pequeña..." She began, but you cut her off.

"I know, I messed up," Alexia shook her head at your words, as that was not what she was going to say, but you continued. "I was just mad and I didn't handle it well. I just need to sleep, and I'll be back to normal." You tried to sound convincing. Both girls saw right through you. Surprisingly though, it was Mapi who spoke first, voice uncharacteristically firm.

"No. You aren't getting away with some flimsy excuse this time. Either you talk, now, or you go home with Alexia, and she doesn't let you out of her sight." You looked horrified at that prospect, and Mapi kept going. "Until we know whats going on inside your head, you've proven that you can't be alone. That's the deal. You get to pick."

Your anger was quickly returning. "I'm not a child. You can't make me go home with you," you argued, ironically sounding a lot like a child arguing with their parents.

Alexia responded this time, her voice firm, "You pick one of those options, or you're benched until further notice." You shifted away from her, looking at her with your jaw dropped.

"You wouldn't do that," you said, trying to call her bluff. A mistake, Alexia never bluffed.

"Try me." She told you, face stony, words unyielding. Suddenly, and most embarrassingly, you felt tears prick your eyes. Hastily, you covered your face with your hand, trying to pull it together. You hated that they felt like the had to watch you like this. You hated both options, but talking truly didn't feel possible right now. You felt both girls lean forward in concern, and you opened your mouth before they could ask.

"I don't want to be a bother," you said, voice incredibly small.

"You won't be. If you aren't ready to talk, that's fine. Neither of us are mad, and we aren't trying to rush you. We just want you to be safe and healthy, whatever it takes." Mapi's voice was comforting, and you nodded shakily. Still, you couldn't help but apologize.

"I'm really sorry." You said, and you weren't sure which thing you were apologizing for, maybe everything.

"You have nothing to be sorry about. Nothing," Alexia said, staring fiercely into your eyes. "Are you ready to go? I brought your bag." Alexia told you, leaving no room for argument.

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, wanting to do anything else, but you wouldn't risk being benched. You nodded, moving to get up. The minute you stood, though, Mapi was taking her turn and pulling you into a tight hug. You let yourself hug her back, just a little, before the feeling of being about to cry came back, and you hastily pulled back. Both girls were looking at you with faces full of concern, and you couldn't take it.

Turning to leave the room, you wondered how you were possibly supposed to hide how poorly you were coping, let alone avoid Alexia's promised conversation, whilst staying at her apartment with her. You weren't really sure you would be able to. And maybe a part of you was so exhausted, so anxious, so absolutely done with everything, that you weren't sure it was even worth hiding anymore.

-----

let me know if you want a part 2 / what you want to see in it!

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #barcelona femeni x reader #alexia putellas #ingrid engen #mapi leon

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cvntboyneedsfixed · 6 months

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Detrans me please!

Everyone has such hot ideas for detrans lists and I needed to do my own!! My pussy gets so wet just reading through them and I need people to make me realize the truth about myself...

My goals:

5 notes - I'm not allowed to cum until I can do it by rubbing my clit like a proper girl

10 notes - I have to shave my pussy bald

25 notes - I have to sleep in a bra 2x a week

50 notes - I have to wear a bra every time I touch myself

100 notes - I have to buy the biggest push up bra I can find and then wear it with something that shows cleavage when I go outside

125 notes - I post a picture of my slutty tits in the push up bra

150 notes: I am only allowed to masturbate while wearing a slutty thong & with a nice shaved pussy

250 notes - I have to keep my pussy bald all the time

300 notes - I have to send a titty or cunt pic to anyone who messages me demanding it 😳

400 notes - I'll buy a breast pump and try to induce lactation

💗💗 spam encouraged 💗💗

#forced detrans kink #detrans ftm #ftm correction #fake boy #forced detrans #fakeboy #detransition kink #misgender me #ftm girl #ftm misgendering #detrans me #detrans kink #ftm correctional therapy #ftm forced feminization #detransdecember #detrans december

666 notes · View notes

sleepysnk · 1 year

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a/n: hey everyone! i’m so excited to bring this piece to you all. this goes along with my sugar daddy collab! <3 i hope you all enjoy this! 🫶🏻

pairings: kokonoi hajime x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, smut, sugar daddy!koko, age gap (reader is 21 and koko is 25), oral sex f!receiving, mentions of oral sex m!receiving, unprotected sex, use of pet names (baby, pretty thing, baby girl, good girl, princess), some degradation, light choking, car sex, edging, creampie, possessive behavior, kinda angst (?), very fluffy koko.

synopsis: you’re a college student looking to buy the things you want. koko comes to your aid and is able to grant you every wish you desired. from handbags to makeup that was worth more than anything you owned, he gave you it all. you have a long list of items, but what happens when you ask koko for his debit card and not just one item?

head over heels ft. kokonoi hajime

Your eyes shifted over the many items in your shopping cart. The time displayed on your laptop screen showed that it was nearly one o’clock in the morning. You were fully aware that you should have been peacefully sleeping in your bed by now, but you were far too deep in your shopping to even think about any shut eye.

Summer break was fast approaching and your university classes were soon coming to a close since the end of the semester was nearing its end. With that idea in mind, you grew sort of lazy and only did so much homework before feeling completely burned out. It was a common occurrence with many students your age. Your brain knew that the end was coming, so it set you into a certain mode where all you wanted to do was shut down and not do anything else. It was difficult, especially for the professors. However, you were passing all of your classes with high A’s and you had no reason to panic. You always kept up with your schoolwork like any proper student would, and now you were celebrating with a little retail therapy.

With break on the horizon, you had the desire to buy new things. Whether it was new clothes, a fresh new set of shoes, or just some makeup, you wanted to splurge a little. It wouldn’t hurt to have some new additions to your closet, right?

Unfortunately, like many students you attended college with, you were quite broke. You had a part time job, but none of that money was able to go to things you wanted. You often had to save your checks for proper necessities like groceries and gas for your car. Sure, your roommate assisted with food and other things along those lines, but you didn’t want her to bear the brunt of it all. In the end, you were only left with a good one hundred fifty dollars. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you would have close to two hundred, but those weeks were rare. It was difficult to save, but the circumstances were never in your favor. You honestly couldn’t wait to graduate, but that left you with debt that would take you years to pay off.

Now while that did stop you a majority of the time, you had an alternative option for buying the things you wanted.

A little over three months ago, you and your friends were all hanging around inside your dorm. Your conversations were casual until your friend, Emma, had suggested downloading this app that involved meeting sugar daddies. At first, you were completely blown away by your friend's statement. You and your friends tried to protest that the app was probably a scam, because you had seen those types of things happen before. You’d offer them your banking information and then all of your funds would be taken from you in the matter of minutes. Plus, there were tons of weird men on those kinds of apps. Sometimes they would completely lie about their status just to receive whatever they wanted. Emma completely shut you and your friends down, and offered proof to help her case. When she brought it to the table, you were astounded. There had been multiple men that had sent her almost a thousand dollars each. She even claimed some didn’t ask for naked photographs, and they just sent it with zero hesitation behind it.

At first, you were stunned.

Of course, that kind of offer seemed almost unnatural from how Emma made it look. A majority of the time those people were scammers or they wanted some kind of sexual advance for payment. Nowadays you couldn’t trust such a thing, but Emma had the proof. There were men sending her all kinds of money, and to be honest, you wanted in on that. You would have to do some digging is all.

Once your friends had gone back to their own dorms, you decided to download the app. You chose some nice photos of yourself for your profile and began swiping on the plethora of men on your screen. It was almost like a sugar daddy tinder. For the first few minutes, you were met with lots of older guys. Some of them could have been your fathers age, so that’s why you decided to change your age range. Though, you had lots of discouragement for a while. A majority of the guys were genuine catfishes and you could tell by their profiles. The obvious cropping and misinformation was a clear sign of that. Some of them seemed like genuine creeps too. The one that looked promising almost always had a flaw along with them, and it was becoming quite annoying. How did Emma manage to discover the right men? This had to be pinned against you because all of the sugar daddies on that app were fucking weird.

To be frank, you had started to believe that it was unlikely you’d find anything promising. The men you did have conversations with were disgusting or it was obvious they were trying to steal your debit card information.

That ultimately changed when you came across a certain profile that seemed almost too good to be true.

