Pairing : Buck x Male nurse Reader
Fandom : 911
Tags: Established relationship, softness, soft buck, domestic buck
Word count: 1225
Summary : Buck visits his nurse boyfriend on the night shift and brings him dinner
The enticing aroma of garlic, oregano, and bubbling mozzarella clung to every corner of Buck’s loft, chasing away the usual scent of gym socks and vaguely-stale takeout containers. It was a blessed day off, a rare occasion amidst the unpredictable chaos that defined life as a firefighter. And Buck was determined to make the most of it, focusing all his energy on one goal making Y/N’s upcoming night shift a little brighter.
Y/N worked his ass off as a nurse over at County General. Buck admired the hell out of him for it. Firefighting was a rush, yeah, but what Y/N dealt with, the long hours and constant emotional toll...it was a different kind of hero stuff. Their schedules were a nightmare, a frantic game of tag with stolen moments. A quick breakfast before Y/N crashed after a shift, maybe a hurried lunch down the block from the firehouse if Buck got lucky, or just a late-night phone call squeezed between patients. Not exactly ideal date nights, but they made it work. Tonight, Y/N was stuck with a night shift. Buck was on a mission to make it suck a little less.
He hummed along to the Foo Fighters as he carefully layered the lasagna. Rich, slow-simmered sauce, creamy ricotta that he’d actually bothered to make from scratch, and pasta. He kept glancing at the clock, a little anxious. Y/N’s shift started at seven, and Buck wanted to get this culinary masterpiece over there before the ER turned into a total zoo.
He slid the lasagna into the preheated oven, the oven’s hum a promise of warmth. While it baked, he tackled the loft, wiping down the surprisingly sticky kitchen counter, tossing a rogue pair of socks into the laundry basket, and even attempting to organize the overflowing pile of magazines on the coffee table. He knew Y/N appreciated a tidy space; it helped him unwind after the controlled chaos of the hospital.
The oven timer finally pinged, pulling him back to reality. He carefully pulled the lasagna out, He let it cool just enough before cutting out a hefty portion. He packed it in a Tupperware container with a side salad and a slice of garlic bread, because lasagna without garlic bread was just…wrong.
He changed out of his cooking-splattered t-shirt and into a clean, slightly-worn, but comfortable, Henley and his favourite jeans. He grabbed his keys and, as a final touch, a small, neatly packaged box of Y/N’s favourite cookies from Lark Bakery.
The drive to County General was surprisingly smooth. LA traffic actually cooperating? A minor miracle. Buck found a spot in the visitor lot and hurried towards the hospital entrance, the automatic doors hissing open to the familiar, sterile scent of antiseptic. It was a world away from the cosiness of his loft.
He weaved through the hallways, past tired-looking doctors and nurses, patients in wheelchairs, and families with that worried look in their eyes. Knew his way to to Y/N’s unit by heart. He spotted Y/N at the nurses’ station, hunched over a computer, his brow furrowed in concentration as he rapidly typed. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows on his tired face.
"Hey," Buck said softly, leaning against the counter.
Y/N looked up, his face instantly breaking into a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "Buck! What are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you."
"I brought reinforcements," Buck said, holding up the container. "Lasagna. Extra cheesy. Your favorite."
Y/N’s eyes widened, a spark of delight igniting within them. “You made me lasagna? On your day off? Seriously?”
"Of course," Buck said, grinning, feeling a surge of pride and affection. “Thought you might need a little… sustenance to get you through the night. And cookies.”
Y/N pushed himself away from the computer, leaned across the desk, and gave Buck a quick, but heartfelt, kiss on the cheek. “You’re… amazing. You know that, right? Seriously, you’re the absolute best.” He smelled faintly of hand sanitizer.
"I try," Buck said, blushing slightly, running a hand through his hair. He glanced around the nurses' station, a buzzing hive of organized, yet slightly frantic, activity. Phones were ringing incessantly, monitors beeped rhythmically, and nurses rushed back and forth with a focused intensity. “Looks… fun,” he said dryly.
"It is… chaotic," Y/N confirmed, sighing, rubbing the back of his neck. "We’re short-staffed tonight, and there’s some nasty stomach bug going around. It's been… a day. And it's only just started."
"Well, hopefully, this will make it a little better," Buck said, placing the lasagna and cookies on the relatively clear section of the desk. "Consider it… fuel for the frontline."
Y/N smiled, his exhaustion momentarily fading. "You know me too well.” He glanced longingly at the lasagna, his eyes sparkling. "I can’t wait to actually eat this"
"Take your time," Buck said. "I'm not going anywhere. Figured I’d hang out for a bit, keep you company. Distract you from the… you know… the everything." He gestured vaguely at the controlled chaos.
Y/N’s face lit up even more, his eyes softening. "Really? You don't have to do that. I know you probably have a million other things to do."
"I want to," Buck said, reaching out and taking Y/N's hand, squeezing it gently. "Besides, I miss you. And I’m good at fetching coffee,It's a gift." He grinned, injecting a little levity into the situation.
Y/N glanced around the busy nurses' station, a flicker of concern in his eyes. "It’s pretty crazy here. Maybe we should find somewhere quieter to… you know… lasagna? The cafeteria?"
"Sounds perfect," Buck replied, his heart swelling with affection.
They walked towards the cafeteria, a harshly-lit, impersonal space that offered a brief respite from the intensity of the hospital. They found a relatively quiet corner table, and Buck carefully unpacked the lasagna, arranging it with a flourish.
Y/N inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. "Oh my god, Buck, this smells incredible. Seriously. I'd eat there every day." He took a bite, a look of pure bliss spreading across his face. "Oh… wow. You outdid yourself."
"Just trying to keep my favorite nurse fueled up," Buck said, feeling a warm glow spread through him as Y/N ate with gusto. He loved seeing Y/N happy, especially knowing how much stress he was under.
Just as Y/N was about to take the last bite of his cookie, his pager buzzed insistently, breaking the spell. He sighed softly, a flicker of resignation crossing his face.
"Duty calls," he said, standing up, a little bit better now, more full. "Thanks again for the lasagna, Buck. You have no idea how much I needed this."
"Anytime," Buck said, standing up and pulling Y/N into a hug, holding him close for a moment. "Get some rest when you can, okay? And don't hesitate to call if you need anything. Anything at all. I'll see you when you get home." He gave his forehead a soft kiss.
Y/N smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached his eyes. "I will. Love you, Buck."
"Love you too, Y/N," Buck said, watching him disappear back into the chaos of the hospital.
Morticia lounges on her fainting couch, snipping roses off their stems. A sudden creak of the door. Y/N Addams, usually a sharp-dressed shadow of his father, slinks in wearing a gray hoodie, black sweatpants, and sneakers. Morticia freezes mid-snip, horrified.
"My darling boy, what have you done?"
Y/N , mock-cheerful, breaking into a tuneless song and dance. 🎵 "What’s so great, about being yourself, When you can be, like everyone else?"🎵 He does a spin, nearly knocking over a candelabra. The flames flicker like they, too, are appalled.
"Do not speak to your mother that way."
"It’s just… Peter said blending in makes things easier. Hoodies. Sweatpants. Normalcy."
Morticia glides toward him, eyes blazing with disapproval. "Normalcy is a disease, Y/N, and not the fun kind either. We raised you better than that. Your father and I hoped you would grow into a delightful enigma, not a jogger."
Y/N pulls his hood up in defiance. Morticia gasps as though being stabbed.
Y/N is lying on his bed, scrolling through texts when his phone buzzes. He opens the message from Cody, only to be met with his selfie with Harlan. Both of them are shirtless, white fluffy towels around their waist. Cody's thumb hovers over the screen of his phone. He stares. Blinks. Then, let out a breath somewhere between a groan and a growl.
"Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me." He types furiously. “You really thought this was necessary??”
Cody replies instantly. “Just keeping you updated on my day, babe. Hope you enjoy 😉”
Y/N sighs, tossing his phone onto the pillow. A reluctant smile tugs at his lips. "You’re such a menace…" He sinks back against the headboard, fighting the heat creeping into his cheeks. And the urge to jerk off to the image. The worst part? Cody knows exactly what he’s doing.
I i know it's early but how about a Stefan Salvatore x Grayson Gilbert (your oc) where they are having Thanksgiving with their friends and family. Something with rare fluff and mild drama.
The kitchen looks like a Thanksgiving war zone. Pots and pans crowd the counters. The air smells faintly of cinnamon, roasted turkey, and unfortunately, burnt bread. A faint haze of smoke lingers near the oven light, and Grayson Gilbert stands in the middle of it all, wielding a pair of oven mitts like a man on the edge. He pulls out a tray of what was supposed to be golden, buttery dinner rolls.
“Damn it! These ones are burnt too.” He sets the tray down with a thud, exhaling sharply.
Across the island, Stefan Salvatore leans against the counter, arms folded, his sleeves rolled up. He’s calm, amused, the picture of supernatural patience. You know for someone who can’t cook, how exactly do you burn dinner rolls? That must be a new skill or something.”A small smirk tugs at his lips. Grayson shoots him a glare hard enough to cut through steel. “Maybe I should open another pack and pop them in the oven.” Grayson starts rummaging through grocery bags, muttering to himself about temperature settings.
“Um, Grayson, remember when you told me to tell you when you’re obsessing?”
“I’m not obsessing. I just want everything to be perfect, that’s all.” He straightens up, brushing flour off his shirt.
“Yeah, but Grayson, it’s Thanksgiving, not a royal wedding. Besides, don’t you think you’re doing enough already? For god’s sake, you’re hosting the damn thing at my house.” Stefan gestures around at the chaos. The counters cluttered with ingredients, the oven timer blinking angrily.
Grayson picks up a burned roll and pokes at it accusingly. “That is precisely why I’m doing all of this. I swear to god, in the last couple of years we’ve vanquished more holiday dinners than we have vampires. I know you and Damon aren’t big on Thanksgiving after your father threatened to beat Damon if he didn’t eat his pet turkey, but I have to at least have some stability, don’t I?
Stefan nods softly. “You do. But that doesn’t mean obsessing over every little thing you can’t control.” Grayson exhales, realizing Stefan might be right, but he’s too stubborn to admit it fully. You’re right. I’ll try to relax on my whole “One man army” bandwagon right after you tell me that the turkey and ham are done.”
“It is. Damon should be finishing it up as we speak.” From somewhere down the hall and outside, Damon’s voice can faintly be heard singing off-key to a rock song, followed by the clatter of a carving knife hitting the floor. “Is that…Bon Jovi?”
“My Playlist.” Stefan smiled.
Grayson half-smiled. “Good. Elena, Bonnie, and Caroline are bringing the side dishes. Matt and Tyler are bringing desserts. Jeremy is supposed to get the drinks. And I—”
“—You are going upstairs and taking a shower in my bathroom. Then when you come back down, the rolls will be finished and things will be fine.” Stefan moves around the counter and gently pushes Grayson toward the doorway. Grayson resists half-heartedly.
“But—”
“No! Now, you are going upstairs and you are going to have a nice, hot shower, young man.” Stefan’s tone is playful but firm. He gives Grayson another nudge toward the stairs.
“You are not the boss of me, Stefano.” Grayson says matter of factly.
“Oh, I am too. Get your cute ass upstairs.
Grayson sighs, defeated but amused. He tosses the oven mitts onto the counter. “Okay, fine. But the only thing I want everyone to be fighting about is what football game we’ll be watching, and who got more than one slice of pie.”
Stefan chuckles. “Go. Upstairs.”
About an hour later, Grayson came downstairs, freshly washed and slightly calmer than he had been since he went upstairs. He wore an old fashioned,but tailored suit. It was one of Stefan's old ones from 1864. He fixed his tie before vamp speeding into the kitchen, only to find it had been cleaned up. Stefan's doing no doubt.
Grayson saw the elder vampire waiting for him, dressed in a dark purple button up that complimented his green eyes. “Smells good down here. Please tell me nothing caught fire, exploded, or was drained of blood while I was gone.”
Stefan chuckled. “Everything's under control, I promise. Dinner's ready to go, and the girls just showed up. I think Caroline's fighting over placemats.” He gets closer to Grayson,eyeing his suit with raised eyebrows. “Is that…is this my old suit?” He runs a finger over the soft, burgundy fabric of the jacket.
“Yeah, hope you don't mind. I had to take it to a tailor. Figured I'd dress for the occasion.” Grayson said.
“Not at all. You look good like this. Very handsome.” Stefan cupped Grayson's cheek before kissing it gently, causing the vampire-witch to blush hard.
Behind them, someone made gagging noises. They turned around to see Damon smirking in the doorframe of the kitchen. “If you two are gonna do a little hanky panky on the island before dinner, can you at least wait for the cranberry to be served?”
They both pulled back as Stefan glared at his older brother's smirking face. “Impeccable timing, Damon.”
“Someone's gotta keep you out of trouble, little brother. What would Elena say if she found out what you two were gonna do?”
“What about Elena finding out?” Elena enters the kitchen, dressed in a black dress. “What did I just walk into?” She asked slowly, arching a brow.
“Dinner. ”Damon says, nodding sagely. “Yep. Very passionate discussion about turkey and…stuffing.”
Caroline’s voice called from the dining room, “Can someone please tell Damon he’s not allowed to pick the music again? Last year he played Highway to Hell during grace!”
Elena sighed and moved past them toward the table. “Why am I not surprised?” she muttered.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Stefan turned back to Damon. “You seriously have nothing better to do than spy on people?”
“Please.” Damon scoffed. “You two were practically radiating Hallmark Channel energy. It was impossible to ignore.”
Grayson exhaled through his nose, half-amused and half-annoyed. “Remind me again why we invited him?”
Stefan smirked faintly. “Because every family gathering needs that one relative no one likes. Besides, it's his house, too. Can't exactly kick him out.”
Damon lifted his glass of bourbon from the counter and raised it in a mock toast. “To chaos and to catching little brother red-handed.”
“I could always freeze him and we just have Thanksgiving without him.” Grayson suggested.
The smile on Damon's face turned into a frown. “You wouldn't dare.”
“Try me.” Grayson smirked.
“Guys, hurry up! Matt and Tyler are already picking at the turkey.” Bonnie's voice called from the dining room.
Stefan reached for Grayson’s hand, giving it a quick, secret squeeze before they joined the others. “Come on.” He said softly. “Let’s go have Thanksgiving.”
I was thinking about how Lexi and Stefan traveled all over and thought "What if Damon had been stopped from killing her by Grayson, and after graduation Stefan Lexi and Grayson went somewhere tropical after Grayson made Lexi a daylight ring and they went surfing, catching Beach sun, and Grayson suggested their next stop is the Trevi Fountain in Italy to recreate stefan's drunken antics.
At the Mystic Grill, Lexi shoves some shots down by where Damon is sitting. She gave him a pointed look that could only be assumed as disgust for Damon and his entire existence for being. “All right, the shots are a bribe. I need you to answer a question.”
“What are you really doing in Mystic Falls?” Because Lexi highly doubted Damon came to this quiet little town to be with his little brother once again, and recapture their brotherly bond that has eluded them since they became vampires. Lexi knows what kind of person Damon was, and if he was here in town, it wasn't for good reasons.
Damon flashes her a smirk. “Have you tried the brittle? Wins awards.” He tells her.
“Cut the crap.”
She watches Damon down a shot before looking at her. “Okay. I have a diabolical master plan.”
That tracked. Damon was known for being a sneaky and cunning son of a bitch. Last time Lexi fell for his lies, she ended up trapped on the rooftop of a building, the sun out and shining with no way out for her to escape. She vowed never to never let Damon get the best of her again. She crossed her arms. “What is it?”
“Well, if I told you, it wouldn't be very diabolical, now would it?” Damon asked.
Sheriff Forbes comes into the bar with her squad and a young teenage girl who looks very frightened. The same girl who had been kissing her boyfriend before Damon attacked and killed him before he compelled this girl into believing that the vampire who attacked her and her boyfriend was Lexi.
The Sheriff scans the area with her eyes before looking at the young woman. “Okay, look around. Let me know if you see anyone.” Throughout the sea of dancing bodies, the young girl looks around before her eyes fall upon Damon and Lexi talking at the bar. She let out a sharp gasp before pointing at them. Sheriff Forbes follows her gaze, taking in the blonde woman talking to Damon. She wasn't just some random person in a bar. No, she was a vampire. And a dangerous one at that who needed to be stopped.
She ushers the young girl into the hands of her deputies before making her way towards the bar, catching Stefan and Grayson's attention. Damon and the Sheriff shared a knowing look before injecting a needle of vervain into Lexi's leg. The vampire lets out a gasp as pain and fire spread throughout her whole body, making her feel faint and woozy.
“What are you doing?!” Damon pretends to act surprised for the whispering crowd watching them. The Sheriff turns to Damon. “Thank you for the vervain; now if you'll excuse me.” She walks away from the bar, her fellow officers taking Lexi by both sides and escorting her out of the Grill.
“Oh my God. Stefan, my premonition.” Grayson said.
“What premonition?”
“I had a premonition early today that didn't make any sense. Only bits and pieces, but the biggest clue was a needle. And I think Caroline's mom just used it on Lexi. But what was in it?”
“Vervain. Zach was growing it at the Veritas estate. We need to go now.” He and Grayson push through the crowd of people, hoping to stop something before it was too late. “Excuse me, sorry.” They made it to the front entrance, but it was being blocked by two officers. “Can't go out this way.” They hurriedly to the back entrance of the bar.
Outside, the officers and Sheriff are taking Lexi to the police car when she wakes up, snarling with her vampire face and fangs out, throwing the officers off her like rag dolls. Sending them both crashing into police cars. The Sheriff draws her gun and points it at a snarling Lexi. She takes aim and shoots, piercing through Lexi's skin. The wooden bullets hurt, but they're not strong enough to kill or stop her. Only delay the inevitable.
Grayson and Stefan arrive outside, the sound of gunshots deafening. They see Lexi approaching the Sheriff as Damon appears out of nowhere with a stake in his hands, raised high, and aiming for the kill. Stefan is about to run over there and intercept Damon.
“Stefan!” Grayson throws up both hands and suddenly everyone and everything is frozen in place. Even Stefan. The good thing about being with a witch with the power to freeze is that it came in handy for situations like this, but Grayson couldn't always control it,nor could he tell how long it would last. He needed to act fast before everyone unfroze, and Lexi got a stake through the heart.
“Okay, think, stay calm. I gotta get her away from here. Okay.” Grayson squints his eyes as he telekinetically moves the stake out of Damon's hands before moving Lexi to their side. Just in time too, as the freeze wore off, and Damon and the Sheriff looked around in confusion. “She's gone. Find her!” The Sheriff orders.
Grayson turns to Stefan and a hurt Lexi. “Go. Hurry. Get her out of here.”
With a nod, Grayson watched his boyfriend and Lexi disappear in a blur of vampire speed, an act which did not go unnoticed by a pissed off looking Damon.
…..
At the boarding house, Grayson watched as Stefan helped Lexi pick out the wooden bullets from her skin. Every pull and tug made her hiss slightly. Damon had planned to kill Lexi in front of the council to gain their trust. That was low. Even for someone like Damon. Lexi brushed herself off as Stefan pulled the last bullet out, the holes in Lexi's skin slowly closing up. “Ugh, finally. I can't believe that bitch shot me.”
“That was Caroline's mom.” Grayson told her. “She's the Sheriff in town, but she's also on the council.”
“What council?”
“The council that rids vampires in Mystic Falls. Like in 1864.” Stefan said calmly.
“What do we do, Stefan?”
“Do? I'm gonna kill Damon. He tried to kill Lexi! He killed Zach; he killed Tanner; he turned Vicki; I have to kill him!” Stefan said.
“No, you can't do that!” Grayson protested.
“Why are you trying to save him? Grayson he's never gonna change. Don't you see that? He's never gonna change.” Lexi said.
“I'm not trying to save him, I'm trying to save you guys. You have no idea what this will do to you, please Stefan.” Grayson begged.
“Everywhere that I go, pain and death follow; Damon follows me. No more.”
Grayson grabs Stefan's arm and looks straight into his emerald greens. “You don't understand. We have an even bigger problem now. Stefan, the council knows about Lexi now. She's in danger. We have to help her.”
“I hate to admit it, but he has a point, Stefan. Your brother just painted a target on my back. I can't stay in Mystic Falls anymore. I need to leave tonight.” Lexi said.
“What? No. No, Damon does not get to win. We can't just let him get away with this.” Stefan tells her.
“And we won't.” Lexi said. “But the longer that I'm here, means putting you and Grayson in danger. I won't let that happen to you, Stefan.” She stood up and headed for the door of Stefan's bedroom. “I'll disappear, but hopefully when things die down, I'll come back.”
“Wait, Lexi! You don't even have a way to protect yourself from the sun. How are you going to survive?” Stefan asked, voice tight with emotions. He didn't want Lexi to leave after what could have happened tonight, but he also knows that this is for the best.
“I'll do what I always do, sweetness. I'll save myself.” She goes to leave before Grayson stops her. “Wait! I think I might have an idea.” Grayson went over to his backpack that laid on Stefan's bed before returning with a green bound leather book the size of an encyclopedia. “This is my family's spellbook. Maybe there's something in here that can help us.” Grayson starts flipping through the book before landing on a specific page, then showed Stefan and Lexi what it said.
“How to create a Daylight Amulet?” Lexi asked.
“I can try and make you a Daylight ring or jewelry to let you walk in the sunlight. You'd never have to fear the sun again.” Grayson said.
Lexi blinked, stunned for a second. “Grayson…that’s—” She swallowed, trying not to look hopeful. “That’s serious magic. Are you sure you can do that?”
“I know that I'm a newbie witch, but if the witch who did it for Stefan and Damon could do it, why can't I?” Grayson said, putting the book on Stefan's desk. Stefan leaned in to read it, his brow knitting. “It looks complicated. There’s a binding incantation, a purification ritual, and something about blood recognition.”
“We'll need some of Lexi's blood. White candles. A golden thread. And something Lapis lazuli.” Grayson said.
“Great. Where are we gonna get one of those at this time?” Stefan asked.
Lexi reached into her pocket and pulled out a silver necklace with a bunch of lapis lazuli stones hanging from it. The center was a giant piece of lapis shaped into a heart. “Think that’ll do?”
“Where'd you get that?” Stefan asked.
“Colin's. He gave it to me.” Lexi's voice wavered slightly.
“Who's Colin?” Grayson asked.
“Lexi's little brother. He died when he was sixteen.” Stefan said.
Grayson felt bad for Lexi. Losing a sibling was tough. He lost his parents and he was a wreck. He couldn't imagine what would happen if he lost Elena or Jeremy. “I'm so sorry, Lexi.”
“You're sweet, Grayson. But if this actually works, then Colin will be with me always.” Lexi said.
“Then let's get to work.”
Grayson placed the necklace in the center of the table. He lit a white candle and held it over the necklace, letting a few drops of melted wax fall around it. Next, he wrapped the gold thread loosely around the necklace. He held out a knife for Lexi to take. He and Stefan both watched as she cut her palm before letting the blood drop on it. Finally, Grayson, recited the words to spell the necklace.
“Light of day and sun above,
Bless this necklace with witch’s love.
Shield the dark, protect the flame,
Let sunlight cause the bearer no pain.
By ancient power, old and bright,
Bind this vampire to the light.”
The air in Stefan’s room seemed to thicken as Grayson’s voice slipped into a steady chant, ancient words rolling off his tongue like he’d spoken them his whole life. The necklace glowed white and gold before returning to its natural state. The room was quiet as they all looked at the necklace. “Is it… done?”
Grayson looked exhausted, but proud. “Yeah. Pick it up.”
She hesitated, then lifted the necklace from the table. For a moment, it felt warm in her hand. Warm like noon sunlight. Her breath hitched.
Stefan watched with cautious hope. “Lexi… you want to test it?”
“Hell yes, I wanna test it.”
The three of them waited till morning and onto the boarding house porch just as the morning sky started to shift into pale orange.
Lexi stood at the threshold. The place where sunlight was lethal for her. She rubbed the necklace around her fingers. “Okay. If this doesn’t work, somebody make sure my ashes go somewhere dramatic.”
