#sir coffee crisp | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cardansriddle · 5 months

Text

Sugar - (tom riddle x fem!muggle!reader)

Summary: Perhaps it was an accident. Or perhaps the fates were mocking him. He had not meant to venture into the little coffee shop and he had most definitely not meant to return. But he kept coming back and the waitress kept putting sugar packets near his coffee every damn time.

Warnings: Tom gets possessive halfway through so it's pretty tame for him. not proofread. oh also self-indulgent crime & punishment debate (got a lil carried away).

A/N: 5.5k words but it's kinda mehh. to the person who requested this, i hope you enjoy it at least a little <3

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Tom felt as if he was a solitary figure in a world hushed by the winter's harsh embrace. With each step he took away from the desolate building of grey against the pristine canvas of winter, he felt lighter. He did not cast a look back towards the orphanage looming behind him, instead focused on the sound of the snow crunching beneath his feet as they led him further into the dark street cloaked in a thick layer of snow.

The wizard knew if he spent another moment in that cursed place he would have lashed out and killed someone, so he had hastily thrown his coat and emerald scarf around himself before slamming the door shut behind him.

Two more years. He thought to himself. Then he would be out and would never be obligated to return again. Perhaps he would even burn the place to the ground if his plans worked out in his favour.

The air was crisp, and his breath materialized in front of him with each exhale. His eyes quickly scanned the narrow empty alley for a suitable quiet place where he could pass his time. There was nothing interesting, except for the tiny bookstore nestled in the corner of the street that emitted a warm, golden light through its window. Tom quickly decided it would do, and he strode towards the place with purpose. A small bell chimed as he entered the place, which he quickly realised was a bookstore with a cosy coffee shop tucked inside.

He inhaled the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the scent of weathered books. Before he could lose himself entirely in the intoxicating symphony of scents, a sudden, loud thud echoed from behind the counter, jolting him from his reverie.

"Blimey!" someone cursed, their voice slicing through the tranquillity. Tom found himself rooted to the spot, curiosity piqued, as a figure suddenly emerged from underneath the counter.

It was a girl. Unabashedly, his eyes traced the lines of her features, noting the delicate curve of her jaw and the cascade of hair that framed her face. He assumed she was around his age if not younger and he stared at the girl as she rubbed her head, wincing when she hit a particularly soft spot before she realised that she was not alone in the shop. She froze like a deer caught in the headlights and he watched as her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

Tom, still an observer, saw more than just the blush; he discerned the subtleties of her response, the way her eyes momentarily widened before seeking refuge elsewhere, fingers fidgeting with the edges of her knitted cardigan.

She attempted to compose herself and met his eyes. "Oh! Sorry, sir. How may I assist you?" She asked cheerfully, resisting the urge to duck her head down to avoid his intense stare.

He crossed the small distance to the counter. "I'd like a coffee. Black."

"No sugar?" she inquired, to which Tom raised a single brow. Her blush deepened as she quickly averted her eyes from his face.

"Right, of course. You may take a seat while I prepare this for you." With a nod, she hurried to fulfil his request, leaving Tom alone with the lingering scent of coffee and old books that were now intertwined with a pleasant smell of vanilla and sweet—

It was her perfume, he realised with a start.

He hastily removed his coat and scarf before plopping down on the nearest armchair. His gaze remained fixed on the girl, absorbed in the rhythm of her practised motions as she prepared his drink, her movements seemingly both effortless and comforting. There was an almost lazy grace to her actions and he continued to watch as she sang under her breath so softly if he had not been staring so intensely, he would not have picked up on it.

He wondered how he had never noticed this place before. He had been passing through this little street for as long as he could remember but for some reason, he had only stumbled upon it today. His sharp eyes darted around, instinctively searching for traces of magic, half-expecting the discovery of a hidden passage to the wizarding world but he quickly realised the place was undeniably, disappointingly muggle.

Muggle.

He tore his gaze away from the girl at the mental reminder of what she was. He fished out a book from his bag and opened it to occupy his mind.

The subtle shuffle of her approaching steps drew his attention back to the present, and he met her gaze as she placed the steaming cup of coffee before him. A sugar packet sat innocently beside it. His eyes lingered on the packet for a moment before lifting coldly to meet hers.

She, however, was undeterred by the intensity of his glare. “In case you change your mind.” She smiled at him softly before turning on her heel and walking back.

His gaze lingered on her retreating figure, and then, almost involuntarily, it dropped to the innocuous sugar packet.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Tom did not know why he had returned. Truthfully, he had not even noticed his feet had led him here until he was in front of the familiar wooden door that led into the coffee shop. Perhaps he had thought more than he should’ve about the disgustingly soft smile of that girl for the last five months. She was an insolent muggle, yet here he was, walking into the place as if he had never left.

The seasons had blurred since he had last been here. Winter had long surrendered to the warmth of summer. He had to spend at least a month in the orphanage, and he was hoping Malfoy would invite him over for the rest of the summer.

The place was just as he remembered it. The only difference was the lack of Christmas decorations. He faltered only slightly when he took notice of the girl behind the counter, already staring at him. She had not changed much. Her face was the same, less pale perhaps, but the same, nonetheless. The oversized knitted sweater that once enveloped her had been replaced by a little white sundress, and his gaze involuntarily lingered on the exposed smooth skin.

“Welcome back!” She greeted him cheerfully, and he was not surprised she remembered him. “What can I get you?”

“Black coffee,” he replied curtly

She nodded as if she was expecting it. "Coming right up." Gently shutting her book, she gracefully moved towards the coffee machine. Tom's eyes couldn't help but trail to the volume she had been reading, and to his pleasant surprise, it was Dostoyevsky. He had not pegged her as someone who would enjoy Russian literature, with its weighty and morally morbid themes. In his mind, she seemed more likely to be a Jane Austen enthusiast, with her intricately written romances and flowery prose.

“It’s 'Crime and Punishment'." He suddenly heard her soft voice declare, and he looked away from the book to give his attention to the girl. Then feeling as if she had said something silly, she blushed and looked away quickly. "Though I'm sure you figured that. I just wondered why you look so surprised."

He replied before he could tell himself not to. "I did not imagine you as someone who would enjoy this."

Emboldened at his words, she turned to face him, a hand casually resting on her hip as she sported a cheeky smile. "Am I to presume you imagine me often?"

His sharp inhale was audible as he absorbed the unexpected shift in her demeanour. He had not expected this shy, timid girl to tease him so boldly. She was a little vixen.

But he did not give her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. A lazy raise of his brow was the extent of his acknowledgement before his gaze wandered towards the rows of bookshelves, feigning indifference. "Do you have another copy? Perhaps I shall like to reread this evening."

She frowned, walking over towards the table he had occupied last time to set his coffee down. He grimly took notice of the sugar packet placed near it. "I'm afraid not. But you can have mine."

"No, that is quite alri—" He began to decline but she had already crossed the small distance between them and was holding out the thick book. He hesitated for a moment before his fingers closed around the object, careful to avoid touching hers.

The girl smiled and walked away before he could even say thanks. Not like he was going to.

Settling back into the soft armchair, he opened the book only to freeze at the sight of a name scribbled on the front page and he knew it belonged to her. The wizard rolled the name around in his mind and determined that it suited her. He stared at her name for a minute longer before turning the page and delving into the content of the book.

He had been so immersed in the story that he had not noticed how the time had passed. The gradual hush of the coffee shop's ambient sounds finally penetrated his concentration, and he distinctly heard the girl approaching him.

"I'm sorry to disturb you but we're closing in five minutes." She looked at the book in his hands. "You may return it once you're done."

He hummed and looked down at where he had stopped.

"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."

He wondered if the universe was trying to tell him something.

Tom found himself caught in the silent narrative of this stranger's presence.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

He returned the next day.

She looked up to see him enter, the sleeves of his button-up shirt rolled up.

Tom placed the book on the counter.

"You finished it in one day?"

He shrugged. "I'm a fast reader."

She gave him a small smile, turning to make his black coffee before he could ask for it. "Every time I reread it it takes me a few days." She paused for a moment, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "The usual?"

He nodded. "The usual." He debated whether or not to voice his next question, and decided one conversation with the girl would not hurt.

"Why do you read it so often?"

"Each time I find new details that make Raskolnikov's character more complex. Each time I discover these small little things I missed the last time I read it becomes so much better. Plus I enjoy his moral dilemma."

He hummed, his curiosity piqued. He took his usual seat and watched as she brought his coffee and set it down in front of him. "Enlighten me." He gestured towards the seat in front of him. She hesitated only for a second before taking a seat.

"Raskolnikov is obviously a complex character. His actions are driven by a desire for power and superiority, a belief that he is exempt from conventional morality. However, one could argue that his internal struggles and eventual remorse suggest a more nuanced exploration of morality."

Tom furrowed his brows. "I see him as a product of his environment, a desperate man driven to extremes by the harsh circumstances he faced. His morality shifts to the other side of the spectrum."

She cocked her head to the side, and he could see her getting slightly frustrated. "But morality is not just a spectrum; it's a complex interplay of values, societal norms, and personal convictions. Raskolnikov's guilt stems from the clash between his actions and the intrinsic moral compass within him. It's the consequence of recognizing the weight of one's choices."

He scoffed before he could stop himself. "Morality is subjective. What is right for one may not be right for another. Raskolnikov was weak and he was an idiot. Guilt is a useless emotion and it is for the weak."

Her expression remained unwavering. "But perhaps it's that recognition of guilt that separates the morally discerning from those who lack empathy. The fact that you can't comprehend his guilt doesn't make it foolish. It makes it human."

Tom's eyes narrowed a glint of impatience in his gaze. "Human or not, guilt is a hindrance. It's a sentiment for those too feeble to rise above their actions. If I were to make a difficult choice, I would do it without hesitation, without remorse."

He only realised the slip of his tongue after the words left his mouth. He stilled, gauging her reaction yet her response was measured but firm. "Raskolnikov's guilt is a testament to his humanity, his ability to grapple with the consequences of his choices. It's what sets him apart from those who operate without remorse."

"But—"

"So what you're saying is you would kill and feel no remorse?" She cut him off.

Yes.

"You do not understand." He did not intend his tone to be so harsh, yet the words left his mouth coldly. She visibly withdrew and nodded stiffly. "Right. Enjoy your coffee."

He opened his mouth to say something but realised for the first time in his life he did not know what to say.

He was left staring at the cursed sugar packet she had left near his coffee again.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

He did not return the next day. Nor the day after. Or after.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Two weeks passed with no sign of him.

And then she saw him step into the coffee shop. He walked in with determination. He walked up to the counter, meeting her gaze with an intensity that mirrored the unspoken tension between them. "I'd like a black coffee," he said, his tone even, though a hint of something lingered beneath the surface.

She nodded, her expression composed but guarded. As she prepared the coffee, the air seemed charged with unspoken words. Her usual cheerful smile was notably absent. The absence struck him, and he realised he had enjoyed her smiles.

When she placed the coffee in front of him, there was a palpable pause. He glanced at the sugar packet, a subtle acknowledgement of the lingering disagreement. Without a word, he took it, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he poured the sugar into his coffee.

She looked at him, her gaze unwavering, before a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

He returned the next day. And the day after that. And for the rest of summer.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

The next time he stepped into the familiar place, winter had covered the city with a snowy blanket once again. It had been a year since he first discovered this little place. And he had not seen his little waiter since he left for Hogwarts in September.

When he walked in, her eyes lit up visibly. "Hi!" She waved at him with a bright grin.

"Hello." He greeted as he unwrapped his scarf and settled in his usual seat. In a matter of minutes, she was bringing him his usual order. She was back to wearing her warm knitted sweaters. "How did you enjoy the book?"

"Oscar Wilde never disappoints," he said. She hummed in agreement, pleased at his words. He watched as her hands dropped to fidget with the bottom of her sweater. "You wish to ask me something." He stated. "Ask."

"Do you study in a boarding school?"

Tom hesitated only for a moment before replying. "Yes."

"Oh. Well, that explains the months of not showing up."

"Were you expecting me?" He teased her with an amused smirk, taking delight in the way her cheeks reddened.

"I was just wondering that is all," she admitted, a hint of curiosity peeking through. Tom observed her, noting the return of the timid, shy girl from their first encounter. It amused him how a few teasing remarks could momentarily whisk away her fiery boldness. He couldn't help but wonder what it would take to awaken it once again.

"And do you wonder about me often, little vixen?" he added, a playful glint in his eyes.

She blushed harder at the nickname but then as if a thought had struck her, she straightened and Tom watched as she visibly mustered up her courage. "I actually was wondering your name."

He bristled, but she must have not noticed because she continued. "I suppose I have not given you mine either." She mused out loud and announced her name to him. "But I thought it bizarre that considering all the time we've talked we never got around to that. Friends who do not each other's names." The girl laughed at the last notion and only then she realised that Tom had remained unnervingly quiet throughout the exchange. She raised her eyes from the frayed edges of her sweater, and the sight almost made her take a step back. His eyes had darkened, and she could have sworn she saw them flash red. There was no warmth, no familiarity in his gaze.

"Are you alright?"

Suddenly, he rose from his seat, an ominous tension permeating the air as he advanced towards her with every word. "We are not friends. You dare to think I would be friends with the likes of you?" His words were sharper than the keenest of blades, cutting into her with merciless precision. "Foolish, little girl," He spat out before grabbing his things and storming out of the place. As the door closed behind him, the little coffee shop seemed to exhale, the echoes of his harsh words lingering in the hushed aftermath.

She stood frozen in her place, helpless against the storm of emotions and the tears that began to veil her vision.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Tom fumed for months after their last encounter. How dare the ignorant muggle insinuate that they were friends? He scarcely considered his Knights of Walpurgis as his friends, and she thought she would just appoint herself the title? Who did she think she was?

"Mate, you alright? You've been unresponsive for a while." Malfoy nudged him slightly, attempting to draw his attention back to the present.

Tom made a noise of acknowledgement before mentally shaking the image of his little waiter— no, not his, he berated himself— from his mind.

But no matter how he tried, he could not. He could not just banish her from his thoughts. He knew a part of him, a rather embarrassingly large part of him enjoyed her company, her passion, her conversations— just her.

And there, tucked away in the recesses of his trunk, lay her damned book— a taunting reminder of her. The temptation to burn it, to obliterate any remnants of her from his life, danced on the edge of his thoughts. He had shoved away, out of sight if only just to save himself the fury, the anger, (the longing).

He wondered if she was going through the same turmoil as him. He hoped she was. She had no right to make him feel this way and get away with it unscathed.

But she was too enticing to give up. He did not know what it was about her. She was a muggle, an ordinary, plain girl working at a forgotten little cafe. Sure, she liked books, but so did a lot of other people. Yes, she was pretty, but so were a lot of other girls. But none could even come close to stirring his emotions as she did.

Perhaps it was the ease with which she conversed with him. Or the entirely too cheery smiles. Or her endearing knitted sweaters— though he secretly favoured the sundresses.

He, of course, knew what it was. He had tried to deny the idea to himself, but there was no escaping it. Tom had never been able to be unequivocally authentic with another individual before. From his early childhood, he refused to allow anyone close to him. He never lowered his walls and rejected anything that would yield a genuine connection. It was refreshing with her. He had no cause to uphold a curated facade.

Had she not been a muggle, he would entertain the thought of her bewitching him. He would have been convinced the girl put some spell on him or slipped a potion into his drink.

It was maddening.

She was maddening.

He sighed upon realising that he had spiralled again thinking of her. He needed to return the book, and maybe that would ease his mind. Perhaps once he was rid of her possession, she would not haunt him anymore. (Though he knew he was only trying to reassure himself with the last thought.)

As summer loomed around the corner, it felt both too distant and too imminent, mirroring the paradox of his tangled emotions.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

The sound of her laugh rang out before he could even close the door behind him. His head snapped up so fast it was a wonder he did not get whiplash. But there she was, his little waiter, chuckling delightfully as some boy spoke lowly from behind the counter. Chuckles escaped her lips, and she bit down on her lip in a futile attempt to stifle the laughter, her hands deftly at work preparing a drink. Despite her efforts, laughter bubbled forth once more, forcing her to set the cup down to avoid any potential spills.

An immediate surge of anger coursed through him. Who was this boy? What business did have with her? What right did he have to elicit such genuine laughter from her? (Most importantly, how dare she replace him?)

Tom swallowed the lump in his throat, attempting to gather himself into some semblance of a composed, unaffected man that he most definitely was not at that moment. With a loud, purposeful cough, he sought to catch her attention.

She spun around, the practised smile reserved for customers settling onto her face as she readied herself to serve him. However, the smile swiftly vanished the moment her doe-like eyes locked onto him. She looked like a deer caught in headlights as she stared at him, wide eyes roving over his face as if to confirm that he was really standing there, in front of her, and was not a figment of her imagination.

Because despite their last encounter, despite the anger, and the hurt she had felt, she kept hoping he would return. She kept imagining him standing there, with his ridiculously fancy scarf as he spewed out an apology. She had delved so deep into her fantasies involving him that now that he was actually there, she did not what to do or to say. Her tongue was tied, and her brain was fogged. What was she supposed to say?

It seemed he decided to grant her mercy and be the first to break the tense silence.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

He shuffled closer, though his steps were unsure, unlike his usual confident strides that she was used to seeing. “I wished to return your book.” He declared yet made no move to reach into his bag for the said book. He allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of her, her eyes that always seemed to glisten, her hands that were always fidgeting, her little sundress that he was afraid would drive him to insanity, (and her lips that he wished he could press against his own just so he could find out what they felt like, tasted like.) He shoved the last one into a drawer in his mind and locked it away. He could not fantasise about her. She was a muggle. He could not stoop so low as to hold affections for a muggle girl.

“Did you enjoy it?” The girl asked tentatively as if afraid one wrong word would set him off, have him spitting more harsh words that would dig deep into her skin and remain there.

“As always.” He replied. Because every book she gave him held another meaning. She was a clever girl, choosing the ones that she knew would have him coming back with a strong debate prepared in his mind. They always seemed to stand on opposite sides of every argument that the books posed, ensuring that their discussion would get heated, exciting, and thrilling.

While Tom vehemently disagreed with her views, he found pleasure in the way her mind worked. He admired her quick-wittedness, her ability to counter every argument he posed. No one else had engaged him in such stimulating conversations. She was a breath of fresh air, a captivating force he wanted to inhale and never release. He yearned to suffocate in the essence of her being, to be consumed and to consume in return. He wanted to own her— that irrational desire to keep her for himself was always there in the deeper parts of his mind that he was scared to venture into.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She responded but he could detect the subtle undercurrent of uncertainty in her voice.

He hesitated. “May I have one black coffee?” He was extending an olive branch, and while it was not an outright apology, coming from Tom, it was a whole declaration.

“It’s five minutes until closing time.”

She would not be swayed so easily then.

Fine. Tom thought. He would make her come to her senses.

The boy who he had forgotten was still there suddenly came to stand next to him. Tom eyed him with disdain, his features curling into an unimpressed sneer, raising a lazy brow.

“I’ll help her close up, mate. You can leave now.”

“Daniel, that is not necessary.” She muttered, glancing between the two men nervously. Daniel? Tom clenched his jaw, enraged. In his absence, it seemed she had gotten on first-name basis with a boy. His mouth soured with the taste of betrayal at her blatant ignorance. How could she discard him so easily? Had she not suffered all these months at the mere thought of him? Had he been alone in his suffering?

“No,” Tom stated flatly. “You will leave.” He told the boy then turned to face his waiter. “We will talk.”

“Tom, I do not think—”

He cut her off with a hiss. “It was not a request.”

Daniel seemed wholly displeased. He opened his mouth to argue, but his girl beat him to it. “It’s okay, Daniel. I will see you some other time.”

“Whatever he has to tell you, surely he can say in front of me.”

She shook her head gently, trying to dissuade him. “It’s a matter between him and I. I would rather talk privately.”

Tom looked smug as he faced Daniel again, struggling to contain his smirk. He could see the indignation clear on the boy’s face as his eyes flickered dubiously between her and Tom. He knew the wizard was no ordinary acquaintance of her, he could feel the palpable tension in the air like a wolf.

Tom, of course, wished to push his buttons further, just to have the last word. “You heard her. Leave.”

Daniel scoffed. “I will see you tomorrow then.” He muttered and with one last long look, he squared his shoulders and left the café with as much dignity as his wounded pride could muster.

As the door shut with a final thud, they were left in pregnant silence, both unsure of the dynamics at play between them. The air in the café hung heavy with unspoken tension as if the silence itself had taken on a weight, pressing down on them both. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed louder than usual, each second echoing in the quiet space.

She was the first to cave. "Well? You wished to talk." Gesturing towards him with a hand expectantly. "Talk."

Tom inhaled sharply, and for the first time in his life, he did not quite know what to say. How to proceed.

"Who is he?" The question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it.

She raised a brow. "Seriously? After how you walked out of here last time I would think your choice of words would be different."

"Different? I hardly think the question was unfair."

She huffed impatiently, discarding her apron as she turned from him to put everything away for the night. "Of course. How foolish of me to assume that you have no business inquiring about my life when we are not even friends." She chuckled bitterly. "You made the notion quite appalling if memory serves me right. You wish to know who is Daniel? For all you know, he could be my fiancee. Would it matter? No. Because you and I are hardly acquaintances."

An unfamiliar feeling began coiling in the pit of his stomach, and he suddenly felt sick. She briefly turned to fix him with a pointed glare and froze at the look on his face. The dancing flames of the candles seemed to mirror the flickering emotions in Tom's eyes—flames of irritation, discontent, and an unexpected pang of jealousy.

Tom could scarcely believe his fate. How was it that he— the most powerful wizard of his generation— had succumbed to the pathetic disease of— what was it? Desire? Lust? Infatuation? Such mundane urges were beneath him, he had no wish to pursue anyone or anything that was not remotely related to his quest for power. Yet there she was. In her infuriating fucking dress and those innocent eyes. Did she even know what sort of turmoil she had caused him?

All of a sudden he felt exhausted, defeated. His shoulders sunk visibly as he ran a hand through his hair. He would use a hundred of her sugar packets in his coffee if it meant she would just grace him with her bubbly smile again and just— just what? Leave him be? He did not want that. Treat him as if nothing had happened? Maybe. Release him from whatever enchantment she put him under? Yes.

"What do you want from me?" He asked at last, frustration clear in his voice.

She regarded him with disbelief as she rounded the counter to stand directly in front of him. "What do I want from you?" She repeated incredulously. "I want an apology! I want an explanation! I want—" she sighed, cutting herself off before she could finish the thought. "You cannot just show up here demanding things and ordering people around after how you treated me last time. If you wish to continue this conversation, you will apologise to me."

"You want me to say sorry?" He took a step towards her.

"Yes!"

"Fuck your apology."

Before she could register what was happening, Tom closed the minute distance between them and caved into his desire. He grabbed her face, fingers threading through her hair, and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was not gentle; it was a collision of pent-up tension and bottled-up desires.

Tom's lips moved fervently against hers, pouring his frustration into the act. It was a silent declaration that transcended the boundaries of his complicated inner turmoil. Tom knew that. But he could not pull away from her— not after having tasted how her lips feel like.

Her hands, which had hovered hesitantly in the space between them, found their way to his shoulders, fingers gripping the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer.

She felt—tasted like God's favourite nectar, sweet and addictive and he knew he would never get enough of it. She might not have been a witch, but he was bewitched by her.

As they broke apart, breathless, the air between them hung heavy with the residue of their shared kiss. He dared not to ease his hold on her, only stared at her with darkened eyes, taking delight in the way her lips were bruised, and puffy, all because of him. But it was not enough. He needed to mark her for all to see.

He dove into the tender skin of her throat like a man starved, teeth sinking into her flesh with no warning, and a sick sort of satisfaction washed over him at the muffled moan that escaped her mouth. He sucked on the skin until he was sure there would be a purple mark blooming on the spot before running his tongue over the flesh to soothe the sting. He did not waste any second before moving to mark another spot.

"I do not even know your name." She managed to choke out in between her whimpers, hands moving of their own accord to tangle in his hair, and a particular tug had him growling deep in his throat.

"Tom." He whispered, pulling away from her neck only to return his lips to hers. "Say it. Say my name." He murmured in between the kisses, pushing her back until her back was pressed against the counter. He easily picked her up to place her on the surface, his fingers trailing along her thighs to her knees to nudge them apart so he could stand in between them.

"Tom." She breathed out in a daze, and he smirked in delight.

She was his. He had already branded her, and he would do much more to ensure she knew it was him she belonged to.

He leaned to brush his lips against the shell of her ear. "I hope you know there is no going back from this. From me." He whispered, fingers slipping under the strap of her dress and dragging it down her shoulder slowly. "You are my dirty little secret now. Mine."

She shuddered under the weight of his words but he was already snaking his hand around her throat as his lips found home on her own once again.

No going back.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

taglist: @faerienotfound @orangepact77 @on-ya @a-mj-a @darkmoviesquotespizza @444s0ul @amarisout @daechgustinad @lillywise-the-dancingclown69 @eceamaizmirbosislermuduru @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @turnip-milk @kammsinn @ratsys @linosluna @lizzieolseniskinda @mypurplewinee @riya12044 @multiplefandomstan @thicbucchi @daisydark @an222shka @pennyllanne (let me know if i forgot to add you)

let me know if you wish to be added/removed from my taglist!

#tom riddle #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle one shot #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x y/n #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fic #tom riddle x muggle!reader #tom riddle x fem!reader #tom riddle x you

1K notes · View notes

thebestofoneshots · 6 months

Text

MARAUDWEEEN

Feels Like The First Time | James Potter x reader

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Word Count: 6 k

Warnings: Smut, fingering, P in V, lots of praise, consent is sexy, lusty!James, bashful!James, he literally can't take his eyes off you.

Prompt: As a part of the Marauween Series, this fic takes you to an Alternate Universe where James Potter is a fireman, telling the story of how you met, and how your first time came about.

Maraudween is a Halloween-inspired anthology series where each chapter transports you into a distinct alternate universe. From the real world to old western Texas and even through the dark times of vampires. These standalone tales invite you into a realm of boundless potential. Experience the enchantment of Halloween as it weaves its spell, intertwining the magic of costumes, AUs, terror and spice.

NSFW (Smut under the cut) ♡

“What can I get you, sir?” You asked, not looking up from the register as you were trying to close the tab of the previous order. The machine had been acting up lately and no matter how hard you tried, it seemed to take its sweet time between closing an old order and opening the feed to start a new one.

You were almost scowling at it when you heard a low chuckle from behind the counter, you instantly recognized it. The cute fireman, you felt your cheeks flush at the thought.

“Everything all right, angel?” he asked, voice soft even as a little smirk played on his lips.

“James!” you said with a smile, deciding to ignore the machine and talk to the man instead. He lived a few blocks away, in your same building, and he always passed by the shop to get some coffee and a snack before he finished his walk to work. Sometimes he came on his way back too, he was over so often, that you almost knew his orders by memory, “Americano?”

He shook his head “I’m feeling up for something sweeter today.”

You hummed in response, running his typical orders in your head “Late with a pump of strawberry?”

He tilted his head, seemingly thinking about it, you couldn’t help to let your eyes linger over his uniform. He’d typically alternate between blue, yellow and grey. Today he was wearing grey and you would be lying if you said he didn’t look disarmingly attractive. He was big and well built too, but that was a lot easier to appreciate on hotter days when he wasn’t wearing his jacket on top of the usual either crisp white or neat black shirt, “Yeah, that’s perfect.”

You smiled and started writing down the details in his cup. When you realised there was no one on the line behind him, you decided to prepare his drink yourself, instead of passing it over to Marcus, your coworker, and better barista between the two. James knew, and yet, he much better liked the drinks you prepared.

“Want me to add a bit of whipped cream?” You asked.

“You spoil me,” he said with a smile, you turned to give him a questioning look, a smile playing on your lips as he nodded, perhaps that’s why he liked your drinks best, they almost always came along with a smile.

“You do spoil him,” Marcus added as he used one of the machines to draw pictures over a latte.

You gave him a pout as an answer and continued with your preparation. Once it was done you turned around, Marcus had gone off to tend some table and you walked over to James, handing him his cup straight to his hands. His fingers lingered over yours as he took it from you and you felt your stomach flutter, “I’d add some cinnamon for spice,” you told him, he nodded and walked over to the sugar table, doing exactly as you told him.

“Hey, James?”

“Hmm…?”

“Good luck at work today,” you added with a smile, Marcus from one of the tables almost rolled his eyes, while James’ smile only widened.

There was a huge fire that day, you saw it on the news on the small TV in the corner of the shop, one of the old buildings near the centre of the city had caught fire. Since it had been during work hours there hadn’t been that many people inside, and thankfully no one died but about 2 dozen had ended up in the hospital due to smoke toxicity. Or so was reporting the news lady.

“Do you think James’s all right?” you asked, turning to Marcus with a little frown.

“Why don’t you go home and check on him? He lives almost in front of you anyway. This happened about an hour ago, he might be there soon...”

You nodded, and hurried with the wiping of tables, still looking a bit nervous and rushed “I’ll finish up closing,” he added.

“Thank you,” you said as you went to pick up your stuff and remove your uniform from the back room.