Koko, 25

You were just about to delete the app when you came across the man’s profile. It was already almost two in the morning, but you were enthralled by the man on your screen. He was quite handsome and he seemed to live a very luxurious lifestyle. Your eyes widened when you saw that he was sitting on a Mercedes with many other cars beside it. He was so dreamy with his black and white hair that was dyed in different sections. There was a single earring that hung from his right ear, and there was even a photo of him sticking his tongue out. He owned more than your college tuition and car payment combined. It was hard for you to believe that a man like him was on such an app, but the most shocking thing was that he was only five miles away. Meaning, he was very close to you. It almost seemed like a fucking trap with how perfect it looked on the outside. There was no way this man was real. Behind the screen, there must have been a fifty year old man sitting in his crusty boxers.

Despite that, you took a risk and swiped right on the man.

You went to bed and didn’t ponder the app any longer. You assumed that if he was real, he probably wouldn’t bat an eye at you. He’d just keep swiping and leave it as that, right?

Wrong, so very wrong.

The next morning, you awoke and checked your phone as usual. You had notifications from your friends or random emails from your professors, but what you didn’t expect was a message from that app.

Koko sent you a new message!

Your heart dropped inside your chest when you saw the message for the first time. You thought you were just having a dream, but Koko had actually messaged you. You immediately went to open it and see what he had said. You were honestly expecting one of those usual scam messages that are insanely filled with random emojis, but it was the exact opposite of that.

Koko: hey pretty thing <3

For a little while, you contemplated replying to him. He could be a catfish for all you knew. He could also be trying to sweet talk you into taking your money, so you had to play it cool. It took you a while to actually trust the man behind the screen, but he eventually shared his phone number and the two of you began to frequently chat throughout the day. Koko had revealed he was a businessman. He never specified what it was, but he informed you that he made lots of money and he wasn’t married so there was nothing to spend it on except for himself. He was about four years older than you. The only reason he joined the app was to find someone to share that cash with, and that’s exactly what the man wanted to do with you. Koko also proved he wasn’t a scammer by any means and he would be willing to buy you whatever you wanted.

But, at a price.

Koko had proposed a deal for you both. He had no problem being your sugar daddy by any means. He told you that if there was anything you needed from him, he would buy it with no hesitation. However, he wanted something in return. There was a reason you were his sugar baby.

Koko offered to give you what you wanted after you had sex with him, or gave him something in exchange for your item. He told you that the higher the price of your gift, the higher you would have to work to receive it. It was quite a shock to you to hear such a thing, but you did want a sugar daddy. Koko had even mentioned he would never force you into a situation that you didn’t want, but he wanted you to keep your end of the deal no matter what. At first, you were unsure of it all. He was a handsome guy, he made lots of money, and all you would have to do was fuck him to have anything you so pleased. It was nerve wracking, though. You were going to be intimate with a man who was older than you, and he was going to give you anything you wanted after? There was a lot to ask, but you weren’t sure how to bring it up.

After a long phone call with the man, you had fully agreed to the terms he set for you. Koko had also explained to you that if at any point you would like to terminate it, he had no issue with that. You were relieved to hear such a thing. At least he wasn’t some deeply obsessed man who wouldn’t let you go if you asked.

The very first time you wanted to buy something, you were nervous. You were on Sephora, browsing the different eyeshadow palette’s or lipsticks you thought would fit nice on your skin. You had placed a few items into your cart. Your eyes drifted to the total and your chest practically started hurting the moment you saw it. It came out to $157.67. Part of you wasn’t so sure if you should ask Koko. It was his money, and you would always feel bad whenever any friend or family member spent money on you. You knew you wouldn’t have to give Koko a single cent back, but what would he say? There was a chance he would laugh at you and say no to the offer. It would piss you off, yes, but that thought was lingering in the back of your mind. You hesitated to send him the message with the total, but you eventually pressed send and left your phone to sit and wait. Your heart was racing so fast that you thought you would have had a heart attack back then.

Within minutes, you received a reply, and his response made shivers ghost down your spine.

Koko: send me a video of you fingering yourself <3 and send me the link afterwards

After a long while of internal panic, you eventually sent Koko the video. There was silence for a little while on his end. You hoped that he didn’t somehow block you or he just lied to get what he wanted. There was a chance Koko had completely set you up, and he was going to steal the video for his own personal benefit. God, you prayed that wasn’t the case.

Though, after ten minutes, Koko replied with a screenshot of your order. He also praised you for what you had sent him. He claimed you were one of the most beautiful women he had ever laid his eyes upon, and those comments made your cheeks burn with embarrassment. For a man who was only supposed to be your sugar daddy, he seemingly had a lot to say about your appearance. You weren’t complaining about that factor, though. You would have much rather had him commenting on that than being a weird creep asking for more. He was gladly proving himself as a respectable man, and you had gotten a new present out of it. You were very satisfied with that, and all of those worries that had you anxious disappeared once he shared that he had purchased your makeup.

You frequently sent nudes to Koko for whatever you wanted. You began receiving many gifts and random packages that filled your room quicker than you had expected. It wouldn’t be an overstatement to say that Koko was spoiling you rotten with his money. He didn’t seem to have much of a problem with that either. Any time you would protest, he would shut you up by sending you random payments. You could never argue with him either. He was quite stubborn at times.

Eventually, there came a point where you both desired to meet one another.

He planned a nice date for you two. He offered to pick you up and he even proposed the idea of taking you shopping afterwards. If you didn’t have extra studying to do, you would have taken the opportunity to go and buy some things with him. However, you declined due to your own personal things. You were very nervous to meet him. This would be the first time you saw him in person, but you had this urge to finally see the man who had been giving you money. You were all over the place when the evening arrived. When he messaged you that he was outside, you almost completely chickened out and told him you didn’t want to anymore. However, with the help of your friends and your roommate, you were able to face Kokonoi Hajime in all of his glory.

You didn’t expect to see such a fine man, but what you weren’t expecting the most was sleeping with him that night.

The dinner had gone quite well between you both. Koko was polite, handsome, and overall a gentleman with you. The place you went to was divine and you would have never expected you would have eaten at such a great restaurant.

Things quickly changed once the two of you had gotten into Koko’s expensive BMW. The atmosphere had shifted and there was this ache that formed between your legs. It could have been the aroma of his luxurious cologne, or the way he gripped the steering wheel as he drove. It honestly felt like this man had casted a spell on you. You just couldn’t stop yourself from kissing him at the red light. One thing led to another, and you ended up in Koko’s high rise apartment with your legs thrown over his shoulders. The sex you both indulged in was like no other. Koko wasn’t anything like those lame college guys you hooked up with. He showed you what it was like to actually fuck someone, and it only left you craving more of your sugar daddy. He worked wonders on your body, and he knew exactly where to touch you to have you melting within his grasp. You only craved more of him as the days went on, and eventually, you two started seeing one another more often.

Whether it was giving him a blowjob for a new pair of heels, or letting him eat your pussy until you made a mess on his face, Koko was intoxicating and you only wanted him at the end of the night.

You chewed on your bottom lip at Koko’s contact. You had no idea if the man was still awake at this dead hour. However, you decided to snap a photo of your total and message your sugar daddy. If he didn’t see it at that hour, he would probably see it the next morning and decide what to do.

You: koko, i want these

You: [image]

You clicked your phone off and sat there for a few minutes. There was silence from your phone, so it was just a waiting game. You hoped he was awake but you weren’t forcing a response right away. You were very patient with him. Koko had a busy lifestyle, so it was understandable if he was exhausted after a long day.

Those thoughts you had were interrupted by the vibration of your cell phone. You reached for it and was surprised to see that Koko had texted you back.

Koko: for sure baby

Koko: you better let me pick you up 🤍 that price is high

Your eyes grew wide at his request. It was late, very late. Your roommate was asleep in her bed already and you technically weren’t supposed to be wandering campus at that hour. Sneaking out wouldn’t be that difficult, but knowing how Koko was in bed, you knew you wouldn’t be home the next morning. Usually, you would decline and say no, but you hadn’t seen Koko at all much recently. Not gonna lie, you needed your fix of him and you wanted to see his handsome face. It wasn’t like you could message him randomly to fuck. He probably wasn’t into something like that.