Stefan groaned. “Lexi—”
“—Kidding.” She winked, then turned towards the sun.
The first thin ray of sunlight touched the porch.
Lexi reached her hand forward.
Stefan stiffened. Grayson held his breath.
The light hit Lexi’s fingers…no burning. No smoke. No pain.
Her eyes widened. “Holy—”
She stepped fully into the sunlight. Warmth soaked into her skin. The golden glow danced on her shoulders and face. Her breath hitched, turning into a quiet, awed laugh. “Oh my God.” She whispered. “I forgot what this felt like.” Grayson’s heart practically burst in his chest. Stefan smiled, soft, relieved, emotional in that way he tried to hide.
Lexi spun once in the sunlight, lifting her arms like she was absorbing every photon. “Grayson…” She stopped, suddenly serious. “Thank you.”
Grayson smiled. “You're welcome.”
A year later
“New York?”
“Too close.”
“Vegas!”
“Ugh, no. Too touristy.”
“ Look, I know you think I'm joking, but you are leaving. You just graduated for the millionth time. It's time to start living your life.” Lexi told Stefan from the passenger seat of the car. A lot has happened in the past year. The original family of vampires came into Mystic Falls. Grayson met an evil witch, a vampire hunter. Katherine Pierce. And the Immortal, Silas. He also became a vampire-witch. Now, he, Lexi, and Stefan were trying to figure out where Stefan should go to celebrate graduating high school for the millionth time.
“I've never been to Portland.” Stefan said.
Grayson wrinkled his nose. “Ew, no. Why not somewhere sunny?”
“Yes!’ Lexi pointed with excitement. “Let's go to Venice. Lots of incredibly hot Italian studs.”
“Oh, my God, Lex–”
“–Wait. Don't you have roots in Italy, Stefan?” Grayson asked from the backseat. He remembered Stefan making mention of Giuseppe Salvatore moving to Mystic Falls Virginia from Florence Italy.
“That's right. I do.” Stefan nods. “But it's nothing special.”
Lexi rolled her eyes. “Right. Says the guy who jumped naked in the Trevi Fountain.”
Grayson’s eyes shined with mischief. “Can we go, please? I wanna see it.”
“The fountain, or Stefan naked?” Lexi raised her eyebrows.
“Both.”
Stefan blushed and let out a sigh. “We didn't even pack anything. Besides, Elena will kill me if I kidnap her little brother.”
“Well, we'll get clothes when we get there. Also, I'm pretty sure your brother will be keeping Elena plenty busy this summer.” Lexi chuckled.
“Gross!”
The sun was an orange smear melting into the ocean, and Stefan hadn’t looked this relaxed in… well, Lexi couldn’t remember the last time. Salt clung to his hair, droplets sliding down the smooth lines of his chest as he carried his green surfboard back up the sand. Grayson followed right behind him, laughing breathlessly, board tucked under one arm, hair plastered to his forehead.
“You wiped out on purpose.” Stefan called over his shoulder.
“Maybe I wanted you to rescue me.” Grayson replied, all smug sunshine. “Hero hair activated.”
Lexi plopped onto her towel with an exaggerated groan, her daylight necklace glittering proudly in the sun. “I swear, I’ve been a vampire for over a century and nothing compares to this. Beach days were wasted on humans.”
“Tequila shots later?” Grayson asked.
“You're on,Gilbert.” Lexi said.
“I am not taking care of you two when you're tripping over your own two feet.” Stefan dried his hair with his towel.
“Stefan’s right. We should wait for Rome to have him recreate his nudeness.”
“We are not doing that.” Stefan said immediately. “I'm not doing that.”
“Oh, yes you are.” Grayson said before tackling Stefan into the sand as Lexi watched with a small smile.
reader moves from LA to Forks in order to reconnect with her old family friend Bella Swan and meets Jacob.
Reader is slightly Afro Latina coded I haven’t rlly said anything about reader’s hair tho so maybe just Latina, also speaks Spanish and incorporates it into random sentences but only if she knows the other person can understand it, reader wears a black juicy tracksuit and chunky sandals bc I said so Jacob does not know that reader is a werewolf reader and is in a pack ill add more as i write
Bruh he is SO FOINE GRRRR BARK BARK BARK WOOF WOOF WOOF
I yawned as I drove to my best friend's house after hearing that her pasty-faced boyfriend had broken up with her. “Bells! vine tan pronto como pude!” I said barging into the house and the young girl's room. I walked in and saw her crying in her bed “Okay pause those sheets are so tacky what the hell” I said carefully sitting down and taking her in my arms letting her cry into my velvety tracksuit. “let's get you better amor” i said kissing the top of her head and helping her stand up. I got her into the shower, washed her face, and put her back to bed as it was already 10:00.
I woke her up bright and early and got her into the bathroom to do something to her face and hair you know to bring that Arizonan girl out and honestly, it worked wonderfully. I put on another tracksuit this time it's dark green and I give Bella a matching one “Tan guapa” I complimented her smiling softly seeing her face turn red alright let go I say grabbing my keys “Wait you driving?” Bella asked “yea silly it’s a sports car though so prepárate,” I said stepping outside and unlocking my Dodge Charger and turning it on making the engine rev like crazy. I smiled as I headed towards the school that I recently enrolled in.
I pulled into a parking spot seeing all the different people including some of Bella’s acquaintances that she showed me a picture of. I stepped out of the car looking around seeing her pasty faced ex-boyfriend through my shades looking right at me, I smirked slightly walking over and opening the door for Bella and helping her out. I chuckled seeing her stumble due to me going 30 over the speed limit. She put her arm around my waist covering up my back tattoo i did the same as we walked through the parking lot ignoring the stares. Thankfully i was able to get all of my classes with Bella so we walked to class together.
Time Skip
It was the end of the day and me and Bella were walking outside and to my car just to find a bunch of random people standing around my car “watch this” i snickered as i pressed the automatic on button and watched as the people jumped and yelped by me turning on the car. I open the door and get in and so does Bella i peered into the mirror seeing the Cullens staring at my car “they stare a whole lot” i said raising my eyebrows. I drove out of the parking lot “ hey can you take me to this place my friend wants to hang out” Bella said “sure”.
We made it to this guy named Billy’s house and when you pulled up several shirtless dudes where sitting on the front deck. I got out and immediately smelled like there were other werewolves and i guess they could smell me too because they immediately turned in my direction. “Guys this is y/n l/n” Bella hesitantly introduced me i smiled politely at the boys “well I’m Seth that’s Quill, Embry, and Jacob” the boy said smiling sweetly “n/n wanna come with us to La Push there’s gonna be a bonfire” Bella asked “uh sure i wont stay too long though a bitch needs her sleep or we wont make it to school tomorrow” i laughed “ well I’m gonna go home i need a shower” i sighed pressing the automatic button on my car key turning up the car making the engine rev. I walked to my car “you stayin’ right?” I looked at Bella as i opened the door, she nodded a few times and i got in my car and sped off.
Bella’s POV
I watched as my friend sped away in her car “soo where’s she from? I know she wasn’t born here” Quil asked “Yeah she’s from LA” I responded as I sat down next to Jacob “What’s LA?” Jacob asked with a raised eyebrow “LA stands for Los Angeles it's in California” I said leaning back and pulling out my phone to text y/n the time she can come back and where. Jacob leaned his head to the side to see what I was doing “So this y/n girl…is she single?” Quil asked as he leaned back in his chair licking his lips “Surprisingly yes” I said “Honestly I don’t even know how or why she’s single I guess the boys in California didn’t catch her attention” I shrugged.
“Are you all ready? And do we have everything we need?” Jacob called out as he finished loading the supplies into his truck “Yeah we’re ready” I called out getting into the passenger seat and the other boys got into the back seat. I dialed y/n’s number and waited for her to answer” Hello?” She answered, “Hey we’re on our way to La Push where are you now?” “Umm I’m at a shopping center right now getting Auntie Annie’s” she answered “Oooh get me a pretzel please,” I asked “ está bien I’m about to leave now no estoy muy lejos” “Okay bye” “Peace”. I hung up the phone “Was she speaking Spanish?” Seth asked “yea it’s her first language” I said looking out the window as the trees turned into cliffs and this cliff turned into the beach. It was slightly crowded but I wasn’t bothered by that. The bonfire was set up and I was waiting patiently for y/n to come with my delicious pretzel.
Y/n’s POV
I pulled into the parking lot and looked around before I got out holding Bella’s pretzel and a lemonade in my other hand I walked towards the bonfire which was actual a long distance away so I started sipping on my frosted lemonade. The soft light of the fire grew larger as I neared I scanned for a spot to sit at and slightly tensed up seeing that the only spot open was by that Jacob guy. No I don’t hate him or anything he’s actually very attractive in fact he looks like he was sculpted by a god or something. And ohh don’t get me started on his eyes and the way his brows furrow- that’s enough rambling for one day I thought to myself. I saw Bella get up happily scurrying towards me grabbing the pretzel and taking a bite happily. “Oh um there aren’t anymore seats by me so I guess you’ll have to sit with Jay” Bella said looking around “oh okay” I said sitting down on the bench by the young boy.
Time Skip
Everyone was laughing and enjoying their time Jacob and I grew silent but I could feel his eyes on me. Bella and the 3 other boys were talking and laughing but I kind of just zoned them out by playing a random game on my phone. “So y/n how’s the weather there in California?” Jacob asked as he sat up straight “extremely hot I can say that” I laughed breathlessly “so do you like it over here more?” I grew silent for a moment looking back at Bella and the others joking around “I guess you could say that though I do miss my family” I smiled softly looking back at Jacob. I could see a slight hint of red in his cheeks but I dared not to say anything about it. “Alright y/n I’m ready to go” Bella said getting up “okay” I said getting up “it was nice meeting you all” I said softly walking over to Bella and turning around. “Yeah it was nice meeting you” Seth said as the others nodded in agreement I softly smiled and turned around to see Bella already walking off I smacked my lips jogging after her.
We had finally made it to my car and we got in and I drove away “soo Jacob huh~ think he’s cute?” Bella asked teasingly and laughed when I blushed “I think he’s really into you y/n~” she laughed “I should set you two up” I laughed nervously “I mean I wouldn’t be complaining he is cute” I said as I pulled into the driveway and got out the car. “Oh by the way me and Edward are okay now I guess but I don’t know if we’re back together yet, also prom is Friday night and I think you should come” Bella said as we walked into the house “okay but I don’t trust that pasty-face bastard, and yea we can go to prom can you come dress shopping with me?” I asked “sure”.
“Alright goodnight Bells” I yawned as I walked to my room, I laid down and called my mom as it was only 8:00 where she was “hi momma” I spoke sweetly “hi my sweet baby how is mare you doing?” My mother cooed “ah I’m alright schools pretty nice here and I love the weather” I gushed “that’s good sweetie now have you met anyone? Any boys?” My mother asked slyly. I chuckled nervously “there’s this one boy but when I first met him I got a whiff of that wet dog smell so I think he’s one of us including his friends or should I say pack” I whispered “another pack? Well I’m not surprised. You haven’t come across any of those cold ones have you?” She asked “unfortunately yes, I have and I think Bella has a relation shit with one of them” I sighed “god well if you need any help let out a howl and your siblings will be there in a bling of an eye” “I will momma, I’m going to go to sleep now okay?” “Alright love call me if you need anything alright? Bye now” I hung up the phone and placed it on my nightstand and rolled over to look at the ceiling. I waited for a few minutes just in case then I softly closed my eyes.
I was woken up by my 5:00 alarm and got up with a groan. I quickly got ready and headed downstairs just to see Bella introducing her so called “boyfriend” to Charlie “good morning Charlie!” I say walking up to the chief giving him a big hug somehow he was still taller than me “mornin’” he huffed “y/n this is Edward” Bella said “hi.uh nice to meet you” I said looking him up and down questionably. “It’s nice to meet you too I’m about to take Bella to play baseball ball with my family would you like to join?” The pale-faced man smiled “I’ll go if Bells wants me to” I stated as I turned to the girl raising my eyebrow. “Yeah you should come but take your car so I can have a ride home,” Bella said smiling “Okay. “
“Y/n, I trust that you’ll keep Bella safe and not let any harm come to her correct?” Charlie asked sternly but I could see right through him “She won’t get into any type of danger as long as I’m breathing” I said with a glint in my eyes. “She’s safe with me,” I said holding up my hands and retracted my claws smiling. Charlie nodded and walked off to get ready for work Bella and her boyfriend were already outside I sipped on some water and pressed the button to turn on my car “I’ll follow you guys or you could just tell me the location so I can speed how I’d like to” I said looking at Edward “I think it’d be best if you followed since I don’t know where we’re going” “erm okay I guess” I shrugged walking to my car.
The car ride there was pretty long but I understand what Edward meant by him not even knowing where we were going himself because there were three other cars in front of him at last we finally made it to the destination three women got out of one car and three men came out of theirs I opened my door and got out and walked next to Bella and rested my elbow on her shoulder. “Y/n this is Alice, Rosalie, and Esme” “Hi y/n I’ve seen you in the halls but I was too nervous to come up to you,” Alice said chuckling nervously “I know right? When I first met her she looked like she wanted to fight me but she’s a sweetheart really” Bella smiled “Looks like it” Rosalie said eyeing me up and down. I heard a twig snap and immediately turned my head to see who it was kind of surprising the three women.
After I was introduced to everyone the game had finally begun and I could tell that they were very serious about the game. I stood at one of the bases and looked to my side seeing Bella at another one then all of a sudden she caught the ball and threw it at me and I could see in the corner of my eye Rosalie running towards me using her super speed I caught the ball just before she could slide to the base “you're out.” I said looking down at her. She stood up immediately and let out a growl as if she were trying to scare me I raised my eyebrow tilted my head and watched her stomp away.
“Stop!” Alice yelled everyone walked to her “Someone’s coming”
Yall i was so excited writing this yall do not knowww anywho not rlly proof read i just used Grammarly to correct sum stuff so if it sounds weird it’s that😓🙏
Summary: Forged in darkness and marked by scars, Soldat is freed by chance. Wounded and lost, he follows the hand that touched him without command.
Word Count: 6.4k.
note: Another story that comes to an end. Thank you so much to all of you who accompanied during this journey❤️
Previous Chapter - Masterlist
The first snow came early that year, dusting the garden in white before November had even reached its midpoint. She woke to find frost patterns on her bedroom window and James already awake downstairs, stoking the fire to chase away the morning chill.
When she descended, she found him standing at the kitchen window, staring out at the transformed landscape with an expression she couldn't quite read.
"First snow?" she asked softly, approaching to stand beside him.
He nodded, not taking his eyes from the garden. "Never saw it like this. Not... peaceful."
The words were heavy with implication. He'd seen snow during missions. Cold that bit through clothing, white expanses that offered no cover, winters that meant suffering rather than beauty, pristine grounds that turned red.
"It's lovely, isn't it?" she said gently, watching the way the morning light caught on the flakes still drifting down.
"Yes." He turned to look at her then, and something in his expression made her melt. "Everything is now."
----
Things had changed between them in subtle but profound ways since that day in her bedroom. He no longer slept by the fire, hadn't since that first night after their conversation, when she'd found him standing at the base of the stairs, clearly uncertain of where he belonged.
"Come upstairs," she'd said quietly, and he'd followed without hesitation.
Now they shared the bed each night, though what happened there had evolved far beyond the chaste sleeping arrangements she'd initially imagined. The safe intimacy she'd shown him had become something they turned to again and again.
Sometimes it was urgent, born of sudden need and fumbling through clothing in the dimness before sleep. Other times it was languid, exploratory, learning what made each other gasp or shudder. And occasionally, like last night, it was simply about closeness, his hand moving against her through layers of fabric while she whispered instructions in his ear, teaching him the geography of her pleasure with patience.
They never spoke about it during daylight hours. Never acknowledged the way they'd wake tangled together, with the evidence of their nighttime activities requiring discrete cleanup before the day could properly begin. It existed in a separate space, sanctioned by darkness and privacy, never quite crossing into the reality of their daily routines.
But it colored everything. The way he looked at her across the breakfast table. The brush of his fingers when he handed her things. The awareness that tonight, when the sun set and the house grew quiet, they would climb those stairs together and find new ways to be close without crossing the line she'd drawn.
It couldn't last forever, this careful balance. She knew that. But for now, it was enough.
----
Several days later, they ventured into town again. She needed supplies that couldn't wait -soap, lamp oil, thread for mending- and the weather had cleared enough to make the walk manageable.
He dressed carefully that morning, pulling on another pair of trousers she got for him and the shirt, plus a sweater that Mrs. Hartwell knitted for him as a thank-you gift for ‘neighbourly’ maintaining her fences and little things outside her house, since her sons lived away and clearly she couldn’t do it herself.
The glove went on his left hand as always he ventured outside, and checked his appearance in the small mirror by the door with uncharacteristic attention.
"Ready?" she asked, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders.
He nodded, but she noticed the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes scanned the road before they even stepped out.
The walk into town was quiet. He stayed close -closer than strictly necessary- and she was acutely aware of every point where their arms brushed, every moment when her shoulder bumped his upper arm.
When they reached the main street, she felt him tense beside her. Not the overwhelming panic of their first visit, but a heightened awareness.
"Are you alright?" she murmured.
"Yes." His uncovered hand found hers briefly, giving it a quick squeeze before propriety made him release it. "Better when you're close."
The grocer's shop was moderately busy with several townspeople selecting provisions for the week ahead. She felt him press slightly closer as they entered.
"Good morning, dear!" Mrs. Patterson called out from near the pickle barrels, as her eyes lit up with curiosity when she spotted him. "And your cousin too! How lovely to see you both."
"Good morning, Mrs. Patterson," she replied warmly. "How is your arthritis? Are the poultices helping?"
"Oh, wonderfully! You're a miracle worker." The older woman moved closer, not even trying to hide her assessment of James. "My goodness, young man, you're looking much healthier than when we first met. The country air must agree with you."
He nodded once, his expression carefully neutral. "Yes, ma'am."
"And so polite!" Mrs. Patterson beamed, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. "You know, my niece Sarah is visiting from the next town over. Such a sweet girl, unmarried still, and I was thinking perhaps you might like to meet her? A nice young man like yourself-"
"No, thank you," James said flatly, stepping slightly closer to her in a way that made Mrs. Patterson's eyebrows rise.
"Oh! Well, I only thought-"
"James is still recovering," she interjected smoothly, placing a gentle hand on his arm, an acceptable touch between cousins, even if the tension she felt in his muscles suggested something far less familial. "Social engagements can still be overwhelming. But thank you for thinking of him."
Mrs. Patterson looked between them with renewed interest, clearly noting the protective way he had positioned himself, the subtle but undeniable body language that screamed possession rather than cousinly concern.
"Of course, of course," the older woman said slowly, her expression thoughtful in a way that suggested future gossip. "Well, do let me know if circumstances change."
As they moved away, his hand came to rest on the small of her back, brief, easily explained as steadying her on the uneven floorboards, but she felt the intention in his touch. The claiming.
----
At the baker's, they encountered a different sort of attention. Two young women -the mayor's daughters, Mary and Elizabeth- were selecting pastries when they entered. Both looked up at the sound of the door, and their eyes immediately fixed on James with unconcealed interest.
"Oh my," Elizabeth whispered to her sister, not quite quietly enough. "That must be the cousin everyone's been talking about."
Mary's response was just as audible. "Handsome, isn't he? In a brooding sort of way."
She felt him go rigid beside her, clearly uncomfortable with the attention he was receiving. She moved toward the counter, hoping to complete their business quickly, but Elizabeth intercepted them with impeccable social grace.
"Nurse. What a nice surprise to see you," she said with a bright smile that didn't quite reach her eyes when they flicked toward her, but intensified considerably when they returned to him. "This is your cousin from the war? We've heard so much about your kindness in taking him in."
"James," she said carefully, "these are the mayor's daughters, Mary and Elizabeth."
He nodded curtly, already scanning for exits, for threats, for anything except the two women smiling at him expectantly.
"Your recovery must have been difficult," Mary ventured with big eyes, moving closer with the kind of calculated innocence that suggested significant interest. "Perhaps you'd like to attend the church social next week? It's a wonderful opportunity to meet people in a comfortable setting. I'd be happy to introduce you around-"
"No."
The single word was so flat, so absolute, that both sisters blinked in surprise.
"James," she said, touching his arm in gentle reproach. To the sisters, she offered an apologetic smile. "He's still not comfortable in large gatherings. The war left him quite sensitive to crowds and noise."
"Oh, of course," Elizabeth said, though her eyes had narrowed slightly. "But surely a small gathering wouldn't be too overwhelming? We could keep it intimate. Just a few friendly faces."
"No," James repeated, this time shifting his position so he was slightly between her and the two women, a movement so subtle she might have missed it if she hadn't been hyperaware of his every gesture. "Not interested."
The rejection was blunt to the point of rudeness, and she saw color rise in Elizabeth's cheeks, whether from embarrassment or indignation, it was hard to tell.
"Well," Mary said with forced brightness, linking arms with her sister. "Perhaps another time, when you're feeling more sociable. Come along, Elizabeth. I believe Mother is waiting."
After they left, the baker chuckled as he wrapped their bread. "Causing quite a stir among the young ladies, aren't you, son? Those two have been trying to catch a husband for the better part of two years. The war is making it hard to find young suitors."
His expression suggested he found nothing amusing about the situation. "Not interested in being caught."
Mr. Brennan's eyes flicked meaningfully toward her. "Ah, I see."
The implication was clear, and her face burned with heat. "Mr. Brennan, we're-"
"Of course, of course," he said quickly, though his knowing smile suggested he'd added his own observations to the growing pile of village gossip. "No offense meant, miss."
----
Outside, once they were safely away from curious eyes, she stopped on a quiet side street and turned to face him.
"You were rude to those women."
"They were looking at me like..." He struggled for words, his brow furrowed. "Like something to acquire. To own."
"They were just being friendly, James. Showing interest."
"I don't want their interest." His hand came up to cup her face, brushing her cheek with his thumb despite the potential threat of someone seeing them. "I only want yours."
"We're supposed to be cousins in public," she reminded him gently, even as she found herself leaning into his touch. "You can't- you can't keep doing these things so obviously. People are noticing."
"Good." His eyes held hers with certainty. "Let them notice. Let them see you're mine."
"James-"
"I know what you're going to say. That we need to be careful. That we can't let people suspect." His thumb traced her lower lip. "But I won't pretend I don't care about you, and won't pretend other women have any chance when they don't."
She stared at him, torn between the rational knowledge that he was making their situation more complicated and the treacherous warmth that spread through her chest at his possessiveness.
"You're going to get us into trouble," she said finally, though there was no real heat in the words.
"Don't care." He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching hers. "As long as I have you, I don't care about anything else."
She knew she should argue, should insist on propriety and caution. But standing there in the morning sunlight, with the snow crunching beneath their feet and his eyes burning the way they did, she found she didn't want to.
"We should finish our shopping," she said instead, a non-answer that felt like surrender.
----
They completed their errands with him maintaining that same careful distance that wasn't quite distance. He didn't touch her inappropriately or do anything that could be called out as improper. But his presence beside her was constant, looming, and protective in ways that went far beyond cousinly concern.
At the fabric shop, when the merchant's son tried to help her reach a bolt of cloth on a high shelf, he was there instantly, closing his hand around the fabric before the young man could complete the gesture.
"I have it," he said quietly, handing it to her without looking at the merchant's son.
When they passed Thomas on the street, the wood supplier's greeting died on his lips as he took in his cold stare, she realized that her earlier concerns about subtlety had been entirely warranted.
"You're going to start a reputation," she murmured as they walked toward home, their baskets full.
"Already have one." He glanced at her. "Shell-shocked soldier. Protective of his cousin. People understand that."
"Do they? Or do they think something else entirely?"
He was quiet for a moment. "Does it matter what they think?"
"It might. If they think we're..." She couldn't quite finish the sentence.
"Lovers?" he supplied bluntly. "More than cousins?"
Heat flooded her face. "Yes. That."
"Then they'd be right."