Marcus called your name, you turned to him “Bring him something. His favourite treat of whatever… I’m sure you already know it by memory.”

“I… Well, I mean…”

“Don’t play dumb and just take it to him, whatever it might be. Would serve you well, maybe admit that you like him as well.”

You flushed “Shut it, Marcus.”

“He likes you back, did you know?” You gave him a look “Hey it’s true! I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“He’s just polite.”

“Polite my ass, he’s never looked at me like that. Go on, knock on his door, patch him up and admit your crush. Maybe get it going with him too. What do you think he’d look like with those snug pants and a pair of suspenders? Only a pair of suspenders.”

You flushed a lot more this time around, the image floating to your brain unprompted, and you weren’t able to shake it off that easily. Curse your imaginative mind and Markus’ dirty one to put the idea in your head.

“So… his favourite treat?”

“It’s the lemon tart,” you admitted reluctantly. “He orders it whenever he’s feeling down. And also after bad days.” Markus smiled and leaned down to take two of them and place them on a small box for you to take home, “Thank you.”

“Thank me when you’ve seen him with only pants and suspenders!” he joked, and you shook your head in disbelief, a smile still plastered on your face as you did.

You got home after a short walk and went straight for a quick shower. It was then that you heard the thud of heavy boots in the hallway. He was walking towards his apartment. You hurried to finish and changed into simple shorts and a sweatshirt before walking the 2 door distance to his apartment. You took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

There was no answer, you considered leaving, your nerves getting the best of you, but you remembered you still had the lemon tarts and decided to try again. This time you heard some shuffling and then the door opened, revealing James, still wearing his uniform, hair clinging onto his face from sweat and blotches of soot patching his cheeks, he looked tired, but he smiled the moment he saw who it was at the door. “Fancy seeing you here, darling.”

You swallowed, his gaze having a powerful effect on you “I… I uh… I saw the news and well, I assumed you had been there, I guess I was right,” you added after gesturing toward your face, trying to refer to how blotchy he was “I thought I’d come to check if you were all right… I also brought you some of those lemon tarts you really like.”

He stared at you for a second, as if trying to process the fact that you really had taken the trouble to bring him food, just because he’d had a tough day. When he realised you really were there, and not only a fragment of his imagination, he smiled “You picked my favourites,” he said pointing at the box.

You gulped, as if scared of getting caught but nodded “You… order them often,” you said with a shrug.

He hummed “And you know all of your client’s orders?” he asked, a flirty tone slipping as he moved to the side to let you in, nodding towards the kitchen, although you already knew where it was, since the layout of his apartment was almost an exact mirror of yours.

“Only the ones of my favourites,” you responded, which got him to raise his eyebrows as he pulled out two plates and a pair of forks, placing them on the counter. You opened the small box and gracefully served one of the pies on each of the plates, he didn’t wait too long to dig in, moaning at the sweet and acidic flavour.

“You’re the absolute best,” he told you as he continued to eat “Getting this after a fire might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You just giggled at his exaggeration, you didn’t know he didn’t mean only the pie, but also your company. As the two of you finished your meal, you stood up to go back to your apartment but he stopped you, a hand gripping softly onto your forearm “Hey wait!” You turned to him “Let me pay you back.”

You gasped and then shook your head. “Oh no, don’t worry about it, I get free treats since I work there.” But he didn’t let go of your arm just yet.

You saw him bite his cheek, looking to the side as if trying to find the right words “Regardless, I– Let me take you out, yeah?”

“Out… to the door?” You asked with a frown “I mean I know where it is but–”

“Out on a date.”

“You want to– Me?!?” He nodded fervently in response.

“So...?”

You smiled, you were sure you were blushing madly but his nervousness only made him even more adorable “I’d love that.”

He’d taken you to a small Italian restaurant that his friend Sirius had recommended, he told you about his life, about how he got into firefighting and you told him about yours, how you were working at the cafe as a side job to pay for your online studies. He thought you were a hero, which was almost ridiculous because if anyone was saving people between the two, it had been him.

After that date you went on many others, he frequented the cafe a lot more often, sometimes to order something, sometimes to drop by a bouquet of roses or some other kind of flower. Markus had teased you relentlessly after that, but he really was happy to see you happy. He also started giving you treats to take home a lot more often, but that was because he knew you were always sharing them with James.

“Thanks love, see you at dinner?” James asked as he took the takeaway coffee cup from your hands, you had written “Prongs,” and drew a pair of antlers on it just to tease him, since he’d told you about his friends giving him that nickname in school.

You nodded in response “Sure, want me to bring something?”

He leaned over the counter as if it were about to say something of the utmost secrecy “How about some of those chocolate tarts?” he whispered.

“Sounds about perfect to me,” you agreed and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before pulling back. He smiled dumbly after that and waved on the way out, almost bumping into a tall teacher who was also your regular.

“Watch your step, lover boy,” he told him. That day you found out Remus –the teacher who was a regular– and your boyfriend not only knew each other, but had been best friends for the longest time. He’d told you about him many, many times, but you had no way of knowing the calm, concentrated teacher who sat on his laptop grading students was the same mastermind prankster he always called Moony.

“So… how does he look in suspenders?” Markus asked you as he eyed your boyfriend finally leaving.

“Oh… well, I mean… I haven’t– we haven’t-“

“Shut it,” he said turning to you “You’ve been dating for a while now, like 2 months, right? Didn’t you tell me you slept at his apartment the other night?”

“Yeah, I mean, I did… I fell asleep watching the telly and he didn’t want to wake me.”

“I thought you meant something else…” he said as he shook his head “Maybe he’s asexual,” he added with a shrug “Total bummer for you.”

You frowned “I don’t think he– I think he’s just trying to be a gentleman.”

Markus shook his head, unconvinced “Have you tried to initiate anything?”

“We’ve snogged a couple of times.”

“And when it gets more heated?”

You shrugged “Don’t know what to tell ya.”

He hummed “You need to try harder.”

“I need to try?”

“Well to find out at least, don’t you want to?”

You shrugged it off then, but truth be told, the idea had already cemented itself in your brain. You paid closer attention to the times you snogged after that. Be it on the couch, or the counter of yours or his kitchen, it was always romantic kisses and even if he certainly seemed affected, be it his ragged breath, pink lips or expanded pupils, he never pushed for more. Perhaps he really was waiting for you to initiate things.

A few nights later, there was another fire, you had already gotten the key to his apartment so you waited over at his, bringing over some cream puffs and setting yourself on the couch while you waited. He arrived a little late, covered in soot like he had that first time you walked into his house with lemon tarts in your hand. He smiled the moment he spotted you on his sofa “Fancy seeing you here, darling,” he teased, echoing the words he’d said that first night.

You smiled “How are you feeling?” you asked.

He sighed, his shoulders slumped at that “We couldn’t… One of them didn’t make it.” You frowned, you knew he’d torment himself about it all night, so you walked over to him, taking a wet towel as he sat near the counter and started wiping some of the soot from his face.

“‘S not your fault.”

“But if we had gotten there sooner maybe–“

You pulled his chin, making his eyes look straight into yours “Jamie,” you said sternly, trying to ground him “It’s not your fault.”

He sighed again “I know, I know…” he said, and buried his head in your neck, smelling your perfume as he grabbed onto your hips, “Stay over tonight?” he asked “Please, I don’t– I don’t want to be left alone with my thoughts.”

You smiled, placing your hand on the back of his head, brushing it lightly over his messy hair before settling it at the nape of his neck “Of course, my love,” you responded simply, and pulled his shoulders back to look straight at his face “come on, let’s get to the sofa, maybe we can play something on the telly to get your mind off things.”

He pouted “I’m sweaty, and I smell of charred wood.”

You tilted your head, a small smile drawing on your lips “I think you look sexy,” you teased, before grabbing his hand to pull him up and towards the sofa. He had a diverted look as he followed.

They were screening Karate kid for like the 5th time that week, but both of you were watching it patiently. That was until the commercial break started and you turned to James, he had a small frown on his face, almost imperceptible, as if he were trying to hide it from you, but you knew him well enough to know. “You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?”

James turned to you, a sorrowful look in his beautiful hazel eyes, “I found them, I tried, but…” You kneeled on the sofa and gave him a bone-crushing hug, or at least your version of one, since you had about half the strength he did anyway. Regardless, you heard the huff of a laugh coming from him.

You gave one last look at the telly, they were still going on some infomercial about a magical razor, yeah, no way in hell he gets distracted by that. “Hey Jaimie,” he hummed in response “How about we find another way to get your mind off things?” you asked, pulling back a little so he could see your face.

He gave you a look, “Like playing Monopoly or…” he didn’t even finish his sentence since you crashed your lips against his with a kiss. He was surprised at first but followed the kiss shortly after. Tightening his grip on your waist.

“Like this?” you said as you pulled out for air. He still had a bit of a frown, so you leaned into him again, determined to erase it with a kiss. He pretty much melted into you again, at some point you crossed your knee over his lap and you were straddling his thigh. You didn’t lean closer to him too fast, you wanted to give him some time.

Your lips started to travel from his lips to his jaw, he was right, he was sweaty, you could feel the salty taste of it as you kissed, and there was something else too, a little bit of that smoked flavour going on. You didn’t care, if anything, it really made him feel sexier. You landed on his neck, and started pressing wet kisses on a section you knew from experience he liked, and you heard a low moan coming from his throat, music to your ears.

“Wait… wait… hold up,” he said as he patted your shoulder softly, you didn’t pull back “Angel, please, I’m gross right now…”

“Don’t care,” you said between kisses “I like the way you taste.”

He stifled grunted after you said that –partly because of what you said, partly because of the way you sucked onto a particularly sensitive part of his neck– it was hard enough for him to restrain himself as it was, and you saying things like that was only making it harder.

You, without quite noticing what you were doing, started grinding against his leg, not quite against his crotch yet thought, you could still think enough to know it’d be too soon. You leaned back, trying to get to his mouth when you spotted him, he had a rather interesting expression on his face, brows furrowed, as if he was trying really hard to concentrate on something, or not to concentrate on something.

You smiled, holding back a laugh before placing your hand on his cheek, he opened his eyes, a worried look on his face “James, what is it darling?”

He swallowed, his breath was heavy, “I’m just… I’m trying not to– thinking of something else.” You raised an eyebrow at him, not sure exactly what was going on until you saw his gaze flicker down to his crotch.

“Oh.” You said quietly, and then, in an outburst of bravery, pulled your hand down to pat him. He hissed, grabbing your hand and pulling it back.

“That– that’s going to make it worse.”

You smiled again, tilting your head just a little as you stared at your beautiful boyfriend “Allow me,” you said softly “I want to make it worse.” He looked at you as if he was trying to decipher whether what you were saying was true, and you leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek “Pretty please?”

You had your forehead against his when he bit his lip and nodded, letting your hand free as you pushed it towards his crotch again. He was a lot harder than you had initially assumed he’d be, but you started rubbing your hand up and down regardless, feeling out his entire length which was nothing short of surprising. His head had somehow ended up on your shoulder again “fuck,” he said and trailed off with a few other curse words you weren’t sure you had heard him say before “That feels incredible Angel, You feel so good,” he whispered.

Eventually, you pulled your hand backward and he gave you the most reproachful look, “Hey… I want to be able to kiss you,” you said softly before leaning in for a kiss and finally closing the gap between your bodies. You had been wearing a pair of simple lycra shorts, so everything felt very close when you finally leaned your hips over his, grinding your core against the rough texture of his firefighter pants.

James was about to moan when you pulled him into a kiss again, so he moaned into your mouth, half attempting to return the kiss. His hands had now travelled to your hips, and he was helping you grind onto him, gripping almost a little too tight, not that you minded. If anything, you thought seeing this less controlled side of him was the hottest thing.

Your hands travelled to his jacket, he’d been so lost in thought when he arrived home that he hadn’t even taken it off, but that was fine, you could help him with that now. You found the plate box and started to unbutton it one by one, he had been so engrossed in you that he didn’t notice what you were doing until you moved your hands to his inside shirt to push the thick jacket to the side.

He helped you shrug it off and you set it to the side of the couch since you knew how much he cared for it. He gave you a smile through huddled lids and this time around he was the one pulling you towards him for another kiss.

You went to the buttons of his pants this time around, grinding on his thigh in an effort to not stop the buildup you’d already created. “Angel what are you…?”

“Material’s too rough,” you managed to mumble. His eyebrows knit in concern and he helped you in an instant. While he did that you fumbled with your shorts and took them off as fast as possible, not sparing a second glance to see where they fell on the floor, they were pretty ruined either way. He didn’t notice you had done that, not until you went back to straddle him and he felt the wet patch of your panties on his trouser. On his cock.

“Fuck dove,” he said when he realized.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, almost shy, thinking he might think it was gross but he shook his head.

“Don’t be, it’s fucking hot,” he said as he grabbed onto your hips again and started sliding you against him, grinding you against him. This time there was a lot more purpose behind his movements, he was quite literally rubbing you right onto his cock, you could feel it almost in between your folds through the two layers of clothing separating you from each other.

The room started feeling too hot, and you removed your hands from the back of his head and brought them to the hem of your sweatshirt, attempting to pull it off when his hands travelled to yours.

He pulled back from the kiss and stared at you, searching for your eyes “You don’t have to– Not because of the…” he took a deep breath, trying to think straight “We don’t have to do this just to distract me.”

Your expression turned soft, as you looked at him. How on earth did I get so lucky? You thought. You licked your lips, biting the bottom as you brought your hands to the side of his face. “It’s not just because of that, I want to do this Jamie, I’ve been thinking about it for a while.” He swallowed. “You think that sexy little uniform does nothing to me? I’m only human James.” He chuckled, eyes averting to the side in an adorably bashful expression that you were certain only James Potter would be able to pull off. When he looked back you gave him a teasing smile “Help me?” you asked again, nodding down.

This time it was he who bit back a grin, almost giving you a wink before he let his hands to the hem of your hoodie and helped you pull it off. He stared at you for a second. You were wearing a simple sports bra, nothing fancy, in fact, you’d dare say it was a little embarrassing since the bottom hem was frailing a bit already, but that didn’t seem to matter to James. He was staring at you as if he’d seen the hottest woman on earth. As if you had been wearing the most exquisite set of lingerie.

You blushed, obviously, you blushed, and hid your head on his neck so he wouldn’t notice, pretending you were going for a kiss, but he stopped you. “Hold up, I wanna enjoy the view,” he complained.

“When I’m wearing nicer underwear I’ll let you,” you said, pushing against him to go to his neck again, but he was stronger, if he didn’t want you to move, there was no way in hell you’d be able to move.

“Darling, your underwear is the last thing I’m paying attention to,” he said honestly. You took a deep breath and allowed him to pull you back, his eyes were blown with lust as he stared at you, at your bare shoulders he’d seen a couple of times, although not many since you started going out in winter and it still was winter. At the supple curve of your hips. At your breasts, you felt his hand twitch in your shoulder, as if he was holding himself back from touching anywhere else.

“James,” you said, getting him to turn his gaze back to your face, although you noticed it flicker down a couple of times, “You can touch.”

It was as if that had been all the permission he needed, he brought his hands down, letting them roam through your bare waist as you started to grind against him again. He was harder, if that was even possible. He groaned as you rolled your hips against his, and started trailing kisses down your neck, setting in the curve of your breasts as you continued to dry hump him.

He could see your hardened nipples through the thin cotton fabric. He’d actually seen them harden as he kissed, and then he did something you weren’t expecting, he held your waist and pulled you up a little, you almost whined at the loss of contact, but he pushed his head forward and gave an open mouth kiss to your breast, sucking and nipping through the fabric, you were now helping him hold you up with your own legs and holding onto his strong shoulders, absolutely lost in the feeling of his mouth.

He pulled back, giving you a mischievous look as he trailed his fingers over the frilled hem, there was almost an innocence to the way he was looking at you “May I?” he asked.

“Please.” He was already digging his fingers under the hem and pulling it over your head. “You too,” you added, pulling at his shirt. He quickly passed his hand to the neck of his shirt and yanked it off in a second. You gulped, you’d never seen anyone take their shirt off in such a hot way.

He was staring at you as he placed his hand on your waist and pulled you towards his face, this time licking from the underside of your breast all the way to your nipple before he closed his mouth around it and started sucking again, without the fabric in the middle you could feel his wet tongue and teeth grazing against your sensitive skin, you arched against him, and moaned his name when he bit softly.

His other hand was already massaging your other breast, kneading it and brushing his thumb over your nipple every couple of seconds. It felt incredible, and you relished on the feeling until your neediness got the best of you, “James,” you somehow managed to form the words, and grabbed the hand that was still kneading on your breast, pulling it down, to your core “Here, please.”

You saw him pull back to look at you, and he swallowed thickly but nodded, moving to kiss your neck as he traced his fingers over your wet panties “fuck, you’re so wet,” he whispered between kisses. You gripped onto his shoulder a little harder, when he pressed his finger onto your folds, you were already pretty sensitive from so much rubbing onto his hard uniform pants that even the slightest touch had you on fire.

After toying with you for a bit, he slid his finger through the hem and pushed your panties to the side, digging his fingers on your folds, while his thumb searched for your clit. He found it in the blink of an eye and you were pretty much bucking your hips against his hand in search of more friction. He let out a breathy laugh “So needy,” he said before setting one of his fingers near your entrance and digging it in.

His finger was long, much longer than yours and it reached places you wouldn’t have dreamed of, he curved it in a particular way and you let out a gasp “Yes! Please, James, do that again,” you said as you panted, he obliged, and had you grinding against his hand again in no time.

“Angel you’re too tight,” he whispered as you leaned in to kiss him again, slowly lowering yourself onto his tight. He went in for another finger as you kissed him and swallowed your whimper. He was already moving his fingers and slowly opening them inside of you, trying to prepare you, in case you wanted to continue because hell knew he did.

He pressed his thumb against your clit again, he could feel you faltering on him, your hip movements becoming sloppier as he continued to rub “Jamie I’m gonna…”

He kissed your neck “Please do.”

You leaned closer to him digging your nails into the muscles of his back as you bit your bottom lip. James separated from your neck for a second to look at you, you looked fucking stunning as you whimpered and whispered his name and a few course words almost incoherently.

“So fucking stunning,” he told you with a smile. It took you a second to come back and be able to pay attention to him, to the way he was looking at you.

You huffed a laugh “Shut up Jamie,” you said with a smile as you shook your head, he still had his fingers inside you, and it looked like he didn’t have the intention to remove them any time soon.

“How are we doing?” he asked.

You frowned, “Why do you– oh.” He flicked his thumb over your clit again, thrusting his fingers in and out in a rather sharp way “James you aren’t thinking of…”

“Of course, I’m thinking of it angel, I need to see that pretty face of pure bliss on you again.”

You almost let him convince you but you shook your head. You didn’t miss the way his smile faltered, you leaned into him, making sure to let your clit rub onto his thumb again as you shifted your weight and your hips “Not until I see yours,” you whispered in his ear, bringing your hand down to the hem of his boxers and digging your hand to grope him.

He groaned at your harsh movement, but his head fell back, an expression rather similar to yours as you dragged your hands through his length.

“Help James,” you said, words cut with sharp breaths from the effort you were making to pull his boxers down. He lifted his hips and helped you do it, all the while you continued pumping him. There was already a bit of white precum coating his tip, even if the boxers had sucked up most of it, you used it to allow your hand to glide easier around him.

“Faster,” he asked, you complied, he was already bucking his hips into your hands, “fuck doll I think I’m going to– “ You instantly stopped moving your hand and his eyes snapped open, looking at you like you had betrayed him. But you didn’t give him an explanation, you used your legs to prop forwards and lined him against your entrance “Wait, doll–“ you lowered yourself onto him, “fuck.”

You gulped, allowing yourself to adjust before giving him a look, he was looking at his cock buried in you attentively, and he swallowed thickly, you didn’t wait too much after that, and started grinding onto him, “Fuck Jamie you fill me up so good,” you whispered, as if he needed any more encouragement. You thought he did since he wasn’t moving, but that wasn’t the reason he wasn’t.

He grabbed onto your hips, and halted your movement “fuck, angel, hold up– I need–“You looked at him worriedly, accidentally bucking your hips again as you tried to search for his eyes, and then you felt it. Wet and sticky, inside you. He’d cum.

He looked at you with the most mortified expression on his face, as if he was sorry “I’m– I’m so sorry I…”

You just laughed, placing your hand on his cheek to prompt him to look at you “Hey, It’s okay my love.”

“But I didn’t… Not even like 30 seconds I–“ James was completely flustered, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him that flustered before, you pulled him into a kiss.

“I’m taking it as a cumm-pliment,” you told him, he gave you a reproachful look and you gave him a peck on the lips. A small smile wavered its way towards his lips.

“That’s the– what a terrible pun,” he added. You bucked your hips against him again “fuck.”

You raised your eyebrow at him “Keep insulting my puns and I won’t help you with your little issue,” you threatened playfully as you started to buck your hips again, helping him empty himself completely. This time a lot slower, enjoying the way he felt on you, the way he was filling you up, how much easier it was to glide onto him with his warm cum all over you, some of it dripping to the side of your thigh and onto his already, you continued until he patted on your tight.

You nodded and pulled out slowly, setting yourself on his lap still. He still seemed awfully bashful, “Come on Jamie, I really don’t mind it.”

“But it was– our first time and I… ugh” he placed his hands over his face, groaning as he replayed the events in his head.

You bit your tongue not to laugh. At least he wasn’t thinking of the fire anymore. Mission success? You sighed and placed your hands onto his own and pulled them down, tilting your head a little in search for his eyes.

“How about…” you started, it seemed to gather some of his attention, although he was still looking at you with a dissatisfied expression “We go get a bath, and clean up…” you continued, he had finally lifted his head towards yours “we relax together a little,” you added, letting your fingers trace over his muscles, “we clean all the soot of that pretty face of yours,” you added, pinching his cheek which earned you a playful scowl from his part “and then chill for a while, see what happens next,” you finished, making sure your tone, raised eyebrows and half bitten bottom lip was suggestive enough. He looked at you, a diverted smile playing on his lips. “If it makes you feel better, we can pretend the shower was our first time instead,” you added just to spite him.

He huffed, a smile on his face as he placed his hands on your waist and stood up, holding you against him with ease. You squealed and laughed at the sudden action “James!” you reprimanded “We didn’t even take your boots off, you’re gonna fall and drop me in the process,” he looked down and groaned when he realised it was true. Regardless he tried to jump his way before the two of you ended up back on the couch. You were laughing merrily as he huffed.

“Come on hot fireman,” you told him with a smile “Take off those pretty boots of yours…” you smiled as you sneaked out of his grasp “I’ll meet you in the bathroom.”

He pretty much groaned as he saw you leave, staring at your ass as you disappeared through the door.

A/N: this one came out so much sweeter than I expected it to, but I kind of love it. It really captures that James Potter humour, doesn't it? Maraudween and The Five Senses are the anthology series where I explore writing smut, all as a way to hone my skills for the moment I write it in my Wolfstar x Reader series that's currently being posted on a weekly basis. If you have feedback, please leave it in the comments below. I absolutely love reading your comments <3

Taglist: @starchaser-lily

Leave a comment stating it if you wanna be tagged on the next chapters of Maraudween

Want to support me? Consider liking and reblogging this post (reblogs help get my work across).

The Maraudween Materlist

919 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

Text

A special sort of craving 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: A stranger appears at your cafe and leaves you unsettled.

Part of the Backwood AU

Note: I found this in my docs and then I was like this could be an AU and people will hate me but here we are. I am heavily considering adding at least one other character to the AU bc I have an idea I don't think i'll ever get to full length with.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

He doesn’t belong. Not in this sleepy village. You can tell by the ring on his pinky, a golden signet that boasts of wealth not known to the farmers and lumberers of the desolate locale. His cheeks are red as if he didn’t expect the crisp autumn bite, though his jacket is unzipped to his chest, revealing a golf shirt with some designer logo sewn into the collar.

He tilts his head as he considers the glass display with shelves of bite-sized tarts and fragrant pies. You approach the other side, standing on tiptoes to see over it. His eyes slowly rise with your movement, a dimple in his cheek of amusement. You skirt around to the side of the display and lean over the lower counter so he can see you.

“Hello, you looking for something in particular?” you ask.

“Something sweet,” he answers, his crooked grin lingers as he lets his gaze wander back to the pies, “cherry… it’s been a while since I had a nice, juicy cherry pie.”

He licks his lips with the last word, reaching up to brush his fingertips over his bristly mustache. Your smile threatens to falter but you keep it on. He definitely isn’t from around here. Not with his accent or the hair slicked back so neatly.

“You want a slice?” you ask brightly. “Two bucks for a slice, twelve for the whole thing.”

“Hmm?” he raises a brow and sidles over to stand across from you.

“The pie,” you say as he puts a hand on the counter, leaning in as his other rests on his hip, “did you want some?”

His eyes fall down to the top of your apron, the red and white checker distracting him as you mindlessly flick the frill around the skirt. His smirk blooms fully and he stands straight.

“Wouldn’t mind a slice… of the pie,” he says as if it’s some joke. You don’t get it.

“Sure,” you say as you go behind the display and take out the cherry pie. You take it to the metal table behind you as you hear him, sense him looming along the counter. “You want anything to drink, sir? Some milk? Tea? Coffee? We do a combo for three-fifty.”

“Mm-mm-mm, a nice glass of milk would go nice with the pie,” he purrs, “they usually got you working all alone, sweetness?”

You look over your shoulder as you shovel a slice onto a plate, little flowers painted around the waffled trim.

“It’s my shop,” you say as you take the dish and grab a fork from the tray. You place it beside the till and type in the total, “cash or card, sir?”

“You own all this?” he leans his elbows on the counter, bent at the waist as he looks up at you.

“Sir,” you nod.

“Card,” he stands and stretches his arms over him before he drops his hands, poking his fingers in his back pocket.

“I’ll get that milk,” you say as he swipes his card, “and I’ll bring this over to you if you wanna sit.”

“Ah, table service, I like it,” he says as the machine chirps and accepts his payment, “you country folk are all so… nice, aren’t you?”

“Suppose,” you say as you open the fridge and take out a small carton.

You glance over as he tucks away his wallet. He winks and walks away. He drapes his jacket over the chair by the window as you grab a glass and hurry over to the counter. You place the glass and carton on his table as he sits. You go back to the counter and bring him the pie.

“You visiting someone?” you ask curiously.

He looks at you pointedly. You hesitate. You forget that the city slickers don’t like questions, but everyone in the village knows each other, so your habit has you careless.

“Bought some house called ‘The Grove’,” he answers as he pushes the fork through the braided crust, “apparently it’s a big deal.”

“The Grove?” you can’t help your surprise, “wow.”

He scoffs, hardly amused, and slides the fork into his mouth, sucking off the pie as he watches you. He chews and swallows slowly as he hovers the silver over the oozing pie.

“You know it?”

“It’s pretty far out,” you say, “but yeah, everyone knows The Grove.”

“Sure,” he pokes a cherry so the juice leaks out, “this is good pie. You make all these?”

“It’s my recipe, but I think Melinda did that one.”

“Don’t get good home cooking like this in the city,” he plops the cherry in his mouth and his jaw tenses with the tartness, he hums in satisfaction. He looks you up and down once more, “don’t get that personal touch.”

“I’m glad you like it, I’ll let Melinda know,” you push your hands into the large pockets of your apron, a movement that further catches his attention.

“Sounds good, cupcake,” he opens the carton and pours the milk into the glass, “you do delivery?”

“Sundays,” you answer, “not that we get many requests but…”

“Personal deliveries,” he insists, “like you said, house is far away, and I’m new in town. Wouldn’t mind a familiar face and a nice pie.”

You rub your neck, “well I don’t usually do the deliveries.”

“Melinda?” he prompts.

“No, Terry takes them with the lumber.”

“Mm,” he frowns, “right… guess I’ll just make the trip in.”

“Okay,” you nod, “let me know if ya need anything else.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” he slithers as you slowly turn away.

You feel him watching you as you try to hide behind the counter. You take a cloth and the cleaner and start wiping down the back of the display. You hear the clink of his fork against the plate.

City people are always a bit odd, but he gives you a bad feeling.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #series #au #backwoods au #the gray man #a special sort of craving

296 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

Text

I've been dreaming of the Benevolent Sovereign of the Oasis.

Sun and shadow. Two existences, locked in a perpetual cycle, unable to be without the other.

It hurts to part ways, but reunion is that much sweeter.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

His eyes flutter open, and the instant his awareness hits, so, too, does the lightning in his veins. He throws his covers off and scrambles out of bed. His phone is in his hand in seconds, the calendar app opened.

It's just as he anticipates.

“Today’s the day!!”

Kalim's exhilarated shout stirs the entire mansion. Various hired help glance up from their tasks—private chefs in the middle of their prep work, housekeepers tending to the laundry, gardeners watering the flowers—and tut or sigh.

"There goes the young master again," they’d murmur amongst themselves. "He's so excitable."

It's not an unusual occurrence, but this time is especially special. The notice had gone out months in advance, the most skilled laborers called in from all corners of the world for the event. He had counted down the days, cancelled all his meetings.

Just for this.