You: okay

You: atp i deserve your debit card 🙄

You were joking when you sent that reply, but you brushed that aside to go and prepare yourself for what was to come. Koko didn’t live very far from your university. He worked in the city which was not a far drive from campus, but you hardly drove there unless you absolutely had to. Koko also would pick you up. He honestly considered you his little passenger princess because of how often he would come and get you. He always picked you up in a different vehicle, though. Sometimes, he would let you pick the car he would drive you around in. It was such a luxury being Koko’s sugar baby. You couldn’t ask for anyone better.

You paused in your motions when your phone vibrated again. You grabbed it off of your bed and stared at the new text messages Koko had sent to you.

Koko: my debit card? you really want that baby?

Your eyes widened at his reply. As much as you wanted to say no, having his card on you would give you easier access to getting the things you wanted without having to wait.

You: i was kidding haha

Koko: i’m serious

Koko: do you want it? i don’t mind handing it over

Shock coursed through your veins at his reply. You said that as a joke, yet he sounded incredibly serious about it. You could never take Koko’s debit card like that. He often told you he had many due to having such an incredible amount of funds, but having one sounded dangerous. Though, it sounded like such a great idea.

You: really??

Koko: yes princess

Koko: but that’s a serious trade.. if you want it you know you’ll have to pay up.

You knew full well that’s how the deal worked. He wouldn’t give away something unless there was a price at hand, which was understandable. You wondered what that might be. Koko could make sex more intense depending on the price of the item you desired. Usually, anything above two hundred was always going to involve a meet up. Whether it was just oral sex, or actual fucking. You fully assumed now that Koko was going to ask to meet up. You had no issue with that, of course, but the thrill of the situation made your thighs clench together. He was a man full of surprises. He showed you things in sex that no other man was capable of, so this could be a situation you would never forget.

You began typing a response to the man. It was already nearly two o’clock in the morning, so you had to make a decision quickly.

You: okay, i want your debit card koko

Sending that message was the reason you were in the situation you found yourself in now. You should have expected Koko to be the person he was, but you hadn’t expected him to pull over into a parking lot after he picked you up. You were in the backseat of his Mercedes with your thighs spread apart and his face deep between them. His tongue was buried into your pretty cunt that he had been wanting to taste for the last two weeks. Fuck, he missed you so much. He never could properly admit it out loud, but Koko wanted to see you more often than he should. You were always engraved in his mind at work. He would often fight with himself on sending you a message about your day, or simply asking what you were up to. He shouldn’t be thinking that way, but you were too difficult to resist.

Your head was lying against the cushion of his seats. Your fingernails tugged and pulled at the strands of Koko’s dual colored hair. One thing about Koko was that his head game was one of the best. He slurped and sucked on your clit with such ease, and it drove you up the wall. There was nobody else that could make you feel the way Koko made you feel. “K-Koko..! Ah.. yes! Right there!” you wiggled your hips upwards to gain more traction against his tongue. You were getting lost within him. All you could think about was him and only him.

The man shifted his eyes up at you. His pupils were slightly dilated from lust, and the pure sight of you made him only more turned on. Koko honestly couldn’t believe that such a fine woman like you ever gave him the time of day. You were perfect in every aspect. He couldn’t ever imagine himself involving another woman, but you. He honestly wondered if you felt the same way about him. In some ways, he hoped that deep down you did. Koko liked to believe that he gave you it all. He spoiled you rotten with his money and gave you all the sex you desired. He didn’t care what it might be. He would do anything for his precious sugar baby. “Yeah..? That feel good, baby girl? Heh.. you always taste as good as you look.” he used his thumb to rub circles on your clit that was swollen. You were a dripping mess when he took your panties off. It was amazing what he could do to you in just a matter of minutes. His presence alone winded you up.

He then attacked your cunt once again. His tongue swiped over your sensitive bud, earning several sharp gasps from your lips. He lapped up any slick that appeared on your pussy. He was practically eating you like you were his last meal. Koko was making you feel like you were on fire. His actions were the very thing igniting that spark within you. He could only smirk at the delightful noises that were slipping from your throat. He could listen to you like a song on repeat.

Koko’s cock was aching inside his sweatpants. It was taking all of his strength to not completely ravage you, but that need was there. He was begging to be freed from his boxers that felt like they were closing in on him. Koko’s hold on your thighs tightened and his tongue began to move quicker, sending bolts of electricity along your abdomen from the pleasure. Your breathing had become quite heavy and your hold on his hair had tightened. He could tell that you were absolutely enjoying yourself right now. It only stroked that ego he had deep within him. He averted his gaze for a brief moment to stare at your stunning features that were twisted with pleasure. The expressions on your face made him smirk while he ate you out. He couldn’t wait to be inside of that pussy he loved so much. He craved you more than he would like to admit. Sometimes, he would find himself jerking off to your videos or photos you had sent him. His fist never compared to the way your pretty cunt would suck him in.

You were close, so fucking close. Koko could make you cum by just eating you out, which was honestly a talent. The knot inside your belly was tightening with every motion of his tongue. All you sought was that burning desire within yourself. Koko could tell by your body language and your voice that you were about to reach your peak. He wasn’t ready for you to cum yet. He wanted you to be wound up just a bit more before he’d allow that to occur. Plus, you were only ever allowed to cum on his cock.

Koko then retracted himself away from your cunt. A mix of his spit and your slick covered his chin, to which he wiped off with his hand. You whined at the loss of contact, and the denial of your orgasm. He could be so unfair sometimes with you. “Koko.. I need you..” you took his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers together.

He could see the desperation in your eyes, and in your voice. Koko then kissed your palm and smiled at you with those nice teeth of his. He thought you were so cute like that. All whiny and needy for him to be inside of you. He wasn’t going to let you wait any longer, because as much as it sounded selfish, he wanted to fuck you too. It had been far too long since the man had played with his favorite girl. He missed you more than anything else, and all he wanted was your presence near him. “I’m here, baby.. don’t you worry.” he then leaned down towards your lips, pressing a small kiss onto you. It was sweet, and tender.

Koko pulled away after a few seconds. He then began to untie the loops of his sweatpants, pulling them downward so he could free his cock that had been aching to be freed since he took you into the backseat. Some pre-cum leaked from the tip, which he wiped off with his thumb. He tossed them somewhere in the front seat and plopped down in one of the seats. He motioned for you to come towards him. “Come here..” he patted his lap, eyeing you like you were his prized possession.

You sat up, maneuvering yourself onto his lap so both of your thighs were on either side of him. Koko’s hands settled on your waist, taking in the touch of your soft skin. He could never get enough of how delicate you felt underneath his fingertips. It was like he was touching flower petals, silky and smooth. You were the prettiest one in the garden though. Koko positioned himself at your soaked entrance. He glided his tip against your folds, causing you to softly moan from the friction. You were so fucking wet. He loved seeing what he was able to do to your body. Seeing you up above him made his heart swell with warmth. You were like a goddess in his hands. He couldn’t believe that someone like you wasn’t in a relationship, or at least talking with someone. You deserved love.

Could he be the one to grant that?

After some small teasing of your slit, he pushed himself inside your pussy. The two of you let out noises at the contact. Your hands squeezed at Koko’s shoulders, holding onto him as he guided your hips onto his cock. You were so tight. You hugged his dick so well that he could almost moan from how great it was. He never got tired of how your cunt felt. “Koko..! So big.. fuck..” you looked down at his shaft that was filling you up and stretching you to almost your limit. He was big, probably the biggest you’ve ever taken.

Once he was fully bottomed out, he began to thrust into your cunt. The angle was just perfect for him. Your tits were practically in his face, and every little movement caused them to bounce. If he could, he would tape every single moment of your sexual encounters. He could watch them like movies and be able to recall every little detail. Koko groaned at how nicely you sucked his cock in. He held your hips firmly and would occasionally squeeze the plush of your ass. You were just too fucking good. He never was exhausted of fucking your brains out. You were completely in utter bliss. This felt much different than before. You weren’t sure why. You assumed that maybe it was because you were both fucking in his car or maybe because you hadn’t seen Koko in weeks, but that didn’t matter. All you could focus on was the gorgeous man who was buried into your guts right now.