"James!"
"What?" He stopped walking, turning to face her. "We are, aren't we? Maybe not in the way they'd think, but... we share a bed. We touch each other. We-" He lowered his voice. "We make each other feel things. Do things. That's not cousins. That's lovers."
She looked around frantically, ensuring no one was close enough to overhear. "You can't say things like that in public."
"Why not? It's true."
"Because truth and propriety aren't the same thing!" She grabbed his arm, pulling him toward a more secluded path. "James, listen to me. If people truly believe we're lovers, if they think we are fornicating-” she sighed, seeing him furrow his brows in confusion, “-having sexual intercourse before marriage, it won't just be gossip. It could mean real consequences. I could lose my position at the clinic.”
“Because we’re cousins?” he asked.
She stared at him, realizing he'd completely missed the point. "It’s not about being cousins! People marry relatives all the time to secure lands or bloodlines. It is about what I told you about purity and moral correction." She pressed her fingers to her temples, exhaling slowly.
“Well,” he offered, maddeningly calm, “if you’re so worried about the gossip, we could just get married.”
“What?”
He looked at her as if the solution were obvious, almost childlike in its simplicity. “It’s what we’re already doing,” he said. “Just without a ceremony. Without… permission from society.” He turned to face her fully, his blue eyes piercing hers. “Would it be so terrible? Being married to me?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. The question lay there between them, fragile and dangerous
"I-" She struggled to form coherent thoughts. “You can’t just-”
"Nothing about us has been normal from the start." He took a step closer, closing the last of the distance. "But I already know you. Know you better than most men know their wives. And know what sounds you make when I touch you. Know how you care for people, how you think, what makes you laugh."
"It's permanent, James. Forever. You can't just-"
"Why wouldn’t I want it to be permanent?" He tilted his head, genuinely confused. "Why would I want to leave you? Find someone else? You keep saying that might happen, but..." He stepped closer. "You're the only person who knows what I am. Who touched me, knowing the truth. Who cried for me."
Her throat closed at the memory of that night, of holding him while he told her about being assembled from corpses.
"Even if I could find someone else," he continued, voice dropping lower, "even if there was another woman who'd want me... I'd have to lie to her. Forever. Or tell her and risk..." He didn't need to finish. They both knew what would happen if the wrong person learned the truth.
"But you," his hand found hers, "you already know. And you stay anyway."
She felt tears prick at her eyes because he was right. The cruel logic of it was undeniable. Who else could he ever truly be with? Who else would accept him, all of him, the way she had?
"I'm tired," she admitted suddenly, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them. "I'm tired of being the one who always says no. Who always finds reasons why we can't... why we shouldn't..."
"Then stop," he said simply.
"It's not that simple-"
"It is." His thumb traced patterns on her palm. "I know you love me. I love you. We live together already. Share everything. The town already suspects. So why not make it real?"
She laughed, slightly hysterical. "You make it sound so logical."
"Isn't it?"
The fight went out of her then, all her careful arguments crumbling under the weight of his simple logic. Because he was right. They were already everything but married in name. The careful boundaries she'd tried to maintain had long since dissolved. They shared a bed, shared intimacy, shared a life.
And the thought of him with anyone else - the thought of encouraging him toward another woman who could never truly know him- felt more wrong than any impropriety they'd already committed.
She looked at him for a long moment. The man who'd been built from death but had learned to choose life. Who'd been made as a weapon but had chosen gentleness. Who could have taken what he wanted through force but instead had learned to ask, to wait, to earn.
"Yes." she heard herself say, before her rational mind could intervene.
His eyes widened. "Yes?"
"I-" She stopped, pressing her hand to her mouth as if she could take it back. But the truth was already there, had been there for weeks now. "Oh God. Yes. I mean- this is insane..."
"But yes?" he pressed, without masking the hope in his tone.
"Yes," she said again, stronger this time. "Because you're right. We are already everything but married. And I'm tired of pretending otherwise. Tired of pushing you away when all I want is to pull you closer. Tired of being afraid of some future regret when right now, the only thing I'd regret is losing you."
He stared at her as if afraid to believe what he was hearing.
"I… love you," she continued, the words tumbling out now. "Not as a patient, or a project, or someone I'm helping. I love you. James. And thinking of you with anyone else, of encouraging you toward some other woman when we have this..." She gestured helplessly between them. "It would be the stupidest thing I've ever done."
"So we'll marry?" His voice was barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the moment.
"We'll marry," she confirmed, and then laughed again, dizzy with the magnitude of what she'd just agreed to.
He moved then, closing the distance between them in two quick steps and pulling her into his arms. The kiss was different from their others -not desperate or tentative, but certain. A promise. A seal on the decision they'd just made.
When they finally pulled apart, she was breathless.
"When?" he asked immediately, practical as always.
"I... I don't know. Soon? Before I lose my nerve?" She was half-joking, but there was truth in it too. If she thought about it too long and analyzed it too much, she might talk herself out of it.
"Tomorrow," he suggested.
"James! We need to at least announce it properly. Make arrangements. Get you proper clothes-"
"Next week then," he compromised, and she could see he was serious.
She just chuckled. She owed him a proper talk about courtship customs.
They walked the rest of the way home in a daze, holding hands now without any pretense of propriety.
Once home, she found herself standing in the kitchen, staring at nothing while he tended the fire.
"I just agreed to marry you," she said out loud, testing how it sounded.
"Having second thoughts?" There was vulnerability in his tone despite his attempt at casualness.
She turned to look at him. "No. Just... adjusting to the idea that I'm going to be Mrs..." She paused. "What surname will you use?"
He considered this. "Yours? Or we could make one up."
"James Barnes," she said suddenly. "It sounds right. Common enough not to draw attention."
"James Barnes," he repeated slowly, then nodded. "Yes. That's who I'll be."
"That's who you already are," she corrected gently.
----
They worked together setting the table for dinner, a routine so familiar now that they moved around each other without thinking. She placed the plates while he arranged the cutlery, but she noticed certain tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as if wrestling with words.
"Something wrong?" she asked.
He set down the last fork deliberately. "How much money do you have left?"
"James-"
"After today's shopping. How much?"
She turned toward the stove, stirring the soup that didn't need stirring. "We have enough."
"That's not what I asked."
The quiet authority in his tone made her stop. When she turned back, the way he was watching her told her he wouldn't let this go.
"It's not your concern-"
"It is." He moved closer. "I'm going to be your husband. And I’m not contributing with anything."
"You contribute plenty. You maintain the house, tend the garden-"
"That's not the same." His hands clenched at his sides. "You know it's not. Every piece of bread, every bit of cloth, every coin spent on me... it comes from you.”
She set down the spoon, recognizing this conversation was overdue. "So what?"
"So what?" He stared at her. "I asked you to marry me. But what kind of husband can't provide? What kind of man lives off his wife's earnings?"
"The kind who's been systematically denied any opportunity to earn," she said firmly. "James, you cannot work in town. People think you have a condition. You have no papers, no history, no skills they'd recognize-"
"I have skills," he interrupted quietly.
They both knew what he meant.
"Not those skills," she said quickly.
"No. But-" He moved to the window, staring out at the darkening sky. "I've been thinking. Planning."
She felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. "Planning what?"
"Ways to earn coin. Contribute." He turned back to her. "War creates opportunities."
"James, no-"
"Not that," he said quickly, reading her fear. "Not... killing. But other things. Information. Items that go missing from supply convoys." His blue eyes met hers unflinching. "Things nobody would miss, but people would pay for."
She stared at him. "You're talking about theft."
"I'm talking about survival. About not being a burden."
"You're not a burden-"
“Every time you count coins, I see it. Every time you hesitate before buying something, I know why. You're rationing. Calculating. Making things stretch because of me."
She couldn't deny it, and they both knew it.
"The country's at war," he continued more quietly. "Food costs more each month. And I..." He gestured at himself. "I just take."
"So your solution is crime?"
"My solution is pre- prag…matism." He moved closer to her. "One military supply depot. One night. Enough goods to sell quietly for months of security."
"And if you're caught?"
"I won't be."
The certainty in his voice was chilling because she knew it was probably true. He'd been designed for exactly this kind of operations.
"James, I can't let you-"
"You can't stop me," he said simply. "But I'd rather get your approval."
She sank into a chair, suddenly exhausted. "You're asking me to approve of you becoming a thief."
"I'm asking you to let me be a provider. A real husband. Not just..." He struggled for words. "Not just kept man. Decorative. Useless."
"You're not useless-"
"Then what use am I?" The question came out raw. "What do I contribute besides extra mouth to feed? Extra body to clothe?"
She wanted to list all the ways he enriched her life - his presence, his protection, the way he made her feel less alone. But she knew those weren't the kind of contributions he meant.
Then-
"There might be another way," she said slowly.
He waited.
"Mrs. Hartwell mentioned her sons send money but can't visit to help with repairs. Mr. Crawford's farm needs extra hands for harvest. Dozens of small jobs around the village need doing because of the lack of young hands to work, things people would pay for."
"They wouldn't hire me. Mental condition, remember?"
"They would if I arranged it. If I explained you work better alone, without supervision. That you need the activity for your recovery." She met his eyes. "It wouldn't be much, but-"
"It would be honest," he finished.
"Yeah."
For the first time since the conversation started, she saw his shoulders relax slightly.
"You'd do that? Arrange it?" he murmured.
"If it keeps you from robbing military convoys, yes."
He moved around the table to where she sat, kneeling beside her chair. "I need to contribute. Need to know I'm not just... taking things from you."
She cupped his face in her hands. "You give me so much more than you take."
"That's not enough. Not for me." His hands covered hers. "Let me earn my place here. Please."
She studied his face, seeing the need there. This wasn't just about money, she realized. It was about worth, about identity, about being more than he was now.
“We’ll start with Mr. Crawford,” she said finally.
The relief in his eyes was almost painful to see.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"But no crime," she said firmly. "Promise me."
He hesitated just long enough to make her nervous, then nodded. "No crime. Unless-"
"No unless."
"Unless we're starving."
She wanted to argue, but looking at his face -at the fierce determination there- she knew this was the best promise she'd ever get.
"We won't starve," she said instead.
"No," he agreed. "We won't."
----
That night, the house was particularly silent. The fire crackled softly downstairs as they climbed the stairs, and she felt the weight of the day’s words -marry, husband, forever- pressing between them like something tangible.
He gently closed the bedroom door, and for a moment they just stood there, looking at each other in the glow of the oil lamp. There was something different about the way he observed her now.
"You're going to be my wife," he said in a low voice, as if he were testing the words.
"She felt heat rise in her neck. "Yes."
He approached slowly, slipping the shawl from her shoulders with a delicacy that contrasted with the strength she knew he possessed.
"Then can I touch you… truly?"
The question was so blunt, so characteristic of him, that it almost made her laugh. But there was something deeper there, a genuine plea for permission, for understanding.
"Yes," she whispered. "You can."
His hands trembled slightly as he began to unbutton her dress with clumsy movements born of inexperience but full of intention. She guided him when necessary, placing his fingers where they needed to go, teaching him with patience.
When the fabric finally dropped to the floor, he took a step back to look at her. She only wore her chemise, and under his scrutiny, she felt every nerve in her body come alive.
"Beautiful," he murmured, the word coming out with difficulty, as if his limited vocabulary couldn't express what he truly felt.
She reached out to him, touching the edge of his shirt. "Your turn now."
She helped him remove his clothing, revealing the map of scars she knew so well: the precise, surgical lines where different pieces had been joined, the lash marks crossing his back, the physical evidence of everything he had endured.
Tonight, when her fingers traced those marks, it wasn't with the clinical touch of a caretaker. It was with the reverence of someone who loved every part of him, no matter where it came from.
They moved toward the bed, and this time when he leaned over her, there was a difference in the air. There was no rush, none of the frenzied urgency of previous nights.
His lips found hers, and the kiss was long, exploratory. His hands roamed over her sides, her waist, trailing down to her hips. Every touch was a question, and every sigh from her lips was an answer.
"Teach me," he said against her mouth. "I want to know… everything."
She swallowed. She knew what he meant. She knew that tonight, finally, they would cross the line she had drawn so carefully.
"James," she began. "You know that… I've been taking the tea now.”
He paused, lifting his head to look at her. He had spent enough time watching her prepare her remedies to understand what it meant. "To… not make babies."
"Yes." She stroked his cheek. "It's not that I don't want to… eventually. But right now, with everything so new, still so uncertain…"
"It's smart," he said simply, though she detected a nuance of something. Not exactly disappointment, but something similar to it.
"When we are properly married," she continued softly, "when we have more stability… then we can talk about family. But for now-"
"For now, just us," he completed, and there was relief in his voice along with understanding. "Time to… learn. Without complications."
"Exactly." She pulled him down to her again, kissing him deeply. "Time for this."
With trembling hands, she guided his to the hem of her chemise, helping him lift it over her head. The cool air of the room kissed her bare skin, and she saw him inhale sharply at the sight of her body completely revealed to him for the first time.
"You can touch me," she encouraged softly, taking his hand and placing it on her breast.
He obeyed, exploring with reverence: the weight of her breast, the texture of her nipple that hardened beneath his touch, the way she involuntarily arched into his hand.
"Do you like it?" he asked, with genuine curiosity in his voice.
"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, I do."
"Emboldened, he lowered his head, replacing his hand with his mouth. The first lap of his tongue made her moan, tangling her fingers in his dark hair as he kept exploring, learning, memorizing every sound she made.
Her own hands didn't remain idle. They slid down his scarred back, over the hard muscles of his shoulders, tracing down to the waistband of his trousers. She hesitated only a moment before working at the drawstring, freeing him.
He shivered when her fingers grazed his bare skin, already hard and hot against her thigh as she pushed the garment down. She had felt him before, through layers of clothing, but this was different. This was skin against skin, without barriers, without any pretense of safety.
She wrapped her fingers around him, and an involuntary strangled sound escaped his lips, involuntarily pushing his hips toward her hand.
"Is this okay?" she asked, starting to move her hand with the rhythm she'd learned he liked.
"Yes... but-" He obliged himself to stop rutting against her palm, ragged breath escaped his lips with each exhale. "I want to… touch you too."
With trembling fingers, she guided his hand between her legs, teaching him to touch her there without the barrier of cloth. His fingers explored with cautious curiosity, finding the wetness that was already present on her skin, and the sensitive spot that made her gasp and writhe.
"Here," she whispered, guiding his fingers. "Like this... yes, just like that."
He learned fast, as always, watching her reactions with that concentration he applied to everything else. When he finally slid one finger inside her -slow, careful-she couldn't contain the moan that escaped her lips.
"Does it hurt?" he asked immediately, though he knew the answer by the way she was moving against his hand.
"No," she panted. "It doesn’t hurt. It's... good. Keep going."
He obeyed, moving carefully, learning the rhythm that made her arch toward him. Then he added a second finger when she asked for it, stretching her gently, preparing her for what was about to come.
"More than good," she gasped. "James, I... I need-"
"What do you need?" His voice was deeper now, rougher. "Tell me."
"You," she whispered, pulling him down for a desperate kiss. "All of you."
He positioned himself over her, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other. His blue eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of doubt.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"I've never been more sure of anything," she replied.
Slowly, carefully, he began to press forward. She felt him, stretching her in a way she hadn’t before. But there was no pain, her body remembered, remembered this.
He pushed slowly, watching her face intently for any sign of discomfort. But she only closed her eyes and exhaled long and deep as he slid further inside. When he was fully sheathed inside her, they both stayed still for a moment, adjusting to the almost overwhelming sensations. She could feel every inch of his member, hot and hard, filling her completely."
"God," he breathed, his voice trembling. "This is... I never imagined-"
"I know," she whispered, wrapping her legs around his hips. "I know, and it’s okay," she reassured him, feeling the tension in his muscles. "You can... you can move."
His first thrusts were tentative, uncoordinated and careful, as if he feared breaking her. But she encouraged him, roaming his scarred back with her hands, rising her hips to meet his, until they found a rhythm that satisfied them both.
And then, it was as if something unleashed inside him. All the weeks of restraint, of "safety" through clothing, of never letting himself fully go, it all melted away in the heat of finally being with her completely.
"His thrusts became deeper and more determined. She could feel him containing his strength in every movement, the force that had been engineered into him now directed only to giving her pleasure.
"Harder," she gasped, digging her nails into his shoulders. "James, I- I won't break-"
"That was all he needed to hear. His control slipped, and suddenly she was experiencing everything he was capable of, the strength, the endurance, the brutal precision of a body designed for physical perfection.
It was never violent. Even as he took her with a breathtaking force, every touch remained fundamentally tender. His lips found her neck, her shoulder, her mouth, kissing her between ragged gasps.
"Tell me," he growled against her ear. "Tell me if it’s… if it’s too much-"
"No!" she whimpered, feeling the pleasure build inexorably inside her. "It’s not… James, I-"
His hand slid between their bodies, finding that sensitive spot with a precision born of practice. The combination of his deep thrusts and the firm pressure of his fingers pushed her over the edge. She came with a cry, arching beneath him as waves of pleasure cut through her body so intensely it almost hurt. He held her through it all, almost unable to contain himself any longer. His movements became erratic as he almost lost it.
"I- inside?" he panted, thinking of her even in that moment.
"Yes," she moaned, still trembling with the ripples of her own climax. "Inside, James, it's okay-"
With a groan, he buried himself deep one last time, tensing as he found his release. She held him through it, feeling his heat filling her up, the weight of his body upon her, the erratic beat of his heart against hers.
When he finally collapsed on top of her, his body was comforting rather than overwhelming. She ran her fingers through his damp hair, feeling the occasional shudders that still ran through his oversensitized body."
"That was…" he began after a moment, his voice muffled against her shoulder."
"Yes," she agreed, smiling into the darkness. "It definitely was."
"He lifted his head to look at her, and there was awe in his eyes. "Is it always like that?"
"Not always," she admitted honestly. "Sometimes it's faster, more urgent. Sometimes it’s slower, more playful. But when it’s with someone you love…" She stroked his cheek. "It always feels good."
"I love you so much it sometimes hurts." He admitted against her skin.
"I know," she whispered. "I love you too."
He withdrew carefully, and they both winced at the loss of connection. He lay beside her, pulling her against his chest, and she sank into his warmth.
"The tea," he said quietly. "How long will you take it?"
She understood what he was really asking. "Until we're ready," she replied, shifting to look up at his face. "When we're properly married. When things are more stable."
He was quiet for a long moment, caressing her hair with that gentleness he always showed her. "Do you remember what you told me? About people made of pieces still being real?"
"Of course."
His chest rose with a deep breath. "If we... if I could give you a child..." The words came haltingly, as if he was afraid to voice them. "Would it be real? Or would it be... wrong?"
"Stop." She pressed her fingers to his lips, feeling her throat tighten. "James, listen to me. If we're blessed with a child, it would be ours. Real and perfect and loved. It would never be wrong."
"And if I can't?" The vulnerability in his voice was heartbreaking. "What if this body... what if can’t? What if-"
"Then we'll face that together," she interrupted, cupping his face so he had to meet her eyes. "And if we can't have children of our own, maybe someday we'll find other ways to have a family. But James..." She stroked his cheek with her thumb. "You're not broken just because you might not be able to give me that. You're not less because of what they did to you."
She felt wetness against her palm and realized he was crying, silent tears tracking down his cheeks and neck.
"I never thought..." His voice broke. "Before you, I never dared to think about tomorrow. I was just... a thing. Something they used until I'd break completely." His arms hugged her almost desperately. "But now I think about mornings. About waking up next to you. About-" He stopped, swallowing hard. "About maybe having something that's ours. Even if it's impossible. Even if I'm not... built for it."
Her own eyes burned with tears. "You're thinking way ahead of now."
"For the first time since..." He trailed off, but she understood. Since his creation. Since consciousness. Since becoming something more than what they'd made him to be.
He pulled her closer, burying his face against her hair. She felt his shoulders shake with silent sobs. Not from grief, she realized, but from something bigger. Relief, maybe. Or hope. Or the overwhelming weight of realizing he was allowed to want things, to dream, to believe in a future beyond survival.
They stayed that way as the fire downstairs faded to embers and the moon traced its path across the sky. His breathing eventually evened out, and the tension left his body as exhaustion claimed him. But before sleep pulled her under, she felt his lips press against her forehead, soft, reverent, full of unnamed promises.
For the first time in his existence, he fell asleep thinking about tomorrow. About seasons changing. About grey in her hair and lines around her eyes and years stretching ahead of them like an impossible gift.
Whatever came -children or not, certainty or mystery, easy days or hard ones- they would face it together. And that, he realized as sleep finally took him, was more than he'd ever dared to hope for.
Summary: Forged in darkness and marked by scars, Soldat is freed by chance. Wounded and lost, he follows the hand that touched him without command.
Word Count: 6.9k.
Previous Chapter - Masterlist
They lay in the fading afternoon light, holding hands and trying to calm the storm of want that the kiss had unleashed. The silence stretched for several minutes, only broken by the distant sound of a dog barking somewhere in the open.
Finally, he turned his head on the pillow to look at her directly.
"So now I know," he said quietly. "What kissing is, and what wanting feels like." He paused, his blue eyes searching hers with that devastating directness. "And you still think I should... try this with Violet?"
"James-"
"You said," he continued, as his limited vocabulary forced each word to carry more weight, "that I need to... explore. Meet others. See what else exists." His thumb traced over her knuckles. "So should I? Kiss Violet? See if it feels... the same?"
She wanted to say yes. Wanted to maintain the rational position she'd established.
But the thought of him kissing Violet, -of him learning these new sensations with someone else, making those same sounds of wonder and need with another woman- made something violent and possessive claw at her chest.
"That's not-" she started, then stopped, not knowing how to finish without admitting the truth.
"Not what?" he pressed gently. "Not fair? Not proper?" His eyes never left hers. "Or not what you want?"
She pulled her hand from his, sitting up abruptly and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
"What I want isn't the point here."
She heard the mattress shift as he moved, and felt the warmth of his body behind her, though he didn't touch her.
"Then what is the point?" he asked quietly.
"The point is that you deserve to make informed choices. That you shouldn't be limited to me just because I'm all you've known-"
"But I'm not," he interrupted. His voice was calm, certain. "Limited to you. Not anymore."
She turned to look at him over her shoulder. He was kneeling now, close enough that she could see the slight swelling of his lips from their kisses, the flush still high on his cheekbones.
"What do you mean?"
"Today. In town. I met people. Saw things. Talked to Violet." He held her gaze steadily. "And then I came back here. With you. And when you were dizzy, when you were weak..." His jaw clenched slightly. "All I could think of was getting you safe. Getting you home. Not because you're... only option. Because you're what I want."
"You can't know that after one trip to town-"
"How many trips?" he asked simply. "How many people do I need to meet? How many women do I need to... talk to before you believe that I already know?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, unable to answer.
"You kissed me," he continued, softly but relentlessly. "Let me learn what that means. What it feels like to want someone that way." He paused. "Was that... a mistake? Should you not have shown me?"
"I don't know," she whispered honestly.
He was quiet for a moment, processing this. Then he moved closer, close enough that his knee brushed against her hip.
"I'm scared," she admitted finally, the words coming out barely above a whisper. "I'm scared that you'll wake up one day and realize I'm not worth what you've built me up to be in your mind. That the first kind person you've ever known isn't the same as the right person for you."
He bent forward, pressing his forehead on her shoulder from behind.
"And I'm scared," he said quietly, "that you'll keep pushing me away. Keep telling me to find someone else. Until one day I do. Not because I want to, but because you convinced me that's what you want."
He was quiet for a long moment.
"You don't want me to kiss Violet. I don't want to kiss Violet. You want me. I want you." He turned his face, his lips almost brushing her neck. "So why are we... pretending otherwise?"
"Because it's not that simple-"
"Why not?"
There were a dozen reasons: propriety, his dependence on her, the power imbalance, his inexperience, the danger of his true nature being discovered, the fact that she was supposed to be his caretaker, not his-
"You're thinking too much," he observed, and there was the faintest hint of something that might have been amusement in his voice.
Despite everything, she felt a laugh bubble up in her chest. "Someone has to."