Kalim breaks into a sprint down the corridor, his sandaled feet pounding the polished floors. He skids around a corner and continues his frantic pace, almost knocking over a valet. The servant stumbles, but Kalim grabs his hands and pulls him up into a spin.

"It's today, it's today!!" he squeals, earning a blank stare from the valet.

"Yes, sir. The staff are all aware. The preparations are well underway, so you needn't be concerned."

"Gahahah, everyone's already hard at work this early in the morning!" Kalim’s boisterous laugh bounces off the high ceilings. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Oh no, please leave the work to us... Y-Young master? Young master, where are you going?!"

"I'm going to check up on some things, don't mind me!!" Kalim calls back. He has already taken off, leaving the valet stunned.

"... Well, he's certainly become more proactive."

Kalim sticks his head into the dining room. The table is large enough to host his entire family plus several guests, but today it is set only for two. The seats are intimately situated across from one another, their best plates, silverware, and cloth napkins set out to welcome the diners.

The centerpiece, an ice sculpture of a viper with its hood flared out, sparkles in the morning sunlight. It would be a puddle by now, had it not been enchanted to never melt.

Servants are busy setting up a banquet: crisp vegetables, steamed fish, crusted breads, seasoned meats. His stomach tosses uncomfortably when he passes the seven kinds of curry laid out in a row--but he reassures himself with the reminder that his guest is sure to love them.

The kitchen didn't skim on the beverage selection either. There are sparkling juices, rich soups, spiced coffee, and black tea, accompanied by a large pot of white sugar with which to sweeten it. For dessert, fresh fruits (no dates!), flaky layered pastries, ice-creams, and cakes dipped in sugar syrups, topped with crushed pistachios and candied orange peels.

"Care to sample, sir?" a servant asks Kalim. They offer a trey of appetizers, each with an odd stone-colored dollop.

He obliged, popping one into his mouth. "Mmm! What's this gray stuff? It's delicious!"

"The head chef's secret recipe, young master. He thought to bring it out of his recipe cards today in honor of the celebration."

"Wow, he's really going above and beyond for this!!" Kalim glances at his staff. Now the orchestra is filing in with their instruments, and a massive roast duck on a bed of fried garlic and scallions is being laid out on the table. Another team is stringing up lanterns, and a skilled animal tamer enters, hauling a crate of colorful parrots. "Everyone is. I really appreciate it.

"... Oh, hey!" He snaps his fingers, a spark in his eyes--as though he has just come up with a great idea. "I know! Since you've been putting your all into this, I think it's only fair you get to get off work early and have a chance to relax too!"

"Erm, sir--that's very generous of you, but we aren't even done setting things up yet. The decorations especially..."

"It's fine, I've got this!" Kalim turns to the rest of the workers calls out, waving his arms. "Hey, everyone! You're free to go! Grab some nice food from the kitchen on your way out. I can handle the rest!"

The staff look confused, but not one of them protests. Some shrug and immediately exit, others anxiously wait for their peers to go before they follow. Before long, the room is cleared.

"Alright, let's do this...!"

Kalim produces his magical pen and waves it in an arc. Golden sparkles rain down, animating nearby objects.

Plates, forks, spoons, and knives march to the long table themselves. Flowers settle into crystal vases. Banners and lanterns float up, pinning themselves in place.

There we go.

"Squawk, squawk, squawk!!"

Kalim follows the cacophony to the cage of parrots left behind by the animal tamer. They're scrambling around, looking longingly at the decorations that had been raised to the ceiling.

He brightens with understanding. "Oooh, I get it! You want to get out and stretch your wings too!"

Kalim hesitates, turning the choice over in his head. "'Hmm, well... Technically, you're not supposed to be released until he gets here."

A showy spectacle--that is how Kalim envisions it. A whirlwind of flashy feathers to welcome him back. But the longer he looks at the wide, wet eyes of the parrots, the more the sadness swells in his chest.

Poor little guys, bound to a cage.

"... Okay, I've decided! You can come out and stretch your wings, I'll just need you back on the ground before the big surprise. Then you can fly all you want when he gets here."

Kalim kneels, fiddling with the lock on the cage. The door easily slides open, and--

FLAP, FLAP, FLAP!!

The entire flock rushes out, sending Kalim flying back onto his bum. He braces against the powerful beating of wings, the talons and beaks nearly scraping his skin.

A voice cuts through the noise.

"Kalim!"

Someone tackles right into him, forcing him to the ground. The world violently tilts, and suddenly Kalim is staring at a ceiling swarming with golden lights and a vaguely shaped shadow looming over him.

"I thought you had matured a little since I departed, but it looks as though you still have your moments where you're hopeless without me. I didn't think the first thing I'd do when I got back was protect you, but here we are."

He blinks rapidly. His vision slowly corrects, lines drawing together and forming a crisper image.

That face.

He recognizes it.

His old friend, dressed in sandals, khakis, and a bright yellow T-shirt embroidered with pink tropical flowers. He wears a cap that resembles a cartoon character--a dog with floppy black ears. The man had entered with suitcases, which were dropped by the door the instant he jumped to Kalim's defense.

"Jamil...!"

Kalim yanks him into a hug. His face turns, tears welling in his eyes. "Y-You came!! And you came so early...!!"

"Of course I did. I promised you I'd return home after my travels," Jamil sighs, patting his emotional friend's back. "I was planning on surprising you first, but..."

He gives the dining room and its extravagant flourishes a glance. Parrots are roosting in the banners, popping the balloons, or stealing vegetables and fruit from the flatters.

"... It looks like you've beaten me at my own game," he says tactfully.

"Yeah!" Kalim sniffs, wiping at his tears. "I... I wanted to welcome you home with a huge celebration!!"

"... Idiot. I didn't come back for any of this. Not food, not music, not pets, not decorations. There's one thing that the Scalding Sands has that no other place in Twisted Wonderland does: my best friend."

"Awww, Jamil...!" Kalim's eyes wet again. He lets out a happy sob, reburying his face in Jamil's shoulder. "It's good to have you back!!"

He sighs deeply. Despite this, Jamil still manages a smile. "It's good to be back with you, Kalim."

#twst #twisted wonderland #Kalim Al-Asim #Jamil Viper #Scarabia #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst countdown #twisted wonderland countdown #I've been dreaming...#twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #twst anni #twst anniversary #twisted wonderland anniversary #twisted wonderland anni

85 notes · View notes

leslovesfatties · 7 months

Text

Pt. 1: first flight

Idk I was feeling super mushy so I wrote this in like 3 hours lol soft BHM/FFA fiction…should I continue it?

First time flying in two years…and back then it was a squeeze. Determined not to embarrass myself, I called ahead.

“TWO tickets?”

“Yes, sir. But there’s no guarantee the second seat won’t be sold if it’s a particularly full flight.”

I gulped and hesitated. “Okay…so that means I’m paying for a seat I might not get?”

“That’s correct.” Not a hint of sympathy in her voice.

What other choice did I have? “Okay, then. I guess I’ll take the window and middle seat. Oh, and I’ll probably need a seatbelt extender.” Even saying the words made my face flush. I can’t believe I’d let myself get like this. The voice on the other end of the phone either sighed, coughed, or stifled a laugh. I couldn’t be sure which, and I didn’t exactly want to know.

My alarm fades out as I desperately want to hit snooze. I get up, wash my face, and try to keep my anxiety at bay. It’s going to be fine. I got TWO seats. I won’t bother anyone. I put on a little extra deodorant in between my folds and under my moobs. A little cologne for good measure and a crisp shirt. I don’t want people to think I’m some sort of lazy, unkempt slob. I actually really care about my appearance. My face stays neatly shaven, my hair styled, and clothes - when I can find them in my size - are reasonably tasteful. My glasses frames are updated each year in an attempt to elevate my look, or at least take people’s glances away from other parts.

At the airport, I grab a bagel and a coffee, then wait as close to the line as I can to board. Don’t panic. You’re going to fit. Everything’s going to be fine. It’s a short flight, anyways. A mantra I’ve begun to chant in my head as the boarding process begins. I offer a smile to the man who scans my barcode for two tickets and he looks up for the second passenger.

“Oh, uh, it’s just for me.” He acknowledges by nodding me over to continue boarding. I practically hold my breath as I wedge myself between the aisle. Most people brace their carry ons, but I have to brace myself.

Thankfully, no one is in my row, otherwise they’d have to get up to let me through. I plop down and immediately appreciate the forethought to buy two seats. I’m positively squished between the plane wall and armrest.

“Um, excuse me?” Fuck. I look up.

“Are those your bags? Do you want me to put them up here?

“Uh, I’m actually supposed to have this seat.” I try to speak just loud enough for her to hear and no other passengers. She glances down at her phone and back up.

“23 B?” My face flushes as I realize what’s happened. They’ve given up my seat.

“I-I’m so sorry,” I stutter, utterly embarrassed. “I was supposed to…They weren’t supposed to -“ The line behind her grew and we were drawing attention.

“That’s okay! Here,” she reached for my bag and in a daze, I handed it to her. She was so short she couldn’t get it in the overhead compartment all the way and I wanted to disappear. She scooted in and I tried leaning as far as I could into the wall, my side squishing into her armrest. At that moment, I realized I forgot to ask for the seatbelt extender. My ears started ringing and I desperately wanted to get off this flight.

“I’m so sorry…” I began, but she cut me off.

“For what? Don’t apologize.” She finished shoving her bag under her seat and smiled at me.

An older gentleman plopped down next to her and scowled at me. I looked down as he muttered something I was grateful I couldn’t understand. Fuck. How am I going to get the extender now?

“Um, excuse me?” I leaned over slightly to look at the man who’d just joined our row. I’d just about rather die than have to move. He looked up.

“I’m sorry, but I have to get up.”

The man scowled. “Ugh, shouldn’t they have weight limits on these things?” My heart dropped.

“Wow, that was rude.” The girl beside me said pointedly and the man scoffed. I tried to sink down and away into my chair, my face hot with embarrassment.

“I tried to buy two seats…” I began and the girl cut me off.

“You don’t owe him an explanation. He just wants an excuse to be miserable,” the girl turned and whispered to me. I tried to smile but felt like my lip might quiver, so I mouthed “thank you.”

“Everything okay over here?” A slim flight attendant asked, primarily to me.

“Uh, yeah. I-I think I need a…” I tried gesturing to the seatbelt so I wouldn’t have to say it out loud, but she looked puzzled. I gulped, feeling my heart rate rise and willing myself to stop sweating.

“An extender” it was barely audible, but the guy two seats away looked at me with disgust and shook his head. The flight attendant nodded and retreated to find one. I looked out the window so I could get my emotions in check.

“You okay?” The girl whispered. Thank God she was small, otherwise I’d be squishing her.

I nodded, fearing my voice might crack, and swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

“People can be so unkind.” The tenderness in her voice allowed me to look up and I offered her the best smile I could muster up.

The flight attendant came back with the extender and explained how to connect it. I did it as quickly as possible and willed the plane to take off.

The girl made polite conversation with me which calmed my nerves a bit.

“Are you on the connecting flight or stopping at Atlanta?”

“Connecting flight.”

“Cool. I’m sorry they gave up your seat.”

“It’s okay. It sucks that I’m out of the money, though.” I admitted.

“That’s so fucked up. Sorry, messed up. So you paid for two seats but only got one?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, if you get stuck in the same position next flight, I’d be happy to be your seat buddy again.”

I shook my head, “oh, no. That’s very kind of you, but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable the whole trip.” Secretly, I was terrified of getting sat next to someone who wasn’t as kind as her.

“I’m not uncomfortable at all. Plus, you’d be doing me a favor. I get nervous on planes sometimes and it’s nice to talk to someone.” She smiled reassuringly and I almost believed her.

“Sorry, what was your name?”

“Oh, Leslie! Nice to meet you…?”

“Ian,” I smiled, a bit more sincerely this time.

We kept talking and I tried not making it obvious how squished I was between her armrest, but you could easily tell.

“Do you want to move that?” She asked after I’d wiggled around a bit.

“Oh, no. It’s fine.”

“It won’t bother me, but I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep on you.” I felt my face flush and let out a laugh.

“Are you sure?”

“Here,” she raised it for me and my fat immediately pooled out. I looked away, embarrassed. Thank God it still wasn’t touching her, by some miracle. I glanced at her and she had looked away as well. Fuck.

“Sorry” I muttered.

“It’s okay.” She placed her hand on my thigh just above my knee and I felt my breath hitch. She was just being nice.

“Thanks,” I looked out the window and she moved her hand away.

Several minutes later, she had fallen asleep on me. She wasn’t kidding. I tried not to move as I rummaged through my bag for my AirPods. She stirred and jerked up.

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind. I was trying not to wake you.”

“I’m sure you don’t mind a random stranger sleeping on you,” she chuckled and I grinned in response. “If I fall asleep again, can you wake me when they come by with the snacks?”

“Of course.”

In about 30 minutes, the snack carts came out so I gently nudged Leslie who’d fallen asleep on me again.

“Sorry,” she yawned sleepily. “Thanks for waking me.”

“No problem.”

“Hey, want to get a wine with me?”

“Won’t that make you sleepier?”

“Maybe! Who knows?”

“Two cabernets, please.” She held out her card and I protested.

“No, I got it.” I fumbled for my wallet.

“I insist,” and she handed her card to the flight attendant.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. I invited you to day drink with me. Cheers.”

“Cheers.” I couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you.”

The plane lands and most people eagerly stand up. I wait behind, definitely not eager to bump into anyone. Leslie stands and asks if we can walk to the gate together so we can board the connecting flight together, and I’m extremely grateful.

“Sure.” When most of the people have left, Leslie scoots out and waits for me. I don’t want her to see me struggle to get out of my seat, but it’s inevitable. “I gotta lose some weight,” I try to laugh it off, but I must be a pretty pathetic sight, wobbling and shifting myself over the seats in order to get into the aisle.

She doesn’t respond and I regret pointing out my size, but she still waits as I reach for my bag. Before slinging it down, I notice her staring where my shirt should be covering my stomach, but considering the reaching, it might have ridden up. My face flushes and I throw my bag over my shoulder as quickly as I can, letting Leslie go first.

“Hungry?”

“Oh, no…I just had a bagel.” But I was hungry, and I would be before the next flight.

“We have about an hour before boarding. Maybe we should get something to go for the plane?”

I considered it. “Sure, whatever you want.”

The only respectable restaurant was a shitty Ruby Tuesdays and we decided to eat in. I was able to wedge myself into the booth but it was tight.

“Here, why don’t we move to the bar?” Leslie asked, noticing the tight space.

“Oh no, I don’t mind…”

“You don’t have to be uncomfortable.” She stated.

I thought over my words carefully and explained “I’m just not sure I’ll fit there, either.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Do you want to try? I’ll keep our seat here.”

“Um, sure.” I hefted my weight and tried to keep my cool. The bar stools didn’t have armrests which was a blessing. It was still difficult to fit, but it was better than the booth. I came back to grab our bags and she thanked me, following me to the bar.

“You know, you don’t have to do this. I really appreciate it but I’m okay.” She frowned.

“I like this. I like getting to know you. I’d rather hang out with you than wait alone.” She was so sweet. “Want another drink?”

“Sure.”

We continued talking and I forgot why I was ever anxious in the first place. We ordered another round and I could tell she was starting to feel it. I was getting a little uncomfortable when her glances started going towards my body, so I reached into my bag and pulled over a hoodie. Did she…frown?

“You’re really hard to read,” I confessed.

“How so?” She propped herself up on her elbow and looked at me quizzically.

“I don’t know,” I shook my head. “I just don’t get you.” She smiled coyly.

“I’m an enigma,” she stated with jazz hands for added flair.

“Well, I’m enjoying myself a lot more than I was earlier, so thank you.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me and apologizing. I’m equally enjoying it.” She placed her hand on my thigh and I realized I’d been bouncing my leg anxiously for who knows how long. I didn’t know what to make of her. Friendly, sweet, kind, adorable. Now I have another reason for not wanting to get on the plane…I don’t want this to end.

Leslie orders some appetizers to share and an entree for herself. I try to choose something moderately healthy, so I stick to the grilled chicken sandwich.

“Here, try” she pushes over her appetizer plates to me and I take small bites.

“They’re good.”

“Have more,” she begins forking them onto my plate.

“Whoa, no, that’s okay,” I try to protest but she’s in the middle of loading up my plate.

“I won’t finish them,” she counters, and I oblige, trying not to make a pig of myself.

I try not to eat everything to save face, despite my obvious physique that says I likely have never turned down food before. I order another drink and Leslie is practically staring at me now. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and try sucking in my belly.

“You’re full?”

“Oh, um yeah.”

“We shouldn’t let it go to waste.”

“You ordered them,” I remind her.

“Pleaseeeee,” she’s tipsy now and there’s something in her eyes I can’t quite pinpoint.

“Really?” I laugh. “Why do you want me to finish these? Why not just save them for later?”

“Because you’ll be hungry later, too.”

“Bold of you to assume.” I counter.

“Is it though?” I don’t think she intended malice, but the words sting a little.

“I’m sorry, I just…I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I’m sorry, that was dumb.” She covered her face with her hands.

“It’s okay.“ I pause. She doesn’t say anything. It’s quiet besides her fork scraping against the plate.

“I just, I’m sorry I’m so awkward,” she sighed. “I think you’re really cute.”

I stop mid-bite. “What?” Garbled by the food in my mouth.

She covers her face with her hands again.

I finish swallowing, heart pounding in my chest. “Really?”

“Yes really. I thought I’d made it obvious. I was so nervous.” She confessed.

It took me a second to compute. It made sense. The quick glances, an excuse to put her hand on my leg, insisting on buying my wine.

“It’s so cute when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“You blush.” I could feel my cheeks burning even brighter. We were sitting so close to each other I could smell the sweet rosé on her breath.

She leaned in closer. “You’re seriously so handsome.” I think my heart leapt into my throat and I had to swallow it down. Was this happening?

The bartender interrupted and asked if we wanted to close out, which we did. It gave me a moment to gain my composure.

“You don’t think I’m too…big?” I was afraid to ask. She shook her head and barely audibly answered “I like bigger guys.” Holy shit.

We had to run to our gate and we were both giddy. I offered her my hand and she took it, two wildly different strangers running through an airport together. “I booked two seats…” I explained as they checked my boarding pass and Leslie chimed in “I don’t mind sitting next to him if it’s a full flight. I’m 18 A.”

“Thanks, looks like you might have to. Hang tight.”

“You can give my seat to someone else.” She insisted and the boarding director looked at me and I shrugged.

“Alright, miss,” and he scanned all three tickets.

“I’ll go first to make sure there’s enough room.” Wow. My anxiety was no match for her.

“Excuse me, ‘scuse us,” she’d loudly announce when people’s bags were in my way. I was beyond grateful. We took our seats and I thanked her.

“No more thanking me!” And she pulled her armrest up.

“I’m so cold.”

“Here,” I peeled off my hoodie and felt the cool air hit my stomach when my shirt rode up. “I’m sure it’s way too big, but -“

“Thank you.” She eagerly accepted it and draped it over her, cuddling into me. My heart thudded obnoxiously in my chest.

“Is this okay?” She asked timidly.

“Of course,” I placed an arm around her. Whoever gets sat next to us would probably think we’re a couple on vacation, and I loved that. It was an older, middle aged woman with a smug expression on her face. She first looked at me and practically grimaced. Leslie noticed and placed her arm around my stomach where my waistline would be if it wasn’t covered in fat. I got chills.

It was the tiny nuances that she noticed. How I could use some help maneuvering the aisle, when someone made a comment or just gave a look of disapproval. She was trying to offset it, remind me that I’m not as despicable as they act like I am. Like I’m not a huge waste of space, an eyesore, an inconvenience.

“This is nice.” She sighed into me, arm still wrapped around me.

“So nice,” I agree. She rhythmically rubs her thumb over my stomach and I get goosebumps. I don’t think I’ve ever been touched like this. Sure, I’ve been in relationships and had a couple hookups, but no one ever wanted to touch my body. It was a foreign feeling to have someone actually want to. She looked so small, especially next to me.

“We barely know each other and look at us,” I whispered. She looked up at me excitedly.

“Let’s get to know each other. What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue, yours?”

“Mine too! Favorite food?”

“Anything,” I snickered. “Can you tell?”

“Ha, ha. Alright, how tall are you?”

“Six foot, you?”

“Holy shit. Guess.”

“Hmm, 5’2?”

“Nope. Five foot.”

“Five feet?! That’s it?”

She nodded, stifling a laugh. We were quiet for a little, the hum of the plane and alcohol making us sleepy.

“I really like this.”

“Me too.” I couldn’t believe this was happening. I didn’t want the plane to take off. I wanted to sit with her like this forever.

#ffa #female fat admirer #fat admirer #female feeder #feedist #weight gain encourager #intentional weight gain #feedist confessions #fat love #feedist fiction

128 notes · View notes

tieronecrush · 10 months

Text

hot & heavy

chapter five: try to walk away

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 8.6k (long but lots to cover)

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced/virgin reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, mentions of food/eating, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, etc.), polite southern manners (use of sir), feeling familial and self-pressure, oral sex (f), fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, likely poor spanish grammar, ANGST

a/n: here it is -- the end of summer #1 with joel </3 more to come from these two. and a HUGE thank you to lovely sweet el @northernwindd for the beta read!!! appreciate you v much bb

Sunday morning air filters through the cracked window, the warmth from the sunlight radiating over your exposed skin. Goosebumps rise every few moments from a combination of the oscillating fan in Joel’s room and the way he’s been looking at you since the two of you woke up together this morning. Navy blue sheets drape over your nude body, head resting on the pillow while you lay on your side facing him. Birds chirp loudly to each other outside, melodic background noise to the slow-rise conversations you and Joel keep pulling each other into.

From how you take your coffee to where you saw yourself in five or ten years, there weren’t many topics off-limits in the vulnerable morning after. Joel learned that you take your coffee with enough milk to change the drink to caramelly color, and you learned that Joel takes his black. As for future plans, you both conveniently skate around relationships, focusing more on what you see for your careers. Joel confidently tells you that he wants to build his contracting business to be able to take on a more managerial role and be able to spend more time at home with Sarah, which stretches a smile across your face.

“So you’re telling me I’m out of a summer job in the next five to ten years?”

“‘Fraid so, darlin’. But you won’t need me by then, you’ll be off livin’ lavishly in Boston and making ads that we’ll be seeing on billboards down here.”

The look you’re sharing with Joel tightens your chest, your vision glazing over to fuzz Joel out barely out of focus. You can’t really tell if it’s from the emotion that’s filling your ribcage and squeezing your lungs or if it’s from attempting to keep your eyes open on him to not miss any minute signal of body language from him.

“Maybe so, but that will just gimme an excuse to come down and visit. To see all my billboards.”

He comes back into focus when you blink the moisture away, a crisp image of the crinkles next to his eyes and dimple on display.

“Oh, yeah? That’s the only reason you’d visit? Nothing else bringin’ you back?”

A hum rolls out of your chest as you pretend to think, index finger tapping against your chin. Joel huffs out an exaggerated sigh, cocking a brow as he looks at you expectantly.

“Guess my parents, and my brother if he’s still here. And I would love to see Sarah as a teenager, she’s gonna be so fun.” A smirk coats your words, teasing laced in the words.

Large hands ghost over your bare sides, fingertips moving quick and featherlight in a tickle that draws a loud giggle out of you.

“Quit ticklin’ me!”

“I’ll quit when you stop lyin’ through your teeth.”

“Okay, okay! Ask again, I’ll be honest.” You catch your breath when his hands stop, arms wrapping around your back to pull you closer, inches away from his chest.

“Okay, I know my kid’s the best, but she’s the only reason you’d stop by?”

“I’d come to see you in a heartbeat. Might even be the first stop on any visit I make, but I think you knew that this whole time.”

The shoulder raised toward the ceiling shrugs up and down, a quip of a smirk raising one side of his mouth.

“I had a feelin’, but I like hearing you say it.”

“Mm, anything else you like hearing me say?”

“Think you know the answer to that, darlin’.” A wink follows his answer, his elbow moving under him to prop him up as he leans over you moving onto your back.

“Yes, I do, sir.”

Joel looks away to the side, a chuckle exhaling shortly out of his mouth before he turns back to you and shakes his head.

“Mi diablita, eres demasiado (My little devil, you are too much).”

Joel’s hand lays on your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth while he steers his truck with the other hand. The cab is silent besides the soft trill of the radio and the wisping wind that whips in through the cracked windows as you head to pick up your car in the mall parking lot.

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, to recognize that you have to drive four miles away to go home when you live forty feet from Joel’s. Something swirls in your stomach, a similarly sinking feeling that guilt brings you but you don’t feel guilty about being with Joel. It’s not an ideal situation, and you would never want him to be subjected to neighborhood ostracization or gossip — but is avoiding that worth the dull burn you feel when you have to slink home after kissing him behind closed doors or staying the night? Not being able to go see him when you want to unless you sneak around to do it? Is it all worth it to him?

The pickup coming to a slow stop interrupts your spiraling thoughts, Joel’s hand patting your thigh to grab your attention. When you look over at him, brows creased with soft concern and brown eyes churning with sympathy. A tight smile presses your lips into a thin line, your hand laying over his.

“Before you go, um, I wanted to ask you somethin’,” his opposite hand stills on the steering wheel, curling his fingers around the frame tightly, “Sarah’s birthday party is coming up this Saturday. We’re havin’ it at the house, but I was wonderin’ if maybe you would come? Sarah told me about a million times that she wanted to invite you.”

Taut cheeks from your narrow smile relax, teeth showing when your top lip curls up. Your hand squeezes his under it, turning on the bench seat to face him more head-on.

“I’d love to come if Sarah wants me to,” his eyes dart to yours from their position looking out the windshield, eyes wide with hope, “But, do you want me to be invited? I mean, I know you said when you were planning the date that Tommy would be there and her friends’ parents — and her mom — so if it’s going to be too much, I can celebrate with Sarah bef—”

“My sweet girl, you’re fixin’ to work yourself up into a tizzy about nothin’,” Joel interrupts himself to lean over and catch your lips in a pacifying kiss, continuing when he pulls away, “I want you there. Probably will need you there, ‘cause I need help throwing the perfect “Little Mermaid, Lilo & Stitch, and Finding Nemo” party.”

A bellowing laugh rolls out of your chest, shaking your head as you reach out to pat his thigh, “Joel, honey, all of those movies are set in or around the ocean. Just make it sea-themed and Sarah will be extremely happy. I can help get things together this week.”

A long sigh exhales and deflates his chest, a sheepish grin on his face, “See? Need you there, sweetheart, ‘cause I clearly need the help.”

A few more kisses are exchanged, Joel escorting you the five feet over to your car and standing in the open door while you slide into the driver’s seat. His frame leans into your car, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Really liked havin’ you at home this weekend, darlin’. And being able to take you out on a date.”

“Me too, Joel.”

The look on his face is unreadable before his smile replaces it, a metallic thump sounding above you as he hits his palm against the roof of your car.

“Drive safe, sweet girl.”

The sound of children’s screams and laughter slowly muffled as you slid the porch door shut and stepped into Joel’s kitchen. The last of the snacks you’d come early to put together need to be brought outside for the kids, and Tommy’s been out on cooler duty — keeping it stocked with drinks for the parents in attendance. Your parents were out of town dropping your brother off at his new apartment for his sophomore year, so it was only you, the Millers, and some kids and parents from Sarah’s class and camp.

Standing at the island, you pour some more tortilla chips from the bag to fill up the bowl in front of you more, getting lost in fluttering around the kitchen to get everything perfect before you bring it all out. You don’t notice the sound of the door to the garage shutting or Joel’s footsteps coming through the living room to the wide entry to the kitchen. What does pull your attention away from your task is his voice, a smile playing at his lips as he watches you.

“Think you know this kitchen better than I do at this point, sweetheart.” He crosses the room and comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist in the private moment.

“I just know where all the stuff for the party was cause it was Sarah and I that went to the store to grab everything yesterday. And I put it away,” you shake your head with a grin, “You wanna grab some of this to bring it outside?”

His chin rests on your shoulder as he watches your hands move, his hands bunching up the fabric of your dress at your hips.

“Mhmm, can do, darlin’. In a minute.” He presses his lips to your exposed skin next to the strap of your dress, dropping the fabric from his hands and gripping you to turn you around to face him. A gentle kiss is placed on your lips, you pull away after a moment and him chasing you to pepper pecks on your lips and cheek. Your laugh pulls him away from your face, a boyish grin showing his dimple.

“Thank you for your help today, sweetheart. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. You made Sarah’s birthday real special.”

“You don’t have to thank me, I would have helped even if I didn’t get an invite,” Joel chuckles and squeezes your waist as you continue, “You’re the one who planned the day and invited everyone and got all the games and everything outside. You’re the hero of the birthday. And you’re a really good dad.”

Sincere gratitude fills his brown eyes as you get lost in them, a comfortable silence falling over the room as you take each other in. It’s only interrupted at the sound of the screen door, you flipping around quickly to busy yourself and cover up the intimate moment with Joel.

Tommy strides in, oblivious to how close you two are standing as he crosses over to the fridge to grab another six-pack of beer to put in the cooler outside.