Koko’s pace began to increase. He found it much harder to hold back now. He had these urges that needed to be released, and after all, you were going to earn his debit card once this was all set and done. He wanted to fuck you so good that any time you stared at it you would remember what he made you feel that night. “Fuck.. so good, baby.. takin’ my cock so well. You’re such a good girl..” he gritted his teeth. “You’re my good girl, yeah? Tell me baby..”

You stared into his lustful eyes. The pleasure in your gut was so good that you were beginning to lose focus on the situation. He was grabbing and touching you in all the right spots that made you like putty in his hands. “Mmph! Yes.. ah! Yes, Koko..” you whined, pressing your forehead against his.

The heat inside of the car began to gradually increase from your actions. Sweat was clinging to your skin, and some of Koko’s hair was sticking to his forehead. Neither of you gave much care to that fact, because you were too lost in the moment to even think about that. Koko couldn’t help but stare at you. Your pretty face was all contorted with euphoria and your gorgeous body was so smooth within his hands. He couldn’t think of a greater image. He knew the night he fucked you for the first time that he wanted to see you again. He didn’t want someone like you to slip through his fingers, so that’s why he continued to pursue you. There was so much to like about you beyond the sex. Your personality, your smile, that beautiful laugh. He could name so much more, but it’d take him years to finish. He knew it wasn’t right. Thinking of his sugar baby as something more, but he couldn’t help himself. You were a drug he couldn’t stop coming back to.

Koko’s hand went to wrap around your throat, keeping your head in place so you made eye contact with him. He squeezed slightly, blocking some of the air from entering your lungs. Your nails scratched into his skin from the lack of oxygen. “Shit.. so fucking good f’me..” he looked into your cloudy eyes. “Fuck.. you like being my slut..? Whoring yourself out for my money.. fuck, I love spoilin’ you, princess..”

All you could do was nod and let out a small whine. He then released your throat and smiled to himself at your reaction. He knew no matter what you would always love spending his money on shit you wanted. He didn’t care how much it was either. He loved what was to come before the purchases. Though, the after made him even happier. Seeing your smiling face when he buys you gifts makes all the darkness in his day disappear. “K-Koko..” you leaned your head downwards so it was now buried into his shoulder. “Fuck.. love being y-your slut!”

Koko couldn’t hide the smirk that had written itself on his features. Of course you loved it. You always slithered back to him and that’s exactly how he knew. He decided to speed things up and begin fucking you at such a rough pace. His tip rapidly pressed against your g-spot, making white stars appear in your vision from how intense it was.

It was moment’s like this where Koko didn’t want the night to end. He wished he could fuck you like this all of the time, but that only happened whenever you needed something. That was the deal, after all. He didn’t want to overstep your boundaries and possibly cause problems in your agreement. Koko had his urges, though. He wanted to randomly arrive at your place and just have you all to himself with no sort of item being the sole reason why. It sounded selfish, he was well aware of that, but you were the first girl to ever want to see him for a date rather than just a hookup. Sure, sugar daddies often treated their sugar babies to dates at divine restaurants, but to Koko that was something special. He knew that you probably thought of it as something common, but he never did that with just anyone he came across. Dates, sex, money, all of those things could make Koko easily attached to somebody else. Despite his brain telling him not to, he wanted you.

He wanted you all to himself.

He knew thinking such a thing was wrong, but the thought of someone else spoiling you with their money angered him. Seeing your body in all its glory and only toying with you made him want to go after whoever that might be. He was the only one who should be giving you the things you wanted. He should be the only one pounding your pussy until you’re almost squirting onto his cock from how great it is. You were his sugar baby. You shouldn’t rely on any other man but him to give you what you need.

Koko reached forward to hold your face with his one hand, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes were half-lidded and you had this gorgeous fucked out expression on your features. His eyes flickered from your face then towards those glossy lips. “You’re mine.. right, princess?” No one is better than me..” his voice was deep and sort of hoarse from how much he had been groaning and grunting.

Your walls quivered around his cock, earning a breathy chuckle from Koko. He didn’t think you would have such a reaction, but it turned him on so much. You liked when Koko was possessive over you. He had no idea, but he was for sure going to use that to his advantage. You were making such a mess on his dick too. “Y-Yes, Koko! All yours.. ah!” you nodded your head vigorously at his question. You only desired more from the man. He was making you feel things that nobody else has ever made you feel.

Your orgasm was creeping up on you. The pool of heat inside your gut was reaching its boiling point, making you all the more needy for Koko. He could feel your walls clenching and closing around his cock, making his own pleasure increase from how tight you felt. His favorite part was watching you reach your high, because your reactions were just so sexy. He loved making you cum like the little slut you were for him. His hands gripped your hips tightly, allowing him to fuck himself upwards into you at that same pace that would send your mind into a frenzy. He was abusing your g-spot only allowing his name to slip from your plump lips. His balls were smacking against your puffy clit, making all kinds of lewd noises inside of the car.

Koko leaned in and captured your lips onto his. A sloppy kiss erupted between the two of you. He swallowed down any moans that came from your throat. He almost chuckled again when he felt you struggling to kiss him back. You were both chasing your releases, becoming so desperate for one another. Koko almost bit down on your lip from how close he was, but he refrained and pulled away. “Gonna cum..? C’mon, baby, cum on my fucking cock..” he leaned towards your ear, nibbling on your skin. “Shiittt, ‘m gonna cum inside this p-pretty cunt, pretty thing.”

You let out a cry of pleasure as soon as that knot snapped. Your orgasm hit you hard. Your whole body trembled and shook, sending shivers down your spine. Koko squeezed your hips hard enough to leave bruises when he reached his own climax. The way your pussy spasmed and clamped down on him made his high come faster than he had expected. His cum filled your walls, creating a mess that consisted of your arousal and his around his cock to make it seem white.

You let yourself slump onto his body. The two of you panted, trying to recover from your orgasms. A layer of fog had blanketed the window and both of you were quite messy. Koko rested his arm around your waist, placing his chin atop of your head. In all honesty, he didn’t want to let you go home yet. He wanted to sit there for a few minutes just bathing in your embrace, because he knew the moment you went home he would go back into his empty bed and imagine you lying beside him in his sheets. He also feared possibly staining the seats of his car by pulling out, so he decided to just keep himself inside you for a little while. Neither of you had anywhere to be at that moment.

There was a comfortable silence that surrounded you. It was broken when Koko cleared his throat and reached for his wallet that was in the pocket of his sweatpants he had discarded earlier. He opened it and removed his debit card from the many spots he had in his wallet. He also reached into it and pulled out several one hundred dollar bills. “This is for you, baby.” he then reached under your shirt and shoved the bills into your bra. He also slid his debit card along with the cash. You were surprised to see him put them there, but it was Koko of all people. He always had the ability to catch you off guard.

You looked down at Koko. You seemed quite tired and he could sense it from your lazy body language. You were so cute when you were sleepy. “Thank you, Koko..” you touched his cheeks with your hands, rubbing your thumbs against his skin. A smile made its way onto your features from his gesture.

He pecked your lips, bringing your body closer to his. Your touch made him melt from how warm it was. “Anything for you..” he buried his face into your neck, inhaling your natural scent. His mind only thought of you for the rest of the evening. He hoped that maybe, just maybe, you would see him as someone more than just your sugar daddy.

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zepskies · 6 months

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Smoke Eater - Part 13

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: For those who didn't catch my announcement on Monday, I released Part 12 earlier this week! Now, on to a confrontation I think a lot of you have been waiting for...

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,200 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Attempted sexual assault. Protective Dean, angst, hurt/comfort.

Part 13: “Boiling Point”

Usually, Christmas was your absolute favorite time of the year.

This holiday was a baker’s dream, and you and your grandmother used to volunteer at the church bake sale every Christmas Eve. Grandpa George had done his best to help you in the years after she died…but you just didn’t have it in you this year.

You considered it an accomplishment that you pulled down some of the decorations from the attic, putting them up around your house, and buying a little four-foot tree (also hauling it into the house yourself). However, you knew that you wouldn’t be alone on Christmas Day, at least.

Sam and Dean had already invited you over to spend it with them. You would have the chance to get to know Eileen better, and you would even get to meet the famous John Winchester…

But you still had one reason to dread the end of the month.

Nick Savage threw a Christmas party every year. It was equal parts celebration and networking, and as a top performer of the sales division, you were expected to come.