"Why?"
"Because one of us needs to be rational about this."
"I am being rational," he said seriously. "I want you. You want me. We're both adults. Both free to choose." His hand came to rest on the opposite shoulder, a touch so light it was almost not there. "What's not rational about that?"
"The fact that you've never kissed anyone else. Never even considered the possibility of being with someone other than me. Never had the chance to-"
"How many men have you kissed?" he interrupted suddenly.
The question caught her off guard. "What?"
"Before me. How many?"
She felt heat rise in her cheeks. "That's not relevant-"
"One?" he pressed. "The soldier you told me about. The one who died."
She nodded slowly.
"So you've only kissed one man. But you know you want me. Even though you've never... explored other options." His logic was simple but devastating. "Why is it different for you?"
"Because I've lived in the outside world, I've-"
"You've lived in hospitals and this village," he said quietly. Before she could respond, his hands found her shoulders, firmly but carefully. In one fluid movement, he guided her back down onto the mattress, following her until he was leaning over her, supporting his weight on his forearms on either side of her head.
She looked up at him, startled, her breath catching at the sudden shift.
"Seen war and work and not much else. You said so yourself." His hand moved to cup her face, brushing her cheek with his thumb. "Maybe you're just as... limited in your experience as I am. Just differently."
The observation was so accurate that it stole her breath.
"But the difference is," he continued, his voice growing softer, "you know what you want anyway. You don't need to kiss ten men to know that you want me. So why do I need to kiss ten women to know that I want you?"
She stared up at him, completely disarmed by his simple logic, trapped, not by his body, but by the truth in his words.
"I don't have an answer for that," she admitted finally.
"Then stop trying to find one," he said. His thumb brushed across her lower lip, and she felt her breath catch. "Stop thinking. Stop being afraid. Just... be with me."
"James-"
"Please," he whispered, lowering his head until his forehead nearly touched hers. "I've never asked you for anything. But this... this I'm asking for. Choose me. Let me choose you. And stop trying to convince us both that it's wrong."
She should’ve told him to stop. Should’ve reminded him why this was wrong, why they couldn’t cross that line. But his voice -soft, raw, trembling on that please- had already undone her.
Her resolve crumbled like sand beneath a wave.
She met his eyes instead. And then she moved. Barely. Just enough to lift her head, to let her lips brush against his.
It wasn’t a kiss. Just the ghost of one, but to him, it was an answer.
He exhaled sharply, a sound half disbelief, half hunger. The restraint that had been holding him together snapped like a thread. He cradled her jaw, tracing the edge of her lower lip with his thumb before he kissed her. Slowly at first, reverently, as if afraid she’d change her mind if he pressed too hard.
But when she didn’t pull away -when her lips opened beneath his with a shuddering sigh- his control melted into something deeper, rougher.
He wasn't kissing her; he was consuming a new experience, devouring a secret he'd been denied all his life. He shifted his weight, pressing her more firmly into the mattress, sliding his arm behind her neck, tilting her head to deepen the angle.
His other hand, which had been so careful on her jaw, swept down the side of her breast, lightly covered by the unboned stays, before settling on the sturdy wool of her skirt at her hip. There were no layers of heavy silk or steel boning to impede him; he just pressed through the skirt and thin petticoat, feeling the yielding shape of her body beneath them.
It wasn't a knowing, seductive touch; it was exploratory, almost reverent in its curiosity.
She responded with a soft, involuntary whimper, tangling her fingers in his hair, pulling his head closer, arching subtly beneath him. She shifted her hips just slightly, testing the contact, offering him access without words. That was his final undoing.
His grasp on her hip strengthened, pulling her flush against the hard evidence of his arousal pressing through his trousers. He broke the kiss, dragging his mouth from hers only to trail a devastating line of hot, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and down the frantic pulse in her throat.
She tilted her head to give him access, letting him find the rhythm, the connection, murmuring tiny, soft noises that spurred him on.
"I need..." he gasped, almost broken, his breath ragged against her skin. His blue eyes were wide, almost childlike in their unknowing hunger. He didn't know what he needed; he only knew he had to feel more, touch more, taste more.
He lowered his head further, pressing his face into the lace at her collarbone, inhaling her scent. His hand left her hip, plunging beneath the heavy folds of her skirt. He acted on pure, unthinking impulse -no attempt at fasteners- simply gathering fabric and shoving it upward. The rough rasp of wool sliding over the petticoat filled the sudden silence.
His fingers lingered on the bare skin of her thigh, brushing lightly as if testing a new sensation. She shivered, pressing herself closer to him, arching her body beneath his weight. Each subtle movement, each little sigh or gasp, spurred him further as his own restraint faltered under the novelty of her warmth and the pliancy of her body beneath his hands.
He shifted again, letting the weight of his thigh press gently between hers, and she felt a jolt of heat, a pulse of want that made her knees close against his limb and grind herself reflexively. When his hand brushed higher up, sliding closer to the joint of her thighs, her stomach clenched with the sudden awareness of how far this had gone.
She froze for a fraction of a second, panting, aching, and her fingers pulled lightly at his hair.
“Wait,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, breath hot against his lips. “This… this is- too much.”
He paused instantly, eyes wide, scanning her face, searching for the signal she had just given. He rested a hand lightly on her shoulder, not moving, waiting, suspended between want and caution.
She exhaled, pulse still thrumming. “I… I like this. I do,” she admitted, “But we need… we need to pause. Before we… go any further. Before this gets… harder to stop.”
He nodded slowly, the raw hunger in his gaze softening into something quieter, more attentive. He leaned back just enough to relieve the pressing weight between them, but stayed on top of her.
She let herself sink back into the mattress, feeling his arm brushing her cheek, the heat of his chest lingering over hers. Her body ached for more -more contact, more closeness- but the rational edge of her mind flared, sharp and insistent.
She wasn’t on any contraceptives; even if she had the roots just right there in her herb supply, there wasn’t a point in drinking them regularly, so her body wasn’t covered. Then an idea came to her, practical and daring all at once.
Something that might let him explore, learn, and feel without crossing that final line.
Her gaze lifted to his. He was watching her, trying to contain himself, biting slightly at his lower lip, eyes dark and attentive. Seeing him like this -so earnest, so inexperienced, so aware- made her last thread of her hesitation break.
“I… there’s something I could show you,” she began, voice low, almost trembling, “something we can… experience safely. Something to… for you to understand what it’s like to feel, to want… without… going all the way.”
He tilted his head curiously.
She swallowed and felt her cheeks warm as a rush of guilt assaulted her at the thought that she had told him to take care of himself alone. Was she… corrupting him now? No, she reasoned. She wasn’t doing this for herself alone; she was teaching him, guiding him, like she had with the basics no one else had ever explained.
Her fingers brushed his. “It’s like… what I explained before,” she said carefully, “how your body can respond, how you can explore yourself… but… with clothes on. Together. You can feel, learn, understand… without anything… happening that we can’t handle.”
She watched him, searching his face for comprehension, for trust, for that tiny spark of excitement that betrayed his restraint. “I want you to know what this feels like,” she added softly, “like I wanted you to know before… but… in a way that’s… safe.”
He blinked, eyes narrowing slightly as he processed her words. “Safe…?” His voice was soft, hesitant, but there was a hint of worry. “What could happen? Could I… hurt you?”
She felt heat rise in her chest, instinctively covering her face with her hands, as if shielding herself from the honesty of his concern. Her voice was muffled at first, trembling. “James, you could- you could make me… pregnant,” she admitted, and her hands fell slightly, uncovering her face.
“That’s why… this… the way I’m suggesting… with clothes on… it’s safe. “You can feel, explore… without… anything that could… change everything.”
His lips parted slightly, a hint of realization -or maybe longing- flashed in his gaze. “I… I understand,” he whispered, tone raw with curiosity and need. “So… I can… feel you… like this… and it’s… okay?”
“It’s safe,” she affirmed, reaching up and placing her palms gently on his chest, feeling the frantic thunder of his heart beneath the starched cotton. “It’s just another way to be close, James.”
She didn't wait for a formal affirmation. The moment was too fragile for words. She moved first, shifting until her wool skirt and petticoat rode high on her thighs, creating a clear, direct path between them. Then, she used the small momentum of her hips to gently press her herself against the coarse fabric of his trousers, aligning their heat without exposing a single patch of skin.
He inhaled sharply, the sound a ragged, startled gasp. It was a new, focused kind of sensation that bypassed the complexity of desire and went straight to the raw, physical need for relief.
He froze, utterly bewildered by the overwhelming pressure and the instant, deep throb that pulsed through his entire lower body. His eyes went wide, searching her face for instructions, for proof that this intensity was allowed.
She gave him her answer not with words, but with a low, soft moan and a small, deliberate movement of her hips, a gentle, slow rocking motion that instantly caught the rhythm of his own frantic, trapped blood.
That was all the permission he needed. The restraint he'd used to keep his hands off her suddenly channeled into this new, sanctioned physical exploration. He didn't know how to dance or flirt, but he understood pressure and repetition.
He shifted his weight fully onto her, his own hips instinctively beginning to move with hers, a clumsy, urgent response that quickly turned into a steady, intense grinding. He was heavy, but not careless, his muscular legs pressing against the inner curve of her thighs, driving their lower bodies together with a desperate friction, grinding her soft underthings against the strained fabric that barely contained him.
She was lost in the sensation, the scent of his excitement, sharp and strong even through the clothing; the constant, deep sound of his primal pleasure vibrating through her body. She bucked her hips upward, urging him faster, as the rhythmic friction drew a wet heat from her that soaked the fine linen of her garment.
The novelty of it, this shared, forbidden rhythm, the noise, the closeness, the scent, was too much for him to master. His movements grew quicker, rougher, driven by pure sensation and by the dizzying realization that he was allowed to feel this, to take pleasure without punishment.
A final, shuddering groan ripped from his throat, muffled against the lace of her collar, as his hips thrusted once, twice, and then stilled.. He stiffened entirely, burying his face in her neck, his entire body trembling as the intense, restricted relief washed over him. He sank his weight onto her fully, breathing her scent.
They lay there, heavy and breathless, and she held him, smoothing the damp hair at his nape, and felt the warm, sticky evidence of his climax pressing through the fabric of his trousers against her.
He was the first to stir. He lifted his head, pulling back just enough to look at her, the confusion and shame of his self-absorption already beginning to override the simple pleasure of his release. He saw her swollen lips, and the way her own breath was coming fast.
"I... I stopped," he whispered, his voice rough. His gaze dropped to the damp front of his trousers, then back to her. It hit him then, their prior lesson on societal expectations, where he'd expressed anger at the concept of possession. He had taken his pleasure, but had he been like those men?
He searched her face, his brow furrowed with a sudden, anxious ethical concern.
“Did you feel the same?” he asked, bluntly. The question was blunt and immediate, born of absolute inexperience.
She swallowed, heat rushing to her face. She knew he wasn't asking for flattery; he was genuinely seeking to apply the moral framework she had given him. "That doesn't matter much right now, James," she tried to deflect, hoping to soothe his sudden anxiety as her fingers brushed his arm in reassurance.
But her deflection only confirmed his fear. His eyes went wide, and he immediately pushed his weight off her, rolling onto his elbows to look down at her fully.
“It does,” he said, firmer this time, “You told me… men take, women give. All my life, I was told to follow orders. To hurt. To take.” His breath hitched, almost like a flinch. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to take.” His hands hesitated near her shoulders, trembling slightly, unsure if he was allowed to touch her again.
"Tell me," he pleaded, with sincerity. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make it right for you.”
She looked up at him -this magnificent, inexperienced man who had known nothing but commands and pain- earnest to please her. It broke her.
With a soft sigh, she lifted her left hand and reached for his right. She didn't speak. Instead, she took his large, trembling hand and guided it down between her legs, to the damp linen of her drawers, pressing his hand through the thin layer to the heat and thick moisture beneath.
Then, slowly and deliberately, she moved her own hips against his palm, grinding the wet fabric into his rough fingers.
Her gaze met his. "Like that," she instructed, her voice a low, throaty whisper, teaching him the language of her body the only way she knew how. "Start by touching me like that."
His eyes, wide and dark, flashed from her gaze to the precise spot where his hand was pressed, and then he began to move. His hand was clumsy at first, doing a heavy, unrefined grinding motion that mimicked the rhythm they had just shared.
He used the immense strength of his wrist and arm, pressing the ball of his palm and his fingertips into the sensitive junction of her thighs.
The novelty of the sensation -feeling her heat and her wetness concentrated directly under his touch- was an immediate, overwhelming reward. A low, continuous groan escaped his throat.
She moaned sharply, instantly rising her hips to meet his hand. "Yes, James," she gasped, her voice already edged with frantic pleasure. "Just- just like that. Don't stop."
He didn't. He increased the pressure, his fingers now digging into the folds of fabric, seeking maximum friction against her most sensitive point. His breath was ragged, his entire body rigid with concentration. He watched her face, fascinated by her escalating reaction. Her eyes were squeezed shut as her head rolled slightly on the mattress, soft moans escaping her lips as she pressed herself against his hand.
The feeling of being so directly responsible for her pleasure, of having his simple touch elicit such raw sounds, was a dizzying rush of power and tenderness. He leaned down until his lips brushed her ear.
"Good... for you?" he managed, the short phrase coming out choppy and thick.
She only answered with a harsh, strangled cry, her hands flying to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as her lower body began to twitch and spasm against his palm. The rhythmic grinding became desperate, frantic; her hips bucking onto his hand until she stopped.
He felt her tense, then a cascade of little tremors against his palm. Her final moan was swallowed by his shoulder.
He didn’t move at first. His hand was still pressed against her damp underwear, fingers trembling faintly as if afraid that pulling away might undo what he’d just given her.
“Did I… do it right?” he murmured, still uncertain, as if afraid of the answer.
She nodded faintly, chest still heaving, but his uncertain look made her pause. Her gaze dropped -just for a second- to the wet patch darkening the front of his pants before meeting his eyes again.
“Yes. It’s just different for us,” she murmured. “Women don’t… it doesn’t show the same way. It happens inside.”
His brow furrowed. “Inside?”
“I’ll explain it to you later,” she said, gentler now. He still looked unconvinced, but the blissful calm settling over his body seemed to quiet his questions for once
“Can I-” he began, then stopped, searching her face. “Can I hold you again?”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “But lie down this time.”
He complied obediently, easing back against the sheets. When she settled, pressing her cheek against his chest, surprise flashed across his face.
No one had ever rested on him like this. For a second, he didn’t know what to do with his hands, then instinct took over, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and he stayed perfectly still, afraid to move and break whatever this was.
----
The room smelled faintly of heat and linen, and of something else she didn't know how to name. He stood near the edge of the bed long after she had adjusted her clothes, looking at the floorboards as if they might tell him what to do next.
She moved quietly, smoothing the sheets with more care than necessary, pretending she didn't notice the way his gaze went from the floor to her, watching every motion like an accused man awaiting a verdict.
The silence stretched until it became unbearable. She could hear his breathing behind her, too controlled, too measured, and turned around.
"James," she began, her voice catching slightly. She kept her eyes on the window, on the garden outside where the light was starting to fade. "What we just did-"
"Was wrong?"
The interruption was flat, toneless in a way that made her back stiffen. She'd heard that voice before, in the early days, when he'd knelt by the fire waiting for punishment that never came.
She turned then, finding his blue gaze fixed on her. He stood near the foot of the bed, with his hands hanging at his sides, but there was tension in every line of his body. Waiting. Braced.
"I… didn't say that," she managed.
"But you think that."
It wasn't a question. He took a step closer, then seemed to catch himself, stopping abruptly as if he'd hit an invisible barrier. His jaw worked for a moment before he found more words.
"I can see. In how you..." He gestured vaguely toward her, toward the space between them. "Won't look at me now. How you..."
He stopped, frustrated by his limited vocabulary, by the inadequacy of language to express what was happening in his chest. His hands clenched briefly at his sides before deliberately relaxing.
"That's not-" She stopped, pressing her palms flat against her thighs, trying to steady herself. "It's complicated."
"You keep saying that."
The words came out sharper than before. His shoulders tensed, rolled forward slightly in that defensive posture she recognized since she met him in the forest.
"Complicated. Not right or wrong. Just..." His hand moved in a jerky, frustrated gesture. "Complicated."
He paused, breathing hard through his nose, struggling to gather more words.
"But it didn't feel complicated. It felt..."
He trailed off, staring at his hands as if they might hold the answer. His fingers flexed, remembering. The warmth of her skin, the sounds she'd made, the way she'd moved against him.
"Right," he finally said. "Good. Like something I was..." He searched for words, brow furrowed. "Supposed to do. With you."
The raw honesty in his voice made guilt twist sharper in her stomach. She looked away again, unable to hold his gaze.
"I know," she whispered. "I know it felt that way. I felt it too."
She forced herself to meet his eyes again, to face what she'd done. He was watching her with an expression that made her want to weep.
"But James, I'm the one who's supposed to be helping you adjust to normal life, not- not teaching you things like that."
"Why not?"
The question was so genuinely confused it almost made her laugh, though nothing about this felt funny.
She pressed her palms harder against her thighs. "Because there's a power imbalance between us-”
His expression hardened. "I told you before. I know the difference."
"Do you? I took advantage of you. You ask for things, and instead of maintaining boundaries, I-" Her voice broke. "I showed you things I shouldn't have. I let things go too far because I wanted them to."
He was quiet for a long moment, processing her words. Then he moved, not toward her but toward the window, staring out at the garden below.
"So you regret it," he said finally.
The words were flat, empty, and final.
"I regret that I let my own desires override what was best for you."
"And you think you know what's best?"
There was an edge to his voice now, something sharp and hurt that made her flinch. His hands pressed flat against the windowsill.
"In this? Yes." She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. "James-"
"Stop."
He turned from the window, and the look on his face made her breath catch. Not anger, but something worse. Something broken and barely contained.
"Stop telling me what I feel." Each word was careful, controlled, bitten off. "Stop deciding for me what I can handle. What I want. What's..." His jaw clenched, released. "What's best for me."
He took a step toward her, then another. Not threatening but determined.
"You teach me everything else. How to eat. How to speak. How to be..." He gestured at himself, frustrated. "Normal. But this?" His hand moved between them. "This, you say, is wrong. Because you want it too."
"That's exactly why it's wrong-"
"No."
He took one more step, close enough now that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
"Don't tell me it's for my own good. Don't tell me you're protecting me." His voice dropped lower. "I've had enough people decide for me. Decide what I can handle. Decide what I'm allowed to want."
The comparison to his handlers was unspoken but unmistakable.
"That's not fair," she breathed.
"Isn't it?" He asked. "You gave me choice. Taught me I could say no. Could decide things for myself." His hands twitched at his sides, as if wanting to reach for her but holding back. "But now you take it away. Say my choice doesn't count because... because you know better."
She felt tears prick at her eyes. "I'm trying to protect you-"
"From what?" The question came out raw, almost desperate. "From wanting something good? From feeling..." He made a frustrated gesture. "From feeling anything that's not pain?"
He was breathing hard now, his control starting to fracture.
"You showed me what it's like. To want. To be close. To..." He stopped, swallowing hard. "To be wanted back. And now you say it was mistake. That I shouldn't... that we shouldn't..."
His voice broke, and he turned away abruptly, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.
She watched his shoulders rise and fall with carefully measured breaths. The same control he used when pain threatened to overwhelm him. When the emotions became too much to process.
"James," she said softly, taking a tentative step toward him.
"Don't."
The word was muffled, but absolute. He kept his back to her, hands still pressed to his face.
"Please don't... touch me right now. Don't..." Another hard swallow.
"I'm sorry," she whispered finally.
He lowered his hands slowly, staring out the window again. "For what?" His voice was flat. "For before? Or for now?"
"For..." She struggled with it. "For making you feel like your choices don't matter. For moving the goalposts every time you think you understand the rules."
He nodded once, a jerky movement.
"For confusing you," she continued, her voice thick with unshed tears. "For wanting you and then punishing you for wanting me back."
His shoulders tensed at that, but he didn't turn around.
"But the power imbalance-"
"It's real," he interrupted, surprising her. "I know that. Know I depend on you." Another step. "But you give me a choice in everything else. Food. Clothes. When to sleep. What to do when idle." He stopped in front of her. "Why not this?"
This time he closed the distance between them.
"I want you," he said. "Not because you feed me. Not because you shelter me. Not because I'm grateful." His thumb brushed across her cheekbone. "Because when you smile at something I do, I want to do more things. Because when you're near, everything feels... better."
He paused, searching for more words.
"Because when you kiss me, I don't think about anything else. Don't remember anything else. Just..." He struggled with it. "Just want to be closer. Want to make you feel the way you make me feel."
His forehead lowered until it nearly touched hers.
"That's not obligation," he whispered. "That's not fear. That's... what you called it. Want. Need." His breath ghosted across her lips. "Choice."
She felt a tear slide down her cheek, caught by his thumb.
"I'm still afraid I'm hurting you," she admitted.
"Then ask me," he said simply. "Don't decide for me. Ask if I'm hurt. Ask if I want to stop. Ask what I need." His eyes held hers. "But let me answer. Let me choose."
She stared at him, this man who was calling her out for the same paternalistic control he'd spent years escaping.
"Okay," she whispered finally.
"Okay?"
"Okay, I'll... I'll try to stop deciding everything for you. To let you choose." She took a shaky breath. "Even when it terrifies me."
"Thank you," he breathed.
They stood there for a long moment, close but not touching beyond his hand on her face. The room was quiet except for their breathing, slowly syncing, slowly calming.
"Do you-“ she said finally, “want me to leave you alone right now? Give you space to process everything?"
He considered the question seriously, and she could see him actually thinking about it rather than just giving the answer he thought she wanted.
"No," he said after a moment. "Want you to stay." He paused. "Want to... hold you. If that's... allowed."
"It's allowed," she said softly. "If you still want to, after everything I said."
His answer was to pull her gently into his arms, placing his chin up her head. She felt the tension slowly leave his body as she relaxed against him.
"Better," he murmured after a moment.
----
The morning was crisp and bright when she stepped out to tend the herb garden, finding frost still clinging to the edges of the wooden fence. She was bent over the thyme, checking for damage, when a cheerful voice called out from the road.
"Good morning!"
She looked up to find Violet approaching, a basket over her arm and a smile on her face that was perhaps a shade too bright for such an early hour.
"Violet," she greeted, straightening. "This is a surprise. I don't usually see you on this side of town."
"Oh, I was just passing through," she said with casualness, though the route to anywhere from the blacksmith's shop didn't actually pass through this area at all. "Father needed me to deliver some tools to Mr. Henshaw's farm." She gestured vaguely in a direction that was, coincidentally, right past the cottage.
"I see." She kept her tone neutral, though something in her chest clenched with awareness.
"I was hoping I might catch sight of your cousin," Violet continued, drifting her gaze toward the cottage windows with barely concealed interest. "Is he... about this morning?"
Before she could formulate a diplomatic response, the front door opened and he emerged carrying a bucket of kitchen scraps for the compost pile, tight leather pants on for obvious reasons, his breath misting in the morning air.
He froze when he saw Violet, and his expression shifted through several emotions too quickly to name before going into careful neutrality.
"James," Violet called out, her smile widening. "How wonderful to see you again!"
He nodded once, a curt acknowledgment, but said nothing. His eyes found his companion instead, seeking direction.
"James," she said, "You remember Violet, from the apothecary?"
Another nod, this one even more minimal.
Violet seemed undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm. She turned toward her "I told your cousin how I'd be happy to show him more of the town sometime. When he’s feeling up to it, of course. Perhaps on market day? It's much less crowded in the mornings, before the main rush."
"He's doing much better now," she heard herself say, even as something possessive and uncomfortable twisted in her stomach. "Though we're still taking things slowly."
"Of course, of course." Violet's gaze went back to him, taking in his thick thighs with barely concealed appreciation. "But surely a morning walk wouldn't be too taxing? The fresh air might do him good."
James's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. "Busy," he said finally. A single word, flat and uninviting.
"Oh? With what?"