“Either these parents are drinkin’ like fish, or we’re gonna have some drunk eight-year-olds on our hands.” Tommy turns to face Joel next to you when the sound of the doorbell echoes rings throughout the house. After the first ring, it keeps going incessantly and the two brothers share a knowing look.

Joel sighs, rolling his eyes and brushing his fingers against your lower back subtly when he moves to go answer the door.

“Y’all know who that is just from the bell?” you ask Tommy, a bracing expression on his face when he hears the door open.

“Yeah, it’s something that Ti—” he’s cut off when an unfamiliar voice speaks quickly at Joel in the other room, annoyance slick in her words.

“Why’d you have to move across all of Austin, Joel? Makes the drive over here impossible. And made me late for my daughter’s birthday, so thanks for that.”

“Tiff, you’ve known my address since we moved and have known the time for the party for two weeks,” Joel’s voice gets louder as he follows Tiffany, Sarah’s mom, into the kitchen where you and Tommy are standing still. She looks over at Tommy, dropping her gift bag on the counter.

“Nice to see you, Tommy,” Tiff’s voice is laced with tension as she looks at the younger Miller.

“Always a pleasure, Tiff,” Tommy counters, a sarcastic smile on his face.

You’re watching it all from the far end of the kitchen, twiddling your thumbs out of nerves at the shift in energy. Tiff’s attention drags from Tommy, across the party food laid out on the island and up to you, her eyebrows raising.

“And you are?”

Her head bobbles as she asks, Joel stepping forward and giving you a quick apologetic look before he makes introductions, giving Tiffany your name before saying, “She’s Sarah’s nanny for this summer. And our next-door neighbor. And this is Tiff — Tiffany — Sarah’s mom.”

He makes a vague gesture between you and her, his shoulders tense under his white t-shirt. He slips his hands in his back pockets, eyes avoiding you as Tiff locks hers on you like prey.

“Nanny, huh?” Her lips press together into a thin line, nodding slowly as she surveys you head to toe. Right before she speaks again, the door opens, and Sarah bounds in with her curls bouncing.

“Hi, Mommy!” She runs over and gives her mom a hug, pulling away and looking around with a big smile at all of the adults closest to her in a room altogether.

“Everyone come outside! I wanna show you my cartwheel, I think I got it perfect now!”

“Uncle Tommy’s gonna come out and watch you, and we’ll be out in a minute, Bug.” Joel smiles sweetly at her, his eyes turning to Tommy as he jerks his head outside.

Tommy puts a wide smile on his face, chasing Sarah back out the door to go play. Joel huffs out a sigh as Tiff fills the silence again.

“So, can we just address the fact that you two are definitely fucking?” She points between you two with a cold laugh and you try your hardest to keep a poker face.

Joel rolls his eyes, turning to face Tiffany head-on.

“Tiff, it’s Sarah’s birthday party. We’re not talkin’ about my personal life right now, and even if we were, there’d be nothin’ to talk about.”

“Oh, bullshit. But whatever, you keep your secrets to maintain the spark of sleeping with someone that much younger than you. And it isn’t personal if it’s someone who’s takin’ care of Sarah. That affects me, and her too. Better not be doin’ anything in front of Sarah.”

“Quit bein’ ugly, Tiff. I’d never do anything that would negatively affect Sarah and you know that. Now let’s just drop it, ‘cause there’s nothing even going on, and enjoy celebrating our daughter’s birthday.”

It’s like watching a tennis match, the two of them going back and forth across the room from you. You feel like slinking out of the door if you could without drawing attention to yourself, but you definitely can’t do that so you’re as still as a statute. The people-pleasing tendencies in you are screaming at you to say something to diffuse the tension.

“Joel’s right, there’s really nothing. He’s just my boss, and I wanted to come today 'cause Sarah invited me.”

Both of their heads snap to you in the corner of the kitchen, Joel’s stare softening as he sees the manifestation of your anxiety in the way your fingers can’t stop fiddling. Tiff scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest.

Joel speaks much more relaxed to you, “You do not have to defend yourself, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart? Well aren’t you just a precious thing, huh?” Tiff’s got a Cheshire smile on her face, shooting Joel a smug glare that makes your blood boil. She has the audacity to come over and blame all of her mistakes today on him, and to top it all off, accuse him of sleeping with you? And to call you ‘precious’? That’s a slap in the face in the South.

He is, obviously, but she absolutely doesn’t need to have the satisfaction of being right.

You watch her cross the room to head to the door to the backyard, sending a smirk to you. You muster one of your most polite smiles, catching her arm.

“Lovely to meet you, Tiffany, you’re so…self-willed. I can see where Sarah gets it,” you let go of her arm and hold your hand up to your chest to give her a “Bless your heart, hon.”

Which is Southern for “Fuck you.”

The door shuts hard behind her, shaking in its frame. You look at Joel, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose and eyes closed. You walk over to him and rest a hand on his shoulder. He jumps at your touch, his hand dropping from his face and his eyes opening to look at you to his right.

He immediately averts his gaze towards the floor, his downcast expression and furrowed brows telling you what he was going to say before he even speaks. You pull your hand away and swallow, giving him a tight smile.

“I’m gonna head home. I don’t want to be the subject of anything else between you two during Sarah’s birthday.”

“Darlin’, I’m sorry about all that. She’s quick to temper and insults. And with her talkin’ like that, I just don’t think we should—”

“I get it. There are a lot of people here, and she’s Sarah’s mom. Kinda pulls rank over her nanny,” you laugh to attempt to break the tension, biting harshly on the inside of your cheek, “I’ll see you Monday.”

“I really am sorry, sweetheart…Thank you for all your help,” he caresses your cheek, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Let me walk you out.”

You shake your head, patting his chest, “No, no you go spend time with Sarah. I’ll call you later to hear about her reaction to my gift.”

Joel nods back to you, watching you from the kitchen as you leave him with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, gathering the things you’d brought for party preparation and stepping out their front door. The echoes of giggles and screams carry all the way to your house, only stifled by the door closing behind you as tears sting your eyes.

The streaks on your face were long dried, your sundress exchanged for an oversized t-shirt and shorts to sleep in, and place taken laying out on the couch as your third episode of Friends reruns starts. You curl into the throw blanket laid over you, pulling it up to tuck it under your chin. Rachel and Ross are yelling back and forth about if they were on a break or not, the sound tinny from the loud volume you’re playing it at. The couple on the TV is drowned out by a loud and steady knock on your front door, your head snapping in the direction of the entryway. You slowly climb off of the couch, tiptoeing over to attempt to hide yourself from any possible danger. Looking through the peephole, you see Joel’s back, all wide shoulders and messy hair as he kicks his feet against the pavement of your porch.

There’s a tightening in your chest as you debate whether or not to open the door or let him think you’ve gone to sleep already, but it is only 9pm and he knows you can be a bit of a night owl.

The deadbolt clicks undone and you twist the knob, gingerly pulling the door toward you. Joel turns around at the noise, half of his mouth quirking up in a nervous, closed smile. There’s nothing said for a few beats, the two of you only staring at each other.

You break first, huffing out a quiet exhale and leaning against the doorframe.

“You need something, Joel?”

A flash of hurt travels through his eyes at your aloof tone, pressing his lips together before he speaks.

“Wanted to come by and bring you a slice of cake,” he admits sheepishly, holding up an ocean-themed paper plate with a piece of the funfetti cake you’d baked for the event on top of it.

You extend your hand out to take the treat from him with your eyes dropping from his to follow the movement. His fingers brushed yours and his other hand gently closed around your wrist to keep you there for a moment.

“Can I come in? And maybe we can talk, or just hang out, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flick back up at his face, brown eyes pleading with you.

“You don’t have to get back to Sarah?”

He shakes his head, “Her present from her Uncle Tommy was a ‘sleepover at his house with loads of candy and doing what your dad says you can’t do’. She took him up on that offer tonight.”

You can’t help the chuckle that slips from your mouth, a faint smile on your face as you nod.

“Can’t say I blame her,” you take a step back and jerk your head to the side to gesture inside, “C’mon in.”

Joel kicks off his shoes in the entry, following you back to the living room and taking a seat next to you on the couch. You curl your legs up underneath you and face him, leaning your side against the backrest after lowering the volume on the TV further.

“So, what’d you wanna talk about?”

Joel lets out a deep sigh, leaning back and swiping a hand over his face before he looks at you.

“Today. All of that shit. You leavin’ early wasn’t fair to you and I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for everything Tiff said, and you ending up being in the middle of us arguing like we always do.”

“Yeah, there was certainly a lot…passion there.” You bite your lip and he shoots you a warning stare.

“Easy there, darlin’. Ship’s long sailed there.”

You laugh and nod slowly, silence falling between the two of you again.

“I meant what I said. It wasn’t fair to ask you to leave early or imply that you should. I just, I didn’t want anything to kick up dust or have anybody pick up on…” he trails off, not wanting to say what he thought out loud.

“Yeah.” It comes out as more of a sigh than a word, turning towards the nearly mute show playing on the TV.

Joel shifts closer on the couch, one of his hands coming up to hold your jaw and turn your head back to him.

“I care about you — so much, sweetheart, I do. I need you to know that. I just, I don’t want you to get hurt from what everyone says or have this affect your family or somethin’.” His thumb brushes your cheek, eyes locked on yours.

“I get it, Joel. I do. It was just, I don’t know, it was just hard to see you so easily say I was nothing but Sarah’s nanny today. That’s what upset me the most, how smooth of a lie it was — if it was even a lie.”

He cringes at the last part, a sting to his heart as his eyes linger closed for a moment.

“It wasn’t a lie, my sweet girl. You’re—you’re mine. In every way you’ll let me have you. You’re not nothing to me. You’re, you’re something incredible.”

There’s a candor in his eyes and in his words that mollifies the heartache burning your throat and your chest, your body melting into his touch and falling closer to him, chasing the warm puffs of air that blow from his lips.

You kiss him, his plush bottom lip puzzling in between yours in a tender touch. Both of you are still there for a breath before you pull back just inches, eyes looking at his through your lashes.

“I want you to have me in every way. I want you to be mine.”

“I’m yours, darlin’. You tell me what you want, I’ll give you anything.”

He searches your expression, waiting with bated breath for you to respond.

Instead, you stand from the couch and smile softly as Joel’s clearly confused, his hand grabbing yours to tether himself to you. You squeeze his fingers, tugging on his arm to get him to stand.

“I told you, I want you to have me in every way. I want it to be you, the first time. All the time.”

Joel smiles tenderly, wrapping his arms around you to squeeze you against him.

“Lead the way, sweetheart.”

Ahead of him, you guide Joel up the stairs and to your bedroom. He shuts the door behind him despite it only being you two in the house, enclosing you in the bask of the warm, yellow lamplight from your nightstands.

Joel observes the space that he’d peaked into so many nights this summer, a smirk playing on his lips as he reminisces. Your touch pulls him back to you, his smirk turning into a grin as his eyes filled with affection. His fingertips graze your cheekbones, one holding your jaw as he murmurs to you.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. Que hermosa.”

His lips capture yours in a wistful caress, the exchange heating up as his hands move from your face to dance along your curves, giving soft squeezes to your supple skin. Little, faint sounds that you’re making encourage him further, his large frame walking you backward as he tugs your t-shirt over your head — discarding it to the floor haphazardly.

There’s nothing more covering your chest, and Joel eagerly arcs down, one arm around your waist as his mouth encapsulates one of the peaks of your breasts, sucking and prodding his tongue over the perked-up nub. His name comes from you breathlessly, his lips removing with a faint pop.

“Lay down on your bed, sweetheart. ‘M gonna take care of you,” he pulls his own shirt over his head, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them off his legs before he moves to kneel on your bed in his boxer briefs. You do as he said, climbing onto your mattress and propping yourself against your pillows. Joel asks with a tug to remove your shorts, you give him a yes and lift your hips for him to pull off your shorts and panties, leaving you completely bare.

His hands skate back up your calves, hooking in the creases of your knees to spread your legs for him. They continue their journey up your thighs, one moving to skim over the softer skin at the inside near your throbbing core.

“Eres divina, mi dulzura. Una visión absoluta. (You are divine, my sweetness. An absolute vision).” His gaze pours over every inch of you, his touch exploring every spot his eyes linger. The attention he’s paying to you simmers inside of you, a quiet beg slipping out.

“Please, Joel…”

“What, baby? What can I do for you?”

His fingers are rubbing circles down your torso, stopping to brush against the curls at your mound while he waits for your command.

“Touch me please, like you did before.”

He hums contently at your request, licking his lips and swiping a finger through your arousal. His thumb presses languid circles on your clit. He bows his head down to yours, lips pressing against yours in unhurried kisses, swallowing the delicate whimpers that seep from your throat. Your sounds get louder and more persistent when he glides one of his fingers into you, a slow rhythm building before he adds a second.

“Taking it so well, darlin’. Feels good, yeah?” He speaks against your skin as his mouth dawdles along your neck to your collarbone, teeth grazing and lips sucking a mark onto your chest.

“Mhm fuck, Joel, I love your fingers inside me.”

“Gotta get you ready for me, sweet girl. Think you can take another?”

At your nod, he thrusts in a third, the stretch of his thick fingers reeling you to toe against the edge, your mind clear of anything other than the feeling of him filling you up. Your head pushes back into the pillows, his name repeated in a prayer each time he hooks against the spongy spot on your walls.

“Fuck, Joel, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, my pretty girl. Show me how beautiful you look filled up with my fingers, squeezin’ around me,” his jaw dropping ajar to mirror your own as your release barrels into you, hands gripping Joel’s shoulders and digging you nails in. He works you through your euphoric descent, humid kisses pressed into your breasts.

Your fingers card through his hair, pulling his head up to yours and kissing him deeply. Joel hums a moan into your mouth, tongue melding with yours and grinding his tented boxers against your drenched heat, a dark wet spot forming on the light grey fabric. He pulls back, lips swollen red and puffy as he rasps out.

“Will you let me taste you, darlin’? Wanna feel you come on my mouth,” his nose nudges against yours as his words add to the humidity between the two of you, a whimper from you in protest.

“I want you inside me, please.”

“I will, sweet girl, promise. Gonna make it easier to take me. And I wanna have you on my lips for the rest of the night. Pretty please, sweetheart. I’m beggin’, even just a little taste.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh lightly, “‘M all yours.”

“Debes ser de mis sueños, cariño (You must be from my dreams, darling.) Don’t know how I found you.” A path down to your thighs was carved by his mouth, kisses, bites, and licks left on your skin. Joel settles on his tummy between your legs, his arms hooking under your thighs to leverage your hips up to his mouth.

Joel purses his lips and exhales, sending cool air onto your wet folds. You hiss, one hand finding his hair as he chuckles darkly, his hooked nose nestling into the curls at the top of your center, inhaling deeply before his mouth finds your clit.

His tongue flicks your bud, flattening against it and moving in slow, teasing circles. He pulls his tongue back and puckers his lips around the button, sucking with a lewd noise as he takes some of your arousal in, exchanging for his own saliva.

“So sweet, pretty girl. Fuck, can’t get enough of you.”

The strong muscle of his mouth licks up from your tighter hole to your clit, a few figure eights flicked against it and driving your hips to jerk up involuntarily.

His thumb replaces his tongue, freeing it to dip down along your folds and lick into your tight cunt, a quick rhythm found that has you drenching his chin, high-pitched moans hyperventilating from your chest.

“Oh my god, Joel…”

A chuckle rumbles from him, vibrating against your skin and adding to his treatment of your cunt. Your fingers tug in his curls, eyes screwing shut tightly.

Right near the peak of your pleasure, he switches up his positioning and brings his lips back to nurse on your clit and two of his fingers replace his tongue inside of you.

The nearly pornographic noises he’s creating between your legs mix with your wanton moans, quick huffs of air giving you enough breath to shout his name as you come hard. Your hips push against his face to ride out the high, Joel moaning as you take control to fuck his face to keep it all going for yourself. Twinkles of light sparkle in your vision when you open your eyes again, colors kaleidoscoping at the edges of your gaze. You sit up to look down at Joel still on his stomach, a drunken smirk on his face when he looks up at you.

He groans as he lifts himself to rest his weight on his hands, climbing over you to bring his face even to yours. Your come glistens on his skin and coats his mustache and beard, a giggle slipping out as you shake your head.

“You’re a mess,” you say as you reach to wipe him clean, his head jerking back and eyes widening incredulously.

“Don’t get rid of it. Told you I wanna be tasting you for the rest of the night. You’re gonna taste yourself, too.” He smirks smugly, tracing the tip of his nose along the side of yours, his lips ghosting yours before catching you in a sloppy kiss.

“You taste good, don’t you think?” He winks as he studies you from above, a smirk still evident on his face. Your hand coasts down his soft torso, wrapping around his hard length after you slip your hand beyond the waistband, stroking him slowly as you watch his cockiness fall. His eyes flutter close, mouth ajar as tiny whimpers escape from his throat.

“I need your cock.”

With a shudder, he opens his eyes, the shade of them nearly black as his tongue sweeps across his bottom lip.

“Care to ask nicely, sweetheart?”

His low timbre sends a tingle that flutters your walls around nothing, huffing out before correcting your manners.

“May I please have your cock?”

Joel tsks from over you, his head slowly shaking left to right.

“Not quite. Again.”

“May I please have your cock, sir?”

He hums satisfied, kissing you tenderly and smirking against your lips.

“That’s my good girl,” another smack of your lips connects you two before he pulls away, looking at you adoringly, “You sure you wanna do this, my sweet girl?”

“Absolutely. Nobody else I’d want it with.”

“Ay Dios mío, ¿Cómo podría renunciar a ti? (Oh my god, how could I ever give you up?)” Disbelief floods his eyes, taking one last kiss from you, slow and sweet. Joel pushes himself up to stand on his knees, making quick work to strip himself of his boxers. Your mouth waters as you look at his cock sprung against his stomach, pre-cum dripping from his head and a twitch jerking it before his hand wraps around and gives it a few lazy strokes.

He spreads your legs wider, making sure the position is comfortable as his hips crowd against you.

“Alright, sweetheart, it might be a little uncomfortable at first, but the beginning's gonna be the worst part. Once you feel good about that, rest will make you feel even better.”

You nod in understanding, feeling heat prickling around your whole body as nerves bubble in your stomach. Joel smiles tenderly at you, guiding his hard cock to line up at your entrance.

“You ready, cariño?”

“Yes, ‘m ready. Please, Joel…”

He takes the moment of your relaxed exhale to push the tip of him inside your walls, the stretch of his girth burning you in a different way than his fingers. It’s not an overly painful burn, feeling like the stretch of a muscle. His hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing your skin and speaking quietly.

“You alright, darlin’? ‘M not hurtin’ you, right?”

Your head shakes quickly, breathing out a breath you were holding and feeling your body relax around him and adjusting with the lack of tension.

“Not hurtin’. Just feels…different.”

“Different’s alright, sweetheart. ‘S just something new.”

Joel’s chest is taut as he breathes through his own pleasure, willing his hips still until you give him the go ahead to push a few more inches of himself inside of you. You feel fuller than ever before, even without all of his length inside. He pulls his hips back slowly, the drag of him inside squeezing a moan from you. He starts at a slow pace with only a few inches of himself, encouraged to give you more with the louder, repeated sounds you're making under him.

“Fucking hell, pretty girl. So tight, god…”

“In a good way?”

“Yes, baby, course it’s good — everything about you is good, no, great. You’re makin’ me feel so unreal right now. You’re perfect.”

After a few more slow thrusts, he slips himself inside of you completely, his head rolling back with a moan of your name as you gasp loudly at the feeling of him against every part of your cunt. He loses his composure, lack of self-control seeping through as Joel starts to really fuck you, quick snaps of his hips burying him to the hilt.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling, mouth opening with silence choking any words from your mind. One of his hands grips your waist to hold you in place on the mattress as he drives into you, the other cupping your breast and squeezing while his index and thumb pinch your nipple.

The attention all over your body ripples pleasure throughout every one of your nerve endings, his name falling from your mouth over and over in breathy whines. He folds over you, lips finding the shell of your ear and whispering to you as he pushes you to toe the edge of Cloud Nine.

“Te adoro, hermosa. Cada toque tuyo se siente como la luz de una estrella tocando mi piel. Cada beso me respira nueva vida. (I adore you, beautiful. Every touch from you feels like the light from a star touching my skin. Every kiss breathes new life into me.)”

He doesn’t translate for you, leaving his words a mystery to your love-drunk brain. With his next thrust, he pushes you over that edge, a fall from the heavens as you plummet back down from euphoria into your body.

“Fuck, baby, you’re made for me. Gonna make me come, god damn.” His hips move back to leave you, your instant reaction to hook your legs around, digging your heels into the flesh of his ass to keep him inside.

“Please, please inside of me. I’m on the pill, take it religiously,” you whine out a beg, desperation slick in your tone.

“Who am I to deny you, my sweet girl?” He shakes his head, hips thrusting into you a few more times before he spills his come, coating your walls and rolling his head back with a throaty groan. Both of you are still as you catch your breaths, his cock softening inside of you before he pulls it out slowly and lays next to you.

“You alright?”

A laugh first before answering, “‘M feelin’ amazing right now.”

Joel chuckles himself, a kiss to your cheek before he climbs out of your bed and traipses down the hall. You hear the swish of water from the tap turn on and off, bare footsteps slapping quietly against the wood floors as Jole comes back in through your doorway.

He cleans you up with a wet, warm cloth, exhaustion weighing your eyelids. Fluttering around your room, he moves smoothly as he gets the covers out from under you, tucking you in before discarding the cloth in your hamper and climbing under your comforter on the opposite side. He wraps you up as the little spoon, nose buried in your hair to smell your shampoo.

Half awake, you reach to shut off your lamp. A confession floods your mind in the dark, faint voice whispering to him behind you, “I love you.”

It’s been a week.

A week since you revealed your heart and yourself fully to Joel.

A week of him not acknowledging either event.

A really weird fucking week.

Your return to school looms over your head, this lull coming at the most inopportune time.

Every day you see Joel, it’s awkward and disjointed in your embraces and kisses when Sarah’s off playing or he’s walking you to the door. Nothing feels as smooth as it was before last week, and there’s a nagging feeling in your chest that Joel taking your virginity ruined everything. That your friends were right, that guys never wanted to be that for someone because “women get too attached.” It sounded like bullshit to you before, and you don’t feel like you’re any more clingy than you’d acted before, the most attention you ask for is a kiss goodnight when you leave his house. He was always the one initiating more.

One night, you’d had a horrible thought that now he’s had you, he didn’t want any more. That it was about the chase, the finish line at the end of the summer that he’d crossed early.

But Joel wasn’t like that. He couldn’t be that type of guy.

He was a father. And a good one at that. An honest man. Someone who looks out for his family, even for strangers.

How could Joel become so lackadaisical with someone he said he cared about?

Today had been another stuttered dance of a goodbye, a chaste peck against your lips and a mumbled “see you tomorrow” before he sent you on your way, the door already closed when you glanced over your shoulder.

It had been eating away at you, carving out a part of your heart as you mulled over it all night. Your parents were asleep at this point, and looking out your window quickly, you saw his living room light still on.

You padded silently downstairs and slipped on shoes, quietly leaving out of your front door and crossing over to Joel’s porch. You knock instead of ringing the bell, not wanting to wake Sarah. The minute it takes Joel to answer the door feels like an hour, the courage you had about this confrontation fading with each passing second.

The entrance cracks open, half of Joel’s revealed as he takes you in. The rest of the door swings open, concern washing over his face with a furrowed brow and downturned mouth.

“It’s late, sweetheart. What are you doin’ out over here? Did something happen? Do you need help with something?”

With your arms crossed over your chest, you shake your head, glancing back at your house over your shoulder and debating if you should just forget this whole thing. Maybe he’s been having an off week — maybe it’s not worth bringing up if it could make things worse before you’re going to be three hours away at school for nine months.

The smallest part of you still urges you to push, to make him say what he’s feeling, even if it’s as simple as ‘I had a bad week at work’. If he can’t talk to you about what’s wrong now, what could happen if something starts bothering him when you’re going to have phone calls and limited visits?

It’s easier to justify a breakup when the person isn’t around for you.

“Nothing’s happened, I—well, I wanted to come talk to you about this week. Just, things’ve been off. With us.”

Joel’s eyes hit the floor as you say that, his shoulders tensing along with the forearm that’s gripping the door. Anxiety pools in your stomach, the taut silence adding to your nerves. Is he angry?

“Think you should come in and sit down, sweetheart.”

That can’t be good.

You trail behind Joel after he shuts the door, following him into the living room and sitting at the end of the couch he gestures to. He sits near the middle, not quite the complete opposite end but not the spot he would have chosen before this week. Quickly grabbing the remote off the coffee table, he shuts off the TV and leaves the two of you in near darkness save for the soft light of the lamp behind you.

“Guess I should explain myself for this week.”

You can’t bear to look at him right now, your eyes turned down to your lap where you're picking at nails and a hangnail around your thumb.

“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot this week. About us. About the summer,” Joel sighs, his own eyes watching your nervous hands, “It has been a great summer. One of the best for me, I really do mean that. You’re so incredible, darlin’ b—”

“But what?”

Your gaze has risen to Joel, bile burning your throat when you see the look on his face — no hint of a smile when he said those words, no joy in his eyes. His mouth is in a downturned pout, his eyes rounded with sadness. The placement of his hands on his thighs is rigid, back straight as he cheats himself to face you more.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep goin’. For us to continue…this.”

Tears blur your vision until you blink them back, a few stray ones falling down your cheeks. You sniffle as Joel brings a hand up to wipe the drops from your cheeks — you let him, thinking it might be one of the last times, if not the last, he ever does anything soft like that for you.

“Why?”

Water wells the corners of your eyes again, lips pressed into a hard, flat line to hold in your sobs. Joel’s hand lingers against your skin, a flash of regret in his eyes that makes you think he’ll take it all back and you can forget about this ever happening.

But that look fades, replaced with the sadness from a minute before.

“You’re gonna be away at school, sweetheart. Three hours away. Busy as all get out for your last year. And I’m gonna be here. Bein’ a dad. And a mom too, most of the time. Plus with working full time on top of all that, I just, I couldn’t even promise a phone call to you, sweetheart.”

“But you could come visit on the weekends that Sarah’s at her mom’s…or-or I can come down. I would drive down every weekend to see you.”

“How'd you explain coming home every weekend to your parents? And you'd miss all the fun of your senior year for me? I couldn’t let you do that, darlin’. I wouldn’t want you to ever resent me for taking something like that away from you,” he shakes his head, definitiveness laced in his words, “I didn’t get to have all those experiences with Sarah being born, I didn’t even go to college. You have so much ahead of you, I don’t wanna hold you back.”

“How come you’re the one that gets to decide what I should do with my senior year? You’re not even giving me a choice. You’re not even giving me a chance if you do this, Joel.”

Tears fall freely at this point, not bothering to hold them in. Anger burns white hot in your chest, jaw clenched as you think about how he’s gone and decided what your life was going to be from now on.

“Sweetheart, you know it’s not like that—”

“It is. My whole life I’ve been making decisions to please people, if you can even call what I did making decisions. I listened to my parents, did the extracurriculars they told me to, never partied or got in trouble. I went to the college that they thought would be the best for me, even chose my fucking major — my career path — based on one thing my dad said to me years ago; he said ‘Y’know, you’ve got a smile that could sell ice to a penguin.’ I was twelve when he said that. And immediately I thought — if I could sell things like he said, he’d be proud of me, so I went into advertising,” you sit up on the couch further, shaking your head in disbelief, “I thought this summer was the first time I was choosing for myself. That nobody knew about how much I felt for you, that I was the one who was deciding that I wanted you. And when I decided that, when I told you I loved you, I wanted you to know that I was always gonna choose you. That this was the one path I could fully control.”

“Now I think I realize that I wouldn’t have done anything about it had you not kissed me first. I would have never made that decision without you deciding first. I’ve been following blindly my whole life. I wanted you to be the first thing I really chose. But I never really had a choice when it came to us. You were always gonna call the shots for what happened to us.”

“I didn’t go into all this knowing it was gonna come down to this at the end of the summer,” Joel’s voice is low and raspy, “I would never hurt you on purpose or string you along, sweetheart. I was in the moment with you. It was easy to forget about anything else when I was with you. You know I'm not going anywhere, I’ll always be here if you come back. But I think we both know you're destined for great things after you graduate.”

“I need you to do this for me, darlin’, please. Go have fun, be selfish this year. Spread your wings, mi mariposa. My butterfly.”

You stand from the couch, a sob escaping your lips as you turn to walk out the door. Joel follows you closely, grabbing your arm and turning you to face him.

“Joel, I don’t want to do this back and forth anymore. We’re done. It’s fine, it’s what you want and I am clearly not going to change your mind.”

“I just—I want you to know that I’m always going to care about you, sweetheart. I'll always be here for you.”

A sharp pain crackles in your chest as your heart crumbles, shards of it nestling to prick your lungs and steal the air from them, scrape against your ribs, spread everywhere in your body until it all hurts. Without another word, you take your arm from his grasp and leave out the front door. No looking back this time, no seeing if he’s watching you walk away from his life.