The problem was, this time the party was going to be held at his house.

“You can’t just not go?” Andréa asked, shortly before taking a massive bite of her burrito. The two of you were grabbing dinner together after another long day at the office, followed by a movie later.

You’d realized just how much you had missed your best friend.

“Yeah, that’ll be great for me. Josh will get to chat up the whole team and get them clamoring to kiss his dick. Nick will give him the Sales Manager position just to spite me,” you said, while picking at your taco salad. “He keeps pitting us against each other for his own enjoyment, but I swear to God he harps on me the most.”

Andréa frowned. “Are you sure Nick just doesn’t have a thing for you? It sounds like he’s a little boy, picking on a girl he likes.”

You pursed your lips. She still didn’t know the full extent on your boss’s thing with you. You hadn’t told her about the last time Nick cornered you in his office, dangled a promotion in front of you, and basically gave you an ultimatum: sleep with him, or don’t move up in the company.

You hadn’t told anyone, for that matter.

You were just trying to figure out how to not get fired, while still getting compensated for your hard work. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently, it was.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what he thinks about me,” you said vehemently.

It earned your friend’s gaze, and her raised eyebrows.

“Whoa,” she chuckled. “Easy there, Miss Congeniality. That’ll be sure to earn you the promotion.”

“No, really,” you said. You stabbed into your salad with a fork. “I’m so fucking sick and tired of having to tap dance my entire work life around him. He’s a goddamn child who thinks he can have whatever he wants just because Daddy gave him his own little kingdom!”

Andréa eyed you more with concern. Her hand reached for your arm. Meanwhile, you were forcing slower breaths through your nose.

“You okay?” she asked. “I don’t like the ‘crazy town’ look in your eyes right now.”

“I’m fine,” you grumbled. “Just hangry, I guess.”

You took another bite of your food. Andréa gave you a skeptical look, but she let it go for now, with a smirk.

“Yeah, well. Eat a Snickers, bitch. I don’t need you snapping on me again,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes, but you had to laugh a little. You shoved at her shoulder.

She gripped her own arm in fake panic. “Someone call the cops! This crazy woman just punched me out over a salad!”

You tried to shush her, even though you were giggling. Your head swiveled around in the restaurant, giving apologetic eyes to the people around you.

“Although, $20 for a few sprigs of romaine lettuce and a sliver of chicken? That’s worth punching somebody the fuck out,” she said, throwing down her napkin. “Let’s never come here again.”

“Agreed,” you nodded. “I don’t think they’ll let us back here anyway.”

A few days later, you didn’t want to admit you were stressing out over this night.

“Have I said thank you? Because I mean it. Thank you for taking time off for this,” you said, smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles in Dean’s blazer.

He looked good in black. It was classic, and the new suit was smart without being “too much” for him. (Sam had taken him to his “suit guy,” as Dean called it.)

Dean grabbed your arms to stop your slightly flustered hands. He smirked down at you as his eyes once again took in your dark red dress. It was simple and sleeveless, but elegant, falling just above the knee. Of course, you had to be wearing the tallest pair of black heels he’d ever seen.

“It’s no sacrifice, believe me,” he replied.

You smiled, but he noticed something behind your eyes.

“You okay?” he asked. “Seems like you don’t really want to go to this thing.”

“I don’t,” you admitted on a sigh. “But my boss will know if I’m not there…I told you about the open Sales Manager position, right?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Dean nodded. His smile slid into a frown as he watched you bustle around your room, looking for your purse while you smoothed out the soft waves you’d managed to style your hair in, checking your eyeliner and lipstick too in the mirror.

“As usual, it’s down to me and Josh,” you said. “If I keep my numbers up and use tonight to network with my own team, get the rest of the guys on my side, maybe Nick will see that I’m the right choice.”

Dean came up behind you, resting a hand on your lower back.

“And this manager job…that’s what you want?” he asked.

You turned to him with a questioning look. “Well, yeah. I’ve been working here for five years, busting my ass.”

“And I got no doubt that you’re good at what you do,” Dean said. “But you do know, there hasn’t been a day since I met you that you didn’t have something crap to say about that job, and those people you work with.”

You frowned, and you thought about what he was saying. Sure, you complained about Nick, but did you really talk that much shit about your job?

“Everyone has things they don’t like about their work,” you reasoned. “Even you have your bad days.”

Though he tended to keep those days to himself, you knew when he’d had a tough call at the firehouse. You’d been trying your best to be a listening ear if he needed it, or if not, at least a soothing presence. It was more often the latter with Dean.

He acknowledged your point with a nod. “Okay, fair enough. I don’t know…I just think you’re wasting your talent.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Sweetheart, you’re like…an artist. It’s nothing me, or Sam, or Andréa, or anybody in your life hasn’t told you before,” said Dean. “You went to school to do your dream. And I know life happened. But I also know that when I walk into the firehouse, it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. Can you say that when you walk into the Savage building?”

You took in a breath. You understood what he was saying, but as much as you wanted to indulge the fantasy of owning your own business, being your own boss, creating your own menu, and giving people quality baked goods…you had to live in reality here.

Opening a brick-and-mortar business was expensive. And most restaurants, even bakeries, weren’t profitable for at least one to three years. You still had plenty of bills, and not even a car since the accident.

“I’ve invested too much time here to quit, Dean,” you said.

The conversation died there, but it left something new and awkward between you two. You tried to put it out of your mind while he drove you both over to the “filthy fucking rich” side of town, through a massive gate, and into a wide parking lot that had a valet driver waiting. Nick’s ridiculous house was a monument to trust fund kids everywhere.

Dean reluctantly handed over the keys to the Impala.

“No donuts in the parking lot.” He eyed the 20-something-year-old valet with all due scrutiny. “Trust me, I’ll know.”

You smirked and slipped your arm around his to tug him up the steps, toward the large double doors of the house.

“Come on, Rambo. Baby’ll be fine without you.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean quipped back. Still, he moved his arm out of yours, just to wrap it around your waist and pull you against his side. His lips pressed against your cheek.

“You look sexy as hell,” he said lowly near your ear. “Did I forget to mention that?”

“No.” Your smile deepened. “But doesn’t hurt to mention again. I might just have to reward my boyfriend for humoring me tonight, getting all dapper himself.”

You and Dean made it up to the porch and you knocked on the door. He shot you a raised brow as his lips tugged upwards.

“Oh, yeah? We talkin’ lace or satin?” he asked. His lips brushed your temple.

You pretended to think. “Little of both, actually. It’s new. And it’s red…and I might just be wearing it right now.”

Dean’s brows shot up in surprise. His gaze subtly dragged over your every curve, as if he had x-ray vision to spy through your dress. You maintained an enigmatic smile.

“Oh, you’re diabolical,” he muttered. His hand moved down to playfully squeeze your ass. You had to bite your lip to stifle the sound you made, as that’s when the doors finally began to swing open.

Dean’s hand moved up a respectable few inches, resting on your waist.

You both smiled and greeted the attendant who let you into the house.

A quick text let you know that Benny and Andréa were already here, each holding a flute of champagne. You and Dean met up with them in the huge living room space (which might has well have been a grand hall, for how large it was).

It held 50 people easily, but the party was already spanning the entire house, of at least two stories. It made your house look like a modest Barbie Dream home, without the pool attachment.

And Nick Savage was at the center of it all, greeting each guest and their “plus ones.”

When he spotted your group, he smoothly excused himself from the conversation with Josh and his wife, and headed over to you.

“Incomiiing,” Andréa quietly sing-songed. She sipped her champagne.

You steeled yourself, and you did your best to give a polite smile when Nick arrived with a pleasant “Merry Christmas.” You forced yourself to remain still when his hand fell on your arm, and he reached out to shake Dean’s hand in greeting, followed by Andréa and Benny.

“Welcome, you guys,” he said, giving you a smile that hid just a hint of a smirk. “Justin let you know where everything is, right? Lotsa drinks, the good stuff, I promise. Plenty of food, hot chocolate and eggnog fountains, if that’s your thing. And a hell of a lot more out back by the pool.”

“Great, thank you,” you nodded politely.

“All right! Let’s party,” Nick fist-pumped in the air. He pointed towards you and Dean. “You need a drink in your hand, stat.”