"Chores," he said shortly, lifting the bucket slightly as evidence before turning away. "Excuse me."
He walked toward the compost pile at the far end of the front garden without looking back, dismissing Violet as thoroughly as if she'd ceased to exist.
An awkward silence fell after that. Violet's smile had frozen on her face.
"He's... still adjusting," she offered diplomatically. "Social interactions can be difficult."
"Yes, I imagine so." The woman recovered her composure quickly, though her cheeks were slightly flushed. "Well, I should get these tools delivered. But perhaps you might mention to him -when he's feeling more sociable- that the offer stands? I really would love to show him around properly."
"I'll mention it," she promised, though the words tasted bitter.
----
After Violet left, she found him still standing by the compost pile, gripping the empty bucket so tightly his knuckles were white.
"That was rude," she said quietly, approaching him.
"Don't care."
"James-"
He turned to face her, and the look in his eyes was almost defiant. "You said I should meet people." His voice was low, controlled. "I met her. I saw. And now I know I don't want that."
"You barely spoke to her-"
"Didn't need to." He set the bucket down with deliberate care. "She looks at me and sees... a project. Something interesting. Something to pursue because she can't have it easily." His blue eyes pierced hers. "You look at me and see... me."
"But Violet is-"
"Not you," he interrupted firmly. "And I'm not interested in anyone who isn't you."
He picked up the bucket and walked back toward the cottage, leaving her standing in the cold morning air, torn between relief and guilt.
----
She followed him to the kitchen, where he left the bucket near the door with more force than necessary.
"James," she started, observing him standing stiffly by the window.
"Why are you angry?" she asked quietly, genuinely confused by his reaction.
His jaw clenched. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and controlled in a way that suggested significant effort.
"You're going to tell me again. That I should... spend time with her. That I need to... explore options."
"What?" She blinked, taken aback. "James, that's not-"
"Isn't it?" He turned then, and his eyes held a wariness that made her chest ache. "You told me I was rude. You say I should apologize. Should give her a chance. Should-"
"Stop," she interrupted firmly, holding up one hand. "Just... stop for a moment and listen to me."
She sighed. She had brought this upon herself.
"I told you that you were rude," she said, "Because you were. Violet didn't deserve to be dismissed so coldly, regardless of how you feel about her interest in you."
His brow furrowed slightly, his confusion replacing some of his defensive tension.
"That's it," she continued. "That's the only reason I talked you about her. Not to pressure you into spending time with her. Not to push you toward exploring other options." She took a step closer. "Just to remind you that basic courtesy costs nothing, even when you're not interested in someone."
He stared at her for a long moment, processing the information. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders began to ease.
"Oh," he said finally, and there was something almost sheepish in his tone.
"Yes. Oh." She crossed her arms, but there was no real anger in the gesture. "You can decline someone's interest without being cruel about it. A simple 'thank you, but I'm not interested' would have sufficed."
"I don't know how to do that," he admitted quietly.
The honesty in his voice reminded her, once again, of how much he was still learning about basic social interactions.
"I know," she said more gently. "And I should have considered that before criticizing. You've never had to turn down unwanted attention before. You've never had the luxury of saying no to anything."
He nodded slowly, absorbing this.
"But James," she continued, "you need to understand that Violet hasn't done anything wrong. She's interested in you, which is perfectly natural. She made her interest known respectfully. The fact that you're not interested doesn't make her deserving of rudeness."
"She was trying to take-" He stopped, frustrated by his limited vocabulary.
"To take what?" she prompted gently.
"Your time with me. Your place." His hands clenched at his sides. "She wants what's yours."
The possessiveness in his words sent an unexpected flutter through her chest, even as she tried to maintain her composure.
"She doesn't know about... us. To her, you're an available man, and she's showing interest. That's not wrong."
He looked down, clearly struggling with the concept.
"So what do I say?" he asked finally. "Next time. How do I... refuse politely?"
She considered this carefully. "You thank her for her interest. You explain -kindly- that you're not looking for that kind of companionship right now. You wish them well." She paused. "You don't have to explain why. Just... be kind about it."
"Even when I want her to go away and leave us alone?"
Despite herself, she smiled slightly at his bluntness. "Even then. Especially then, actually."
He was quiet for a moment, then nodded once. "I’ll do that. Next time."
"Good."
The tension that had filled the kitchen slowly dissipated, replaced by something warmer, more familiar.
"I'm sorry," he said finally. "For thinking you were... trying to push me away again."
"And I'm sorry for not considering the way you were handling the situation." She moved closer to him. "We're both still learning how to do this."
"This?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.
"This," she gestured between them. "Whatever this is. Whatever we're becoming."
He studied her face for a long moment, then reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away. When she didn't, his hand found hers, intertwining their fingers.
"I know what we're becoming," he said quietly.
"Do you?"
"Yes." His thumb traced patterns on the back of her hand. "We're becoming... us.”
The word us should have frightened her, but it didn’t. She looked at him -this man built from ruin and still capable of such tenderness- and let herself believe it.
❛ do you ever wonder what it would be like if things were different between us? ❜
❛ my biggest wish is to hold you close and never let you go. ❜
Sebas Sendon
Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader
(Y/N) never realized how spooky the forest could be at night without anticipation buzzing in his veins or a gaggle of friends surrounding him on their way to the cabin. It really dawned on him then, as he walked through the forest with a drunken teammate half clinging to his side, how dark and eerie the woods were.
His head twisted and turned with every noise, every rustle nearby or distant animal call that bounced off the trees. His heart jumped at every little thing, his eyes flickering around wildly, and his shoulders threatening to flinch if it weren't for the weight of a limp arm on them.
He was relieved, despite the circumstances, to have Sebas's quiet whining and incoherent slurring in his ear to remind him he wasn't alone.
Though if an axe murderer were to descend upon them, (Y/N) wasn't sure how long he'd stick around to help Sebas's drunken ass.
"God, tío, you're going to have the worst hangover of your life tomorrow," (Y/N) muttered, his hand flying to Sebas's abdomen to steady him when he nearly tripped over a branch. "You're going to wish you were dead when Javier's done with you."
Sebas's response came in the form of a long, whiny groan, his head tilting back and bottom lip jutting out in a pout. His cheeks were flushed pink, and there was a trail of sweat collected along his hairline. (Y/N) had never seen Sebas drink so much in one sitting, and even Charlie urged him to slow it down.
Of course, Charlie's concern was conditional. He refused to leave a game of spin the bottle to take his friend back to their dorm in favor of getting to make out with some random chicks. Ensuring Sebas returned to the center was left up to (Y/N) when Roque noticed him leaving, and who was (Y/N) to deny his captain?
But when Sebas lightly shoved him and stumbled over to some bushes to retch, (Y/N) started to regret his decision to be a good teammate off the field.
He approached tentatively, his mouth pressing into a tight line at the sound of mushy liquid splattering on the forest floor, and he pressed his hand to Sebas's back in slow circles.
"You're not usually this... reckless, tío." (Y/N) offered his back a few pats and turned his head away to avoid looking at the pile of vomit when Sebas was finally emptying his stomach. "You.. okay? I mean, it's none of my business anymore, but... this is all out of character for you."
Sebas swayed on his feet, his head bowed and messy hair covering half of his face. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like if things were different between us?" He asked quietly, gruffly, the first coherent sentence he'd spoken since they left the cabin.
"Different?" (Y/N) repeated questioningly, uneasiness jabbing his stomach. "What're you talking about?"
"You know what I'm talking about." Sebas's shoulders slumped with a heavy exhale, using the cuff of his jacket to wipe his mouth before he brushed his hair out of his face. "Us. What- What we had before..."
(Y/N) inhaled sharply and reached out, hooking his fingers on the back of Sebas's collar and pulling him along. Sebas yelped, stumbling over his feet, and (Y/N) released him so he could steady himself again. Sebas nearly tumbled to the floor but managed to catch himself, an irritated huff escaping his panting lips. His glare was soft.
"I fucked up." Sebas acknowledged, tugging at his hair again and squeezing his eyes shut. His whole body swayed as if he were lightheaded, and (Y/N) instinctively grabbed his arm in case he fell. Sebas suckled his bottom lip into his mouth and dug his teeth into it. "What you felt for me scared me. What I felt for you was... terrifying."
"Yeah," (Y/N) drawled. "Things were good back then. But then you called me a freak in front of half our old team and left the following week to come here, so sorry if my sympathy for how you feel is running low. I've got bigger things to worry about than a former friend feeling bad for themself."
Sebas winced. "I-"
"Roque asked me for a favor, and I'm doing it for him. Not for you." (Y/N) tugged on his arm again. "Come on. If you're going to pass out, it'd be better in your dorm room."
"You don't get it." Sebas's hand shot up, his fingers wrapping tight around (Y/N)'s elbow, keeping him from fully retracting his arm. "They teased me because they knew I liked you. They thought they were doing you a favor when they started icing me out, (Y/N). You saw it."
"And I defended you!" (Y/N) snapped, and Sebas flinched, his eyes widening and breaths beginning to subtly quicken. "You repaid me by throwing me under the bus and leaving me to deal with the fallout, asshole. Do you want me to feel sorry for you and join your pity party?"
"I want you to talk to me. I want you to look at me and see me, not just another teammate." Sebas exhaled shakily, his lips beginning to quiver and head dropping again. "My biggest wish since you came here is to hold you close and never let you go. I thought I was never going to see you again, (Y/N)."
"You expect to believe you when Charlie's favorite pastime is making fun of Roque? Why would I want to be with you when you can't even stand up for your own team?" (Y/N) scoffed and took a step back, jerking his arm free from Sebas's hold and shaking his head. "I don't have the patience for this, tío."
"(Y/N), please, I'm sor-"
"I don't want whatever bullshit you're offering, Sendón. I'm not going to let you ruin my life again."
Pairings — Carlos Oliveira x male reader x Chris Redfield
⚠️CW⚠️ — gay, gay sex, power-bottom male reader, sub-top Carlos Oliveira, sub-top Chris Redfield, threesome, anal, anal sex, anal fingering, blowjob, ass-eating (reader and Chris receiving), Carlos has a big dick, Chris has a big dick, Carlos tops Chris, reader calls them good boy and soldier boy, body worshipping, frotting, fleshlight fucking, double penetration, dick smacking, collaring, choking, face-sitting, orgasm denial, face-fucking, sex toys, dildo fucking, praise kink, ass refer to as pussy, nipple play, raunchy gentle sex (I think), rimming, overstimulation, somewhat unrealistic, size kink, dry humping, size difference, age difference, breeding, and scent kink.
Word count — 11.8k
Summary — you take a vacation from your job as support for Hound Wolf Squad. Chris and Carlos were fine with it until your temporary replacement started to stress them severely. Both men return home exhausted, jittery, and stressed — you were gonna fix that.
Read before continuing — If you are younger than 18 or any of the warnings make you uncomfortable, this is your chance to turn around and leave. If there are no problems, you may continue.
A/n — screw canon. Original creator of the image
It was a quiet, peaceful afternoon. The home stood silent on a quiet cul-de-sac road in suburban America, with you as the only occupant. It was moderately sized, double-story, and fully paid off—thanks to the generous amount of money earned from your field. It was almost always empty, though. You and your older husbands worked for an international paramilitary organization, the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance, always deployed on missions in different countries and continents, rarely spending time at home. However, Chris has been going rogue with you, and Carlos is following suit.
You worked in support of the men by gathering and providing intelligence and radio support—telling them where the bioweapons were located and about enemy movements. Seamless operations where you and your two men work in unison and harmony as if you were extensions of each other's bodies and minds. The operation was done with minimal casualties—apart from the combatants.
That was until you took a vacation break. You lay sprawled out on the massive Wyoming king-sized bed, blankets covering every inch of your body apart from one leg sticking out. Pillows that were once organized and neat now found themselves all over the place, with your head buried and nuzzling the soft, pillowy mass. There was still a hint of Chris and Carlos’s musk, a mix of cedarwood, smoke, and gunpowder with a sharp metallic tang. It was faint, but present. Despite them showering, the scent clung to their bodies like a cloud.
You received a message from them that they’re coming home—a mission was completed. Before you took your break, you’d been coming home more often, probably because the number of bioweapons discoveries is on the decline. This is one of those instances where you and the older men get to indulge with each other, wash away, and relieve yourself of the stress and hassle of working for the BSAA.
Subconsciously, your hips started to grind against the mattress. Your fingers gripped the pillow as you buried your head further, inhaling as much of the musk as you could. Your loins were feverishly burning and aching, gyrating your hips slowly in a heavy and circular motion. Your breathing was heavy and panting. The thought of being sandwiched between two heavily rugged and muscular bodies—feeling their hairy torsos and stubble prickling your skin. Their worn, calloused hands groping and grazing your hips and ass as they press their mark on you.
Your face is buried between Carlos’s hairy pectorals, groping the firm yet soft mounds, or being put into a headlock by Chris, marveling at his gigantic and muscular arms. You wanted to kiss and lick every ridge and crevice of their bodies, targeting the sweet spots that could pull a groan from their lips—tease and rile them until they pin you down and take turns defiling your body.
You don’t care if you’re considered greedy. Anybody would want to be in your position.
“Ngh…” you whined, your teeth digging into the pillow. Soft whimpers slipped past your teeth as the blooming feverish burn spread to the rest of your body. Everything was warmer and searing hot despite being naked—except a single garment of underwear. Beads of precum gush from the tiny slit, staining the threads of your underwear and seeping through to coat the blankets.
The human imagination is wonderful, as it conjures another vivid image that makes your dick throb. Both men were blessed with impressive endowments. Their massive dicks hung between their muscular tree-trunk thighs, dangling and flaccid, but still intimidating. Their balls were hefty and sagging, egg-shaped as cum churned internally. Even when erected, the combined length and girth made their massive dicks hang from the sheer weight. Especially when they were both in your hands.
You remembered the first time. Both older men had been competing with each other for months, and it came to a head after a night out at the bar. The memory was vague and blurry, but somehow, both men were stripped of their clothing, presenting you with their impressive assets and endowments. Your jaw dropped, and your eyes widened, a lustful and worried glint swirling and combining. Your mind was trying to process every detail, but your loins and ass were twitching with excitement—eager for their massive lengths.
Your ass clenched and unclenched, simulating the penetration. It was hungry, an endless black hole that wanted to swallow and struggle to absorb every girthy inch. Your mouth suddenly felt empty, your glands producing excess saliva—some of which dribbled down your chin. Then the special words rang through your ears: both men wanted to know who was bigger. Was this really a dick-measuring contest? You didn’t expect this type of contest from men like Chris and Carlos—maybe college frat boys, but men who were nearing their 50s? It was still endearing nonetheless.
Creeeeeaaakkk
The sound of the front door’s squeaking, rusted hinges echoed and filled the quiet house, followed by heavy footfalls—combat boots clicking against the foyer’s tiled flooring. Your ears perked, pointing up like a rabbit detecting a predator—the predators being Chris and Carlos in your case. You hastily got up, almost tripping as your limbs were tangled with the blankets. Your dick remained erect, bulging against the tight threads of your underwear, begging to be released and breathe, flopping and throbbing in the air. It was noticeable to anyone, but you covered yourself with a robe before running down to greet your husbands.
When you reached the bottom of the stairs, you didn’t see any people other than discarded tactical gear and boots by the door. You heard movement from the living room and followed to find Chris and Carlos slouched on the expansive sofa, arms perched on top, legs spread open. The air around the older men was quiet instead of the usual flirts from Carlos or praise from Chris. It felt heavy, dense with static. The only thing that shattered the stillness was Carlos's incisive tapping of his feet—he clearly seemed annoyed. Chris wore a scowl that looked as if it was baked onto him.
Something must have happened. Was it your temporary replacement until you returned?
You couldn’t help but ogle the older men's bodies without their combat gear. Carlos sported a tight-fitting black t-shirt—the Umbrella Corporation’s logo since ripped off—that hugged his pronounced muscles, particularly his bulging pectorals. The hems of the arm-holes made his protruding biceps most notable, large, and muscular—and his green cargo pants were slightly undone, leaving your mind to wander for a moment.
Chris was the same as Carlos, messy and undone, except he strutted in a tight compression undershirt—hugging his muscular frame, bulging biceps, and broad shoulders. His pants were in a similar state to Carlos's. You could see a print forming at the crotch—no, you’ll have enough time later.
“How are my two most favorite people—” you didn’t get to finish your sentence when Carlos pulled you onto his lap, burying his head in your neck. The robe you were wearing was discarded and thrown over the couch. Your dick grinded against Carlos’s muscly thigh, but he didn’t pay mind to it—surprisingly. Your nose was filled with the familiar musky scent of gunpowder, sweat, and smoke. Carlos’ scruffy beard rubbed against your collarbone; you could feel him sniffing—inhaling your calming scent as his calloused hand gripped your waist, playing with the bands of your underwear.
“Fucking awful, cariño,” Carlos grunts. You were no stranger to Carlos’ embrace after a successful mission. He holds you and leans to your level to pepper your skin with open-mouth kisses and bites, muttering praise for your work and typical flirts. Now, the man was acting like a feral animal that had gone days without hunting for food.
“That replacement of yours… they performed suboptimally.” Chris chimed as the couch crunched and sank from the combination of the two men’s weight. You feel Chris’s muscular arm wrapping around your midsection, pressing his forehead on your shoulder.
“By suboptimal, do you mean it's because they weren’t me?” You inquired, your eyebrow raised, waiting for a response. You combed through Carlos’s shaggy, jet-black curls—the strands of hair twisting and twirling between your fingers.
Chris opened his mouth to respond, but Carlos beat him.
“Yeah, they just aren’t you, cariño. We work so much better with you and not so well with them. Being near them felt soul-sucking—even on comms.” Carlos said, his voice a mix between annoyance and flirtation. Chris hummed in agreement.
“Oh, come on, they couldn’t have been that bad. I'm in the prime years of intense migraines, and my body already feels like it's gonna collapse. Also, I think I have permanent eye strain.” That was the main reason for your vacation break; it was too much.
The banging and throbbing headaches that felt like something was gonna burst out of your head, and staring at a monitor filled to the brim with information that you had to relay to your team? Plus, the constant anxiety of either Carlos or Chris, or both, being severely injured or killed was another factor.
“I think you just need a little more exercise, cariño.” Carlos joked.
“Wow, I’m still in good shape, I think.” You huffed, playfully slapping Carlos’s bicep. Even Chris laughed, his chuckle vibrating against your back.
“We should take an early retirement. We have enough money. And we can spoil our little minx.” Chris groans, rubbing his head against your shoulder before pressing open-mouthed kisses like Carlos.
“The command at BSAA would be running around like chickens with no heads,” you replied, soft gasps slipping through your teeth as both men worshipped your body with their mouths and hands.
“I’m starting to hate those cabrones. Something fishy is going on. Just wanna be here with you.” Carlos says. Was that a weak whimper you heard towards the end? The ministrations from both older men were weakening, transitioning to butting heads. They’re tired, but you could feel the undertone of desire and arousal—they wanted to ravage you.
“How about you both take a shower and meet me in the room? Let me take the reins,” You purred, lifting Carlos's head and pulling Chris to face you. Both men were stunned, but didn’t protest. They usually took the dominant role—this was new. Your hands left their chins and flattened against their clothed groins, palming their bulges. Choked hisses and groans were pulled from the lips as you teased them.
“I’ll be waiting.”
xxx
You were sitting on the master bed, doodling with your phone as you waited for both Carlos and Chris. You weren’t doing anything on it, fantasizing about having both older men wrapped around your fingers—this was the first time you’ve taken the reins. Your dick was pulsing and throbbing, bobbing between your thighs. Then, the common sound of the door hinges squeaking, and the heavy footsteps pull your attention.
And there they stood, completely naked, with their massive, heavily muscular bodies on full display for your viewing pleasure—only you get to see this, no one else. A grin spread across your face, your eyes glossing over the older men, and wetting your chapped lips with saliva. They were built like gods, sculpted with divine hands, piece by piece.
They were mountains of rolling muscles from years of working as a mercenary-guerilla fighter and military/law-enforcement service. Both men sported nearly the same powerful physique—broad, brick-built shoulders that are perfect for resting your head on, well-defined muscular arms that could crush a fruit or put you in a chokehold, and plush, meaty pectorals with pretty nipples to motorboat or fondle.
Carlos was hairier than Chris, his meaty pectorals covered in a pelt forest, except for his perky, bright pink nipples that looked like an oasis jewel found in the deep trenches of the rainforest. It converged past his mounds and trailed down his body, leading to his abdomen, where your happy meal awaits. His forearm was dusted with strands, mainly the upper area. Chris has hair dusted in certain regions; his arms and pectorals had a fine coating of hair, not as much as Carlos. Nonetheless, they represented peak masculinity in the rawest, most primal, and most natural form.
While their bodies were something to admire and worship, their dicks stole the show. Both men have impressive endowments. Nuzzled between their muscly, thick thighs was their massive, flaccid—yes, flaccid—cocks, hanging like apples from a tree. You could feel drool dribbling past your lips, your eyes locked on their cocks, your body having a physical reaction—your heart pounding between your ribs with anticipation, and your ass aching to be filled to the brim with their meat.
Both are eight inches, nine and some more when fully erected, and thick as a can of Coca-Cola. Veins snaked around their massive shafts; the main protruding one is most sensitive. Both men wore their crowns proudly; Carlos had his pulled back, while Chris’s remained covering his flustered, pink cockhead. Carlos’s dick was slightly darker with a muted pink cockhead; Chris’s was paler and had a bright, flustered pink cockhead. Their family jewels hung heavy and churning with backed-up cum.
And all of this was for you.
“I can’t believe this is all for me.” You purred, getting up from the bed and walking towards both men. Carlos had his arms resting on his hips, carefree and smirking, interested in what you have planned. Chris had his arms crossed with one hand on his chin—god, his hands were beefy and thick.
You stood before the two, feeling like a dwarf compared to them despite being of average height. Both men came closer until you were sandwiched on both sides—their massive, flaccid cocks brushing against your thighs. One hand rested on Carlos’s hairy pectorals, and the other grazed Chris’s chiseled, defined abs. The hair was silky and smooth, but scruffy to the touch—Carlos’s pectorals felt squishy with some firmness.
“Didn’t shave for you, cariño. I know how much you love Carlos’s personal bush—forest?” Carlos smirks, a soft moan slips and fills the room as your fingers briefly graze his sensitive nipple. You could feel his cock pulsing softly, slowly growing against your flesh.
“Good boy.” You cooed.
Carlos choked on saliva, coughing as red heat flooded his cheeks. He’s never been called a good boy, but hearing the words leave your mouth activated the neurons in his brain. Usually, he would say something more intimate in response, but nothing came up, as if his brain was a desert. Being called a good boy stopped him in his tracks. The older man guesses his dick is now the brain as the flaccid piece of meat was growing in length and girth.
You hummed at the reaction Carlos was experiencing and turned to your other man.
“Can’t forget about my obedient soldier boy.” You swooned, tracing fingers across Chris’s defined abs—tapping the rock-hard muscles. “Need to let go of that dominant energy…” Your hand moved to his muscular arms, softly gripping them and moving them to the side, giving you full access to his body.
“And let me take control.” Your hand was quick to grope the older man’s pectorals, specifically his nipple. Your fingers rubbed circles and gently pinched the solid nubs—a satisfied grin appeared as Chris’s massive body shuddered under your ministrations. Loud, choked groans slipped out like a flood, overshadowing Carlos’s. Like beforehand, you can feel his cock rising and hardening—the length and girth expanding.
Chris could feel the tingling sensation ignite his body—the feeling of your fingertips prancing and playing with his nipples was something he could get drunk from. His nipples were one of the most sensitive points, something that can be exploited to turn him into a moaning mess. He was a tough nut to crack; besides being a soft, sugar cookie around you and Carlos, he still had the aura of a commander and dominant man. Yet, here he was, a moaning mess as your fingers toyed with his nubs. His massive cock was growing, grinding against your thigh as he yearned for stimulation.