The trunk of your car slams shut with a push, all the belongings you’d brought home packed up again to make the drive back to school. You’re moving in earlier than you thought you would, heading back at the same time as your roommates instead of at the last second like every summer before.

It’s been a dull last few weeks.

You didn’t have your job anymore to fill your days. Joel had messaged you that you were off the hook the morning after, and you spent the rest of the afternoon in quiet tears about not being able to say goodbye to say goodbye to Sarah. You had barely gotten glimpses of Joel, mostly seeing his truck parked in the driveway or coasting down the street in the mornings, but not much of him.

You’re not entirely sure if that’s helped or not.

But it doesn’t matter much now anyways, decisions were made and now you were finally leaving home.

On your driveway, your parents hugged you goodbye, your brother has already left for his school year to start baseball season training. With one last kiss on the cheek from your mom and a pat on the shoulder from your dad, you climbed in behind the wheel and backed out of the driveway. As you face towards the exit of your street, you take one look at the Miller house.

Joel’s standing on the porch with Sarah standing in front of him, a beaming smile on her face as she waves wildly at you. You roll your window down and wave back at her, laughing as she yells out a goodbye and good luck to you.

Flicking your eyes up to her dad standing behind her, hands on her shoulders and a closed, faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He lifts his hand in a short wave to you, and all you manage is a nod of acknowledgment back to him. You start driving away, watching both houses next to each other shrink in the rearview mirror. You blast the AC after rolling your window back up, turning on the radio to fill the silence and distract your mind.

The station host finishes up an ad read and immediately goes into the next song, trills of piano and slow, bright vocals.

American Pie.

taglist: @beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @clingontolife @elizabeth01585 @wandaandellie @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @livinxdeadxgrl @sw33tp1xie @starsandsaints07 @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras @whydontyoysaynodoja @beee-haw @shmaptainshmerica07 @jenna-mcgraw19 @whore-4-pedro @spursgirl14-blog @katifefe @joelmillerswifu @itsgiorgiaz @soph55 @grapejuicesny @wild-hearts-runfree @youcancallmeelle @lisa-ru @jupitren @ziggy-star @miaispunk @oneofutoo @starkovli @thatgeminigirlx @marchai @bunnyskisses @houseofballoonsth @casual-obsessions @pedro-pascal-lvr @bimbodolls-world @burningnerdchild @tuquoquebrute @mrsvedder12 @estelivi28 @helllsent @bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @angie2274 @owod3 @pedrostories @pedroholicx @theelishad @johnwatsn @sunakochansama43 @elissaaa @felicityofbakerstreet @atinylittlepain

#joel #writing #hot & heavy #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x yn #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #tlou smut #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller au

380 notes · View notes

obetrolncocktails · 11 months

Text

Deception | Josh Kiszka X Reader | Part 1

Warnings: This fic will include angst and smut. If those aren't your thing, don't read! Minors DNI!

Word Count: 2.1K

Authors Note: I had a hurtful, but oh so deliciously angsty idea for a fic involving Josh and a reader who was a fan, and led josh on to believe that they met naturally in a grocery store.

Summary: Be careful what you wish for. Wishes answered always come with consequences.

His sheets smelled of fresh linen, like fresh clothes pulled from a clothesline, crisp with the scent of sunshine. You’d burrowed yourself into them like a cocoon of welcome warmth, wrapping yourself in the swaths of fabric.

“For someone who claims to be so hot all the time, you sure look like you’re ready to hibernate,” Josh mused, strolling into the bedroom as he sipped from the lip of a large mug. He was prepared, having made you one as well. You offered him a gentle smile.

“I’m comfy,” you replied, satisfied with the simplicity of your response.

“Sit up, silly,” He said, lowering himself onto the bed, carefully handing you your piping-hot cup of coffee. Wisps of steam billowed over the top of the mug and you sipped tentatively at the liquid, feeling it instantly liven your body from head to toe.

“How does it feel to be twenty-six years and three hundred and sixty-four days old?” you asked him, eyeing him from over the lip of the cup.

“Geez, when you say it like that, you make me sound ancient,” he chuckled. You loved the way his lips curled upward when he grinned, revealing his brilliant, white teeth. The slight gap between his front two teeth always sent flutters through your body. You caught yourself admiring his delicate, but masculine features. “But I’m excited! I never thought I’d end up planning my own birthday party.” He looked at you with amusement.

“Come on. You mean to tell me you didn’t enjoy designing your own birthday cake?” You said, taking another long swig of your coffee before lowering it to your lap as you crossed your legs. “Only you would choose that symbol.”

His widening grin told you all you needed to know. “Yeah, that was pretty cool.” His eyes glimmered with child-like amusement, which sent a pang through your chest. “I’m just glad that everyone can make it, you know? It’s hard these days to get everyone in one place at the same time.”

You nodded, reaching to place the cup on the bedside table. “Sam, Danny and I made sure that everyone could make it.” You ruffled your messy hair with your fingertips, watching him finish off his coffee. “We threatened physical violence if they didn’t.”

“Okay, but who’s the one throwing the punches?” Josh asked, his eyebrows raised with amusement.

“Who do you think?” You answered, lifting your fists playfully in front of you. “They don’t want it, I promise you.”

“Put your guns away,” He chuckled. “I bet you Jake is gonna be so jealous,” He continued, setting his cup on the side table before moving back to lay on the bed and prop up his head on his hand. His eyes brightened, his cheeks filling with color.

“Of what?” You asked, taking another sip of your coffee.

“My party.” He said lightly.

“I mean, you are the more performative of the two, so…” You admitted. He turned to you, scoffing incredulously.

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” He asked, gawking. He couldn’t hide, though, that his features were fighting the urge to twist into a ridiculous smirk. His eyes seemed to glitter as he questioned you.

“Nothing!” You said, rolling out of bed with your empty coffee cup.

“No, no! You don’t get off that easy,” Josh said, pulling at the thin fabric of your sleep shorts, pulling you back closer to him.

“Oh , you want me to say sorry?” You asked him, biting your bottom lip as your eyes glimmered with mischief.

“I thought maybe you could show me you’re sorry instead,” he said. “Come here.”

You obeyed him, leaning closer to him. “Yes sir.”

The intensity in his eyes deepened as his fingertips pulled upward to gently caress your chin and jaw, drawing your face forward to meet with his lips. The feeling of his touch ignited the heat between your thighs. Josh’s boyish features could easily morph in the matter of seconds into something almost siren-like—He naturally honed the ability to unconsciously will you to do anything for him with just a look. He harnessed the power to peer straight through your soul like glass, like he could somehow see all of you at once, including your every thought, worry, and desire. At the beginning of the relationship, it had made you feel extremely vulnerable and unguarded, but now? Now, you found comfort in him knowing everything about you. Well, almost everything. There were certain things that you weren’t ready to tell him yet. You’d wait for the right time to come clean.

You gave in to the gentle caress of his velvet lips and folded your body into an innate dance, moving in an exact mirror to him as he explored you. “You want me to show you just how sorry I am?” You whispered against his parted lips, your voice barely more than a huff of breath as your instincts began to take over. His hands slid to your hips, pulling you against him. You took that as his answer.

“Go right ahead,” he purred softly. It was moments like these when you’d often felt most vulnerable in front of a man. In most of your previous relationships, you’d been so reluctant to let your partners in, to see the most vulnerable, insecure, and sensitive parts of yourself. You’d built your walls with an impenetrable defense, constructed by so many years of hating your own body more than anyone else could. Recently, it was becoming clearer to you that there was one thing that you knew for sure about Josh. He silently set himself apart from everyone else. Not once had he ever judged you for your appearance; for the extra curves, the extra pounds, the imperfect folds and creases that were so ugly to you, but so perfect to him. Even so, he didn’t feel pity for you, either. He treated you like a person, not the fragile pane of glass you had let yourself become in the hands of so many past partners’ hands. Not a single interaction was laced with unspoken judgment, because the truth was simple. Being fat meant nothing to Josh.

You remembered those first days when Josh all but begged you to stop apologizing for the things that you couldn’t and shouldn’t change, constantly reminding you that you were a beautiful woman. “You are allowed to take up space in this world. Stop apologizing for abiding in it, Y/n. You have nothing to worry about when you’re with me,” he had said to you after a few dates, when you’d make it a point to apologize or somehow discount your appearance or importance. You couldn’t help it. It had become the safest defense mechanism that you could create; you’d insult yourself before anyone else could beat you to it.

You let yourself fall after those first few weeks, and unsurprisingly, it was one of the easiest decisions you had ever made. The loop of his fingers around yours began to feel so natural and reassuring. You could count on him to encourage you to try new things, to leave you in stitches from laughing, and at the end of the night, you could rest assured that he’d leave you thinking about him for every moment he wasn’t with you.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, the corners of his lips twitching upward in a curious smile.

“You,” you answered honestly, reaching forward to tuck some of his curls behind his ear.

“Oh no,” he answered, his cheeks flushing. “Should I be running for cover?” He asked, pretending to get up.

“No, no, come back here,” you said, pulling at his arm. You let the moment settle into contented silence as you both let your gaze linger between each other. “Can I tell you something?”

“Always. What’s up?” Josh asked, moving to caress your arm softly as you prepared to speak. You pulled yourself upward to sit straight on the bed, and he did the same, sitting in front of you.

“You are–” you paused for a moment, figuring out the next words before speaking again. “You are the closest thing I’ve had to a home in a very, very long time, and I think I’m ready.” You both had agreed that sex wasn’t expected in the relationship until you had told him so, and even then, with Josh, you knew that you wanted it to be special when it was time.

“Ready for?” He asked, his eyes widening slightly. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“I am ready to be with you. I am ready to have sex, if and when you are.” You pulled your gaze upward to look him in the eye. “I want to be yours completely, Josh. You make me feel beautiful, and I think I am beginning to believe it, too.” The words spilled out of you easily, because for the first time, you believed them.

“You are truly marvelous,” he spoke, straightening to sit cross legged again on the bed. “I am a lucky man, and I gotta say. Thank God we love the same pasta sauce.” You couldn’t help but chuckle as he recounted your first meeting at Kroger. You had been choosing between pasta sauces, and couldn’t decide whether to stay with your tried-and-true selection or try something new.

“You want this one,” he had said, pointing to the one in your right hand–the one that was your favorite. You looked up, and were automatically struck by his natural beauty–the mixture of feminine and masculine features which were combined in an almost artistic product. You couldn’t look him in the eye, and you certainly couldn’t talk straight.

“What?” You said after a long moment, yanking yourself out of your daze. “Oh. Yeah, this one? You said, raising the jar in the air. “It’s my favorite. Don’t break it if it isn’t fixed–right?” You decided to keep your mouth shut rather than fix the saying that you had just butchered so badly. Josh laughed, reaching for a jar of his own off of the shelf.

“Something like that, yeah.” His dimples were huge, and his teeth were so white they almost seemed to sparkle. Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. For a moment, you forgot how to swallow, how to talk, how to breathe. How are you real? You remembered thinking to yourself.

“Sorry, I’m just a little–frazzled. I’m Y/n.” you said, stupidly extending your hand to him.

“Don’t worry, Y/n. Grocery shopping can really take it out of us,” he said, taking your hand. You were grateful for his skillful segue. “I’m Josh.”

You nodded. “Nice name,” you told him before mentally kicking yourself in the head. You’d wished you’d worn steel toes, and also that you had crazy flexibility so you could kick yourself across the pasta aisle. God I’m so fucking dumb.

“I’d say yours is far more lovely,” he said, saving you again, and you couldn’t save the heat from filling your face. You were becoming intensely aware of your insecurities as you felt his eyes float over your body and back up to your face.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, feeling anxiety exploding through your system like a disturbed hornet’s nest.

“Well, I hope your pasta turns out delicious,” he said. “I can tell you’ve got great taste,” he said, putting the jar in his small hand basket.

“You too,” you said with a gentle smile. “Only losers eat Prego,” you said with a grin.

“That’s a bold statement, Y/n. We need to make sure that Campbell’s Soup Company isn’t listening to our every word.” You couldn’t help but snicker, accidentally snorting at the stupid joke.

“Stupid joke?” he asked, reading your mind.

“Yeah, I gotta admit. It was a terrible joke,” you said, your cheeks aching painfully from grinning.

“Ah well, I’m known for them, so,” he shrugged, adjusting his basket in the crook of his elbow. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Y/n. If I see you next time, maybe we’ll compare ingredients again.”

“I’m ready for you,” Josh said. “I’ve known it’s you for a while now,” he admitted, reaching forward to take your hands in his. “I want to make it special,” He continued. “Let me make you dinner. You already know what’s on the menu, besides you, of course,” he said with a soft grin.

“Josh Kiszka’s world famous Spaghetti?” You said, eyeing him with a smirk.

“You know it!” He said excitedly. “Come here, let me kiss you.”

You obeyed him instantly, leaning forward into his awaiting embrace, letting yourself be truly loved for the first time.

You heard a buzz from your phone on the side table, but ignored it.

You’re a whore for going after the celebrities you write such filthy smut about. I’ve found you, and it’s only a matter of time before everyone finds out about your little secret. Could be fun, don’t you think?

End of part 1.

If you would like to be added to my taglist, fill out this form!

taglist: @doodle417 @watchingovergvf2 @pr41sethemoon @fireandsaltydogs @capturethechaos@andromeda-raine-gvf @writingcold @sammyfuckingkiszka@positivegvfthings @ace-harrington @gvfvanfleet @flo-gvf @sacredthefran @jjwrites @nocuts-nobutts-andgvf @jmkho @joshsindigostreak @gold-mines-melting @allieisacrybaby @sammysprincess@gretavansara @dannythedog@demolitionndann @gretasmokerising @shesawomaninadream @sonicbaptism @vixenstail @hearts-hunger @malany-gvf @spark-my-nature @hellowgoodbye @cal-a-bungaa @rhythm-of-space @alwaysonthemend@meetingthestardust@ageofsinners @katelynn-gvf @ageofwagner @dannythedog @allieisacrybaby@ofburningskies @sacredthethreadgvf @takenbythemadness @st4rdust-ch0rds

#gvf #greta van fleet #josh kiszka #josh gvf #Josh Kiszka gvf #Josh Kiszka fic #Josh Kiszka fanfiction #Josh Kiszka angst #gvf angst #greta van fleet angst #gvf fanfiction #Josh Kiszka series #josh Kiszka x reader

171 notes · View notes

daimyosprincess · 1 year

Text

PART I: FOREWORD

—PAIRING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—SERIES RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—SUMMARY: When the new Mandalorian studies professor Boba Fett comes into the university library looking for help, you’re more than happy to be of assistance.

—WORD COUNT: 6.4k

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, references to sexual themes, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), bisexual reader, reader described as having hair, alcohol consumption by reader and others, GRATUITOUS flirting (like a ridiculous amount), use of pet names

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Here it is, my first ever posted fic! I'm so excited to share this with y'all, it's been so much fun to write. Thank you for all your support for this series. Enjoy the Boba brainrot with me :)

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

Part II>

The university library is dead—classes aren’t in session and things are slow. The afternoon summer sun streams through the building’s tall windows, illuminating the dust motes that dance in the golden light. The faint rustle of papers turning is the only sound filling the idle air other than you and your coworker’s chatting at the circulation desk.

“No, I’m telling you there’s no good guys to date here. They’re all either emotionally unavailable or terrible in bed… or both,” your friend Selena gripes. She’s exasperated by the most recent of her flings ghosting her after their last hookup.

Swirling your iced coffee, you roll your eyes. “Well maybe you need to expand your dating pool, there’s more out there than just twenty-something guys who spend all their time in the gym.” You grin knowingly at your friend—she definitely has a type.

She throws an elbow at you. “Hey! Not all of us are into girls and men old enough to be our dads! Speaking of which…” she cuts off, wiggling her perfect eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice calls from behind your back, “is there a librarian I can speak to about reserving my course materials?” The voice’s vowels lilt and come together like sand being molded by an ocean wave, powerful yet graceful—it’s a voice that could warm you in sunny, shallow waters or drown you in a raging storm.

All but choking on your coffee, you spin to face the front desk. Standing on the other side of the counter is the most handsome man you think you’ve ever seen: copper skin, white teeth, and dark eyes stand atop a crisp linen shirt rolled up to reveal thick, strong forearms. Pale, silvered scars crisscross his skin, glinting in the light, making him look equally dangerous and enticing, like a trap baited with everything you’ve ever wanted.

Shit, he could get me in a lot of trouble… and I’d let him. You clear your throat, doing your best to recover with at least some of your dignity intact—a difficult task when the absolute god of a man before you just heard that you’re definitely into men his age.��

Selena, however, beats you to an answer. “Yes, sir, that would be my coworker here,” she answers in a sing-song voice, “she’s more than happy to help you with anything you need.” You shoot her a dirty look as she flounces away back to her desk in the back, her attitude completely unapologetic.

Being the flirt you are, you did fully intend to hit on this handsome professor, but that’s not the point. Rallying your thoughts, you flash him a dazzling smile. “Yes, I certainly am,” you confirm. “What can I do for you, professor…?” Your voice trails off in anticipation of his response, and you catch the dark gleam in his coffee-colored eyes.

“Fett, Boba Fett. Professor of Mandalorian studies,” he answers smoothly, his rich timbre confident and unphased by you and Selena’s antics.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, professor,” you respond, matching his blithe tone. You introduce yourself with your name and title as the research materials librarian.

He smirks, flicking his eyes over your frame in a casual, yet interested, way. “I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.” When his eyes meet yours again, they flicker with amber fire, bright and tempting.

You let his compliment hang in the sunlit air between you for a moment, gauging whether he too felt the electric connection buzzing between you two. Judging by the glint in his eye and quirk of his lips, he did.

Game on. “Well, usually faculty submit their materials for purchase and reservation at the end of the previous school year or at the beginning of the summer session,” you inform him with an overly patronizing tone. “But I suppose I can make an exception for you since you’re being so polite.” You end your statement with a wink, inviting him in to test the waters.

Taking your hint, he leans his muscled arms on the high lip of the desk, bringing himself closer into your space. “You’re too kind. Things have been a little difficult since I’m new to the school and wasn’t in the country until last week… and I’d really appreciate your help, princess.” The pet name rolls off his tongue like spiced honey, hot and sweet.

Your brows arch up and you run your tongue over teeth behind your lips as you consider the handsome professor. Most men you meet are either too intimidated or too stupid to give you a fair fight, but this Boba Fett… he might just be the one. Without saying much, he’s said it all: true power doesn’t need to be defended because it speaks for itself. His innate confidence makes your stomach tighten and your blood run hot—this is going to be even more fun than you first thought. “Why don’t you come into my office and I can see what all I can do for you, Professor Fett,” you offer with a flirty smile.

“Please,” he entreats with a saccharine smile, “call me Boba.”

Leaning against your doorframe, Boba shoulders his leather satchel, his broad shoulders rippling under the material of his shirt. The muscles in his arms carve out valleys in his marked skin, making your mind race with the thought of how those arms would feel around you, lifting you up, or pinning you down beneath him. The way he totally fills up the space around him is enough to send heat between your legs, and the snatches of fantasy only heighten the desire simmering in your core. You’ve done everything you can to help the professor at the moment, but neither of you seem too keen on parting just yet, much to your satisfaction.

“So how old are you, then?” he asks, eyeing you tilted back in your chair below him.

You’d teased him about his thesis date being long before your birth while you chatted as you submitted his materials requests. “Why, professor,” you taunt, looking up at him from heavy-lidded eyes, “are you trying to make sure I’m at least eighteen?”

He answers with a devil’s grin. “No, just trying to see whether or not I’m old enough to be your father.”

Yep, he definitely heard that earlier, you groan internally as heat pricks up your neck. Not one to be beaten so easily, however, you lazily trail your eyes down to his left hand braced on your door, a smirk splitting your face when you don’t find a ring. “As long as you’re single, I’m twenty-six.”

“And if I’m not?” he counters, cocking his head in pointed curiosity.

You pray to whoever might be listening that he is because you might not survive temptation much longer, not with the way he’s looking at you like you’re the sweetest dessert he’s ever seen. “Well then, I’d be twenty-six and disappointed.”

He snorts, shaking his head with a deliciously low chuckle. “You really are something, aren’t you, little one?”

Your stomach flips at his continued use of the sweet names, but you swallow it down. Boba Fett is a test you intend on passing and that means you have to keep your wits about you. “I have been told I can be quite the handful. Hope that's not a problem… don’t think it would be for you, though,” you reply, looking him up and down meaningfully and letting your eyes linger on the fabric stretched tight over his biceps. He’s built like a kriffing brick wall, thick and solid, and you want to climb him to the very top.

The sultry look he gives you makes you think he’d let you, too. “After forty-seven years, princess, I don't think it would be.”

That same hum of charged energy of your initial meeting fills your office as your gaze falls into line with the intense depth of his own. You were wrong before, he’s not looking at you like you’re dessert. You’re prey, soft and open, and he’s the predator tracking you deeper and deeper in the forest, far away so no one would hear your shriek when sunk his teeth into your flesh.

But did prey ever want to be torn apart by its hunter? You roll your lips together, squeezing your thighs against the embers of desire flickering to life between them.

A few moments later, your computer chirps with an email notification and you blink back to reality, the tension fizzling out into the surrounding air. Probably for the best since I’m about ten seconds away from jumping this man's bones in my office. Straightening up in your seat, you clear your throat. “Same time tomorrow, then, professor?”

“If it’s not a problem,” he shrugs, his heated gaze betraying his nonchalance, “I know you’re a busy girl.”

He’s clearly enjoying calling you everything but your name and you, much to your surprise, are lapping it up. In an attempt to even the score, you push up from your chair, snatching up one of your business cards from your desk and scribbling your cell number on the back. Sauntering over to him stretched out in your door, you stop just a little closer than absolutely necessary. You slip the piece of paper into his front pocket, pleased with the way the muscle in his jaw twinges at the contact. “Oh, no, it’s no problem at all,” you practically purr, “At the university, we want to make sure our new faculty enjoy everything the library has to offer.”

He huffs in amusement, not moving away. “Your efforts should be rewarded, then,” he notes, his voice like rich molasses, “You’ve been nothing but eager.”

Before you can stop the impish impulse, you rattle off your usual coffee order. The worst he can say is no, but something tells you he’s willing to indulge you just a bit more than most would.

He tilts his head to the side, his lips twitching into a smile in understanding a second later. “Size?”

“As much as you’re willing to give me,” you wink, flipping your pen between your fingers under your chin. You’d like to think he’d indulge you in that too, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself.

“Don’t worry,” he assures, his voice like bittersweet woodsmoke, “I’ll make sure you get everything you deserve.” The promises laced through his words like invisible threads, weaving together images of love-bruised skin and rough hands pressed into soft flesh.

You swallow thickly, and almost groan in embarrassment when his eyes track the bob of your throat with a smug look. “You could get a man into trouble, little one. A lot of trouble…”

He shoves off the doorframe, his face swaying dangerously close to yours as he turns to leave. “See you tomorrow, princess.” He says the words like a promise rather than a casual expression.

“Oh, professor?” you call out after him. You can’t let this man come out of your office thinking he’s won your little game, your pride simply won’t allow it—and neither will the lurid desire bubbling up from somewhere deep within you. You want to push him, needle him until he snaps, poke the bear until he takes a swipe. Not very smart for someone who’s definitely the prey.

He turns to face you as if he had been hoping you’d stop him. “Yes?”

“You should know,” you bait, letting your eyes flicker down to his lips and back up in wicked pleasure, “I like trouble.”

Every day since your electrifying meeting has been an excuse to see him: hand delivering something that could have been interofficed, calling his office phone and inviting him to look over some course book in person, or volunteering to give him a tour of campus that happened to include lunch together. Boba’s like a burning sun and you’ve been ensnared in his orbit, your every phase and season given life by his heat.

When you couldn’t find an excuse to be around him, he found one; he came to make copies in the library because his department’s machine “never seems to work right,” the coffee shop gave him an extra pastry he “couldn’t possibly eat,” or the darn databases wouldn’t let him log in and you’re the “only one who can get them to work.” Even when your extensive partnership gathering his course materials came to an end, Boba was quick to offer you a spot in his office to work while last minute construction went on in the library before the start of the fall semester.

Boba’s office is tucked away at the end of a long hall in the gothic-style humanities building and quickly becomes your own personal sanctuary for the remainder of the summer. Its soaring ceiling and long, arched window gave a sense of lightness to the corner space, the natural light reflecting off the pale walls. Brass lamps with warm, golden light keep the room cozy when clouds roll in, along with the sumptuous oriental rug spread over the stone floor. Boba’s furniture is functional and comfortable; a large, sorrel leather couch sits perpendicular against the wall from his sturdy oak desk, accompanied by matching armchairs facing him for visitors. The walls are lined with bookshelves and cabinets housing his impressive personal library and mementos from his illustrious life.

It’s in this ivory tower oasis that your heart begins to grow into a softer shape and your mind settles into the rough-hewn grooves of the professor’s tides. The power of him both rouses and relieves, stirs and soothes; the shards of you are made into soft seaglass by the roll and drag of his waves against the sand. And oh, how you’re tempted to let him pull you under the glassy surface, to submit and let his current tow you to blissful paradise. You yearn to provoke his storms as well as seek his shelter from the harsh creatures of everyday life—you’re sure he’s going to be the end of you.

The week before classes start you’re slouched comfortably across the couch in his office. Sunlight dapples the room in a saffron glow through the forked leaves of ivy hugging the window as you’re half-heartedly responding to the numerous last minute item requests from harried professors. While most of them are smart enough to be polite, quite a few have decided to be rude, pain in the asses instead.

You grumble loudly, throwing your head back against the cushion behind you. Your frustration is not helped by the fact Boba is extra good looking today, his white shirt is practically glowing against his sun-kissed skin and open a button lower than usual for the breezy weather—not that you noticed those kinds of things about him. Just like you definitely weren’t aching for his attention that’s currently wrapped up in class prep.

“Why do all these professors expect me to drop everything to attend to their specific requests like I have nothing better to do?” you huff, massaging your temples with your fingertips. “I do have an actual job besides course reserves.”

Looking over a pair of reading glasses, Boba leans back in his chair, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Must have seen you doing it for me, princess.”

You blow out a dismissive sound and roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, you’re different.” Snapping your laptop closed, you manage to keep the pleased smile from turning up your lips. You have Boba’s attention now, just like you really wanted.

“Mmm, different how?” he hums, his intense gaze now trained on your face.

The heat of his assured, teasing confidence makes your guts churn. While your mutual physical attraction to one another is surely evident to both of you, you’ve been doing your best to hide the fact that he holds your heart in his hands too. No use ruining the good thing you have going with the handsome professor by admitting you have an honest-to-god crush with feelings.

Rolling over on your side so you can prop your head up on your hand, you find Boba entirely too smug for your liking. Putting on your most innocent face, you blink up at him with wide doe eyes. “Oh, you know me, professor, always happy to help you older folks figure out all the complicated technology involved in getting your books.” Despite your efforts, you can’t help cracking a grin at the end of your sentence.

That sparks the fire you hoped it would in Boba, his eyes glittering and his posture shifting forward in response to your goading. “Watch it, princess. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

Heaven help me, he looks so kriffing good, his shoulders alone make me want to risk it all. “Don’t worry,” you grin, “I’ve never had any trouble swallowing what’s in my mouth.”

“Well, well, well,” a rich female voice interjects from the door, making you jerk upright. “If it isn’t the new Mandalorian studies professor going at it with the pretty little librarian. I should’ve known that I couldn’t trust you around her, Fett.”

“Fennec!” you exclaim, relief dousing your prickling surprise: she knew you were a tease. You scramble off the lounge and throw your arms around your friend. “It’s Wednesday,” you state, perplexed, “I thought you wouldn’t be back from your trip until Friday?”

She wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a satisfying hug. “Missed you too much, kitten, had to come back a little early,” she answers with her usual flirtatiousness. You don’t miss the way she winks at Boba over your shoulder as her palms slide over the small of your back when she pulls away. You secretly hope it will make him a little jealous.

“Never met a beautiful girl you didn’t try to seduce, have you Shand?” Boba pipes up from behind you, his tone familiar.

Your heart rate spikes at his compliment but you tamp down the heat threatening to creep up your face. Stepping back, you swing your head back and forth between the two professors. “You two know each other?”

Flicking her long braid over her shoulder, Fennec smiles, throwing a puckish look at the man behind the desk. “Oh, Boba and I go way back, long before either of us cleaned up and joined academia. Who do you think got him a job here?” she quips, sinking her weight onto her hip with her usual air of unapologetic fortitude.

“I got myself a job here,” Boba cracks back, his grumbling making it obvious he’s accustomed to Fennec’s ribbing.

She shrugs, grinning. “Don’t discount the power of a good word on the inside.” Slinging an arm around your shoulder, she loudly whispers in your ear, “What’s a pretty thing like you doing with a man like him anyways, kitten? Thought I taught you better than that.”

“Kark off, Shand,” Boba huffs, and Fennec throws her hands up in front of her chest in a showy apology.