“I’m fine for now. Going to wait until I have something to eat first,” you replied. If you were going to get a glass of wine, it wouldn’t be one that Nick handed to you.

He pouted a little, but he looked at Dean next. “How about you, big guy? What you drinkin’?”

Dean shot you a glance, but before he could respond, Nick interrupted.

“You look like a whiskey guy. Am I right?” he asked.

Dean inclined his head. “Guilty.”

“Perfect. See? I’ve got an instinct for people,” Nick said, tossing you a wink as he headed for the nearby bar. “I’ll be back. You crazy kids relax and have fun.”

You had to admit, he knew how to turn on the charm when he had to. But who the hell said crazy kids under the age of 45?

“He’s uh…got pep,” Benny remarked.

Andréa snorted and tapped her glass. “He’s a few shots in already.”

“You think?” Dean asked.

You nodded in agreement, rolling your eyes. If there was one thing you could count on, it was for Nick Savage to be drinking.

“He knows how to act when everyone’s watching,” you said.

You looked up at the high-vaulted ceilings and expensive artwork on the walls, not noticing how Dean glanced at you with the edge of a frown.

At the very least, the food was excellent. It was served in a large back room that served as a banquet hall, meant for entertaining.

There you and Dean actually had a good time, with you sipping on red wine and Dean on a glass of the “good stuff,” all while playing cards with Andréa and Benny and a few of your coworkers on the sales team.

“I just can’t believe Adam quit, to join our main competitor, no less,” said Marv. “I had absolutely no idea he was thinking of leaving.”

He was the team gossip. He prided himself on knowing every coming and going on the sales floor, which confounded you, since Marv was also a bit of a hermit. He either kept to his office like it was a bomb shelter, or you could catch him in the break lounge grabbing yet another coffee, all the while keeping his ear perked up for scraps of conversation.

“Yeah, you did, Marv,” you replied with a smirk. “You’re the one who saw Adam’s resignation letter on his own desk.”

He hadn’t even handed said letter to Nick yet.

“Well, I knew it then, obviously,” Marv said, with his hands open wide. “It leaves us without a manager…which I think, not for long.”

His eyes met yours knowingly.

You smiled. “We’ll see. I think Josh is playing kiss-ass tonight.”

You turned your head and spotted Nick and Josh taking shots of tequila together at the bar, with the latter wincing at the burn with a lime peel in his mouth. Josh’s wife was sitting off to the side, rolling her eyes.

Your gaze focused on your boss for a moment. You shook your head at the state of him, with a loose tie and the top buttons undone on his shirt, laughing boisterously and egging Josh on.

Fucking frat bros.

“That’s your boss, huh?” Benny remarked.

“In all his Cuervo-stained glory,” Marv replied. He shook his head as well.

It made you realize something.

As nice a time as you’d been having, for about an hour at most, your good mood soured the moment you were reminded of the office politics. Of Josh and Nick and everything in between. Was this really what you wanted for the rest of your career?

The rest of your life?

Maybe Dean was right, you thought. You knew you were good at your job. You knew you were fortunate to even have a job that paid your bills…but maybe “being good” wasn’t enough for you.

If there was one thing you’d learned from your grandfather’s death, it was that peace was precarious. And sacrificing too many parts of yourself, for money, wasn’t a fulfilling life or even a happy one.

You wanted to be happy. You also wanted peace.

So you leaned over and laid a hand on Dean’s, which rested on the round table.

“Hey,” you whispered.

His head bowed near yours. “Hmm?”

“Wanna get out of here?” you asked. He raised his brows at you.

“Really? I thought you needed to stay and schmooze with your people,” he replied.

You smiled and drew your thumb across the inside of his wrist. “I think I’m done.”

Dean looked a bit confused. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. And you brushed your lips against the corner of his mouth. “You were right. It’s not worth it.”

A flicker of a smile began to tug at his lips, but his brows drew together.

“Hey. Are you sure?” he asked. “Don’t bow out just because of me—”

Your hand tightened on his wrist.

“No, baby. It’s me. My choice,” you said. “Let me just use the restroom real quick, and we can go.”

Dean nodded, and you stood.

“What, are you leaving?” Andréa asked. She was tucked into Benny’s side with a piece of red velvet cake poised on her fork. “You didn’t even finish your cake!”

You laughed. Turning down dessert was a big deal for you, but you’d live.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I just need to call it a night, but I’ll be back in a sec to say goodbye. Hold on.”

Andréa blew out a breath as you walked away from the table.

“She’s gonna miss the White Elephant gift exchange. Last year, someone got a 60” smart TV,” she said.

Benny whistled.

“I wouldn’t mind an upgrade,” he said. He shot Dean a glance. “What do you think the guys would do if we showed up with something like that to the station?”

Dean scoffed. “I think the Chief would have a damn conniption.”

Bobby was old-school. He thought they had enough distractions from the job as it was.

“Probably right,” Benny chuckled.

Andréa smiled in amusement. But her eyes clocked the way Nick glanced your way as you walked by, down the hall and to the right. She sipped at her glass of pinot grigio to wash down the rich cake.

Still, she discreetly watched the man down another shot before he took his leave of the bar. He laughed at something Josh said and waved him off.

She gave Nick credit for not stumbling on his feet, and only swaying slightly on the same path you took down the hall. It didn’t mean he was following you, necessarily. This house was like a small Smithsonian. And yet, something niggled in the back of her mind.

Andréa remembered how you’d acted at dinner the other day when talking about Nick. And how drained you’d seemed lately when she saw you after work. She’d thought that was just about finding your way after George’s death…

Marv distracted her with a question as Dean and Benny continued to talk, and she answered him with her usual charm. But she kept one eye on the hallway, waiting for you to come back.

She made it about another minute before she turned to Benny and Dean, leaning in close.

“Hey, Dean,” she said. “Maybe you want to check on her? She’s taking a while.”

Dean didn’t look concerned as he checked his watch. It hadn’t been all that long, but he still pulled out his phone to text you.

“She left her purse here,” Andréa said. She started to get up out of her seat. “I’m just gonna go see if she’s okay.”

Benny grabbed her hand before she left the table.

“What’s wrong, babe?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said, but she met Dean’s confused gaze. “Okay, look. I’ve been noticing some things with her recently. I have no evidence except for how well I know that woman, but something’s off with her. It happens every time she talks about that asshole Nick.”

Dean’s brows furrowed as he tried to read between the lines.

“What’re you saying exactly?” he asked.

Andréa let out a breath. “I’m saying, I’ve got a bad feeling.”

You hummed as you washed your hands in the bathroom. Wine runs right through me. I should know better.

You’d also been trying to quell your anxieties and just get through the night. But you realized now that there was no kind of calm like the peace you had, now that you knew what you needed to do. Starting tomorrow, you were going to start looking for a new job.

A knock at the door made you jolt slightly.

“Someone’s in here!” you called without looking over your shoulder. You finished washing your hands and dried them on the hand towel hanging on a silver wall rack.

The door cracked open, but before you could protest, a man stumbled in.

Of fucking course it was Nick Savage.

“Excuse me?!” you breathed in shock. You watched with wide eyes as he pushed the door closed and seemed to take notice of you for the first time. He smirked.

“Oh, hey,” he said. Somehow, he was only slurring a little. He straightened his white blazer. The black satin shirt he wore was wrinkled and he smelled heavily of tequila, and that was with a couple of feet of distance between you two.

Your shock finally melted into a glare. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Gotta take a leak. It’s my house after all,” he shrugged, leaning a hand on the wall closest to the door for balance.

You shook your head, and with a huff, you tried to get by him.

His hand wrapped around your arm. “Hey, we didn’t get a chance to catch up tonight.”

You shoved his hand off of you.

“Don’t you ever in your life touch me again,” you warned him. Your eyes were as hard as your voice. “I don’t think there’s anyone on the planet—no. In the whole damn universe who sickens me more than you, Nick Savage.”

Nick straightened a little, frowning at you. Whatever he saw in your gaze, he didn’t seem to like the challenge. When you reached for the doorknob again, he grabbed your arm and shoved you hard into the nearest wall.

You gasped as the air rushed out of your lungs. Before you even realized what was happening, you felt his clammy hands on your bare shoulders, his hot alcoholic breath on your face. You raised your hands in defense, pushing against his chest.