“Mmm, guess who the luckiest guy is who has two hung men to enjoy? Meeee.” You chuckled, your hands wrapping around Carlos’s and Chris’s massive cocks—your fingertips barely grazing each other from the sheer girth. The massive things were growing and throbbing in your palms, the veins pulsing against your skin as you pointed both cocks toward yourself. Your dick jumped with reinvigoration from the hefty weight in your palms.
Chris groaned from the sudden change of pace and from your muse. “Already having too much fun.” His breath hitched and slowed.
“That was bad, but sexy, chico. I do have the largest natural dick in the world.” Carlos boasted, chuckled under his breath, tilting his head back and biting back a groan. “This all-natural dick is one of two keys for this slutty hole,” Carlos grunts, gritting his teeth as his meaty, calloused palm gently slapped your cheek.
A soft gasp escaped your mouth, but something in you snapped—a new feeling of power overcame you. You tightly gripped and squeezed Carlos’s and Chris’s massive shafts. Both men let out guttural groans, gasping from the switch—the soft laughing from Carlos was snuffed out. Chris muttered, “Goddamn it, Carlos,” under his shaky breath. You huffed, and a sweet, innocent laugh reverberated between the two men, but they knew it wasn’t innocent—far from it.
“Not gonna continue?” You dared, fake pouting at the pained but aroused expressions of both Carlos and Chris. You could feel the massive things throbbing and pulsing more than expected—hushed moans further piqued your interest. The male penis is quite sensitive to personal preferences; this was new. Did they like having their cocks aggressively handled like this? Like those gooners on Twitter who like torturing their cocks (powerful strokes)?
Experimenting, you began moving your hand around them, up and down, keeping the same grip. The soft, clean skin moved with your strokes, every ridge and vein. The foreskin swallowed the cockheads before pulling back—exposing the muted and bright pink cockheads. Carlo and Chris were silenced, only letting out guttural moans and groans from the rough, but pleasurable treatment.
“O-Oh, fuck… f-ffeeelll so good.” Chris moans, his eyes and head rolling back. It was like fucking your tight ass: the same grip and warmth were too familiar. The older man had the urge to grab your hips and start humping you like a horny dog, grinding his massive dick against your thigh. His mind was descending further into submission, letting you use him like a real-life dildo.
“D-don’t stop… c-cariño… please don’t,” Carlos whines, his body shuddering from the pleasurable sensation. His chest heaved as his breathing became heavy. The bravado from earlier was stomped out, forced into submission by your expert hands—squeezing his dick roughly, but he was surprisingly enjoying this. He can feel his brain shutting down, replaced by a submissive autopilot. His body felt warm as he subconsciously moved his hips, chasing a high that he needed to be satiated. His hand was itching to lay itself on you—hold you.
“You take what I give you.” You barked, removing your hand from Carlos’s dick and slapping the heavy, massive piece of meat. Yes, you actually slapped his dick. There was an audible skin-to-skin contact and a gasped groan. You watched as it swayed slightly left to right, barely moving because of how hard it was.
“¡Mierda!” Carlos howled, looking down at you with a shocked expression. He just had his dick smacked like it was being punished for a crime—which was the truth. Yet, his dick was leaking beads of precum. Long strings of the translucent fluid gushed and dripped down his length. His dick had a mind of its own and throbbed—begging for more.
“I’m learning something new about you every day.” You said, humming and smirking. “As for you, my soldier boy—you’ve been a good boy, why not indulge?” You removed your hand from Chris’s dick, the older man missing the warmth, but he knew what you were insinuating. Without hesitation, his meaty hands grip your rear and thigh.
You could feel his massive cock press against your skin; it pulsed and leaked before he started rutting—frantically humping your thigh. Precum smeared everywhere, his laboured breathing was close to your ear. Panting like a dog, and humping like one—his codename is Alpha. Maybe he would want to change that.
You sighed with content. This man, who's been dominant in the relationship—alongside Carlos, was rendered into a whining, humping mess. You listened to him, thanking you for this opportunity. Your free hand comes to cup his cheek, Chris leaning into the embrace and rubbing his scruffy stubble against your palm.
Carlos, meanwhile, was having his dick slapped and toyed with. His drying, shaggy hair stuck to his forehead as his body was becoming unbelievably hot. “C-cariño… please, need you… need you to touch me again.”
“Mmm? You promise to be a good boy?” You breathed, cupping his cheek and cooing. Carlos’s hand holds your wrist gently, thumbing the skin as he eagerly nods and begs that he’ll be good. You peered down to see his dick bobbing, aching for contact. You watched him discreetly thrust his hips, trying to hide his way of temptations.
“Mmm, I don’t think you deserve it, yet.” You pondered. Carlos wanted to protest, but you spoke before he could. “Soldier boy deserves some reward, you must watch and continue stroking—BUT, you can’t cum.” You gave your final verdict. It was time to change pace.
xxx
Carlos lay beside Chris on the Wyoming king bed, dick in hand, and his head tilted to the side. His breathing was soft and slow, his hand moving languidly up and down—you were in between Chris’s hairy, muscular thighs, his dick inches away from your mouth. His jaw was slackened open as he was harnessing his self-control.
“No touching, soldier boy.” You motioned towards one of his hands pinned to his chest.
“U-understood… J-just need your mouth… please.” Chris said, whining but understanding the clear boundary you set forth. You gave the older man a warm smile, gripping his massive dick by the base. You let go of Chris’s hand, transferring it to cup his heavy, hairy balls—your fingers rubbing the soft sack.
“So big… smells so good.” You moaned, bringing it closer to your face. The scent of the body wash with a hint of masculine musk filled your nostrils, saliva pooling in your mouth as Chris’s dick looked intimidating up close. Chris gasps softly as your nose points against his sensitive dick.
Your tongue flattened against the underside, licking the skin until you reached the cockhead. Chris kept his hands glued to the side, his fingers digging into sheets. You take his moans with pride and continue. You slowly pulled back the shield covering the tip until it revealed the precum-coated, pink cockhead—beads of precum oozing from the slit. Licking your lips, you sealed your mouth around the head. The bitter and salty taste of precum flooded your taste buds. Your tongue swirls and flicks while your hand performs deep, long strokes—attempting to cause more precum to ooze.
Chris pressed his head against the pillow supporting him, his back arched, followed by a series of moans slipping out of his mouth. Carlos mimicked the motion with sultry, deep moans. You ordered him to follow your movement to make it challenging.
“Tastes so sweet, it looks good enough to eat.” You slurred, licking and slurping until the pink cockhead was cleansed of precum. You hummed contentment, savoring the bitter, salty flavor. Not one to take breaks, you slipped the cockhead back into your mouth and slowly maneuvered down the length.
Chris felt like he was on cloud nine. He couldn’t tell if the air was being punched or sucked out of him. Every inch your mouth swallows, you sucked and pull back with a loud pop before taking the rest. His body twitched under your grasp; he could feel his asscheek muscles clenching and flexing. Maybe he should be like this all the time. Then he feels every inch of his cock is wrapped securely in your tight, warm mouth. He feels your saliva heavily coating his cock.
“Mmmm.” Chris’s massive meat muffled your moans, stuffing and drowning the sound. Your moans did send stimulation. Your cheeks burned with a fiery sensation. Your nose was buried deep in the older man’s pubic region, his furry patch tickling your nose. You’ve taken these men into your mouth several times, but the struggle has been evident.
You choked and coughed aggressively as the cockhead pushed past your tonsils and into your esophagus. Tears welled in the ducts, threatening to roll down your cheeks as you slobbered around the massive piece of meat. Much to Chris’s pleasure, your throat spasming and clenching around his dick added to the experience. But once you’ve gathered your bearings, you begin bobbing your head up and down.
As you bobbed your head on the massive, hard piece of meat, your tongue ran around the length, targeting the prominent veins and the cockhead when half of his dick was in your mouth. Your lips were tight as you hollowed out cheeks, suctioning and tightening your throat around him. Precum flooded your mouth, extracting another moan as it was the best-tasting substance you’ve had.
Chris was a moaning, whining mess. While sucking his dick, you watched him resist the urge to grab your head and face fuck—he wants to stay a good boy in your graces. His chest heaved like he was struggling to breathe, his defined muscles flexed and tensed, and his dusted chest hair was matted. To your right, Carlos was in the same condition, moaning softly as he stroked his dick, mimicking your technique. His hairy pectorals were matted, and his nipples were rock-hard—you could make out a foam string of precum accumulating around the cockhead.
Your dick throbbed and spewed strings of precum, coating the sheets under. The room was filled with dick slurping and slobbering, the wet squelching sound of stroking, and the husky, choked moans from both men. If you lived in an apartment, you would’ve most likely received noise complaints.
“F-fucking hell… oh god… you’re milking my dick—s-so much. I-I can’t.” Chris grunts, almost like he was growling like a feral animal. His teeth ground against each other, and his body was sweaty and shaking—he could feel his climax. You sensed his climax from his tensing and pulsing in your mouth, his massive dick expanding, and his balls tightening to his taint.
“Not so fast, soldier boy.” You gasped, pulling back with an audible, wet pop. Your breathing was heavy and slow, your warm breath brushed against the massive, heavy meat—it twitched from the cold, missing your mouth. Webs of precum and saliva stretched until they were skinny strings of fluids, dipping before breaking—disconnecting your mouth and Chris’s cockhead contact.
“B-baby… why d-did you stop? Thought I was—” Chris groans, leaning forward with perplexity painted on his face. His dick throbbed painfully. He was on the cusp of his orgasm—ass and toes clenched. His heavy sack churned a thick load, and he was prepared to fire—shoot his thick, creamy load down your throat, draining his balls of weeks' worth of cum. Yet, the cannon fire was called when your mouth left his dick bare without the comfort of your warm, wet oral cavity.
“Because I want every inch of one of my favorite sausages.” You purred, your eyes half-lidded as you gave the aching, flustered cockhead a soft kiss. Your eyes scanned the impressive length; it was completely drenched with your saliva, glistening like both men on a hot summer’s day at the beach. Your face lowered until it was at face-level with Chris’s furry balls.
Chris was confused by your statement, but it wasn’t long until he got his answer. The confusion that whirled in his eyes turned into exhilaration—throaty, guttural groans slipping out of his mouth. His head fell back as your silky, warm mouth embraced his furry sack—your tongue lathering, your mouth sucking, and your hand fondling. Chris reached out for the nearest thing, groping and kneading the firm but soft object. It felt hairy?
Carlos groans as he feels a rough, meaty hand grope his right pectoral. He looks over to see Chris playing with his mound like it was a stress ball. He chuckles softly, “I always knew you liked these pecs… staring at them whenever I’m wearing compression shirts… y-yeah… just like that.”
Carlos squeezed his dick, gritting his teeth as he wanted to prevent an orgasm; he was going to beat your challenge. It was taking a toll on him as he had to ruin several potential releases—he was tired and weak. He weakly reached out and returned Chris’s favor, playing with his pectoral and nipple—his signature grin plastered on his face as the other man looked at him.
Chris couldn’t respond; his mind was foggy and mushy. His tongue perched out of his mouth as you gargled his balls, swishing them with your tongue. You moan softly, savoring the fresh, clean flavor and scent—you wonder how much cum was sloshing around. Your right hand stroked the length, the wet squelching rang in your ear.
Your tongue traveled lower, licking Chris’s taint—the fuzzy hair gliding against your tongue. The fuzziness intensified as Chris’s hairy cheeks rubbed your cheeks. You slightly pulled them, revealing the older man’s puckered, pink hole. Grinning, your hands gripped Chris’s thighs as your tongue lapped the ring of muscles, which twitched with each lick. The older man’s eyes widened, from Carlos toying with his pectorals to your tongue lavishing his hole was overstimulating his body. His balls tightened, and his dick throbbed, but the desperate orgasm was ruined when you squeezed his length.
“P-please let me cum, baby… Need to cum… hurts.” Chris groans and whines. You only hummed in response, slowly stroking his dick and teasing his asshole. The older man needed to cum! Release the pent-up load until his balls are drained. His mind was numb and mushy as the orgasm denial was getting to him. He could swear that his dick was becoming purple—or more flustered, deep red.
Then he feels the familiar warmth that he craved and the tapping on his thighs. That was the signal he’s been yearning for. “Urrrgghhh,” Chris grunts as the tension in his muscles relaxes, his body turning into mush as he unloads.
You felt his cock throbbing down your throat and his furry balls tightening. It wasn’t long until the first shot of cum hit your tongue. The thick, sticky, and delicious seed filled your mouth. “Mmmmmmm!!” You moaned. It was like a torpedo or a volcano as thick ropes of cum spewed from the slit, spraying the back of your throat—the creamy load sliding down with ease. You revelled in the taste, enjoying and swallowing every drop of cum, guzzling it down your endless gullet.
Chris labeled this as his most intense orgasm. It felt like every part of his being was drained. His body collapsed and remained still as your mouth milked his dick—your hand squeezing out every drop. Everything was now hazy, his breathing ragged, and his body felt airy. You detached from the dick, licking your lips and the cockhead of any leftovers—gulping the rest.
You looked over Chris’s disheveled, sweaty body. You were like the succubus that drained the energy, or in this case semen, of their latest victim. Chris’s dick was still erect, leaving you awestruck and giddy; he was ready for more. But it was diminishing in length and girth leisurely. Your attention turned to Carlos. He was still stroking his dick; it looked raw and a deep red. The massive thing was pulsing as if it were about to pop.
“C-cariño… p-por favor… did what you asked of me… need to cum… need your mouth.” Carlos grits, letting go of his throbbing, red cock.
You rolled from Chris’s legs to Carlos’s, intending to give the older man his reward for resisting his orgasm. Grabbing the length by the base, you tapped the throbbing cockhead against your tongue—moaning at the unique flavor from the accumulation of precum. Pained, but relieved, groans slipped out of Carlos’s mouth as you took his whole cock, sheathing the massive thing. He was confused when you didn’t initiate, but he saw that look in your eyes—you wanted him to fuck your face.
“Thank you, cariño… Oohhh, I love you so much, baby.” Carlos groans, his hands tangling themselves in your hair strands—gripping with an iron grip. He started thrusting his hips into your mouth, his balls slapping against your chin. Your choking and gargling, the fapping of Carlos’s heavy balls, and his needy and thankful moans filled the room. You did your best to keep up the pace, but since he’s been masturbating, his dick was incredibly sensitive.
¡Mierda! G-gonna cum soon… your mouth feels so good… d-dont want this to end… N-next time I get first dibs.” Carlos moans as he chases his much-needed release. His balls that have been churning and sloshing cum flowed to the urethra. You felt the same throbbing and it wasn’t long before you were fed another load of hot, thick, creamy seed and left another man drained of his energy.
Carlos let out guttural, raspy groans as his balls were drained and the life was sucked out of his dick. He squeezed Chris’s pectorals before slouching beside the exhausted man.
“You’ve been such good boys for me, but we’re not finished.” You announced, licking your lips of any remaining cum. Carlos and Chris perked up, bewilderment and arousal written on their faces—they just blew their loads, but their cocks haven’t gone flaccid. Both twitched and bobbed at what you have planned next, but neither man knows if they can handle it.
“¡Dios mío!”
“Oh shit… fuck..”
Both men muttered and moaned, hissing under their breaths. Chris had his legs spread wide open with Carlos sliding between them like a missing puzzle piece—the mercenary's legs overlap Chris’s. Their hairy asses, balls, and massive dicks rubbed against each other. They could feel their cocks twitching and pulsing from the contact. The warm, wet skin is grinding together, trading and mixing fluids. Carlos and Chris could feel their cocks expanding against each other as a new wave of arousal flooded their systems.
A flurry of moans filled the room as you wrapped both of your hands around them, pumping slowly and spitting to lather their cocks until they glistened like sunscreen-coated skin. You marveled at the feeling of having both men’s cocks in your hands, your eyes glinting with intrigue and lust—not to mention your mouth salivating again like you didn’t swallow two massive loads of cum.
Their dicks felt raw in your hands. You could feel the individual veins beating—pulsing under your palms like they're alive, like a heart. Your pumps were precise and mellowed, your thumbs pressed against their cockheads, drawing out stuttered moans—broken and raspy. There was the sound of wet squelching and fapping mixing with the heavy breaths and moans.
“B-baby, please… we just came… fucking christ…” Chris begged, gasping and clenching the bed. He could feel his and Carlos’s dick throbbing under the careful strokes of your hand. His raw, overstimulated cock pulsed and ached, already leaking beads of precum—his balls churning another load.
“I’m not gonna stop until I milk you both dry.” You purred, grinning as the sense of dominance was exhilarating. You already had these men wrapped around your finger, but you were gonna make them wholly addicted to you—more than they already are.
““¡Dios mío! Cariño… don’t stop… got my dick feeling so good… hurts, but hurts so good.” Carlos moans, his hips bucking into your hand—grinding and mashing his dick and balls further against Chris’s.
Both men’s brains were fried beyond belief, consumed by lust and the primal need to nut and breed. Their eyes are either rolling back into their skull or going cross-eyed as their cocks leaked like fountains—spilling a new batch of the bitter, salty nectar. Their refractory period is extraordinary for their age—a bonus in your eyes as their libido is insatiable.
“Keep stroking… yeah… keep stroking my dick…” Chris grunts, his head rolling back into the pillow. His hips followed Carlos’s, bucking into your hand and entering a rhythm. All Chris could think about was how hot it felt when Carlos’s dick rubbed against his—their massive, thick cocks trapped and squeezed together, gliding against each other as precum oozed from the tips and lathered their lengths.
As Carlos and Chris humped your hands, trying to chase and fulfill their sweet release, you watched their every expression—the pain transitioning into pleasure. Their faces remind you of those gooner videos from Twitter. Unhinged and disturbing, but kinda hot. Tongues sticking out and drooling over their chins, cross-eyed with nothing behind those irises other than the primal urge to spray their seed, and the aggressive humping.
They would make rounds on porn platforms. Again, you were greedy, and this was only meant for you to see. Only you get to see your older men act like complete gooners—mindless and horny, nothing in their brains but the urge to fuck you and spill their seed.
“How about we take things up a notch?” You motioned to the drawer, hinting that there was something special in the wooden compartment. Carlos and Chris were too consumed to hear what you were saying, all senses muted besides touch. You chuckled, amused by their hypnotized state. When you removed your hand, both men groaned and hissed, but continued to grind their cocks—craving the stimulation you left empty.
“W-why’d you stop, baby…? Need those hands again… shit just like that, Carlos.” Chris pleaded.
“What do you mean, take things up?” Carlos asked, panting as he continued to buck and roll his hips. “Yeah? Like this? You’re so needy and submissive, it suits you.” Chris fired back that Carlos was also good at being submissive—earning a chuckle from the other man.
You used the opportunity to crawl to the other side of the bed, where the drawer was. The bickering behind you ceased, filled in only by muttered curses and groans—probably because you purposefully put your ass on display, arching it and giving them a show, a preview for the main event. You snickered, giving a little shake to further their horny temptations.
Chris and Carlos wanted nothing more than to reach out and worship your plump, voluptuous ass—knead the flesh with their rough hands, the fat spilling through their fingers as they squeeze the mounds. But at last, they could only watch, not touch, until you say so.
You gripped and yanked the handle, the drawer slid open, squeaking, and the contents rattled from the force. During your vacation time, while both men were overseas, you had some urges that needed to be satiated, or you would’ve blown up both of their phones with nudes and videos of you whining for their dicks.
You browsed through Amazon and other sites, scrolling and clicking random products, assuming what you and the boys would enjoy. You even went down to the local sex shop for some items—the cashier gave you that knowing look as they scanned your items. You grabbed the items and closed the drawer, smirking as you crawled back to them.
“W-what is that..?” Chris manages to say, eyeing the boxed items, squinting his eyes to read what was on the box. You sat upright, picking at the box.
“A double-ended dildo, something for you two to test.” You proclaimed, tearing the box open and removing the extra packaging—your fingers eagerly pulling and clawing at the material, beaming at what was to transpire. The description says that the dildo measures 12 inches overall, with veins snaking around it like a roadmap, and offers a realistic frenulum and glans. The veins were detailed with distinct shades of muted blue before breaking off into smaller veins. The dildo was a fleshy, pink color, with the cockheads being a bright pink color—similar to Leon’s when he fucked you while Chris and Carlos watched from the sidelines.
That was a story for another day.
“Oh fuck… You can’t really be thinking that.” Carlos muttered, his eyes widened, shock evident in his voice as he watched you play with the massive dildo. Doubt and worry swam in Carlos’s stomach, but his dick throbbed at the thought of a dildo ramming its way into his sacred place. He doesn’t mind his ass being eaten out, but it was off limits to penetration, but the thought of the dildo splitting him open and pushing deep caused his brain to short-circuit.
“Baby… I…” Chris couldn’t form a coherent sentence. His mind was easily hazy and clouded, short-circuiting when you presented the dildo. The dominant mentality was eroding and was replaced with submission and wanting to be used by you for your pleasure while he sits back.
“Each of you gets 6 inches! It's simple, and if you do this for me…” You murmured, purring as you returned to all fours and leaned forward with your back arched, your ass shaking in the air as you gave teasing kitten licks on their throbbing cockheads—moaning audibly at the flavor of their combined precum and the musky scent wafting around them. “You both get to have my little bud, that’s if you’re good.”
“Goddamn, baby… ‘m your good boy… need to feel you, more of you.” Chris whines, groaning as his overstimulated, pink cockhead is flicked by your tongue. His lower half is spasming. He was descending further into a headspace.
“Seriously, cariño..? Get to feel that tight ass… need to feel it… breed… I’ll be good.” Carlos pants.
“I know you’re good boys. Now, Carlos, you have to go back some.” You mewled, cooing as you pulled back, cupping their faces in your palms. Carlos obeyed and scooted back. There was a notable sweat stain, similar in shape to Carlos’s ass. You prepared the massive toy, popping the lubricant bottle open. You squirted the wet, slick substance on your palm and lathered—stroking the dildo as if it were Chris and Carlos.
The wait was gnawing. Chris’ and Carlos’ nerves were spiraling out of control, but the sight of you eagerly and professionally coating the massive toy eased them. Once you figured it was suitable, you positioned the cockheads at their entrances.
Carlos and Chris hissed, gritting their teeth in pain as they felt the blunt, silicon cockhead of the dildo nudge against their tight ring of muscles. It wasn’t until your soft, soothing voice entered their ears—breathy and velvety as their tensed muscles relaxed. Then, the tip pushed in, and the floodgates opened.
Guttural, throaty groans rang out as the dildo seamlessly slid in without any resistance. Carlos and Chris could feel the oxygen bursting out in broken groans and gasps as the dildo stretched and pushed into depths that weren’t conceived of. Their muscles trembled from the new feelings as their asses were stretched wider. Their hairy taints pressed together as the dildo was fully sheathed. As the tension cooled, Carlos and Chris let out breathy pants, their asses clenching around the silicon toy—they could feel the veins molding against the gummy walls and the cockhead poking something that made their dick ache and leak.
But you weren’t done. Not in the slightest. You unboxed a fleshlight, removed the casing, and took out the rubbery sleeve. It felt squishy and soft in your hands—stretchy and tight as your fingers wiggled and explored. Like the dildo, you squirted a significant amount of lubricant. Your silence and the sound of gushing liquid attracted Carlos’s attention.
“Cariño… what’s that… shit, ride that…” Carlos moans, broken as he pushes back and forward on the dildo; Chris does the same to some extent. Their sweaty taints and greasy dicks slapped together—it was like a sword fight with two massive swords trying to push the other into surrendering.
“Oh, just another thing I wanna try… I am gonna need you to pause.” You said, eyes raised as you glanced at the man.
“Jodida mierda… we both won’t fit, Cariño…” Carlos groans, stilling his movement—slapping Chris' thigh as a sign to stop. The other man groans in displeasure, the silicon cockhead was grazing his prostate—so close, but not enough to ram into.
“You both fit in my ass just fine! I’ll make it work… and if it breaks, I’ll just use Chris’s card to buy a new one.” You smiled, humming and shrugging your shoulders as you positioned both men’s dicks under the entrance of the toy, lubricant oozing from the hole.