Letting his languid gaze slide over to you, Boba studies the curves and planes of your body, mapping out each. You can’t squash the tingling glow buzzing in your chest at his attention, and your eyes sink down under fluttering lashes, your resolve weakened. “She’s a smart girl, she knows what she wants,” he finally says, releasing you from his inspection to smirk at his colleague.

The heat in your lower belly flares hot and wanting at his passive claim over you. Shit. Sometimes you wish he’d just shove your clothes aside and bend you over the nearest flat surface to take you for himself. Dangerous thoughts like those keep you up at night, wishing it his fingers pumping in and out of your pussy instead of your own.

You drop back down onto the couch to buy yourself a second to regroup. Kicking your feet up in an act of collected indifference, you drawl, “Aw, don't you two go fighting over me, there’s plenty to go around.”

“Yeah, but Boba doesn’t like to share,” Fennec snorts.

You grin up at the dark-haired woman and prop your computer back on your thighs. “Good thing we’re just friends then, Fenn.”

“Lucky him,” she chuckles. Straightening up and drawing a breath, her jovial expression settles into something more sincere. “Well, I’ve got plenty to do for classes next week, just wanted to stop by when I heard your voices. It’s good to see you again.”

Genuine affection spreads in your chest as you look up at your friend; for all her teasing and bluster, Fennec has a heart of gold. “Glad you made it back safe, Fenn, we’ll get coffee and catch up soon,” you promise with a candid smile.

“Sounds good, let me know if you ever want some better looking company.” She winks at you then tosses her head in Boba’s direction. “Always a pleasure to see you still in one piece, Fett.”

Despite his glowering expression, Boba’s voice is warm. “Same to you, Shand. Just remember to always watch your back.” The sound of the dark-haired woman’s throaty laugh echoes down the hallway as she heads towards her office.

When you look back at Boba, his mahogany eyes are already on you. They’re watching, as they often are, like you’re some fascinating phenomenon that might disappear if he doesn’t recommit it to memory repeatedly. “So you and Fennec are friends,” he states simply, leaning forward on his elbows. There’s something expectant in his tone, his demeanor hinting at anticipation. It makes the cozy atmosphere of the office crackle with intent.

You learned rather quickly that there was little use in trying to figure out Boba when he didn’t want to be figured, so you relax back into the couch and play along. “Yeah, she’s one of the first people I met when I started at the university. She took me under her wing and helped me find my way around here, she’s a good friend.” Before you can think better of it, you add, “But she’s only ever been a friend, despite what she might hint at.”

A small smile chips through the stony set to his features that makes your heart skip a beat. “Well that’s good to hear. Raises my hopes for your answer to my next question.” The richness of his voice belies any nervousness, if a man like him even feels such a thing. He always seems so sure, always in total control.

Was he jealous of Fennec? Your mouth goes dry and you force your easy smile to stay in place; Boba’s focus is zeroed in on you and you'd rather die than slip up in front of him—he'd enjoy it far too much. “Oh, do tell, professor. I'm all ears,” you urge, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your cool with passing success.

His lips twitch up, amused with your brashness. “You’ve been more than helpful these past four weeks, little one,” he begins, “I couldn't have gotten everything done for my classes or had the peace of mind to get properly settled here.”

“Really, it's no problem, I don't-”

Boba raises a hand for silence and your jaw clicks shut in quick obedience—much to your embarrassment and his obvious pleasure. “Whether you mind or not,” he continues, “or if you feel it's your job, I greatly appreciate all your efforts.” He studies you for a moment and it feels like he can see right through to your insides. “Can I take you to dinner at the Vineyard this Saturday, to thank you for all you've done?”

Genuine surprise releases a stream of words pouring from your lips before you can even register them. “The Vineyard? Downtown? It’s so fancy, you don't have to do that. I mean it's like $100 dinners and-”

“You deserve it, princess. I told you you'd get everything you deserve, remember?” Boba smiles, the corners of eyes crinkling in a fond expression. “Plus, I enjoy your company… and I think you enjoy mine, too.”

Your poor heart is beating so hard in your ribs you’re sure Boba's able to hear it. The safety of him and his space have disarmed your usual defenses, sanded down the spear of your tongue; it’s equal parts freeing and terrifying, uncharted territory ripe with possibilities and danger. You’re left unable to deny his assertion—or form any real words—so you opt to arch a brow instead.

“Don’t play coy, little one,” he chastens, his firm words and velvet tone skating over your heated skin. “I know construction in the library finished last week, yet you're still spending all your days in my office.”

Biting your lip, you do your best to look surprised. “Oh, really? I must have, uh, missed the memo on that,” you try lamely, scratching at the back of your neck. It’s a weak defense but it’s all you can muster at the moment, only half your brain is available to cobble together a response; the other half is too busy fighting the urge to leap over his desk and into his lap.

Boba chuffs a laugh, his handsome face all too knowing and his deep eyes sparkling with amusement—and maybe something darker, more sensual if you could bear to look. His reaction does, however, kick-start your customary attitude.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you fix him with the most sardonic look you can. “Well, I didn’t see you complaining, professor.” You tack on an eye roll for good measure as it never fails to get a reaction from him. And, oh, how you wanted to get one out of him, be the reason he’s loses his cool. Just the mere thought of it makes you ache.

Cocking his head to the side, he has the gall to look like he’s already won. “Why would I complain about getting what I want?” His face is drawn in a question, but his eyes flash with the answer.

“Well, you… you, er,” you stammer, suddenly unable to find a foothold. Boba had shaken the very earth beneath you with his admission, it has scattered your mind and rattled the bedrock of your resolve. The familiar nagging, forbidden desire to give in, to submit wells up in your throat; it would be easy, sinfully easy, to give up the fight and let Boba win. But easy’s never been my thing, has it?

Rolling back your shoulders, you mount your last stand. You let your head loll over to look at him directly, your eyes peeking out at him from under hooded lids. “And just what do you want, Boba Fett?” you answer, your voice husky and weighted.

The air itself thickens around you, dampening the outside world to something far away and unimportant as Boba contemplates his response. This is the impasse the two of you had been circling all along, choosing to precariously balance your brash determination against his indomitable will rather than risk tipping the scales. The only true solution is for one of you to give, but neither of you had yet been willing to break.

Finally, Boba’s lips part, a quick tongue darting out to wet the chapped skin. “I want,” he starts, low and deliberate, “to take you out to a nice dinner, have a good glass of wine… and have you all to myself.”

His words are etched in crystalline honesty and thus you have no choice but to respond in kind, even if it only skirts your shared quandary. “Then who am I to deny you, professor?”

The rest of the week might as well not have even happened as far as you're concerned—all that mattered was making it to Saturday. Boba had dangled the promise of sweet reward in front of you and seemed content to watch you flounder your way to it over the intervening days. It also didn’t help that Selena could not shut up about it, even now as she’s standing behind you, pinning and primping your hair to her liking.

“Ooo, I can’t believe it’s really happening!” she squeals, sliding another bobby pin into place against your scalp. “You and the hot professor, going on a date to a romantic restaurant all dressed up! I bet he’s going to invite you back to his place after. Do you think he has a big… you know?”

“If you never finish with my hair, I’ll never have to know,” you grumble. Now that the time has nearly come, you’re about sick to your stomach with all the overthinking you’ve done. You almost talked yourself out of going three times before Selena even came over to help you get ready.

“Hey, none of that sad shit,” she chides, pointing a hairbrush at you in the mirror. “You’ve been dying to go on this date all week, you’ve just got a little case of nerves. Totally normal.”

“But what if he doesn’t actually see this as a date? He never actually said it was. Or what if he really just wants to sleep with me and ditch me after this?” You groan, flopping back against your vanity chair miserably. Your earlier suspicions about his mutual feelings for you had soured—now you’re not even sure he likes you.

Selena thwacks the back of the head. “Ow!” you yelp, glaring at her in your reflection.

“Pull yourself together. Anyone within a mile radius of you two can tell you’re crazy about each other. Now sit still so I can get these pieces even,” she orders, centering you in the mirror with her hands on your shoulders. You do as she says, focusing on the practiced movements of her hands as a distraction for the feeling in your gut.

By the time you pull on your dress and slip into your shoes, you’re beginning to come back around to your usual self, likely in part due to the shot of tequila Selena convinced you to take with her—not that you needed much convincing to begin with.

She hypes you up as she fastens the clasp of your necklace around your throat. “Shit, girl, you look hot! I’m not sure he’s going to be able to take his eyes off you long enough to drive to the restaurant.”

“I do look good don’t I?” You flash yourself a smile in the mirror. After a trip to the mall yesterday, you and Selena had decided on a simple black satin slip dress and matching strappy heels. The deep “V” of the neckline and snug fit around your hips gave the dress just enough sex appeal while still being elegant. Twisting around, you check the lines of the dress in the back. “It’s too bad no one can see these panties, they’re so cute.”

“Oh, someone’s going to be seeing them alright,” Selena giggles from her perch on the end of your bed.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the girlish grin turning up the corners of your mouth at her insinuation. Shit, I hope he rips them off me. “Only if I decide he deserves to.”

“There she is, there’s the girl we know and love. Give him hell!”

Your phone dings on your bedside table and your friend snatches it up before you can get to it. “Hey! Give it!” you demand, grabbing at the device.

Sliding up the bed out of your reach, Selena hunches around your phone. “He’s here! And he sent a bunch of heart emojis.”

Your nerves tingle in cold-hot anticipation, your face going slack in disbelief. “He did?!”

Selena bursts into laughter. “No, I’m just messing with you, he just said he’s outside.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you groan, snatching away your phone. “Go ahead and see if I keep helping you come up with texts to send all your gym rat side pieces.”

She lays a hand on her chest, feigning shock. “You would never. Now get out there and blow his socks off, or you know, whatever else you want to blow.” She smirks suggestively, shooing you towards the door. “I’ll lock up, now out out out.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going!” Your heart hammers in your chest and you consider another shot of tequila before dismissing it—no need to set yourself up to be any hornier than you already are for the Mandalorian professor. Slinging your purse over your shoulder, you’re out the door.

Leaning against a sleek midnight black Audi is Boba Fett in all his glory, dressed in a well-fitted pressed shirt (with the sleeves rolled up, damn him) and gray slacks. His salt and pepper stubble and dark eyes make his already handsome face look even better. Catching your appearance in the doorway, he juts his chin up in greeting, his eyes sliding over you in obvious pleasure. “Evening, princess.”

He holds out an arm and you take it to step off the curb, testing his muscles underneath your fingers as you do; if Boba notices, thankfully he doesn’t say it. He opens the passenger door and you step in, settling down onto the supple leather of the lush interior.

He doesn’t close the door right away, instead standing and clearly enjoying the view down your dress. You glare up at him in mock annoyance. “You gonna stare like a dirty old man or are you going to take me to dinner, professor?”

“You’re the one who got all dressed up for a dirty old man, sweetheart, I figured you'd want me to enjoy it,” he replies smoothly, his lips quirking into a smirk as he shuts the door before you can manage a response.

Yep, these panties don’t stand a chance.

“So, Fennec tells me you were some sort of deadly mercenary gun-for-hire before you settled down to teach the impressionable young minds of university students,” you smile cheekily over your glass of wine, swirling the sparkling contents around the cup’s curves. “That true?” Stars help me if it is, I don’t know if he can get any sexier.

The evening air is crisp and warm, a mild sea-breeze rustling the hem of your dress under the table. The scene laid out around you is so terribly romantic you have to pinch yourself a few times to make sure it’s not all part of the best dream you’ve ever had. Tables for two are scattered over a stone patio overlooking the sunsetted ocean, with glowing candles in their centerpieces and string lights criss-crossed overhead illuminating the space with soft light.

Boba lets out an exasperated sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Of course she did. Don’t believe everything she says about me, she loves to tell a good story.”

“Avoiding the question, are we?”

“Sure you don’t want any dessert?”

“Aww, come on Boba, pleeease? Please tell me,” you whine playfully, sticking out your bottom lip for extra effect. He hadn’t denied you anything yet tonight—and you intend on keeping it that way.

He sighs, resigned to his fate. “You’re going to be the death me, you know that, princess?” You squeal a pleased sound and lean in conspiratorially on both your elbows, eager to hear his answer. Tossing his napkin from his lap onto the table, he leans against the back of his chair and props his arm up, gazing at you over the candlelight. “I’ll tell you, but you have to answer a question of mine if I do. Deal?”

Running your teeth over your lip, you nod, blinking your eyes down to his crotch and back up to his face slowly so he’s sure to notice. “Yeah, we have a deal. Spill it.”

True to his word, Boba recounts what you’re sure is a heavily abridged version of his life before becoming a teacher. He was born on a rainy little island called Kamino and lost his father young. While his father was a Mandalorian, Boba himself didn’t necessarily consider himself to be one, hinting that he hadn’t felt the most welcome by his father’s people when he visited the island of Mandalore before it’d been nearly wiped off the face of the earth.

Alone in the Mandalorian diaspora, Boba had turned to what he knew best to make his way in the world: fighting. Working protection gigs, “recovering property” (which no doubt was not entirely legal), and retrieving missing or abducted persons, he made a name for himself in that world as the best since his old man. It was also how he met Fennec, who apparently was one of the best espionage mercs money could buy, and why he had a ridiculous amount of money for a college professor.

“So why did you go into teaching then?” you ask, pushing your now empty glass aside. “Kind of an interesting choice considering your… previous profession.”

“Didn’t plan on it.” Boba drains the rest of his glass and sets it next to yours. “After one too many close calls, though, I knew I couldn't continue that life. All of that wasn’t-isn’t the legacy I want to leave behind. The death of my father and his heritage might have been out of my control, but I will not let it be in vain. So I took what I knew, learned what I didn’t, and started teaching in Mandalorian studies.”

You two sit in silence for a while, watching the tide roll in under the silver gleam of the moon. “Thank you for sharing.” Your voice is almost a whisper, “I’m sorry to hear about your dad. He would've been so proud to see the person you’ve become, I’m sure of it.”

Boba tilts his head to the side, studying you as if you’ve said the most interesting thing the world has ever heard. “Thank you… that’s kind of you to say,” he answers quietly, as if he doesn’t quite believe you himself. The careful look in his eye makes you wonder what other secret burdens the handsome professor bears in silence. Even more so, it makes you want to shoulder some of it, or at least provide him some sort of relief.

The table off to your right bursts into hoots of laughter and the dusky spell between you is broken. You blink the haze out of your eyes and Boba clears his throat.

“Time to pay up, sweetheart. It’s my turn to ask you a question,” he smiles, his white teeth catching the flickering candlelight. The faraway solemnity in his eyes is replaced with dark heat.

“Go right ahead, I’m all yours,” you grin back, “ask away.”

Signaling your server for the check with two fingers, Boba leans forward, taking your hand in his large one. “Tell me, little princess, am I dropping you back at yours after this, or are you coming home with me?”

—Endnotes: I don’t know anything about cars, I just know that Audi is a fancy car brand, at least in the US. Don’t judge me 😭. Also I guess this is a coastal university. I don't have a name for the school yet though, what do y'all think?

Part II>

154 notes · View notes

songmingisthighs · 1 year

Text

Ignominy

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

<< previous | m.list | next >>

ch. xxiii - this can't be a surprise

hybrid!san × human!reader

buy me coffee ?

warning : explicit sex; office sex (not piv sex), fingering, humping

everyone wants to belong, it's basic human need to connect with people around them. what happens when you're responsible for someone who belongs to two worlds but at the same time belongs to neither ? worst part is, what happens when it's your ex ?

You don't know if you meant to do it, but you slammed San's office door open and shut so hard, the frames shook. During your time working at the company so far, you have been in and out multiple times but never have you seen them shook from anything whatsoever. And you saw San coming back from a business deal meeting that fell through, fuming, hands shaking.

San's office is nothing short of a marvel straight from a architectural magazine. To the oblivious, it seemed like the office is pure glass but San had installed special glasses straight from Japan that can turn his office completely dark from the outside but still completely transparent from the inside or impenetrable from both sides. It was awesome and you'd be lying if you said you totally didn't invite your friends to the office and play with the damn settings while getting drunk.

"You need me, sir?" you asked snarkily, emphasizing the word sir to show that you were mocking him. San lifted his gaze to you for a split second, an annoyed look on his face before he dropped his gaze back down to his laptop, simply saying "Come here," to you. Knowing he didn't see you (even he did, you couldn't care less honestly), you rolled your eyes and slowly walked next to San's desk, placing your hands in a crossed position in faux obedience.

You stood there by the side of San's desk for a solid 3 minutes before San snapped his laptop shut, swivelling his office chair slightly resting his elbows on the armrests of his chair, his hands intertwined above his spread legs. "Do you have a problem with my authority? With ME being your boss?" he asked, voice hitting deep.

It was past 6 pm so technically speaking, you were off the clock being his assistant and technically speaking, at that moment you were relieved of your responsibility to obey his (stupid) demands. That's your principle and you'll be damned if you're not allowed to stand by it. With a sharp exhale, you crossed your arms in front of your chest and tilted your head to the side, "No, San, I'm just exercising my right as an employee to get off when I should get off," you said in a matter-of-fact tone.

San's left eye twitched at your words and in a split second, he found himself lunging forward, trapping you between his arms and his desk. Your eyes widened as your brain didn't process how he moved so fast. "If it's a matter of getting off, we can arrange something about that," he said, followed by the sound of your stockings ripping. Your eyes widened at him before dropping down to where his hand was situated between your legs. "W-wait," you called out but made no indication that you wanted him off of you as your hands found purchase on the shirt he was wearing, clutching on his chest, creasing the crisp fabric. Your breath hitched when you felt him slip his hand into your panties so easily, two of his fingers immediately caressing the soft flesh of your nether lips, smirking as he felt your body squirm. "Look who lost her voice," he chuckled darkly, taking satisfaction of shutting you up from just one move, "Where was that brazen bitch who seemed proud of being insubordinate?" You wanted to talk back at him but before you could, San had managed to slip his fingers inside your pussy. The abrupt feeling forced you to swallow whatever words your brain managed to string together, completely shutting you off with the gasp that left your mouth.

With you incapable of talking back to him, San found himself very much pleased at the sight. You weren't even able to look him in the eyes from the way he was skillfully caressing your walls with his fingers and putting enough pressure on your clit with the heel of his palm, the movement of his hand was able to bring stimulation to it. You whimpered slightly, your body wanting more but your brain saying that you shouldn't seek pleasure from him. You had pride but under San's touch, that pride is reduced to almost nothing. "Aww, I kinda miss your bite," San chuckled as he reached behind you to pull at your hair, forcing your head up to look straight at him with a hiss leaving your lips. San took this chance to take your lips with his, dominantly melding your lips together.

As much as San wanted to say that he had complete control, he couldn't deny that it was your scent luring him, filling his whole senses and affecting his actions. He loved feeling your breath against his skin, the strong beats of your heart against his chest, and he loved the voices you made for him, ONLY for him.

When San finally released your lips, there was a strand of saliva connecting both of your lips. His eyes dropped to scan your facial feature, from your glistening eyes down to your flushed cheeks and then it landed on your swollen lips. The sight made him dart his tongue out, licking his lips like a hungry animal. Unlike before, he was not under the influence of alcohol so he was able to be more aware of you and your scent, he was able to appreciate it more. This time, he was able to take in your feature more clearly. His gaze was intimidating, it genuinely made you feel small. Or smaller than your actual physical body. And Sa definitely noticed this, San noticed how you physically shrunk slightly under his gaze and that triggered the animal side of him. Right now, he was looking at you more like a prey than just a human being.

In a blink of an eye, San had flipped you over so that your chest was pressed onto the cold surface of his office desk. The sudden impact made you yelp and you were lucky enough that your senses was still working, your hands flew to the sides to brace yourself on the edges of the table.

Before you could say anything, you felt San peel your tight skirt up, completely exposing your stocking (that has been torn in the crotch) and your underwear (that has a wet patch on it from the arousal he drew out of you). The sudden impact of cold air from his office's central AC vent caused goosebumps to rise on your skin, your legs trembled slightly which didn't go unnoticed by San who smirked at the sight. "You complained about getting off earlier, right? As a company executive, it's my duty to prove to you that we deliver what he promised."

A loud ripping sound broke the air and in a flash, you felt your underwear no longer covering your pussy. You wanted to turn and scold San for being so careless with your clothes but you didn't have the chance as he immediately pressed your neck completely down onto the surface, forcing your cheek to collide with the surface below. "Don't you fucking dare," he hissed as a warning, "I'm in control here because you can't even take a fucking minute without bitching at me, complaining about the things you SHOULD get," he said, trailing off a little as he repositioned your body. You ended up in a position where your back was slightly arched, ass jutting out and legs slightly spread. "If it's the chance to get off you want, it's getting off you will get," your breath hitched at the sudden feeling of his hips pressing onto your ass, his black dress pants must've been stained by your arousal but San didn't seem like he cared or mind, "But you'd only get off when I say you can," he said, smirking cockily.

It was at that moment that you felt San repositioning himself on your ass, his hips moving until you felt the hardness of his stiff cock pressing on your core. You had to hold in a moan from escaping, your body wanted to feel more of him after having felt him again after a very long while not several days prior. Hearing you withholding yourself, San huffed out as he delivered a harsh smack on one of your ass cheeks, forcing a yelp out of you. "Don't you fucking dare be silent. I want to hear you loud and clear so that next time you complained to me again, I'd have irrefutable proof that you were just being a bitch for no reason," he growled.

The first movement San gave was rather subtle. The drag of the material of his pants added more stimulation to his hard-on. It was a simple move but it was enough for you to let out a soft, low hum. San let the hand that was on your neck glide down your back whilst still maintaining pressure, your lungs were once again allowed to inhale more oxygen, allowing you to feel the contrast of cold air on the upper half of your body as your lower half felt the heat exuding from San's body. "S-shit," you moaned when San rested the hand he used on you on your back, right in the middle of your spine to prevent you from getting up. The way he positioned you allowed him to gain full control of your whole body with full access to your dripping cunt. Your core wanted more of him, the stimulation from simple rubbing wasn't enough anymore.

"More, please," you moaned out, eyes closing as your head finally relented, resting on the desk in defeat. To your words, San raised an eyebrow before delivering a sharp snap of his hips to your cunt, forcing a surprised gasp out of you, "Seems like me having control of your pussy allowed you to have some fucking decency and politeness, huh?" he mocked with another sharp thrust, followed by a grunt from you, "Had I known that I would've eaten you out every morning just to make sure you wouldn't be such a headache the whole day," he scoffed.

Soon enough, San began humping himself onto your cunt, letting his covered cock drag over your pussy and having the weight tease your hole. At this point, he knew that your arousal must've seeped into his pants, but he honestly couldn't complain, he couldn't care less. In fact, he loved it. He loved having your scent on him. Your hips had begun moving on their own, seeking more pleasure from him as per your brain had wanted. To accommodate your movements, San took a step further which made your body automatically move backwards to seek contact with him. In this new position, you were able to arch deeper and your ass was lifted higher which was good for you because as soon as San began humping you again, you felt the impact straight on your clit. "A-ah," you whimpered, fists immediately gripping the edges of the table even tighter to the point where your knuckles turned white.

Realizing your reaction, San let out a scoff as he repositioned both of his hands to grab at your hips, "Now you know who's your boss," he taunted. Following his words, San began delivering more thrusts. Despite the lack of stimulation to the inside of your pussy (much to your disappointment), you could feel yourself chasing a high. Your body was showing San all the right reactions and he took pride in that, your moans egged him to deliver quicker and harsher thrusts as if he was fucking you instead of just humping you.

Just as your hand was about to reach down to rub at your clit to further push you to the edge, San's reflexes were quick enough to capture both of your hands and brought them forward in front of you, forcing you down with his body weight as his hands worked as a cuff on your wrists. "Didn't I say that I was the only one who is allowed to get you off?" he growled next to your ear, blowing air right on it that made you whimper and your legs shake.

To ensure you wouldn't try to touch yourself again, San stayed in the same position, using his body weight to anchor you down. The pressure from San's weight and the table once again cut off your oxygen slightly. Even the slight difference brought a whole new sense of pleasure that when paired with the wooden part of the desk bumping your hips and San's wood humping your back, it didn't take you long to start spasming, twitching and writhing as you let out a whine-like moan to accompany your high.

San scoffed when he realized that you were cumming already without his permission, he had actually wanted you to seek his approval first. But how could he complain when he felt your muscles tensing under him from your release. Instead, he smirked and lifted himself up as he took his hands off of you. "Horny bitch, can't wait until I gave you the command to cum, huh?" he chuckled darkly, leaning down so he was level with your glistening cunt without you realizing. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent that was not just your arousal but you, revelling at how sweet he found it and feeling proud that he was able to make such a mess out of you. "I guess this is the only time I'd allow this insubordination," he shrugged, making you squeal when he licked a fat stripe up from your leaking hole to your clit just to spit your arousal back on the surface before letting it drip onto the floor.

You heard sounds of San moving not long after; the sound of his laptop shutting in front of you and the fabric of his suit swishing as he took the garment of his jacket from the back of his chair. When you looked to the side, you saw San smirking charmingly with a hint of cockiness, looking completely pleased and proud of himself despite the stain of your arousal on his cock, illuminating his still hard dick from not cumming when the light hit it just right. "Please don't forget to lock my office door before you leave. I expect you to arrive here tomorrow promptly," he teased before walking out of the door as if nothing had happened, leaving your still dazed self stunned on his desk.

Many thoughts ran through your head at that moment but the most important one is that how were you supposed to go home without your panties on?

taglist :

@rdiamond2727 @90s-belladonna @kodzukein @phenomenalgirl9 @miaatiny @shinotani @jayb17 @dreamlesswonder86 @mayonnaisehoeshit @bbymatz @yunhorights @tinybinnie @blaaiissee @yunhobug @kwanisms @yoongiigolden @kpopnightingale @maddiebabyxoxo @dea-nimus @meowmeowminnie @x-bluee @itsbeeble @gxlden-bxbyy @charreddonuts @starjoongie1117 @x-woozi @jwnghyuns @marvelous-imagines-for-all @baguette-atiny @jessi-outdated @dogsongy @kirooz @ateezourstars @memorymonster @yoonguurt @atinytinaa @naiify @cecedrake2217 @spooo00oky @flamingi @thesolarplanetarysystem @hijeongguk @hongjoong-lovebot @dear-dreamie

@justbaozi25 @idjitscentral @angelicyeo @jackinmyarea @cutie-wooyo

@glitterystarlightmeow

173 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months

Text

Cause of Action 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

As you near the concrete steps of the brick front building, a pair of officers emerge from behind the heavy doors. You wait at the bottom as you watch them descend, curious as to their unexpected appearance. Your eyes flick up the small metal placard beside the entrance; ‘Barber & Associates’.

You suppose it wasn’t very unlikely to find the police there on a given day, however you didn’t think this office handled criminal cases. At least it didn’t seem like it when you filled out your application. You don’t put much thought into it, you’re an intern. You’re there for the summer to get some cred on your resume.

You’re completely unnoticed as the cops cross the pavement to their cruiser. You hop up the steps, careful not to trip on your heels. You’re not the best on stilts but you wanted to seem professional.

There is no elevator and so you're forced up the winding staircase. You’re out of breath as you reach the top and you stop to collect yourself. You dab away some sweat with the back of your hand and blow out your nerves.

You approach the door propped open along the hallway and peek inside. There are three desk but only two with occupants. You wonder if the empty one is yours. You try not to be presumptuous as you meekly step into the doorframe.

“Um, hi,” you say in the crisp silence, “um, I’m looking for Andrew Barber.”

“Ah, the intern,” the woman mutters and tosses a look at her coworker.

The man lifts the receiver of his phone and hits a button. You wait awkwardly at the threshold. He speaks into the phone, “sir, your intern has arrived.” He hangs up and doesn’t say a word to you.

You fidget awkwardly and look at the woman as she looks ready to fall asleep on her keyboard. Well, this a very welcoming place. You inch inside, not too far, as you fear you might be reprimanded for intruding.

A door opens and you look over as another man appears. He wears a dark blue suit, tugging at his cuffs as his eyes meet yours. He gives a friendly smile and offers a hand as he crosses towards you.

“You must be…” he says your name.

“Mr. Barber,” you shake his hand. His grip is strong, his skin slightly rough, a warmth radiating from him.

“Nice to have you. Welcome to the office,” he says, “I’m sure you’ve met our law clerks; Marnie and Taylor,” he gestures towards the figures sat at the cubicles. They look over but say nothing. “Sorry about them, police dropped in and it makes the place a little tense. The other partners are at the courthouse so I’ll have to introduce you tomorrow.”

“Ah, okay,” you fold your hands together, “um, thanks. I’m excited to get started.”

“First, the tour,” he says gaily, “this is the office,” he looks around with a grin, “you can claim that desk. Recently vacated. Conveniently, actually.”

“Right,” you go forward and put your bag on top of the barren desk.

“And if you follow me, I’ll show you the kitchen, or break room, what have you.”

“Sure,” you turn back and follow him around the cramped space, “bathroom,” he points to a door as he passes, “and in here, we have a full set-up. Fridge, microwave, toaster oven, coffee maker… do you like hazelnut coffee?”

“Uh, hazelnut?” You sputter in surprise.