He was taller and stronger and pinned you harder against the wall, with his knee shoving its way between your legs. You stared up with wide eyes of fear, and his hand clamped over your mouth to stifle your scream.

Your nails bit into his arm and wrist, trying to peel back his sweaty hand, just an inch to free your voice and let you breathe. To your left you heard the door bang open.

Please—

And the hand was peeled away entirely.

You could only blink and watch as Dean barreled through, grabbing Nick and bodily hurling him away. Nick opened his mouth to spout something angrily, but Dean continued to stalk forward and grab the man again.

Nick attempted a lazy swing at Dean’s head, but he bat it away. His fist connected roughly with Nick’s face, snapping his head back with a cry.

It was almost too fast for you to track what was happening right in front of you, but Dean dragged the drunkard the rest of the way across the bathroom, even over the tub, and slammed him against the beige tile so hard that it knocked a few of them loose. Nick’s head smacked audibly against them and he groaned at the impact.

The men were around the same height, but Dean was honed by years of firefighting and fueled by rage. One hand gripped high on Nick’s collar, while his arm pressed against the man’s chest. Then into his throat.

“Give me a reason,” Dean said, in a voice much calmer than he felt. Behind his eyes was wildfire.

“What?” Nick choked.

You finally broke through enough of your shock to know you had to do something.

“Dean!” you uttered. You cautiously went to him, but he glanced at you over his shoulder in warning.

“Stay there,” he told you firmly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, even though your voice shook. “Let’s just go.”

Despite the blood dripping down from his likely bruised nose, Nick chortled a laugh. It earned Dean’s slow head turn, returning his attention to the decision at hand. His fist tightened in Nick’s shirt.

“You heard me,” Dean said. His voice was laced with steel. “I said give me a reason not to break your miserable fucking neck.”

“Dean,” you gasped.

“Not sure that’s a good idea, fireman,” Nick slurred. “I clearly don’t have all my wits about me right now. Can’t be held lia…li-ble for my actions, now can I? I’ll have your badge by end of the week.”

You let out a harsh breath and finally went to Dean. You laid a hand on his back. Every muscle was tense and straining under his white dress shirt.

“Dean,” you pressed. “Let him go. He’s not worth it.”

Nick smirked lazily in Dean’s face. It was the look of a man who was used to getting his way.

“I’d listen to her,” he said, with a mocking glint in his eyes. “Or I could just fire her on Monday. Make it easy on myself.”

Dean seethed. His forearm slowly rolled harder into the man’s neck, pressing on his windpipe. The sounds of choked air were satisfying.

“Yeah, or I’ll have the police down here in ten minutes or less,” said Dean. “I’ll clue you in on a little something. My dad’s a cop. I’ll reckon he’ll be happy to put a fucking douchebag like you in the can with the real charmers.”

Dean gave a mocking glance to Nick’s silk shirt, his gold pinky ring and loafers.

“How long do you think it’ll take for one of ‘em to make you their little bitch?” Dean said.

Nick glared back at him, with a frisson of intimidation behind his eyes. He glanced at you over his shoulder. Dean noticed and tightened his hold.

“Don’t you look at her, you piece of shit!” he warned. His voice was low and dangerous. “Make your choice. You gonna come down to the station easy, or difficult? Please say difficult.”

Nick held up placating hands. He shifted uncomfortably against the wall; one foot was planted on the ground while the other was in the tub. The shower curtain was half off its hooks.

Dean eased up enough for Nick to take a breath.

“Okay, let’s say we do that,” he said, with a cough. “I’ll get bail. Then I’ll fucking walk, ‘cause I own this town.”

“You mean your dad does,” you snapped.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Same name, same shit, sweetheart.”

Dean grit his teeth and tightened his grip again in warning. You wrapped your hand around his arm, but he didn’t budge.

Nick met his eyes.

“How about this. Get your greasy fucking hands off me, and we’ll call tonight a wash,” he proposed. “No foul, we all take our balls and go home.”

He then snorted at his own joke. “Balls…”

Dean tilted his head, but didn’t move a muscle. “Or?”

Once again, Nick smirked.

“I’ll report you to your boss for assaulting me in my own house. And uh, she’ll be fired, obviously.” He shrugged. “By the time my lawyers get done with her, she won’t be able to sling lattes at Starbucks.”

Dean’s face was stony, tight with outrage. His whole body was coiled like a spring as every cell in his body fought against ripping this man apart.

But he still felt your hands around his arm, trying to pull him back.

“Dean, don’t. He’s not worth your career. Please,” you begged.

The bathroom door pushed open again, and he heard Benny’s voice.

“Hey, brother.” He dropped a careful hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Come on, now. You got him. Ease up now.”

Dean’s teeth ground together. He looked down, and his stare bored into Nick’s. Dean pressed his forearm into the other man’s throat again, enough to almost feel the give as the man struggled for breath.

“Remember how that feels,” Dean said icily. “20579, Dean Winchester. The next time you want to threaten my badge, that’s my number.”

Nick’s eyes widened slightly. At the time, Dean took it as fear. But really, it was recognition.

Winchester, Nick thought.

Dean then leaned in closer, so only Nick would hear his next lowered words.

“First and last warning,” Dean said. “If you touch her again. If I hear anything more about you giving her a hard time, not a dime in the world is gonna save you from me.”

When Dean finally pulled his arm away and let go, Nick’s face was red and spluttering as he coughed and slumped into the bathtub.

Dean turned on his heel in anger and disgust. Andréa was supporting you with her arm around yours, but she released you to let Dean take over. You stared up at him with tearful eyes, and you reached for his hand.

He took it with his left, holding you steady. He then wrapped an arm around your shoulders and guided you out of the bathroom.

The air was tense and silent inside the Impala. It was a long drive back to your house, and Dean hadn’t looked at you once in 20 minutes. His gaze was firmly on the road. He hadn’t even turned on the radio.

You had his suit jacket draped around your frame, but your insides still felt cold. You glanced over at him and stared at his profile for a moment, wishing you knew what to say to break the silence. To reassure him that you were fine. (Even though it would've been a lie.)

He felt your stare and turned his head towards you.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked. His voice was gruff. “Andréa said she’s been noticing something off about you for a while.”

Your lips pressed together. “Can this part wait until we get home…please?”

Dean’s jaw ticked, but he turned back to the road ahead.

The car was silent for the rest of the hour.

It was a relief to turn the key into the door lock and step through the threshold of your house. Dean followed you inside and tossed his wallet and car keys on the side table by the door.

Somehow he always managed to miss the little basket you put there for exactly those things, but you weren’t about to remind him.

You slipped off your heels and went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, to steady yourself. Dean leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. He didn’t say anything, but you still felt his eyes on you.

With a sigh, you turned and met his gaze.

“Just tell me,” he said. “How long?”

You took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“It started before I even met you, Dean.”

His brows raised high. He tilted his head at you as incredulous anger tightened his face.

“What?” he said. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You shook your head and grabbed his arm. “Okay, come here.”

You led him into the living room and sat beside him on the couch. You explained that it started small, with compliments on your clothes, your hair. Then it was lingering looks, “innocent” brushes of his hand, touching your arm, your shoulder.

When you’d tried to put distance between you and Nick, the drunken shenanigans began. The comments grew heinous and sickening, and so did his threats.

And nothing you did worked. Not distance and professionalism. Not refusing his advances outright. Not threatening to go to HR.

All while you spoke, Dean was quiet, but on edge. You saw it in how he gripped his knee, with his other hand fisted against his mouth, elbow resting on his thigh.

But the hardest part of the conversation came when you told Dean about the day of the car accident—how Nick had demanded you come to his office and gave you a sickening ultimatum.

At that, Dean could no longer remain still. He got up and started to pace across the living room. He was a man of action, you knew, and his reaction was almost everything you’d feared.

I should've told him, you thought. You knew.

Although you now felt relieved, even in your guilt, you also knew this next part wasn’t going to be fun either. Because Dean finally erupted.

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” he asked.

Briefly, you closed your eyes. “No.”

“Why? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” His hand buried itself in his hair as his jaw clenched. Even if your friend Andréa hadn’t known, she’d still seen enough to suspect something. It completely blew his mind, in the worst of ways.