“Use my card for whaaaaaatttttt—” Not another word was mumbled as Carlos and Chris felt their cockheads enter something, something that was tight, wet, and cold. Their asses clenched around the double-sided dildo as a flurry of moans and hisses slipped past their teeth. Their raw, overstimulated, and throbbing dicks were tightly enclosed, grinding against each other as the rubbery sleeve swallowed every inch. A slick, wet squelch sound echoed as they bottomed out, filling the sleeve to the brim.
Their cockheads were bulging from the end; you could make out their flustered tips through the stretchy rubber. They looked like caged beasts that wanted to escape containment, clawing and poking through the barriers. You didn’t give them a chance to gather their thoughts. You started to pump the toy, slow, long strokes that left both men on the edge, twisting the silicone slightly at a steady pace.
Like the horny dogs they were, Carlos and Chris bucked their hips into the anal sleeve; the rich ribbed texture and sloppy interior from the lubricant mimicked the feeling of your ass. It was mind-numbing and tricking to see how similar the experience was. It wasn’t better than the real thing, but a close second. Their frantic bucking caused the dildo buried deep in their asses to ram into the bundle of nerves.
Beads and strings of precum mixed with lubricant, the sound emitted was raw and filthy—not to mention the wet slapping of their balls as the lubricant seeped through and coated their sacks. The tight enclosure of the toy was milking them as if they were cattle, their dicks grinding and frotting—the foreskins peeling back. You could feel their dicks throbbing through the rubbery material.
“Are you two thinking of me?” You questioned.
“Y-yes… thinking about you… riding me, using my dick for your pleasure… want the real thing. I need it—oh shit.” Chris whines, groaning with his tilted back and arched back—thrusting into the toy. “W-want to have you on my dick…”
Carlos waited until Chris was done before chiming in. “What do you think, cariño? Want to watch you bounce that fat ass… feel your ass milk my dick… take everything you want from it.” The man groans.
Your dick twitched at the words, and your ass begged your brain to give them what they wanted. You leaned toward the older man. “Yeah? Want me to pin you down and use your dick as my personal dildo?” You grunted, taking the third item, a collar, and latching it around Chris’s neck. You yanked on the string, pulling Chris closer to your face, his hot, heady breathing brushing against your lips.
“Fucking hell, baby… yes! I do want that! Overpower me…” Chris moans, but it's swallowed as you press your lips against his. It was a slow, but dominant kiss—sloppy though. Your tongues danced together, but he was overwhelmed by everything happening—you pushed forward and explored his oral cavern, mapping and tasting every bit, savoring it like a scrapbook. His scruffy beard is rubbing against your clean chin. Your lips parted with a string of saliva, and Chris’s hazy eyes stared into yours—a plea for more.
Your grip on the leash softened, and you turned to Carlos, moving from Chris’s side. “And what about my good boy? You want the same, or would you rather be choked?”
“Choked? Kinky, cariño. I’ve been choked several times before… but I think you’d be the only one to get a rise out of me… riding my dick and choking me at the same time.” Carlos gasps, breathing heavily and leaning for a kiss. You laughed, but gave in; you couldn’t resist the Carlos special despite turning both men into horny, insatiable vessels.
“I like the sound of that… I think you both deserve a break.” You proclaimed, plopping the fleshlight off their dicks—a slimy mixture of precum and lubricant oozed from the well-fucked and stretched out hole. There was a tiny protrusion at the end; they broke it.
The dildo was pulled out with a wet pop, and both men groaned from the emptiness—the void left behind as their holes returned to normal. You lie beside Chris with Carlos shifting and collapsing on the other side.
“W-why..?”
“Because I said so, and you both deserve a break before we get to the main event.”
“That’s fine by me…” Carlos murmured as he turned onto his side and buried his head in your nape, sniffing and rubbing his head like a lonely animal. His muscular arm wrapped around your waist. You could feel his dick deflating against your inner thighs. The same for Chris, but he nuzzled into your neck.
Their heavy, hoarse breathing turned into relaxed, soft panting—adrenaline diminishing. Maybe a five-minute break? Or ten minutes? They are old, in their early 50s. You’ll give them as much time as they need. Forget what they said about having the libido of a 20-year-old.
…
“Fuck, it just won’t go down.” Chris groans, wrapping his hand around his aching dick and discreetly humping his fist. The chain on his collar rattled gently, not loud enough to draw attention. What led to his being caught was his ragged and short breathing against your neck, a telltale sign of what he was doing.
“Now, I thought I said to take a break, but you’re too eager… horny and impatient.” You reprimanded, your voice was stern and sharp, but soft and honeyed. You sympathize with Chris, a small frown on your face as you sit up and pull on the chain.
“I’ll let it pass, though.” Your voice is hushed and gentle, your thumb grazes Chris’s chin and lips. “My temporary replacement wasn’t the only thing that made you stressed? Always gruff and focusing on others… rigorous on yourself… but let me take control…”
“Huh, what's happening this time?” Carlos groggily says, his voice raspy and hoarse, almost like a low grunt from being interrupted.
“Oh, just our soldier boy continuing without us… How about we show him some attention? Let him bask in your glory and presence.” You expressed, leaning into Chris’s body, pressing soft kisses and bites on his neck while your other hand explored the ridges and divots of his rock-hard and defined stomach muscles. Chris rolled over to lie on his back, his dick pointing north like the needle in a compass.
You inched closer, your body melding with Chris’s solid planes of his muscular body—your crusade of light touches and gestures continued.
“I’ve been wanting to give him the Carlos treatment.” You knew what that entailed, having experienced the Carlos treatment many times—ass munching and getting dicked down.
The mercenary was quick to leave your side and position himself between Chris’s hairy legs—speed was impressive, as if he’d been waiting for his whole life. He grabbed and perched Chris’s calves onto his shoulders, pulling the large man closer and spreading his hairy cheeks—exposing his winking hole.
“Stay still, or we’ll cut this short and leave you like this.” Chris stayed lying down, not wanting to ruin his chances.
With a soft laugh, Carlos buried his head and started munching—jiggling Chris’s soft but firm cheeks in his palms, his tongue lapping against the popped, pink rosebud, the prickles of hair dust around the hole grazed his wet appendage. The mercenary slobbered and pressed kisses against the rim, his saliva lathering the entrance like it was preparing for a ceremony. Carlos’s moans and groans were muffled beneath layers of cheek pressing against his face, the fuzzy hair grinding against his rugged, unkempt stubble.
Carlos’s tongue expertly lapped and thrusted against the tight rim, nearly breaching the walls of the rim. His movements were coordinated and efficient as if he were on the battlefield in some faraway country. His tongue pounded against the rim, demanding to be let in, but the muscles tightened with each swipe—Carlos knew he was wearing it down. With a final push, the mercenary’s tongue penetrated, licking around the gummy walls—his nose mashed against Chris’s furry taint.
A guttural, hoarse moan rang out. Carlos smirks as he continues to push his tongue back and forward in Chris’s hole; the dildo already stretched him out, plus he tastes the fragrance and remains of lubricant. The mercenary pushed as deep as he could, flicking his tongue in certain areas—calculating the location of the prostate. Desperate moans from Chris signaled that he had found it.
“Delicioso.”
While Carlos feasted on Chris’s fuzzy peach, you dined on his furry pectorals, groping and squeezing the mounds, and fondling the man's nipples. Your head lay on his chest, tweaking his nipples—the tiny nubs danced between your fingertips, solid and pointy. Your tongue lapped the pectorals, gliding against the fuzz before you took one of his nipples into your mouth, sucking on it like you were expecting milk to leak, and nibbling—your teeth slightly grazing.
Your free hand traveled down Chris’s navel and wrapped around his cock, the massive thing throbbed and leaked in your hand as you pumped it slowly—a pace that was leaving the man on edge with everything happening to him.
Chris was melting. You and Carlos were the sun melting him like a snow cone on a summer’s day. Each of his pressure points was being stimulated simultaneously—his ass, dick, and nipples. The same mind-numbing, submissive headspace was clouding his brain, derailing his train of thought. Gasped and needy moans slipped out of his mouth, much to yours and Carlos’s satisfaction.
“Think you’re ready, lie back.” Carlos hastily sat up, moving away from Chris’s ass—his knees pressing against the bed. Chris heard the lubricant bottle cap open, then a loud squirt into the mercenary’s palm.
Carlos generously slicked himself, stroking and lathering his massive, thick piece of meat. At last, he nudges the blunt head of his cock against Chris’s entrance, pushing into the other man’s tight heat. You could hear the combination of low grunts and gasped moans fill your ear. Chris felt like all the oxygen was being pushed out of his lungs in strangled gasps, his body tightened around Carlos’s cock as it was being stretched wider.
In one thrust, the mercenary was buried deep, his eyes rolling back into his skull and feral growls slipping out as he felt Chris’s ass spasm and tighten—massaging his dick with those inner gummy walls. His hips and balls flushed against his ass, and pubic hair tingling Chris’s taint.
“¡Dios mío! Taking me so well.” Carlos moans, stalling his hips and grinding in small circles to further deepen himself—staking his claim like he owns Chris’s ass. To Chris, it felt like he was in his lungs, his hole scrambling to adjust to the massive dick that put the dildo from earlier to shame. “Keep loosening up for me.”
Carlos pulled out inch by inch, Chris groaning from the shaft sliding against his anal walls. He pulled out until his tip was the only thing inside before snapping his hips and ramming—his dick punching the bundle of nerves that left Chris trembling and jaw slack. The mercenary set a rhythm of deep thrusts that constantly punched the air from Chris’s chest. Sparks of pleasure coursed through Chris’s spine and body—travelling through every vein.
“That’s my soldier boy.” You soothed and cooed, peppering kisses and muttering praises.
Chris’s vision was fading between darkness and light, his knees shaking and wrapping around Carlos’s waist, tightening and encouraging the mercenary to keep ramming into his ass—Chris needed the toe-curling, jaw-dropping, and mind-numbing feeling of his prostate to be abused until he was cock drunk.
Your murmured words of praise and comfort soothed Chris’s nerves. You gently yanked on the collar, motioning for another kiss, which further melted and cracked Chris’s demeanor. Not to mention the combination of Carlos’s Earth-shattering thrust and your slow, languid pumping left him sweating like a sinner in church. He needed more; he was hungry for more!
“B-baby… could you… ya know?” Chris asked, biting back his words as if they were lodged in his throat, refusing to spill.
“Mmm? I don’t know… You have to be more specific.” You teased, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “I can’t give you what you want.” You most definitely know what he wants. You noticed how he gestures with his face; he wanted you to sit on him, ride his face like a bull.
It was hard to speak when you were getting your ass split and rammed into by a massive thick that was unravelling your very being. Chris stuttered to get the words, hissing and groaning with each attempt, as Carlos wasn’t letting him speak. “F-for the love of god… p-please sit on m-my face… w-wanna feel your ride me… f-for me please? Please, baby… need you.”
As much as you wanted to continue the charade of teasing and edging Chris, you’ve become needy yourself. Your dick and ass wanted to feel the action, split open and bred by their cocks. Feel their thick lengths spear you open, the prominent veins grinding against your anals walls, and their blunt cockhead reaching into your guts—let them run loose and breed you as if you had the capabilities to bear children.
“Who am I to deny you?” You purred, giving one final peck on his lips before straddling his head. You faced Carlos and watched as he pummeled Chris’s snatch, your eyes analyzing his facial features; his head tilted back, his eyes sealed shut, and his canines digging into his bottom lip. The mercenary’s body was coated in sweat, his thick, dark body hair speckled with silver glistening.
Almost forgetting what you were doing, you snapped out of your haze and lowered yourself until you could feel the man’s eager lapping—his tongue brushing against the crack of your ass, his cold saliva sent shivers down your spine. Chris wrapped his muscular arms around your waist, forcing you to put your full weight on him.
A choked gasp and moan slipped out of your mouth as Chris vigorously lapped at your bud; faint moans could be heard as the man buried his face deep in your crack—eyes rolling back from the unique flavor flooding his taste buds. His scruffy, ragged beard itched and scraped against your skin.
“F-fuck..” You cried, rolling your hips down, riding his tongue. Unlike Carlos, Chris was uncoordinated and sloppy, but you didn’t mind. Soft cries and moans left your mouth as Chris lapped, slobbered, and made out with your hole. His beard created a delicious friction, a burn that lay over your skin. When you tried to move, he tightened his hold around your waist, refusing to let the source of desire and nectar leave.
“Taste so good.” Chris groans. He could die like this, and he wouldn’t protest, smothered under the weight of your ass—the plump cheeks cutting off his oxygen supply. He enthusiastically and sloppily continued to feast on your ass.
The room was a symphony filled with the guttural and muffled cries of pleasure, and the wet squelching skin contact—Carlos’s heavy balls slapping against Chris’s rear and his deep thrusts, and Chris hungrily munching on your hole like it was the last dinner. The temperature was sweltering like an oven as all three of you basked in each other’s bodies.
“Come here, cariño…” Carlos grunts, panting as he cupped your cheek with his right hand, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was hungry and sloppy, lips and tongue clashing together as you both devoured each other's mouths. You could taste the faint flavor of Chris on Carlos’s tongue. The ambrosia was shattering. Carlo’s thick, scruffy beard prickled against your chin as he deepened the kiss.
This was heaven on Earth, maybe Hell, but who really cares? The ice sheets of stress and agony were melting from both Chris’s and Carlos’s bodies—turning into puddles of pleasure and bliss, thanks to you. Not to mention that you’ve awakened something in both men, mainly Chris. Both found pleasure in you barking commands and taking the lead, and using their dicks as if they were dildos. Before, they both made it a mission to satisfy every whim and craving; now it was reversed.
For now, that is.
“Ay, Dios mío… gonna cum… damn it, Chris.” Carlos moans, pulling away from your mouth to jackhammer into Chris's hole. His thrusts were becoming sloppy, his rhythm breaking under the pressure of Chris’s ass swallowing and squeezing his dick, clamping and milking him. The mercenary’s balls were churning and tightening, ropes of white rushing to his cockhead.
The skin-slapping got louder as Carlos chased his release. You could feel Chris’s moaning against your slobbered, wet hole and see his dick throbbing with beads gushing from the tip. Your neglected dick leaked droplets of precum on the divots of Chris’s stomach, the translucent substance increasing its presence as you were itching on the edge.
“I know, baby… save your load because it's time for the main event,” you said.
“Fuck, you mean?” Carlos gasps, halting his thrusts in a bid to prevent his orgasm.
“Yeah, for my boys to know where they belong.” You purred, unhooking Chris’s arms around your waist and climbing off his head. Carlos followed you by pulling out with some resistance as Chris’s ass desperately clenched around him. A choked groan escaped, his dick throbbing clearly, missing the warmth and tightness.
“Why are we stopping? Was just about to—” Chris complained, grinding his teeth at the spoilage of his orgasm—lowly grunting from no longer munching on your ass or Carlos railing him into the bed until he was dumb.
“Shhh, just follow my lead.” You replied. The mattress groans from the weight moving on top of it, Carlos moving from Chris’s legs to resting on his back, his muscular arms behind his head like a total stud from those porn videos. The mercenary’s massive dick stood proudly, twitching and leaking. The massive thing glistened in the light from the copious amounts of lubricant and precum. You didn’t even need to prepare him.
You straddled Carlos’s hips, his dick wedged between your cheeks. Soft gasps and the mattress frame creaking filled the air as you bounced on the mercenary’s lap, purposefully sliding his dick between your cheeks. His pelvis and your rear clapped repeatedly—each bounce becoming rougher and higher. With one final bounce, you grabbed and positioned Carlos’s dick against your puckered entrance.
“Mmm… ngh.” You bite back a moan as the blunt head pokes your asshole—your hole and Carlos’s cock were kissing each other. Isn’t that cute? Precum oozing from the tip soaked your slobbered hole. With determination, the blunt cockhead pierced your hole and slowly descended on it, every inch swallowed by the scorching heat and tightness until he was fully sheathed. Your ass pressed against his pelvis, his bushy, thick pubic region grounded against your rear.
Groans bounced off the walls. Carlos’s arms left his hand and latched onto your hips, his nails digging into the flesh—surely leaving behind bruises, but there were love marks to you. The mercenary calms his breathing, but the way you were clenching around him with an iron grip was leaving him breathless—not to mention your ethereal body on top of him. He admired every square foot of your being.
‘So beautiful…”
You sighed in relief, your head tilted back as your body became mushy from finally getting what you’ve wanted for weeks. All your worries were blimped out of existence once his dick pierced and rearranged your guts. Your ass clenched around the massive thing, and you could feel the veins snaking around it pulsing, throbbing with blood flowing through it. The burning sensation subsided, replaced by an itch that needed scratching.
Carlos didn’t get time to recuperate when you set the pace. It was quick and rough, lifting slowly before quickly dropping yourself down—Carlos’s cock reached deeper inside you with each bounce, cockhead hitting all points that left you boneless.
The only sounds for several moments were gasps and groans that mingled sweetly together—creating a melody for the ages. Carlos gripped your hips as pleasure was building deep in his core. He didn’t dare to thrust his hips; your aggressive pace was leaving him drained as if you were milking his energy.
“Cariño… you’re so rough… Dios mío.” Carlos whines, but was silenced when your hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing his airways, but not hard enough to choke him.
“Dildos don’t speak, and you.” You grunt, turning to Chris and yanking on the collar, gesturing for him to come over. “Get over here and fuck me.”
Chris was a bystander watching the debauched scene in front of him; it was like his own personal porn video he’d watch during missions. It wasn’t until you yanked on his collar that he joined the action, positioning himself behind you and pressing his dick against your occupied hole. You stalled your bouncing, letting Chris push in.
Chris’s groaning joined yours and Carlos’s as he slipped in. It was like the fleshlight anal sleeve, but it was the real thing and not rubbery insides that barely put up a torch to your ass. His and Carlos’s dick were once again grinding against each other, trapped and squeezed by your anal walls—determined to milk them of their precious, thick seed.
You were packed to the brim. Two massive, thick cocks stretching your hole to the limits, your nerves flaring from the sensation. Your power bottom demeanor was faltering, your grip on Carlos’s chest and Chris’s collar loosening. Your dick throbbing against the mercenary’s abdomen, aching for an orgasm that was promised hours ago. This was it. You had renewed vigor.
“Your cocks belong to me, only me! All is mine and mine to use!” You moaned, restarting your pace. The bed frame creaked and groaned from the combined weight of its occupants fucking and the headboard ramming into the wall with enough force to leave a hole—classic American homes with subpar materials. Your grip on everything returned as you wanted to milk every last drop of seed.
Both men were a complete and utter mess, ragged and sweaty from the hours-long sex marathon. Their hands intertwined on your hips as your pace became intense and punishing, overwhelming them—frying their already mushy and hazy minds. Chris pressed his forehead against your shoulder, panting with heavy breaths.
Carlos didn’t think he’d last any longer. His vision was becoming blurry, and his cockhead gushed precum like a fountain—same for Chris, their fluids frotting inside your scorching, tight heat. Your choking him didn’t help, probably unlocking something in him.
Your pace was becoming sloppy, the pleasure pooling and coiling in your gut—tight and unbearable in your core. The double penetration, aggressive, milking cock pace, and the overwhelming sense of power that left Carlos and Chris placid and needy were pushing you towards the edge.
Both men felt it in their groins, already nearing the brink. The chain rattled in your palm as you gently pulled on it, prompting Chris to tilt his head forward. He was caught off guard when you latched onto his lips.
“Cum for me, breed me.” You momentarily pulled back to speak before devouring Chris’s mouth. Both men didn’t need to be told twice, as the dam broke, unleashing a torrential wave.
You gave one final bounce, stopping so both are buried to the hilt. You could feel them throbbing, followed by ropes of hot, thick cum spurting from the tips—guttural and muffled groans rang out. Their bodies stiffened, and glutes clenched as they came deep inside your ass, filling you to the brim—even some started seeping past their cocks. Your orgasm rippled through your body, your vision turning white, and a white-hot explosion that made your body seize. Ropes of cum squirted from your tip, painting Carlos’s hairy body like you dumped white paint on him—some even landed on his face.
For a moment, there was nothing but heavy breathing, the smell of sex and sweat wafting in the air, and the overwhelming sense of being full—despite feeding you massive loads earlier, they dumped gallons of cum in your ass. Your grip on Carlos’s neck loosened, and your bodies remained connected; then slowly, Chris pulled out with a slow, aching slide.
You collapsed onto Carlos’s body, your cum smearing against your chest. Chris collapsed beside you, panting with a hand on his—sometimes you wonder if you’ll accidentally cause one of these men to have a heart attack. It's best not to think that. Carlos followed next, his dick slipping out. Cum leaked out of your pummeled hole, you’ll worry about laundry later.
It was quiet except for the calm breathing. Carlos’s heart beat softly underneath, his thick, hairy body providing comfort as he hugged you.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, baby/Cariño.”
THE END
A/n — Hello, my strawberry patch and newly added seeds! This fic was hefty and my god. I’m tired after writing this. I hope y’all enjoyed this and like it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!
Special thanks to my proofreader — @sagethegaywitch
Klaus has had a certain starry-eyed girl on his mind, so when he walks into a museum, not at all with the hope of finding her inside, he can't help but strike up a conversation, which might've just led to Y/n agreeing to see him again.
Warnings - none that I can think of!
Word Count - 1.6k
Masterlist | Please reblog the work to share!
Been writing something that has had me researching left, right, and center! So I thought that while I worked on that one, I'd write a quick little something to freshen up a tad. Hope you enjoy a giddy Klaus hahah!
On a random, foggy Tuesday morning, Klaus found himself taking a quick stroll to the new Art Museum that had appeared out of nowhere in Mystic Falls. Well, for him anyways, for he hadn't come across the building in the months that he had been existing in the small town.
But one couldn't fault him for that, seeing that he had been so busy messing with a group of teenagers, or rather – with a couple of centuries old vampires, a newborn werewolf, and even a newfound witch, should he say.
But what took up most of his time was this starry-eyed girl with whom his eyes always seemed to meet whenever they were in the same room. That was all he got, though. The chance to look into her eyes for a fleeting second before she was shifting her gaze onto something else, leaving him breathless and wanting for more.
He never caught her name, or even a smile. Each time he saw her, he had been in search for a muse. And each time, she succeeded in sending a surge of creativity flowing through his entire being that consumed him so fully that he would race home and embrace that rush of adrenaline until he needed more.
Then, he would go out to steal another glance at her. The problem was, he hadn't been seeing her around for a week now. And he was anxious that she might've left the town, for she was the type of person whose absence went unnoticed for all but those who'd even once shared her company.
So, he felt a bit hopeful since he hadn't heard of Damon or Bonnie complaining about their loss of time with her. But he was also dreadful, wanting nothing more than to meet with her again knowing that this time he wouldn’t miss the chance to speak to her.
If Klaus had to be honest, he'd confess that the sole reason he was even heading to the museum was because he had a feeling that this could be one of the places he'd find her.
On his walk, he came across wildflowers and rose bushes, a couple of pinecones and a odd looking lemon tree, that stood lonely in midst of all the fog that had settled around it. And Klaus wondered if she paid attention to such details, if he should pick out a rose in case he did come across her? But he settled on not doing that, since that would surely give him away instantly.
He strolled through the corridors, sparing each art piece a single glance because he couldn't feel the emotions of looking at them for the first time and the curiousity of trying to unwind the stories in them due to his ages old knowledge that proved the collection in this museum to be quite poor.
There were a few people inside, a few dreamers scattered throughout the place, either sitting on the floor, sketching out what they could see in the painting or standing as if trying to count the stars, their eyes set on complicated pieces that pretentiously twisted the wires of their brains.
His eyes were wandering, and he was people watching now, rather than looking at the art that hung in frames. Which is how, there was a stutter in the search of his eyes when he caught sight of someone sitting against a wall opposite a painting, dressed in something quite vintage with a bowl of blackberries in their lap. A smile threatened to slip on his mouth.
He suppressed it though, looking at the ground to wait-out the disappearance of his blush before he squared his shoulders.
"Hello there," Klaus smiled, looking down at her and nodding when he had her attention. "Think I've seen you around?"