“Yeah, I have a few extra pods if you’re interested.”

“Oh, thank you, but uh, no, I’m not a hazelnut person.”

“Really,” he puts his hand on his hip, “hm. I didn’t realise it was such an acquired taste.”

“Is it?” You chuckle nervously.

“Anyway,” he drops his hand and flutters his fingers behind you, “I’ll take you through all the first day paperwork and then you can get settled in.”

“Alright,” you agree and back out of the kitchen, waiting for him to pass before following him. “Can I ask… I guess it’s none of my business, never mind.”

He leads you into his office, standing with his door on the handle as he waits for you to enter, “wondering about the police?”

“A little,” you admit as you scratch your neck.

“They’re asking around. Up and down the block it seems,” he shuts the door and points to the empty chair in front of the desk, “guess someone went missing.”

He goes around and sits in the leather chair, rolling it forward as he picks up a pen.

“Really?” Your brows rise in shock, “oh, that’s horrible.”

“Well, you know, I’ve dealt with a few missing persons cases when I worked for the attorney’s office. Typically if the person isn’t found within the first day, they aren’t… alive,” he hesitates. “Not to be cynical, it’s just the way it is.”

His face drops as he spins the pen between his fingers. He looks suddenly drawn and sniffs, scratching his beard as he leans his elbow against the armrest. He is younger than you expected but still much older than you. His hair is thick and combed neatly, his suit pressed and well-kept, a silver clip on his tie. He is entirely put together.

“It’s sad,” you agree grimly.

“Apparently it was a young woman, much like yourself,” he continues, “so maybe you should be careful. If you want, I can walk you to your car. Or the bus stop.”

“Oh, that’s so nice,” you smile, “I think it’s fine.”

“Can never be too safe,” he points the pen at you, “anyway, the sooner we start, the sooner we’re done.”

He shuffles through some papers on his desk as you sit patiently, squirming as a rolling chill rises up your spine. You think about the faceless girl, the police coming down the steps, the matter-of-fact way Mr. Barber spoke about it. It all seems so…apathetic.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #cause of action #drabble #series #au #the club #defending jacob

347 notes · View notes

rayraygo1267 · 5 months

Text

A Gabenath Fanfiction: Threads of Warmth

Note: OMG YOU GUYS! I’VE BEEN GONE FOR SO LOOOOONNNGGGG! I’M SO SORRY!

I’ve had a lot of stuff in my personal life going on and I did kinda lose my motivation for a bit but I’m back now. I do not know if I will be posting daily like I used to, but I will still be posting much more frequently. As a way to make it up to all of you I made this little fluffy gabenath one-shot. I hope you all enjoy and again I’m so sorry I’ve been gone for so long. 😭😭😭

Rated: K

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,674

Summary: Nathalie and Gabriel find themselves both awake in the wee hours of the cold, wintry night and decide to take a midnight stroll. Some minor angst and fluff ensues.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The frost on the window was pristine and crisp. A fog trailing along the opaque glass, curling in various designs that reflected out to the sparkling puddles of snow from the outside.

Nathalie Sancoeur exhaled sharply. It was the first snowfall of the season — the sky was a sea of flying diamonds. She had to bite her lip to prevent a burst of laughter at the small childish desire that coursed through her, the desire to go out and wait for flakes of crystallizing snow to fall on the tip of her tongue and dissolve with a flourish.

A gust of a windchill met her as she popped the latch of the door. Flurries dashed past, causing her eyes to widen in awe. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen snow before but the first remnants of it never failed to leave her mesmerized.

She walked on the white powder, her silky slippers crunching in the icy mist. The moon was a balm of white light shimmering down on her, making the small icicles hanging from tree ledges and house fronts sparkle and gleam.

“I didn’t think you’d be one to go out on midnight strolls,” came a soft intone. Nathalie felt a spritz of shock waver through her system, a poignant gasp leaving her lips. She hadn’t thought anyone else was out, much less at this hour.

A chuckle reverberated, adjacent to the sound of doming bells. “Sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Nathalie paused and upturned her gaze, her expression regal despite the quick patter in her chest. “I figured you’d already be retired for the night sir.”

Gabriel Agreste sighed, running a hand through his hair, pushing back the black beanie that obscured his head. He wore a pair of tight knit leggings that perfectly aligned with the outline of his hips and a maroon colored turtleneck sweater that climbed up his chest.

Nathalie pursed her lips, a small pink flush rounding her cheeks. He seemed to be dressed quite appropriately for a winter night promenade; unlike her who only adorned a light nightgown, which although kept her covered was still quite flimsy, as it draped over her bodice, flowing lightly in the rashful breeze. In short, not the best choice of clothing for an icy outing on her part.

“I couldn’t sleep. I tried to work on some designs to clear my mind but…” he paused, his throat working as he sighed once more, a puff of air fogging out into the wind. He trained his eyes on the snow covered path ahead of them as he spoke his next words.

“My thoughts get too crowded sometimes, especially at night.”

Nathalie was aware of this. As much as Gabriel tried to hide it, Nathalie could see through the dark circlets under his eyelids and the container of empty coffee pouches, accompanied by the kitchen sink full of various drained coffee mugs, that Gabriel rarely, if ever, slept.

Not that she could blame him, she herself didn’t get much sleep either. Perhaps that was something they shared in common, in the wee hours of the night their hearts would race and thrum due to the constant whispers of their anxieties and misfortunes daunting them.

“I understand that. Sleep is…well…sleep is just difficult,” Nathalie chuckled lightly, brushing a stray wisp of her hair behind her ear.

Gabriel scoffed ruefully, “yes, well it doesn’t get much easier when all you can think about is the smell of rosemary poppy lotion and light feather skin…”

Nathalie could hear the lonesomeness anguish in his voice as he spoke. She could practically feel it seething in her bones.

He always got like that when he spoke of his flower — his Emilie.

Nathalie felt the sprinkle of dots of snow dropping on the tops of her own skin, causing a sparse gooseflesh, as she reached out and placed her hand on Gabriel's padded shoulder in a supportive embrace. She knew there were not many words out there that anyone could say to soothe the heartache of the loss of a loved one.

She knew enough of her employer to know that the torch he carried for his dear Emilie was one that could not be extinguished, in fact it only seemed to grow more vibrant — a pipe of gasoline dousing the remains of a nearly burnt out candle.

Nathalie’s gaze roamed down Gabriel’s body, right from where her hand pressed on his shoulder, their mingled breath was meshed between them in moats.

“I know this is your first winter without her sir. I know…” she blew out a breath, “I can see that you’re hurting.”

She speaks with tenderness almost as if she were trying to coax a wounded animal out of a den. Though in this case she might be the wounded animal considering that Gabriel was known to always be ready to pounce.

She waited, her heart a soft tick like a hummingbird's wings.

To her astonishment, Gabriel’s eyes seemed to soften, though whatever thoughts he had on her statement he had chosen to keep to himself.

He turned and headed down the gilded footpath in front of them, his eyes lingered on her, seeming to signify that he wanted her to follow and despite her lack of proper dressing for the occasion, she couldn’t stop herself from allowing him to guide her.

They walked on in silence for a while. Their surroundings were too vacated in darkness to differentiate in which direction they were headed, but Gabriel appeared as if he knew where he was going, so Nathalie did not feel the need to comment.

Her eyes studied the treks Gabriel’s long fur-lined boots made in the sleet. The firm imprint that his feet made in the ground was an easy compass for Nathalie to follow. At some longer intervals Gabriel would stop and look back over his shoulder to make sure she was still keeping pace with him. Although she would find herself taking lengthened strides to match his own, he never made out to rush her. He would wait for her until she stood only a few short feet away from him, the heat emanating from his body washing over her.

Mixed in with the brisk air, the sparkling icicles and the illuminated moonlight, Gabriel stood out — his golden hair a shining beacon in a world of shadows. He was a tall man with a firm build, easily recognizable. He always held himself in a stoic manner, one pertaining to confidence which was partly why Nathalie could always spot him in a crowd. He was hard to miss.

Eventually they reached a small secluded grove, shrouded by wistful bare willow trees. From the tips of the elongated branches hang glacier spears that glistened and sparkled. Muffin-like puffs stuck out, covered in mounds of glitter that was snow. These puffs enlightened into bushes during springtime, but for now they were starry abstract shapes that swayed and danced on a pond of frost that Nathalie imagined had been gilded on by the ice skates of many neighbor children in the past, perhaps even Adrien as well.

Despite the desolate beauty of the landscape before them, this meadow of crystals still had a cold bite. The adrenaline and the flush rounding Nathalie’s cheeks had kept her aboard and heated earlier but now here, in a stalemate with this whimsical winter wonderland her eyes couldn’t help but drift to the warm concealed body next to her.

“Emilie and I shared our first kiss here, right in the center of that circle of ice.” He lifted his finger, pointing out where he and Emilie had stood. Nathalie’s eyes drifted to where his finger lay. She can imagine it. A young and dumb Emilie pulling a head over heels Gabriel onto the ice. Emilie’s hair would be voluminous, dashing around in the breeze, her eyes a plume of periwinkle. Gabriel would follow her lead, hanging on her every move.

Nathalie could see vividly in her mind the moment their lips touched, warm and passionate despite the fierce chill surrounding them. Nathalie felt a prick of an unpleasant indescribable feeling strike her, a flurry, like a jab of ice.

A poignant, feverish shiver ran down her spine, filling her from the inside out. Suddenly the adrenaline pumping her didn’t seem so potent, as it felt as though a mask of icy glaze was overcoming her. The corners of her vision were clogged, perhaps with flakes of snow or perhaps tears, she didn’t know. Even out and fully alert, her tiresome thoughts did not cease.

“Are you cold?”

Gabriel’s inquiry pulled Nathalie from her musings. She shrugged, a crimson coating her cheeks.

Gabriel’s brows creased, “you’re shivering.”

Nathalie chuckled nervously. “Am I?”

Gabriel smiled softly, the corners of his mouth perching up. He placed a warm gloved hand on her shoulder. Her body stiffened and stilled.

“You’re not even wearing a proper coat!”

His voice sounded as a drumbeat — exasperated.

Nathalie felt the crimson dotting her cheeks begin to slither down her body like an unforgiving snake.

“Well I didn’t think we’d be walking this far!” She argued, with a furious, maddening flush that didn’t seem to want to disappear. Gabriel chuckled softly to himself, causing Nathalie’s blush to only deepen.

“Here,” his hands moved to his abdomen, “why don’t you take my sweater?”

Nathalie’s brows raised to her hairline.

“Sir—“

She couldn’t even muster another word, before the maroon velvety sweater was sliding off Gabriel’s body. The heated flush consuming her insides was like a replant to the bitter cold. She imagined her skin was as red and bright as the steaming star of mars. Then it was in a flash of a second. Everything seemed to move at the speed of light and then abruptly slow like a hockey puck sliding on withered ice.

Underneath his sweater, shining out against the droplets of snow was Gabriel Agreste’s chest, though not completely bare due to his clear white undershirt, the contours and flexes of his chest were clearly, unmistakably visible.

A puff of air that appeared as smoke escaped Nathalie’s lips in a plume as her mouth fell agape.

“I…” she somehow mustered out, though her throat was croaky as full of rasp from her shock.

“Here Nathalie. Please, I insist,” his hand was outstretched, his arm as light and pale as the balming moon. His bare, naked arm. Nathalie’s breathing shaked, the warm puffs of it in the air quivering like notes rising up a music staff.

Her fingers twitched and grappled at the texture of the cotton sweater. Her eyes darted down to it. It was long and slim and smelled of cologne and of newly dried laundry.

Her gaze traveled back up to the eyes of her superior. His steely bluish gray eyes were misty and soft — kind. Nathalie felt as though she were deflating like a balloon.

“Are you sure about this sir? I don’t want to be of any trouble…” she gulped, her throat closing for a brief pause. “Won’t you be cold sir? That…” she cleared her throat with a forceful swallow, “that is a very light shirt you are wearing.”

Her rambling ceased though when she felt a gentle squeeze on her fingers.

“Please Nathalie.” His tone was fierce and sincere however churned with a slight undertone of sternness.

And yet with the way his eyes were pleading with her and how his grip on her hand did not loosen in the slightest, she could not bring herself to deny him.

“Yes sir.”

She didn’t allow herself to think, as she threw the sweater over her head, permitting it to mold with the shape of her torso. Though she should have because her senses were suddenly overwhelmed by a potpourri of stimulants. The cologne and musky scent of Gabriel’s sweat filled her nose along with the cloud of fuzzy warmth that soothed the goosebumps and trembles racking her body. The fringe of the turtleneck coursed around her neck and the fabric clung to her body, complimenting her curves.

She felt as though she were wrapped in a warm comforting shield that would hold her up so she wouldn’t be blown away from the winter weather wind.

Her eyes found Gabriel’s again. He stared at her a moment, his lips parted as if he were about to speak but couldn’t get the words out.

He eventually closed his mouth, choosing not to comment at all.

“Thank you sir.” Nathalie murmured, not knowing what else to say for this moment seemed so oddly intimate and yet so oddly fragile — a bubble that could pop at any moment.

After another pregnant pause Gabriel finally spoke, though his voice was in a hush as if he were trying to whisper a secret.

“Emilie gave me that…it was the first thing she ever gave me.” His fingers played with the lower hem of the turtleneck, turning Nathalie’s heartbeat from soft pitter-patters to blazing gunshots.

A sound of surprise and awe left her throat. Suddenly it felt a lot harder to accept this gesture. Gabriel didn’t seem to notice her unease.

“I had stopped wearing it,” he admitted with a withered, grief stricken sigh. “In fact, I couldn’t even bear to look at it…it hurt too much.”

A gust of air left his lungs, a confession finally free from his conscience.

Nathalie nodded in understanding, her gaze never leaving his. As he spoke she didn’t comment on how she could feel him guiding her forward. She didn’t comment as her feet turned to crystals when they met the ice. She didn’t comment as she felt herself sliding forward into a moonlit abyss.

Suddenly they were standing in the center of the frozen over pond.

Right where Gabriel and Emilie had once stood, hand to hand, mouth to mouth.

Gabriel’s hushed voice returned, the only sound reaching Nathalie’s ears.

“And then I think to myself…perhaps this sweater that holds so many memories and so much happiness and heartache deserves a new beginning. I am a man of my roots, a fashion designer at heart and I think…” he exhaled slowly, a plume of smoke arising from his mouth. “I think this sweater, fueled with the stitches and threads of Emilie and my love, deserves a new home.”

Nathalie’s eyes widened, her glasses fogging with her breath and the watery glaze covering her irises. Her heart rate doubled when she fully managed to comprehend his words.

“You want me to keep it sir?” She murmured, overwhelmed, confused and slightly unsure.

Gabriel did not hesitate with even a breath on his response. He lowered his head, looking down upon her. His hand found its way around the side of her moisture covered and frost coated cheek. His hand was warm yet cool at the same time — cold with a warm interior, just like Gabriel Agreste himself.

He pushed back an errant strand of the scarlet streak in her hair, curling it back behind her ear.

“Yes…” he breathed, his puffs of breath mingling with her own.

Could this really be happening? Were they really this close, mere inches apart?

The warmth of Gabriel’s hand and the comfort of his sweater took everything surrounding them away. Was this how Gabriel and Emilie felt when they were here at this pond? Nathalie pondered. Like they were at the center of this rink and even if they were to fall through and sink to the bottom it wouldn’t matter because they were all that mattered?

Did that even make sense?

Did any of this make sense?

Nathalie decided that didn’t matter. All that mattered was this, her and Gabriel were at the center of this pond, breaths away from each other, surrounded by diamond filled weeping willows.

It didn’t matter if Gabriel walked off now, even though Nathalie knew he wouldn’t.

It didn’t matter because she knew his gift — this sweater — concealed with so much history of love and loss would keep her warm.

Gabriel’s threads of warmth would keep her warm always.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! Please don't hesitate to tell me what you think, I love feedback. Also if y'all have any fanfic requests let me know and I'll get to them as soon as I can! Again I want to apologize for my absence and I hope this little fic will be a good way to make up for it.

46 notes · View notes

lilpunkrock · 1 year

Text

where you go (i will go) — part xii

Summary: When new events transpire in both your unconscious and the Waking World, you’re forced to confront that which you’ve been running from.

Words: 7.1k+

AN: I can honestly say this was my favorite part to write yet. I hope that feeling translates to all of you. Enjoy. x . . .

“Meet me where the lines blur together, it’s 4 AM and I can’t sleep…

I’m love sick, love sober; you left the light on when I had a broken heart.

I was free in the fall, now I’m lost in the moment;

I can breathe through the night even when it is hopeless;

You make me feel homesick."

Homesick, Dayseeker

. . . The honey-gold sand of the beach feels soft and fine between your toes. As a new wave of tide pulls toward you, you stretch your sun-kissed feet toward it, eager to dip them in the clear blue water.

Though your thick copy of Le Morte d’Arthur lays open in your hands, your attention is directed elsewhere. Mere feet away, Fake Dream sits on the beach, one long leg extended in front of him, the other drawn close to his chest. It provides the perfect perch for his arm and the well-worn copy of Eugene Onegin he holds in one hand. His sharp chin is dipped in concentration, his pink lips pursed as if to read the words aloud. His ocean eyes devote each word rapt attention, lingering thoughtfully on some pages before pulling slowly to others.

With each page his nimble fingers turn, a fuzzy warmth settles in your chest, swaddling your heart like cashmere. You suspect you could sit here like this forever. Given that none of this is real, you suppose you could.

As your eyes pull from his studious face, you can’t help but smile at the way his black cloak spills around him, rippling over the sand. A tiny sand crab scuttles over it, stopping to tug at his hem with one minuscule claw. You laugh through your nose at the sight, trying to be quiet, but the sound does not escape Fake Dream. His eyes are upon you instantly, wide and alert. “You are judging me,” he says, brow quirked and voice underlaid with mirth.

You shake your head at him, biting back your grin. “No, no, I’m not. It’s just nice to see you reading something other than a record of dreams, that’s all.” Your eyes settle on the slight curl at the corners of Eugene Onegin’s cover, the faded color of its well-worn paperback spine. “You know, if anyone had asked me before today, I definitely would have pegged you as an old Russian literature kind of guy. I know they say not to judge a book by its cover, but yours is pretty worn. I assume this isn’t your first time reading it?”

Dream cocks his head slightly, considering your words. “I appreciate literature from all cultures, though this piece is one I often come back to.” He pauses, blue eyes studying you thoughtfully. “Have you read it?”

“I haven’t.” You look down at the hefty copy of Le Morte d’Arthur in your hands, the cover faded slightly from the ghost of your own past readings. “Have you read mine?” you ask.

“I have.”

You roll your eyes at him with a chuckle. Of course he has. He probably planted the idea in Sir Thomas Malory’s mind himself. “What makes you keep coming back to that one?” you inquire, curious.

Fake Dream pauses, lowering his pale gaze to the novel in his hands. His thumb traces the edge of one page slowly, almost caringly. Reverent. A shiver trails down your spine in spite of the warm sun above. “I suppose I have never fully grasped the theme at the heart of it, though I suspect I am starting to.” His eyes rise to meet yours. “Regardless of how many times I read it, there is always more to learn.”

Your fingertips press into the hardback in your hands a little tighter. “Yes, yes there is.” . . . The crisp chill of winter nips at your cheeks affectionately as you emerge from Cliff’s coffee shop. The coffee in your hand is warm against your skin, the heat of the liquid seeping easily through the thin paper to-go cup. It reminds you of the searing of Desire’s thread against your palm, a memory that burns bright and fresh in your brain.

The thread of desire you’d encountered in the diner by the sea had only been the beginning. In the couple of weeks since you’d attempted to break it, you’d spent a portion of each morning finding another thread of Desire’s to attempt to destroy. It was painful work, a pursuit that demanded patience and persistence. Though you’d been unsuccessful in breaking one so far, you’d noticed a shift in the power within you. With each attempt, you found yourself capable of holding on to the threads for longer and longer.

Unfortunately, as your power seemed to intensify, so too did the bond’s resistance to you. The last thread you’d tried to break had resulted in a lash of pain through your abdomen so jarring that you’d dropped to your knees. A couple hours-worth of rest in bed were required before you’d been able to travel to the Dreaming that day. Convincing yourself that injury was a figment of your imagination had been harder than the rest.

As you weave through the weekday morning throng, making your way back to your townhome, a familiar head of blonde hair approaches you through the crowd. Speak of the devil. Your heartbeat quickens as Desire of the Endless falls into step beside you effortlessly. Besides for Death, you imagine that Desire spends the greatest amount of time walking amongst mortals. Their experience allows them to blend into the crowd seamlessly. Only you are aware of the predator that lurks in their midst.

Purposefully avoiding Desire’s golden gaze, you rack your brain for reasons why the Endless would approach you today. A jolt of fear spikes through you at the thought that they might know about your attempts to destroy their handiwork. Determined to hold your ground, you focus on the memory of the pain in your hand. Harnessing your anger, crowding out the fear. “Hello, Desire,” you say, your voice firm and monotone.

“Ah, she speaks. I was wondering when you’d stop giving me the cold shoulder.”

Your fingers tighten around your coffee cup at Desire’s exaggerated, saccharine tone. When they lean forward, trying to capture your attention, you keep your eyes trained forward. “It’s only been a couple of weeks since I was last in your insufferable presence. My apologies if I don’t have much to say.”

“Ooo, touchy, touchy,” Desire sings, their voice pitching with glee. “I must say, I like this new ‘bad bitch’ look on you, darling. Tail-tucked, woe-is-me Love was growing so boring.”

You grind your teeth as anger and embarrassment flare through you in equal measure. The familiar green door of your townhome is within sight now. Your feet move quickly beneath you. “What do you want, Desire?”

“Oh, you know, darling. Just wanted to check in on my dear old friend.” Sensing your haste, Desire quickens their pace, spinning flamboyantly to walk backwards in front of you. When your stride falters, a wide grin splits their face, all sharp teeth and sweet malice. “I sense a shift in you, little goddess. Perhaps there is something I can help you with. Something you desire?”

Their words send every muscle in your body tensing, instantly on edge. Could they know about the thread between you and Dream? Surely not. Desire had no reason to assume such a thing might be possible and no cause for investigating it. Even you still didn’t know whether the philia attachment between yourself and the Dream Lord was platonic or romantic. The thought of checking was a constant presence in the back of your mind, a curiosity that made you equally excited and nauseous. You’d refused to indulge it thus far.

A master of deception, determining whether Desire was lying or not was nearly impossible. Biting the inside or your cheek, you quicken your pace and slip around them. “Perhaps you should take a page from your brother’s book and cease meddling in the affairs of other deities,” you retort, calling their bluff.

Desire slips into step beside you once again, their eyes wide pools of molten gold. Your townhome door draws closer by the second. Just a little farther. You’re almost there. “Ah, yes, Dream. You two have been spending a lot of time together lately, have you not?” Desire presses toward you, demanding your attention. “How’s that going for you?”

You fish into your pocket for your keys with haste, taking the final steps to your front door in a rush. “Goodbye, Desire,” you call with feigned nonchalance. Heart in your throat, you unlock the door and slip through the crack, slamming it in the Endless’s face before they have the chance to protest.

The silence that greets you on the other side of the door feels heaven-sent. You draw in a deep breath, allowing the stillness of the air to fill your lungs, holding it there. Hoping to clear Desire’s words from your frantic mind.

Perhaps there is something I can help you with. Something you desire?

You give a rough shake of your head, as if doing so might dispel the thought once and for all. As you step into the living room, a flash of red from the kitchen catches your attention. The voicemail light on your landline blinks quickly, indicating a new message awaits you.

Your eyebrows furrow as you walk to the kitchen. The landline was more of a formality than anything. It wasn’t as if you gave the number out to many people, mostly just mortal companies that promised you ten-percent-off coupons if you registered with a phone number. You rarely got calls that weren’t spam. You certainly never got messages.

As you lift the phone from its holder and navigate to the voicemail section, your eyes settle on a familiar-looking number. Deja vu washes over you as you stare at it. Some distant part of your brain recognizes the number as significant, yet you can’t remember where you’ve seen it before.

It’s not until you click ‘play’ and hear a familiar female voice that realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Your heart drops to your stomach like a stone. . . . Today, there are no mix-ups, no accidental appearing in one part of the Dreaming when you meant to travel to another. When the Dream Lord’s sand pours from your hand, it’s as if it reads your very heart, as if it knows exactly where to go. It carries you to the throne room in a flurry of pale grains, depositing you mere yards away from Dream himself. He stands at the foot of the throne room staircase, speaking quietly with Abel of the House of Secrets.

A soft sniffle escapes you as your sneakers pad across the throne room floor, carrying you toward them. In your arms, Theo nuzzles his nose against the underside of your chin, licking a stray tear from your skin.

“Dream.” The call comes out more like a croak, your throat tight with emotion. When the Dream Lord’s star-lit gaze snaps to you, his pale eyes wide and expression taken aback, you feel you can’t breathe for an entirely different reason. You stop in your tracks instantly, holding Theo close to your chest. “Come with me. Please.” . . . Small flecks of snow drift from the gray sky above, clinging delicately to your hair and cheeks. You draw Theo’s warm body into the folds of your winter coat, seeking to shield him from the cold. His favorite toy, a stuffing-less fox, is gripped tightly in your free hand. A lifeline.

As your eyes settle on the familiar sign of the animal shelter in front of you, a dizzying concoction of anxiety, sorrow, and excitement rolls through you. You swallow thickly, fighting back the nausea that comes along with it. “Thank you for coming with me,” your voice comes out as a whisper.

Beside you, Dream of the Endless stands with his hands in his coat pockets, still as the winter air. When he inclines his head toward you, there are snowflakes nesting in his wild hair, clinging to his dark eyelashes. When you draw in another breath, it comes a little easier than the last. “You need not thank me,” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly soft.

“I want to.” Your eyes fall to where you hold Theo with one arm, pressed against your chest like a toddler. He gazes up at you with childlike wonder, all rose-colored glasses and curiosity. You press a warm kiss to the tip of his cold, leathery nose, a feeling you’d recognize anywhere. As another wave of nausea rolls through you, you bury your swollen eyes in his fur. “I don’t know, Dream. I don’t know if I can do this.”

For a moment, all is still. And then, the soft jingle of a bell pierces the air. When you lift your face from Theo’s neck, the Dream Lord stands at the shelter’s entrance, holding the door open with one pale hand. Though he speaks no words, his blue eyes hold yours steadily. Staring at him, a small voice whispers from the back of your mind, Yes, you can.

Warmth floods your cheeks as you step over the threshold and into the familiar lobby of the shelter. The dark-skinned woman working the front desk is instantly recognizable to you–she was the one who helped you fill out your paperwork the day you chose to foster Theo. No amount of time could ever erase the memory of his dark eyes meeting yours for the first time, of the warmth that had flooded your heart when his furry head slipped into your palm. It had fit like a glove, and still did. In spite of the fact that his leash is looped over your shoulder, you hold tightly to him, eager to keep him in your arms as long as you can.

As you and Dream approach the front desk, the receptionist raises her head, appraising Dream’s lithe, dark form with curious eyes. You wonder if she can sense an otherworldliness about him, some aura that you have grown accustomed to. You draw a step closer to him instinctively.

“Hello,” you greet the woman quietly. At the appearance of this new friend, Theo begins to wag his tail. You adjust your hold to keep him comfortable. “I’m here with Theo. I got a call that he’s ready to be adopted?”

The dark-skinned woman’s eyes pull from Dream to you, lighting up at your words. “Ah, yes! Love. It’s great to see you again. It looks as if sweet Theo has been very well cared for.” She rises from her chair with a smile. “The family is in the back getting his records and starter kit now. I’ll go grab them.”

Your throat spasms, wanting to protest. You bite back the urge as she slips through a door behind her desk. For a moment, you’re ashamed at your selfish heart, ashamed of the fact that you are so hesitant to let him go. When you had returned the voicemail, the worker at the shelter had told you about Theo’s new family. A husband and wife with two young boys and another dog similar in age to Theo. The wife even worked from home. He would have multiple playmates and receive endless love and attention. More than you could ever offer him, especially now that you spent time in both your Realm and the Dreaming. It was a perfect match.

And yet, as you tilt your chin to gaze down at your beloved friend, your heart still aches. Would they accept his mouth kisses with glee like you have? Would they trace that precious dip between his eyes, stroke loving fingers over his furry cheeks like you have? Would they kiss his paws every morning, hold him close until he falls asleep at night, give him their whole heart, just like you have? You could only hope and pray.

Pressing your nose into his fur once again, you inhale his familiar scent deeply–the perfect concoction of puppy musk and freshly laundered cotton. You can still remember the first time you’d found him burrowed into your bed sheets, not even a week after you’d first brought him home. Closing your eyes, you commit the scent to memory. Though you feel Dream’s eyes on you, you sense no judgment from him. You’re grateful he’s here, his familiar presence comforting.

When the door to the back of the shelter opens, your head lifts immediately. You’re greeted by two dark-haired young boys and a middle-aged woman whom they are a clear spitting image of. The boys come toward you in a rush, their grins wide and eager, proudly displaying several missing teeth. You wonder if they’re still young enough to believe in the tooth fairy.