“Jesus Christ!” he shook his head. “Why am I always the last one to know when something’s going on with you?”

Tears watered in your eyes as you looked up at him. You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.

“I mean, really. What are we doing here, huh?” he exclaimed, his hands open wide. “Honestly, tell me. Because if you can’t trust me, then I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Your eyes widened, a trill of panic lacing down your spine. You stood up and went to him.

“Dean, please, it wasn’t about that,” you said. You implored him with your eyes to understand. “I wanted to tell someone…God, you don’t know how bad I wanted to tell you. But I knew how you’d react. Just like this. I didn’t want to make the situation worse!”

He frowned deeply. “You didn’t want help? You didn’t want me to protect you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you snapped. But then, you sucked in a shaking breath, trying to calm yourself. You got closer and rested a hand against his chest.

“Of course I’m grateful that you protected me. Dean, I love you for it.”

You grasped the ends of his jacket with both hands. All you really wanted to do was bury yourself in his warmth and sleep for the next ten years. You were still raw and frayed inside.

Dean looked down at you, and his heart clenched. He couldn’t help but hold you back. His arms wound around your lower back as he pulled you against him. His chin rested above your head, and you sighed in relief.

“I thought I could handle it,” you confessed, in a smaller voice. “I worked so damn hard…I wanted to fight for my job. But Nick knew I didn’t have the money or the resources to fight back for real if I reported him, or even if I sued him. And before tonight, I didn’t have enough to take to the police.”

Dean pulled away just enough to see your face. He grasped your arms, gentle but firm.

“I’ll take you to the station right now,” he said. “My dad can help you. Hell, Sam can help you.”

You bit your lip and shook your head.

“You heard him, Dean. With his money and connections, he’ll get off. And then he’ll make both of our lives hell,” you said. “He’ll go after your badge—”

“He can fucking try,” he snapped.

“Stop, okay? I don’t want that,” you pleaded.

A sharp breath escaped through his nose, and he let you go.

“You’re fucking impossible, you know that?” he said. “How can I help you if you won’t let me?”

He was beside himself with frustration, and even hurt. You knew it in the way he tried to walk away from you, but you reached for his arm to stop him, with tears burning in your eyes. You didn’t want him to think that you didn’t want his support. That you didn’t trust him.

Because that couldn’t have been any farther from the truth.

“I’m sorry!” Your tears finally escaped, trailing down your cheeks. You tugged him back towards you, earning his furrowed glance. “I was…scared. I…I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I just didn’t want to deal with it at all.”

The longer Dean looked at your face, the more he crumbled.

Once again, he turned to gather you back into his arms. And there your tears fell in earnest. Your body trembled with quiet sobs, and he held you tighter. His heart broke a little more as his hand soothed over your hair. He shushed you more gently, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Okay. It’s okay. Don’t apologize. You shouldn’t have had to deal with this, let alone for this damn long,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward for a moment as he mentally kicked himself. You didn’t deserve this, or his anger either.

He just couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed any signs, like Andréa had. All these months… It threatened to drive him up a fucking wall.

“You’re safe, and I’ve got you,” he said, continuing to hold you securely against him. “We’ll handle this, like everything else.”

After a moment, you nodded, letting out another shaky breath. You squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face into his chest.

You already knew you must’ve looked a state, after the night you’d had, but you didn’t truly realize it until you were looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Mascara and lipstick smudged, hair disheveled, tears staining your cheeks.

Ugh. You hastily scrubbed your face clean with makeup wipes. Then you tamed your hair, brushing through the frizz and calming it back into relative normalcy.

You went for the zipper of your dress next, but you couldn’t get it down all the way. You turned to look over your shoulder.

“Dean,” you called.

He was in your room, rifling through his bag to grab the clothes he’d brought to sleep in.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Come ‘ere a sec?”

He obliged you, drawing into the bathroom. His white dress shirt was only half unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up. You met his eyes in the mirror.

“Can you unzip me?” you asked.

Dean looked down where your hands were holding both sides of the zipper on your dress. He took one side from you and unzipped it the rest of the way, stopping at the small of your back. He caught sight of the red, sheer lingerie underneath.

Noticing the way he paused, you smiled slightly. You turned toward him and tugged the dress down the rest of the way, so he could see the rest of the ensemble. It was a simple corset-style nightie, but true to your word, the lace was paired with satin trim lines.

Your hands ran up his sternum and undid the last buttons on his shirt. You grasped near his collar and leaned up on your toes for a slow kiss. Dean unconsciously held you to him by your shoulders, his eyes closing at the feel of you.

But when they next opened, he caught sight of the bruise on your shoulder. It was about the size of a thumbprint.

His throat tightened. After a moment, he parted from you, but he didn’t continue where you left off. You looked up at him in confusion.

“Baby?” you asked.

Dean shook his head. He couldn’t answer you; couldn’t even articulate what the hell was in his head. So he just turned and went back into the room for his change of clothes. It left you frowning, bereft, and worried.

You changed into an old shirt and some shorts before you got into bed. You slipped under the covers and watched Dean. He sat with his back to you as he unclipped his watch and set it down on the nightstand. By now he’d changed into his faded, gray Lawrence Fire Department shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

Your throat constricted with emotion, namely with anxiety.

“Are you still mad at me?” you asked.

Dean paused. He glanced back at you, saw you laying there with a hand gripped into the covers. His brows furrowed when he saw your shining tears.

He turned and got into bed with you. He slid his arm under your head and wordlessly encouraged you to come closer. His free hand soothed across your arm.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said at last. But he was still upset, and deeply unsettled. As the night replayed in his mind, he knew that at the root of his fury, there was fear.

“I just keep thinking,” he said. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t called out of work tonight.”

You looked down at that. You laid a hand on his chest.

“I wouldn’t have gone to the party,” you said. Though if you were honest with yourself, you probably would’ve thought yourself safe with Benny and Andréa. “I just…I really didn’t think he would try to—”

You tried to take a breath to steady yourself, but it was a tremulous release. The memory flashed behind your eyes, the remnants of panic and fear under your skin.

You didn’t realize you were crying until Dean’s hand was caressing your cheek, brushing away your tears.

“All right, shhh. I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s over,” he said. Once again, he pulled you into his arms and held you close. Guilt hit him between the ribs for upsetting you all over again. “I promise you’re safe, and I’ve got you.”

You did your best to take in deep breaths, letting them out more steadily. Dean wanted to put the matter to bed for tonight. He really did…but he couldn’t help pressing one last thing.

“Just tell me you’re not going back there on Monday, unless it’s to HR,” he said.

You paused, shook your head a little. You didn’t want to rev him up again, but you knew Nick.

“He doesn’t make idle threats, Dean,” you reminded him. “But there’s a reason why he waited until tonight, at his house. He’s not going to try his luck at the office, where everyone’s watching.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean retorted.

You saw his point, but you almost didn’t want to acknowledge it. You couldn’t afford to quit.

“I still need my job, for now,” you said. “But I will start looking for something else, so I can get out as soon as possible. I promise.”

Dean wasn’t happy. Both of you knew it. You also sensed that he wanted to argue more, but was holding back for now. You appreciated that.

You truly didn’t want to get into it anymore with him. You just wanted to close your eyes and try to forget about tonight, knowing that you’d fail.

Dean still held you, with his hands rubbing up and down your back. His touch and his heartbeat soothed you until you managed to fall asleep.

AN: Dean knows, and it ain't pretty. What did you think of the confrontation? Unfortunately, I'm drawing from real events here (not myself).

Next Time:

The mystery of "Azazel" thickens, Dean deals with another tricky fire, and the reader has a realization of her own...

“Yeah, well. This one’s a rat bastard in human clothing,” you replied.

“Ooh, sounds like my old biology professor,” Jo chimed in. She was drying out some newly clean glasses behind the counter along with Ellen. “He had a reputation for scoping out freshman girls.”

You made a gagging sound as you reached for the delectable martini glass Ellen slid your way.

“Men are disgusting,” you said. Jo snorted.

“99.8% of them, yeah,” she said. But her gaze drew towards the door when Dean Winchester came in. And she added, “A few of ‘em are all right.”

Was it just you, or was there a softer look in her blue eyes when she noticed Dean?

Keep Reading: PART 14

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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