She broke a smile then, a small frown settling between her brows. "Hi, and …think I’ve witnessed a couple instances myself!" She laughed, her palm twitching awkwardly as she battled whether she should continue to eat, offer him some or wipe her stained hands on her thrifted dress.
She offered him to sit beside her instead, and then offered him her snack.
"Why thank you," Klaus murmured, his heart racing inside his chest the moment he caught a whiff of her perfume.
"I'm Niklaus, by the way."
She looked at him intriguingly, swallowing as she nodded to herself. "That's a nice name," she admitted. "Any meaning behind it?"
Klaus looked away, pretending to look at the painting in front of them in order to hide the sudden blood-rush to his face.
"Yes, yes it does," he said. "It comes from a Greek word, um, Nikolaos, I think? Means victory of the people."
"Well, I'm Y/n," she extended her clean hand out and Klaus shook it, electricity coursing through his being.
He sighed and locked his arms around his knees.
"So, Y/n," he tasted her name on his tongue and right away, wanted more of it. "What are you doing here?"
"Nothing special, been writing a thesis lately. Came here for a break and some change of scenery," she shrugged.
"A thesis?" Klaus asked, feeling intrigued and when she nodded nonchalantly, he felt baffled. "On what, if you don't mind me asking?"
She was smiling bashfully now, looking down at the remaining blackberries. "You'll laugh," she said.
"And why would that be?"
She clenched her eyes shut. "Because it's on hotels," she raced to say, peeking at him with one eye to see his reaction. He wasn't laughing so she looked at him properly, dumbfounded, noting that his expression was the same as before, if not more interested.
"Tell me more about it," Klaus asked, leaning his head on his knee to look at her.
She was blushing, and Klaus made a mental note to try and get the shade right on his canvas when he went back home.
"Well, it's going to be a tangent, so don't complain, okay?" She looked at him warily. He blinked softly, urging her on and she felt something shift between them.
"You asked for this," she sighed, and he chuckled, picking up another berry as she turned so that she was facing him, sitting cross-legged with a straight back.
She went on then, and Klaus was absorbing every single word that she was saying along with her wild hand-gestures that he felt like were going to hit him at some point. He noticed the sparkle in her eyes doubling-up as she talked about something she clearly felt passionate about.
Her cheeks had grown slightly red, and her mouth was stained by the blackberries. She mentioned how she had an even softer spot for haunted houses and hotels, making him grin with her.
It felt vulnerable for some reason, and Klaus' heart felt like it was growing inside of his chest.
She was spilling for him all of the research she had done so far, and it was admirable how well she was doing at explaining to him all of it. He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to look at the hotels the same way again, knowing now the way she looked at them.
And he knew that he was going to pester her again sometime and ask her about the gold chain that she wore, in the middle of which hung a glass globe that held something in the shape of a star preserved inside it. He had a feeling that everything that adorned her body held some meaning to it for her.
"And I think that's all I've got on it, so far anyways," she finished with a deep breath, looking at him with a big grin on her face. She had lipstick on her bottom teeth, or maybe it was just the berrie’s stain; Klaus looked away.
"I think I have a newfound soft-spot for hotels now," Klaus sighed, straightening his back and leaning against the wall, craning his neck to look at her.
"I'm so very glad to hear that," she chuckled. "My apologies for talking your ear off, but hey, you asked for it!"
"I've got a feeling that I might ask for it again," he winked, and she looked away immediately, the corners of her mouth lifted up.
"Can't be now because I need to get going," she shrugged, checking her wristwatch whose leather band was beginning to wither off.
"Sure, think I wasted some of your time there," grinning sheepishly, Klaus rubbed the back of his neck.
But she laughed as she packed away her book and the empty container back into her bag. "No, Klaus, thank you for listening," she said, genuinely.
"Anytime," Klaus muttered shyly, watching as she got up and waved him goodbye.
Klaus waved back with a wistful smile, watching her walk away when he suddenly realised.
"When will I see you again?" He shouted, ignoring the incredulous looks he got from the strangers. He slipped his hands in his pockets and shrugged when she turned around to look at him with wide eyes.
"I love taking evening walks around the neighbourhood," she said at a normal volume, and Klaus heard her just right.
He was going to be delusional and tell him himself that today had been an unofficial date, maybe he'd ask her out for an official one when he saw her the next time.
He nodded at her, giving her a salute as he rolled on the toe and then the heels of his feet, grinning shamelessly as she laughed and walked away, sparing him one last glance before turning around the corner, out of his sight but not once out of his mind.
(Y/N) could feel his heartbeat thumping wildly in his ears, feel the way his pulse jumped. He felt the energy that hummed beneath his skin, leaving his fingers twitchy and his breathing shallow.
His skin was hot and sweaty, as if he'd been standing underneath the Miami Beach sun for hours, and it grew hotter with each passing second.
Shane Hollander lied beside him, his cheek smushed against the thin pillowcase, forcing his lips to be slightly parted. A little circular mark of his drool stained the pillowcase.
He counted the freckles scattered across Shane's cheeks and his nose, and realized he'd never truly noticed them before.
His raven-black hair had fallen over his forehead, and his skin was flushed, slowly regaining its usual color as his body settled down from the events that'd occurred between them.
The sheets were pulled up high, shielding the rest of his body from sight, but he still made out the outline of the powerful form hiding beneath.
(Y/N) hadn't meant for things to go so far.
No, that was a lie. He'd simply expected Shane Hollander, Canada's little golden boy, to rebuff him, to smile with forced politeness and make some kind of half-assed excuse as to why he wanted to drink his ginger ale alone at the bar.
He'd chuckled instead, airy and faintly surprised, nodding along to (Y/N)'s bitter ramblings (word vomit, really) about Ilya Rozanov at the hotel's half-empty bar.
The proposition in the elevator ride up had been... a moment of poor impulse. His plan had been simple, one he'd been ninety-nine percent sure would fail, but Shane Hollander had stared at him, wide-eyed and caught off-guard, before red blossomed across his cheeks and he agreed.
(Y/N) took in a deep breath and pushed himself up slowly, cringing at the groans of the mattress springs beneath him that sounded louder than they needed to be.
He dragged the duvet off his body and carefully stood up from the bed, keeping a close eye on Shane as he slid his clothes back on. They rubbed against his skin uncomfortably. His body was too hot, too sweaty.
(Y/N) patted the pockets of his pants, then the pockets of his jacket, feeling the outline of his phone in his jacket. No keycard to get back inside his hotel room.
He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his teeth into his bottom lip, biting back the groan that bubbled up in his throat. Fuck. He rubbed a hand over his face and inhaled deeply through his nose.
He smelled like sweat, sex, and stupid decisions.
Ilya Rozanov had a better nose than a bloodhound and better eyes than a falcon. Nothing would get past him, and if (Y/N) woke him up, he'd notice his state right away and ask a million questions.
(Y/N) nipped at his bottom lip, standing like an idiot in Shane Hollander's hotel suite bedroom, half-contemplating getting back into bed and dealing with whatever came in the morning.
(Y/N) hated Shane Hollander, and not for any good reason, either. He thought Shane was a great hockey player, a phenomenal idol for children to look up to.
No.
The last thing he wanted was to face him, to look him in the eye and pretend as if it was a spur-of-the-moment hook-up and not some sort of fucked-up revenge plot.
He had a strong work ethic and was professional during every press run and post-game interview. He was the kind of guy who'd end up in the Hall of Fame and be remembered for many years after his retirement.
(Y/N) hated him anyway.
But only because he'd been forced to watch his long-time crush and closest friend grow smitten with the guy over the years.
(Y/N) was no fool; he'd caught plenty of glances, cheeky smiles, and softened gazes to know Ilya had developed a crush on Shane at some point after their rookie year.
(Y/N) wanted Ilya to look at him like that, to smile at him like that, to laugh gleefully whenever he made a smartass retort.
But he was just the best friend. The shadow. The quiet little dog that pathetically followed Ilya around wherever he went.
He yearned for it, yearned for the type of overwhelming love Ilya Rozanov gave to everyone he cared about. He wanted to be kissed breathless and held tight enough that his body would ache.
A sigh slipped from his mouth. A full-grown hockey player in one of the best teams in the country... acting like a petty high schooler throwing a tantrum. How embarrassing, but that was who he was.
(Y/N) (L/N) had bad luck: always saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing, somehow never picking up on the simplest things, and stressing over everything.
Ilya kept him grounded, rooted in reality. His anxiety overwhelmed him sometimes, and his emotions came and went like tidal waves, sometimes big, sometimes small. Ilya always knew what to say, what to do.
(Y/N) swallowed and turned toward the door, taking two steps toward it before a voice groggily called out, "Where are you going?"
The bed groaned beneath Shane's weight, just as it'd groaned when he'd been straddling (Y/N)'s lap and kissing him like he wanted to devour him.
He'd tasted like ginger ale and peppermint, and he'd felt alive beneath (Y/N)'s hands. The goosebumps that'd risen over his skin had rubbed along (Y/N)'s palms, and his blunt fingernails had left scratch marks over (Y/N)'s shoulders.
(Y/N) froze in place, briefly considering bolting as if his life depended on it, but he forced himself to turn around to face Shane. The only lit lamp in the room left it basking in a low, warm glow.
Shane looked pretty. He had the kind of beauty that artists would fight over to paint: pillowy lips, muscular arms, and big, dark eyes.
No wonder Ilya liked him.
It wasn't fair.
"My room," (Y/N) answered, clearing his throat and swallowing down the envy that crept up. "I... I'm rooming with Ilya. He's.. nosy. He'll ask too many questions if I come back in the morning. I didn't- I didn't mean to wake you, or anything. I, uhm... I don't usually do this kind of thing, so..."
He swallowed. "I don't really know how this stuff goes."
He fiddled with his fingers, pinching the wrinkles on his knuckles, wishing he had a ring to fidget with.
The humming beneath his skin calmed, just barely, just enough that he could breathe properly without feeling like he wanted to burst out of his body.
Shane stared at him, his own fingers running over the soft duvet covering his lower region. "Oh... Do you... want to talk about it?" He asked tentatively, raising his shoulder to rub away the drool staining the corner of his mouth. He blinked until his eyes no longer looked heavy, his head raising with more alertness.
"About what?" (Y/N)'s brows twitched. His throat ached for cold water. He wanted to catch a flight to Boston and never leave his apartment again. "The sex? It was great. No complaints here." His heart leapt to his throat.
He'd had sex with his best friend's crush. Ilya had every right to hate him. Anxiety rattled his chest.
Shane's head tilted away from him, his lips twitching upward, a little chuckle leaving him. "I meant... this. I- I've done this before. It... didn't end well. I felt like shit, and I don't want to go through it again." Shane revealed softly, and a flare of jealousy and realization washed over (Y/N).
Jane. Shane. Jane. Shane. Jane. Shane.
He thought it'd been an actual girl that Ilya slept with because her name sounded close enough to Shane's, but the real reason Ilya had been moping around recently was because he and his crush (Fuckbuddy? Fuckrival? Boyfriend?) weren't hooking up anymore.
How many times, he wondered, had Ilya lied to him about going out to buy cigarettes or have a drink just to sneak around with Shane-Fucking-Hollander.
Fuck. Fuck.
Ilya was such a- No, no, relax. Ilya Rozanov had every right to do whatever he wanted. He was young, single, and at the peak of his career. (Y/N) tried to steady the irritation that curled around his heart like scorching chains, the thoughts that bubbled bitterly in his brain.
His fingers curled and uncurled, so he shoved them in the pockets of his jacket and forced himself to hum. He nipped at his lip a little harder and then pressed his lips together when he tasted metallic.
He could feel his mind beginning to slip away from him, felt a million emotions rise in his chest. Question after question filled his head.
Quickly licking his lips, (Y/N) shrugged, raising his hand to his face and subtly wiping his lip with the cuff of his jacket. His eyes dropped briefly, spotting the crimson stain on the cuff before he dropped his arm back to his side.
"Sorry to hear. Nothing fixes a broken heart." (Y/N) laughed dryly. "Trust me, I'd know."
Shane lifted his head, surprised, his brows raised. "You do?" A question within a question. Who?
"It was nothing," (Y/N) replied with another shrug. Is this what pillow talk was? Prying into personal lives to feel a semblance of connection with a total stranger? "A stupid crush on someone unavailable. What, uh, what about you?"
Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were supposed to be bitter rivals. They'd been having secret sex right under everyone's noses, instead. Ilya liked him.
Shane's eyes flickered away, lines forming when he frowned. The golden color on the walls around them began looking more like a sickly yellow.
His clothes managed to feel even more uncomfortable against his skin, as if he could feel every thread and fiber. (Y/N) knew the answer to his question, but he wanted the when. The why. The how.
How foolish could he be to toss that aside? Over, what, some dumb comment that hadn't struck right? A mistranslation? Struggling to put together the puzzle pieces of Ilya's childhood?
Idiot.
Well... between him and (Y/N), Shane wasn't the idiot chasing after some guy who tenderly called him brother.
"Forget about it." He said, his voice needlessly tight, his hand raising to adjust his jacket around his shoulders better. "We shouldn't have done this, anyway. I shouldn't have asked or- or said anything."
(Y/N) swallowed the saliva that gathered quickly in his mouth, his heart hammering in his chest. Frustration rose and fell inside him, making his skin flush with irate heat.
Always quick to snap, always quick to coil and spit like a cobra. The perfect enforcer for a ruthless team like the Boston Raiders.
Shane's head turned toward him immediately, straightening up his back. "I-I don't want to, uh... out him or anything. He wouldn't do that to me-" (Y/N) refrained from rolling his eyes. Perfectly polite thing to do with careers like theirs. "-so I don't want to do it to him."
"Yeah," (Y/N) tried sounding casual, but his voice came out high-pitched, the feigned understanding clear. Shane frowned again, evidently confused, a little helpless. "I get it, really. It's.. nice of you."
Shane gave a small nod, his eyes studying him more intensely than (Y/N) liked. "You don't like me." He stated after a beat, though his features remained neutral, relaxed. "I thought you didn't, but then..."
"You're not... horrible."
That sounded bad. Say something nicer.
"I mean-" (Y/N)'s eyes closed briefly. "You're not, uhm.. that annoying off the ice, I guess. Not that you're- well, you are annoying on the ice, but in a good way. Like, you do a good job at... your job."
Just shut up, (Y/N). Jesus.
(Y/N)'s nose scrunched up, his face warming with humiliation. Some small, childish little part of him wanted to cry over his embarrassment, as he'd do in his childhood when things grew too overwhelming.
He scratched his forehead roughly instead, and exhaled heavily through his nose. The bed creaked when Shane scooted across it.
"You're good at your job, too." He said, his tone serious, lacking any mocking that usually came after (Y/N) embarrassed himself. (Y/N) frowned at it, at Shane, preparing himself to bristle in case it was feigned. "You and Rozanov make a great team. Really fucking irritating to play against, but great to watch."
Shane's hand curled around the duvet still covering his lower half, one leg hanging off the side of the bed, his toes grazing the floor. He thought for a moment, and then raised the duvet, planting his feet on the floor and standing.
(Y/N) watched him cautiously, years of dealing with unwanted roughhousing and warranted lunges naturally making him guarded.
Shane reached out, his fingers wrapping and dipping beneath the hem of his shirt, one thumb rubbing over the fabric. "I don't really know how this stuff is supposed to go either, but I know that... I like you. Or, I'm starting to. You're not what I thought you'd be like. I thought you'd be a jackass, but.."
Pillow talk was really weird.
Shane's eyes dropped to stare at the hem of his shirt, strands of dark hair swaying with his movements. "Do you want to do this again?"
(Y/N) shifted his weight from foot to foot, unable to make himself comfortable with Shane's soft voice or the gentle glint in his eyes.
He was used to the Shane that glared at him, the Shane that pointed at him angrily and protested with the referee, the Shane that gave him awkward, polite smiles and offered robotic, PR-approved comments about him during interviews.
"This?" (Y/N) repeated stupidly, his brain clouded with bewilderment and the aching feeling of waiting for the rug to be tugged out from under his feet. He nearly scoffed at himself. "You mean the sex? You want to... hook up again?"
"Yeah," Shane's shoulders shook with a harmless laugh. "I... liked it. With you. I thought I wouldn't, but I did."
(Y/N)'s brows almost furrowed. Was he the kind of guy that looked bad at sex? "Oh, right... right."
"Do you want to fuck me again?" Shane asked, somewhat abruptly, shameless in a way that startled (Y/N), but he looked genuinely curious rather than seductive. Shane Hollander was... odd. "Later, I mean. Next time we play against each other, but we make rules. We.. avoid heartbreak again."
Shane Hollander wanted a replacement for Ilya Rozanov.
"I'm... kind of a mess, Hollander- Shane. Like... a really big, hot mess. I'm not- I'm not the type of guy you want. I'm.. damaged goods at best." His laugh was dry, brittle. Shane frowned again. "Look, people say I'm great in small, spread-out doses, Shane. I'm an acquired taste only Ilya seems to like."
(Y/N)'s lips parted with the realization, a noise that was meant to resemble words leaving his throat that sounded more like a drawn-out grunt.
(Y/N) (L/N) was the last guy anyone wanted as their rebound. (Y/N) slowly shook his head, his eyes flickering away, jumping to different objects in the room. Shane's scattered clothes, the lamp, the curtains that swayed with the AC.
"I like you." Shane insisted, his frown growing. A soft red spread over the tips of his ears and down to his cheeks, but he steadily kept their eyes locked. "I had more fun talking to you today than I've had hanging out with some of the Metros."
"You don't know me, Shane."
"Let me get to know you."
He sounded like Ilya. Sweet, warm Ilya who'd taken him under his wing without much thought, without any care as to what everyone else thought of him.
"You don't want that, Shane," (Y/N) told him quietly, partly truthful, partly because the sooner he stopped things, the easier it'd be to look Ilya in the eye. "We hooked up. It happened. Now, we leave it in the past and go our separate ways."
(Y/N) considered slamming his face into the hotel door, but he lifted his fist and knocked instead. He slid his hand into his pocket in case he'd have to wake Ilya up with a phone call, but then the slide of the lock reached his ears, and he relaxed.
Only to immediately tense again when he met Ilya's vibrant baby blues.
"(Y/N)," Ilya greeted lowly, one brow lifting as he tilted his body out of the way so he could slip inside their hotel room. (Y/N) felt the heaviness of Ilya's gaze when he roved after him from head to toe. "Where have you been?"
Ilya retrieved it from the floor, his eyes intently studying the jacket as if it'd clue him in. "Out with who?" He asked, properly setting the jacket on the chair and folding his arms over his chest. "You look.... Mm, what is the word? Is like messy, but sounds more fancy."
"Out."
(Y/N) slipped his jacket from his shoulders and tossed it aside blindly, leading to it hitting the edge of the room's single armchair and slumping on the floor.
"Disheveled?" (Y/N) ran his palm over his shirt in a vain attempt at smoothing out the creases.
Ilya's eyes brightened, his head nodding rapidly. (Y/N) could practically see him tucking the word away to use later.
"Yes, that. You said you wanted to go to bed early, but when I come back, you are not here. Now, you come back looking like..." His head cocked to the side, squinting at him briefly. "Sex."
"Who would I have sex with here, Ilya?" (Y/N)'s voice nearly trembled. His temples throbbed.
"Is good question-"
Guilt was nauseating.
(Y/N) made a beeline for the bathroom, his palms slamming against the door to throw it open before he shoved it closed behind him.
He pushed on the lock and doubled over the toilet, emptying his stomach of his small dinner and the snacks he'd had after lunch. Ilya's concerned voice on the other side sounded muffled, distant.
Years. Fucking years of Ilya Rozanov, his best friend, fawning over Shane Hollander, sleeping around with Shane Hollander, probably loving Shane Hollander... and he'd slept with the damn guy.
(Y/N) braced his hands on the toilet's tank and coughed, acidity scratching at his throat. He heaved once, and straightened up, rinsing his mouth in the sink and drying his chin with a hand towel.
He took a deep breath, avoided his reflection in the mirror, and opened the door. "Too much to drink." He said simply, clearing his throat, but before he could step around Ilya and ransack the mini fridge for water, Ilya blocked his way with his arm.
"Are you okay?" Ilya asked, his brows tightly knitted together. The worry in his eyes made (Y/N)'s stomach churn violently. "Did... Did something happen that you did not want to happen?" His tone was cautious, soft, his frown deep with concern.
(Y/N) shook his head rapidly. "Oh, no, no, I- I'm fine, I swear. I wasn't that drunk." I wasn't even drunk. "It was... a dumb... one-night stand with a- with a fan. A fan of yours, actually. I was the next best thing, I guess." He let out a breathless, semi-jittery laugh.
"I appreciate the concern, Ilya, but I promise I'm fine. I had a fun time, I swear. He was nice, and-"
"You are next best thing, (Y/N). Raiders would be nothing without their captain and best enforcer."
Ilya's hand cupped the side of his face, the heel of his palm dragging affectionately over his cheek. His fingers dug into the back of his neck lightly, warmly.
"You are certain you are okay? You can tell me."
Ilya's head jerked back, blinking rapidly. "He? I thought you said puck bunny."
"I said fan."
(Y/N) almost groaned internally and ducked around Ilya, his feet guiding him to his luggage so he could pluck out some fresh clothes. Ilya's curiosity always grew the rare times they talked about (Y/N)'s sexuality.
"Puck bunnies can be guys, too. I think. I don't know, maybe they're called puck hares or something."
Ilya followed him closely, hovering over his shoulder. "First time with a guy, no?"
Fuuuuck.
"No." Yes.
"Ah, no?" Ilya raised his brows at him doubtfully, his lips quirking up with faint amusement. "Who was your first time, hm? I told you mine, and you said-"
"I misremembered!" (Y/N) huffed at him, clutching a clean t-shirt and pair of sweatpants tight to his chest. "It was nobody important. Some- Some guy whose name I don't even remember."
(Y/N) vaguely knew he'd grabbed a shovel and begun digging his own grave. Ilya knew him too well.
"And now? You don't remember his name either?"
Ilya (predictably) followed him again, his chest only an inch away from (Y/N)'s back, barely phased by the thought of continuing their conversation while (Y/N) showered. He leaned his hip against the bathroom counter, his lips outstretched wide.
"Was he good? Did he suck your-"
"Did he ride you? I bet it was quick." Ilya looked so genuinely curious. "Riding is hard, I think. Easy for it to slip-"
"Ilya, I am not having his conversation with you."
(Y/N) tugged his shirt back and over his chest, and Ilya pressed against his side, his fingers tracing the faint bumps over his shoulders from where Shane had dug his fingers in.
(Y/N) borderline gulped. "I-"
"Not doing this, Ilya."
His inhale caught in his throat. "What?"
"I am trying to help!"
Ilya barked out a laugh that sounded far from helpful. (Y/N) flushed and fiddled with his pants, dragging them down his legs and tossing them at Ilya's midsection.
"Look, (Y/N), if you wanted to lose your virginity, you could have told me. I would have helped."
Ilya shrugged like it was a totally normal thing to say. "Why not? You deserve a good first time. Men can be..." Ilya clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "Selfish. Forgetful. How did he touch you? Show me. You will know what you want next time."
(Y/N) set his hand on the bathroom counter and took a breath, the room blurring at the edges of his vision. "I never pry into your sex life, Ilya, so why are you prying into mine? I slept with a guy for the first time. It's- It's not a big deal. I don't care."
Ilya's lips pursed slightly, his shoulders lowering with a soft, quiet exhale. "I want you to be happy, (Y/N). You are... my favorite person in the whole world." He admitted gently, his eyes softening in a way that always made (Y/N)'s stomach fluttery. "I want you to know how you should be treated."
(Y/N) wet his lips, his heart growing heavier by the second. "I can't rely on you forever. I can't- I can't lean on you all the time, Ilya."
"Does it look like I mind?"
Ilya grinned at him, his arms extending to coil around him in a tight embrace. (Y/N) melted into it immediately, and for a moment, all his worries disappeared.
"You are my- what is it called again? Twin... Twin flame? Soulmate? Twin flame, I think."