When one of the boys reaches out to pet Theo’s head, you crouch down to his level. As his small hand finds the sweet spot behind Theo’s ear, Theo’s tail begins to swish against the front of your coat. Your heart swells with delight and breaks into a million pieces all at once.

“Mom, he’s perfect,” the little boy petting Theo’s head says. His smile is as radiant as the sun, warming the whole room. “Milo’s gonna get along so great with him.”

You smile at him kindly, then shift your gaze to the young boy who has yet to pet Theo. With a reluctant heart, you take a crouched step closer to him, asking, “Would you like to hold him?”

Wide-eyed and grinning, the child nods eagerly. You instruct him on how to hold Theo just so, looping your furry friend’s front paws around the boy’s neck, showing him how to slip one arm under Theo’s tail. When Theo gazes adoringly at the child, placing a tentative, exploratory lick to the underside of his chin, a wave of relief and bittersweetness washes through you.

When you rise to your feet, your eyes turn to the mother. Her emerald eyes regard you kindly. “Thank you for caring for this sweet pup all this time. I’m sure today isn’t easy,” she says, offering you a warm smile.

Something about her words, the thoughtful empathy that underlays them, forms a pit at the base of your throat. A familiar prickling begins to surface behind your eyes. You blink quickly, trying to clear it away. “He loves Cheez-Its.” The words escape you in a rush, impassioned. “And licking the cream cheese from your fingers when you make your morning bagel. He loves to eat dead leaves, but don’t let him eat too many, because he has a really sensitive stomach. If he throws up on your carpet, and he definitely will, a little all-purpose cleaner and Shout will clean it right up. He makes this adorable squeaking sound when he yawns, like an old door hinge, and he loves morning cuddles. He’ll let you hold him just like a baby.” You swallow thickly, fighting to keep your mouth from contorting, to keep the tears from falling. “He’ll be your best friend.”

The woman’s smile turns wistful as she studies you, soaking in your words. When she takes her children into her arms, the four of them look like a picture-perfect family. Your saddened heart lifts at the sight. “I promise you we will take the very best care of him. He won’t want for anything,” she assures you.

You nod once, stiffly. When your gaze falls to Theo, you find him already looking up at you, doe-eyes wide and gleaming. You drop to your knees in front of him. The child holding him turns slightly, affording you a better look at his sweet, furry face.

“Well, I guess this is it, little love,” you whisper, your voice warbled and tight. Leaning forward, you press a trembling kiss to the tip of his leathery nose. Theo quickly returns the gesture, licking you full on the lips. You couldn’t hold back the peal of laughter that springs from you if you tried. “I love you so much, buddy. Please don’t forget me. I promise I won’t forget you.” You give him a final loving scratch behind his ears, then bury your mouth against his cheek, whispering, “I’ll see you again. I promise.”

When you walk out of the shelter’s doors minutes later, the cold that pricks at your face is a welcome feeling. It nips at your tear-rimmed eyes, soothing them, calming you. Your thoughts are already on the future, on your intention to travel to the Realm of Attachment later today. You’ll pluck the threads of storge between Theo and his new family until they light their entire home.

The Dream Lord follows behind you like a shadow. He hasn’t said a word since you first arrived at the shelter. When you pause on the sidewalk outside, he stops beside you. Finally, he breaks his silence, his low voice gently inquiring, “If you care for him so deeply, why not keep him? Why did you choose to let him go?”

The corners of your lips lift ever so slightly at his question. It was one you’d asked yourself countless times in the months you’d fostered Theo, knowing full well that this day would one day come. Hell, you’d even pondered it earlier when you’d received that voicemail. Should I adopt him myself, or should I let him go? In the end, the answer, bittersweet as it was, had come quickly to you. “As much as I love Theo, I couldn’t give him all he deserved. I’ve been away a lot, especially in these last few months. This family…they’ll be able to give him more than I can. The utmost happiness is all I want for him. I want it more than I want happiness for myself.”

When you turn your head, you find Dream watching you quietly, eyes bright and keen. Despite the weight his gaze carries, you force yourself to hold it, to give him a small, wistful smile. “Sometimes, if you love something, Dream, the best thing you can do is let it go.” . . . As you slip into the soft embrace of unconsciousness, the familiar whisper of waves is not the only sensation that greets you. A gentle, repetitive pressure coaxes you into alertness, a bizarre sensation that feels like soft, wet sandpaper. Familiar. You know this feeling…

In an instant, your eyes snap open. “Theo?”

Theo’s furry face is bent over where you lie in the sand, all sloppy, wet tongue and dark, gleaming eyes. You sit up with a start, eagerly taking him in your arms, running your hands over his warm, squirmy body. You know this can’t be real. You gave him to his new family just earlier today. And you’re sitting on that honey-gold beach by the Tiffany blue sea, which tells you you’re steeped deep in your unconsciousness.

And yet, Theo’s form feels so real beneath your hands. His ears are as floppy as ever, his curls as soft as silk under your palms. Once again, your unconscious ability to commit physical characteristics to memory has astounded you.

But there’s one familiar figure you haven’t seen yet. As Theo buries himself in your arms, eagerly lapping at your chin, your eyes sweep across the beach. And there he is, standing only a few feet away. The radiant sun frames Fake Dream’s tall, slender form in white gold. As you stare at him, something seems off to you. It takes a moment to register the difference, but when you do, the realization steals the breath straight from your lungs. Because Fake Dream’s lips are not downturned in a scowl, or flattened in indifference. No, one corner of those rosebud lips is ever so slightly upturned into the faintest ghost of a smile.

It’s a gesture that carries significance, a deviation from his normal stoicism that you’ve only seen directed toward Hob, Matthew, or Lucienne. That gesture, so sparingly given, has never been directed at you before. Heart caught in the base of your throat, the realization that you would do anything to hold it there, to see it again and again, hits you like a ton of bricks. To see it in real life. Because that’s how you know this is fake. Real Dream has never offered you such a display.

But in this moment, it doesn’t matter that any of this is fake. All that matters is Theo’s kisses on your face, his furry body in your arms, and Fake Dream’s quirked lips. All that matters is that it feels real, even if it’s not.

Once, you had dreaded slipping into unconsciousness at night. Now, you feel yourself hesitating to leave it with the dawn. . . . When you step out of the vortex of sand and into the open grove of Fiddler’s Green, the lush flora and fauna seem to reach to greet you. Blades of grass sprout beneath your feet with each step, framing your sneakers in brilliant green. Dandelions crane their necks to graze your ankles, while golden Russell lupine incline to brush against your knuckles.

You caress them in kind, a soft smile gracing your lips. I missed you, too, you think fondly, bending to enjoy the sweet scent emanating from the delicate petals. And it was true. Ever since Theo had gone to his new family a few days prior, you’d been spending more and more of your hours in the Dreaming. The silence of your townhome felt too quiet, the stillness too empty. While you’d been slipping away to perform your duties and snag a few hours of rest, even a short period away from Dream Country left you eager to return as of late.

That familiar pull takes up in your chest as you walk through the grove, coaxing you toward the palace, toward the Dream Lord. With a smile, you pull the pouch of Dream’s sand from your pocket. A fresh handful spirits you from the open fields of Fiddler’s Green to the familiar warmth and clutter of the Library of Dreams. You spot Lucienne immediately, her regal, coat-tailed silhouette pacing in front of the colossal doors to the throne room.

“Lucienne!” you call as you approach her. She swivels instantly at your exclamation, pausing in her incessant pacing to look at you. You immediately catch the furrow in her brow, the tight clasp of her hands behind her back. Your lips mirror her frown as you come to a slow stop before her. “Is something wrong?”

Lucienne’s full lips part and close several times, as if seeking the right words to say. Her hesitation makes your heart stutter in your chest. Finally, she bows her head apologetically at you. “Forgive me, Miss Love, for my frazzled state. All is well in the Dreaming. It is just that Lord Morpheus has welcomed a rather…unexpected guest to the palace today.”

Your eyebrows shoot up at her words, your interest thoroughly piqued. What kind of guest would leave Lucienne frazzled? “A guest? Who?”

Lucienne lowers her gaze to the floor. You get the impression that she’s mulling over whether to divulge the identity of this mysterious guest. Perhaps it’s someone Dream wishes to keep a secret. Just as you’re about to reassure her that she doesn’t have to tell you, she lifts her gaze to yours. “It is Lord Morpheus’s former spouse. The Muse, Calliope.”

There is a distinctly bottomless sensation as the floor of the library is ripped out from underneath you, sending you plummeting down, down, down.

Oh.

“Oh.” The word is out of your mouth without contemplation. It hangs in the air between you, awkward and plain, making the heavy silence heavier. Clearing your throat, you scramble for some kind of coherent thought to add on to it. “And that is concerning…why?”

“After their…separation, Lord Morpheus became bitter and angry. Their parting was steeped in loss, and it darkened him.” She pauses, turning to glance at the closed doors behind her. The pull in your chest thrums as she does, urging you to walk through them, to go where Dream lies on the other side. “His countenance seems much improved today, I must say. Still, I’m a little nervous. It has been a long time since the Lady Calliope has been in the Dreaming.”

His countenance is much improved. The Lady Calliope. A tight knot tangles itself at the base of your throat, making it difficult to breathe. Your mind turns to the red eros and green storge attachments that had linked Dream and Calliope’s names in his book in your library. The book could not tell you what was current and what was not. It was a record, and nothing more. Still, Lucienne’s description of Dream’s ‘improved countenance’ leaves a strange feeling in your stomach. “Any idea what they’re talking about?” you ask, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“I haven't a clue.”

Your lips tighten into a hard line as your stomach turns. You suspect you know exactly what they’re talking about. In spite of the unease pooling in your gut, you smile at Lucienne. “Okay. Well, I, uh…I guess I’ll just wait, then. Read some books until they’re done. Will you come find me when they’re finished?”

“I will, Miss Love.”

You turn on your heel without a farewell, acutely aware of the fact that you’re acting totally out of character. Acutely aware of the fact that this deviation will not slip past Lucienne, as astute as she is. You dive into the aisles of bookshelves swiftly, eyes ignoring the signposts displaying years and letters above you, instead trained only on what is in front of you. Adrenaline propels you forward, away from others and their prying eyes, eager to be alone with your thoughts.

After several minutes of twisting and turning, you find yourself among the first-century ‘Z’s.’ A relatively sparse collection in the grand scheme of the universe, and a spot you feel others are unlikely to journey to. It’s here that you press your back against the bookshelves and sink to the floor with a bone-deep sigh. Only here do you allow the mask to slip aside and the dam to break as the full weight of your emotions washes through you.

First comes the disbelief, hollow and cold. One of the Dream Lord’s former lovers–no, his ex-wife, the mother of his child–was here in the Dreaming. The mere thought sends your head spinning so wildly that you cradle it in your hands. Though you had heard the stories and seen the names in his book with your very own eyes, the Dream Lord’s past lovers had always felt like distant figments to you, almost more like myths than reality. You had never suspected that a day like this might come.

Anger comes next, taking you off-guard. It boils up from a place deep within you, coiling tightly in your stomach, simmering in your veins. Anger at what, you’re not sure. Perhaps at yourself for acting a fool, for not being able to control your emotions? You had no right to be angry with anyone else. Fingernails drag across your scalp as you comb anxious fingers through your hair. In spite of the deep breaths you try to calm yourself with, the relentless hammering of your heart doesn’t stop.

It’s from that hammering heart that the next emotion swells, clouding your thoughts, making you dizzy. Panic. Panic over what the two of them could be talking about. Though Lucienne claimed to have no clue, the answer seemed obvious in your mind. Dream’s sentiments from that night on the dock, his apparent dismay at not understanding why his past relationships had ended in ruin, burns in your memory like a brand. ‘Love is as much about sacrifice as it is about reward.’ That’s what you’d told him. He must have found his answer within that sentence. Must have learned his lesson.

And now, he was reuniting with his former wife, the mother of his lost child, with the intention of getting things right.

As you curl your knees to your chest, resting your forehead against them, a new sensation sweeps through you. Or rather, the absence of sensation. As the heat of your anger and the turmoil of your panic drain away, a numbness takes their place. It’s familiar, this bone-deep emptiness, this feeling of being carved out and left unfilled. You fold into yourself tightly, making yourself as small as possible. As if doing so might grant reprieve from this feeling that has plagued you so many times in your long, long existence. Sorrow.

What reason do you have to be sad? that incessant voice of logic hisses in the back of your mind. You should be happy for him.

Shame rides on the coattails of the voice’s words, thick and nauseating. Still, it’s a welcome relief from the sorrow, and you hold tightly to it. Indeed, why were you sad? Dream was reuniting with his lost love. They were getting a second chance at happiness. He deserved to be happy. Plus, with Dream and Calliope’s relationship rekindled, you wouldn’t have to worry about the philia attachment between you anymore. It was as good as platonic.

You draw in slow, deep breaths, waiting for the emptiness in your bones to fade. Waiting for it to be replaced with that overwhelming feeling of radiant rightness that filled your soul every time you fulfilled an attachment, every time a love match found its way.

Still, the sorrow remains.

Hoping to outwait the feeling, you remain where you are, tightly folded in on yourself amid the aisles of the Library of Dreams. When you hear quiet footsteps approaching you, you’re unsure of how long you’ve been sitting here. The only thing you’re sure of is that you haven’t outwaited anything.

“Miss Love.” The soft tone of Lucienne’s voice coaxes your head upwards, unfurling you from within yourself. She stands a few feet away at the edge of the aisle. You can spot the concern in her dark eyes from here. “Are you alright?”

You offer her a small, crooked smile. Rising to your feet, you lie, “Yes, I’m fine, Lucienne. Just tired, is all. Is he ready for me?”

Lucienne draws in a breath to speak, then hesitates. She clearly doesn’t believe you. Indecision wages war in her brown eyes. You can practically see her weighing the scales, contemplating whether to cling to formality and proceed forward, or potentially overstep a boundary by prying further. You’re not sure which option terrifies you more.

After a long moment of silence, Lucienne gives a brief nod. She speaks no words as she beckons you to follow, and you trail after her in silence. As you weave through the labyrinth of bookshelves, a part of you wonders what made her choose silence over inquiry. Perhaps a lifetime of trying to provide emotional support to Dream, only to often be rebuffed, has made her believe that some individuals simply do not want to be helped. The thought makes your heart ache.

When you walk into the main corridor of the library, you find that the towering throne room doors are now wide open. Two forms stand on the other side of the doorway, their silhouettes outlined in emerald, ruby, and sapphire from the stained glass windows behind them.

Though Lucienne stops at the edge of the bookshelves, your feet carry you forward, unbidden. Dream’s dark, lithe form is leaned over, whispering something in the ear of the dark-haired woman facing him. Your cheeks flush as you come to a stop outside the throne room doors. Calliope.

When the Muse turns away from Dream, toward you, you go still as a stone. It’s instantly evident why Dream fell for her. Her ethereal form seems almost weightless as she glides toward the library, her sandaled feet barely touching the floor. Her brilliant white peplos floats about her like foam on the sea. Ringlets of dark-brown hair spill over her shoulders, framing the soft features of her kind face. There is a grace and freedom in her movements that you’ve never seen in another being, an effervescence that she carries effortlessly.

The King of Dreams and Nightmares and a Muse of divine inspiration. The perfect pair. You swallow thickly.

As Calliope exits the throne room, you expect her to dissipate into feathers, or at least bypass you entirely. When her warm brown eyes settle on you, you hold your breath. Or, rather, your breath holds you.

Calliope approaches you silently, coming to a stop within arm’s reach. You’re certain she must hear the pounding of your heart in your chest. If she does, she doesn’t show it. Slowly, she reaches out, taking your hands in both of her own. Frozen in place, you allow her to do so, halfway convinced that you must have spontaneously developed the ability to dream. Halfway certain that none of this is real.

When Calliope gives your hands a gentle squeeze, however, you’re assured that this is no dream.

“Watch over him. Please,” she says softly, her voice as sweet as wine and honey.

Your lips part in awe. Your mind tailspins, caught between wanting to run and wanting to stay, wanting to ask her questions and wanting to question nothing.

“Yeah,” you breathe. It’s the only coherent thought you’re able to articulate.

Calliope’s plush lips draw into a warm, pleased smile. She gives your fingers one last squeeze. And then she slips away, gone like a petal in the wind.

You find that you can’t watch as she drifts away to exit the Dreaming. As weightless as she seemed, the weight of this moment feels all too heavy. Your gaze remains affixed on your hands, still extended from where she held them. Your mind struggles to wrestle with her simple words, the complex implication behind them.

The quiet clearing of a throat snaps you out of your thoughts. When your eyes dart upward, you find that Dream has crossed the throne room to stand before you in Calliope’s place. The proximity of his body to yours makes your skin hum. The way his ocean eyes regard you with a palpable gentleness makes your stomach flip.

“Are you ready?” Dream asks, his rosebud lips caressing each word with care.

At first, you’re not sure what he means. Then, the realization dawns on you. Work. Of course. You offer him a small, tentative smile, shoving down the tempest of emotions storming within you.

But only temporarily. You know now what you have to do. “Yes.” . . . Hours later, after all your work with Dream is done, you slip into the Dreaming under cover of night with a palmful of sand. Unlike normal, you don’t immediately go in search of Matthew, Lucienne, or even Dream.

No, your first stop is Mervyn Pumpkinhead’s personal quarters within the palace. You slip through the door in silence, like a dream in the night. A featherlight touch to his quietly snoring chest is all it takes to step into the Realm of Attachment from there.

The transition to the radiance of your Realm from the nighttime shadows of the Dreaming is jarring. The only thing that doesn’t catch you off-guard is the brilliant white thread you find unfurling from your chest. Philia.

Though its presence comes as no surprise to you, the sight of it still takes your breath away. It’s the first time you’ve ever laid eyes on it, the first time you’ve ever seen any attachment originate from within yourself. Its white glow brightens and dims in time with your heartbeat, a pattern that quickens the longer you stare at it. You exit Mervyn’s room swiftly, before you can change your mind.

The white thread guides you out of the living quarters, through the palace’s long, wide halls and winding staircases, into the Library of Dreams. The attachment leads straight across the main corridor, stretching over the reading tables before disappearing into the colossal doors at the opposite end. With a deep, calming breath, you slip through the throne room doors like a ghost.

Dream of the Endless stands on the other side, his solitary form a dark run of ink in the center of the throne room. Hands clasped behind his back, his black cloak spills around him, pooling at his feet. You approach his still form with slow, careful steps, in spite of the fact that you know he can’t see you. With each step you take, the thread between you grows shorter and shorter. With each inch you lose, your heart flutters faster.

You step in front of him, seeking his face, only to find it turned toward the open ceiling above. While you know he is staring at the star-speckled cosmos that lie above the palace’s trusses, the Realm of Attachment affords you no cosmos. Instead, a kaleidoscope of colors is reflected in his pale blue eyes, a mirror image of the rainbow threads above.

A soft smile pulls at your lips at the sight of him here, pondering the night sky after a long day of work. You suddenly realize that you’ve never asked him if he has his own resting hours to retreat into. While other deities remain dreamless, does the Dream Lord himself ever dream?

In any other realm, you’d be wary of staring too long, worried that his keen gaze might take notice. The knowledge that he can’t see you now is…comforting. Allowing yourself the simple pleasure of studying his features, unhurried and unabashed, feels like a gift. Your eyes trace the perpetual disarray of his raven hair, the stray strands that fall over his forehead. They brush against the lush, dark lashes that frame his ocean eyes–ever bright, ever pondering. The light of the rainbow sky above casts his alabaster skin in an array of colors, accentuating the proud bridge of his nose, the faint dimple at its tip. Tilted upwards in thought, that sharp jaw could cut your heart out. The faint ghost of a shadow along it, creeping down to the top of this throat, sends a delicious warmth spreading from the top of your scalp to the tips of your toes.

And his lips. Maker, his lips. Pink as a rosebud, they part softly as he ponders the heavens above, as if searching for answers. Answers to what, you don’t know. Standing this close, you notice for the first time that his bottom lip is slightly fuller than the top. The urge to draw the pad of your thumb over it, to test its softness, its fullness, is sudden and overwhelming. Not a curiosity, or a want, but a need.

He’s beautiful, you admit to yourself for the very first time. Warmth blooms inside your chest, caressing your heart in gentle hands. The philia attachment between you beams in kind, illuminating both of your faces in its radiant glow.

You swallow, nerves stealing the grin from your lips, turning your mouth to sandpaper. It’s time. Time to do it now, before you lose whatever courage you have left.

The hammer of your heart is all you know as you wrap your hand around the thread with conviction.

Show me. . . . AN: Sneak peek content for anyone who sends me theories about Eugene Onegin and Le Morte d’Arthur. x

220 notes · View notes

beefromanoff · 6 months

Text

Project Mockingbird Ch. 5

summary: Natasha and Bruce have different ideas on how to help Charlotte. Natasha's way wins.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: let me know what you think! thanks for reading, xox!

tag list: @bangtanxberm (let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

_________________________________________________________

Sunlight filtered through the tinted windows, casting delicate shadows across the sterile white walls of the hospital wing. Charlotte blinked, the soft hum of machinery and distant chatter gradually pulling her back to consciousness. The events of the previous day flooded her mind, the endless battery of tests and experiments, the barrage of questions from Dr. Banner and Tony Stark, the scabs around her wrists from the restraints she’d thrashed into.

Still not the worst place I’ve woken up.

Her eyes flicked to the state-of-the-art equipment surrounding her. Tubes and monitors blinked with clinical precision, their data feeding into sleek screens that could display a myriad of complex graphs and charts. Even with all the screens dark, all the tubes and wires hanging limp off of them, the environment made her skin crawl. She was acutely aware of the high-tech lab setting, a stark contrast to the comfort of her own room in the compound.

One night. I only got to enjoy it for one night before all this shit caught up with me.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, attempting to steady her racing thoughts. They found the problem. She reminded herself, her fingers absently tracing the edge of the crisp hospital sheet. They’re the best scientists in the world. How hard can it really be to fix if we found the problem in one day?

After hours and hours of testing, scanning, and an ultimate hail-mary experiment with the man himself -- they’d discovered that her violent aversion to James Barnes was linked to certain olfactory triggers. The implications of this breakthrough raced through her mind. She remembered fragments of her time with HYDRA, but the conditioning had taken place so early, so long ago. It was the first thing they did to her. That was one of the bigger question marks she had about what was done to her.

As she stirred in the hospital bed, she anticipated their return, eager to get started so she could get the hell out of here. She longed for the day when she could walk around the compound, or the world, without the looming dread of her own actions. Yet, beneath the anticipation lingered a sliver of apprehension, a fear of the unknown. What if this doesn’t work? What if they screwed me up too much?

With a sigh, she shifted her gaze to the ceiling. Despite her fears, she clung to the possibility of a future unburdened by the shackles of her conditioning.

In the daze of her worry, the room's atmosphere shifted from anticipation to warmth. The door slid open, and in walked Natasha, her arms laden with an impressive assortment of breakfast items. Behind her, a younger brunette who Charlotte recognized as Peter Parker, carried an impressive tower of pancakes, while Steve balanced a tray stacked with an array of pastries.

"Surprise!" Natasha announced, plopping down on the foot of the bed.

Charlotte couldn't help but smile, the knot of tension in her chest loosening at the heartfelt gesture and friendly faces. "Wow, you weren’t kidding.”

“We don’t joke about food around here.”

With practiced efficiency, they transformed her hospital bed into a makeshift banquet table, the three of them pulling chairs up beside the bed. The room was soon filled with the mouthwatering aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the sweet scent of syrup, and the comforting richness of pastries. All sterile scents had long since been forgotten.

Whether their plan was to distract her or they were just a naturally chatty group, Charlotte didn’t know nor care. As she picked apart the biggest blueberry muffin she’d ever seen, Peter launched into yet another story about his college life.

“I told him, sir, please - I was literally stopping a bank from being robbed, he still wouldn’t let me retake the test! I mean come on, it’s art history. Who even decided that art history was a necessary college course! He’s just out to get me, I swear.” He paused to take a gulp of orange juice.

Natasha laughed and reached for the last piece of bacon. “No good deed goes unpunished.”

The conversation was easy, the trio clearly comfortable with each other. Charlotte was perfectly content to sit back and listen, savoring one of the few meals that was actually close to satiating her endless appetite.

Just as Peter opened his mouth to speak again, the door slid open. A disheveled Dr. Banner, stood holding a tablet, looking like he hadn’t slept at all since she saw him last. "Hi, good morning, I uh, think I've found a solution," he announced, his voice carrying a note of cautious optimism. “Is that coffee?”

Charlotte's heart skipped a beat. Hope surged within her, mingling with a thread of trepidation. Steve poured Bruce a cup of coffee which he graciously accepted.

With a deep breath, she nodded, her voice steady despite feeling the exact opposite on the inside. "Let's do it. Whatever you think."

“Okay, I’ve run through this every way I can imagine, making sure I’m considering everything. All in all, it seems like a simple fix. I mean, it makes sense, if we look at the timeline of…well, it wouldn’t exactly have been advanced technology they used. So it seems incredibly simple, but for the time, it would have been a massive breakthrough,” He was careful with his words, trying to avoid anything too callous, despite his obvious excitement about the discovery.

The sterile white walls of the room seemed to close in on Charlotte as she listened to Dr. Banner's explanation. His voice felt distant, overshadowed by the memories of past experiments and the cold, clinical environment of laboratories she had desperately tried to forget. Her eyes must have glazed over as she fought against the rising panic in her chest as the words surgery and minimally invasive floated through her stupor.

"I understand your concerns, Charlotte," Bruce said gently, his eyes filled with empathy. "But this procedure is straightforward. It'll be quick, and you won't feel a thing. We'll make sure you're comfortable and safe the entire time."

Steve placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Bruce is right," he said, his tone steady and calming. "We're here for you. This will be over before you know it. You’re in great hands here.”

Despite Steve's comforting words, anxiety clawed at Charlotte's chest. The very idea of another medical procedure triggered a visceral reaction, a surge of fear rooted deep in her past traumas. Just as panic threatened to overwhelm her, Natasha spoke, her piercing eyes locked onto Charlotte's.

"Do you trust me?" Natasha asked, her voice calm, but there was an intensity in her gaze that demanded an honest answer.

Charlotte met her eyes, finding solidarity in the closest thing she had to a friend. She nodded slowly. "I do," she replied, her voice a whisper.

“Peter, move the food.”

He cocked an eyebrow, but immediately gathered the few trays left on the bed and relocated them to a table in the corner of the room.

Without warning, Natasha's hand shot out, the heel of her palm colliding with Charlotte's nose in a swift, controlled motion. Pain exploded through Charlotte's face, and her head snapped back, shock and confusion flooding her senses. Blood gushed from her nose, hot and sticky.

In the stunned silence that followed, Charlotte felt a strange sensation, like a fence around her mind had been torn down. Once the initial shock subsided, Charlotte let out a disbelieving laugh, the metallic taste of blood on her tongue.

"Thank you," she said to Natasha, her eyes shimmering with tears, only half from the blow. "That was…preferable."

“I figured.” Nat winked, squeezing her shoulder. I knew I liked her.

“Well, could you at least let me clean it up a bit?” Bruce winced, handing her a wad of tissues and squinting to examine the damage. Charlotte tilted her head back and applied pressure, blood immediately soaking and reducing them to a soggy, crimson mess.

“Hang on,” Her voice came out thick as a result of her mangled nose. Cupping it on either side, Charlotte took a deep breath and yanked. The crunch of the reset made all three men grimace, with Peter gasping as he covered his face. “Okay, I think I did that right. It’s been a while.”

She noticed their horrified looks as she wiped a trail of blood off her upper lip. “What, you’ve never had to reset a broken nose before?”

“We uh, usually leave that part to the professionals.” Steve gave a grim smile.

“Well, in my experience, the professionals only care about functionality, and you can still fight with a broken nose. Call me high maintenance, but I prefer my nose to be somewhat straight. So I picked up that little party trick.”

Even Natasha’s eyes softened, just for a moment. The nonchalance with which she spoke about her past was unnerving. It begged the question of what horrors she’d experienced that she couldn’t talk about, if these kinds of remarks seemed to roll off her tongue as easily as a story about her breakfast.

When Bruce had cleaned her up, insisting on packing her nose with cotton so it would heal correctly, the group left her alone to change into a spare Stark Industries sweatshirt that had been left in the lab.

Meanwhile, Steve strode out of the building to find Bucky. He located him in the training area, his expression focused as he sparred with Sam. Steve approached the ring, his voice carrying a note of urgency. "Bucky, we need you in the lab. It's important."

Curiosity flickered in Bucky's eyes as he lowered his hands from their defensive posture.

“It’s Charlotte. Bruce thinks he broke the conditioning.”

When they’d returned to the medical wing, they paused before turning down the hall to her room, waiting for a signal. As an added precaution, Charlotte had insisted on being restrained again, although she didn’t argue when they said the IV would be unnecessary this time. Wrist strapped down, electrodes taped to her head and chest, and the glowing model of her brain projected in the corner of the room, she nodded to Dr. Banner.

“Alright, Steve, we’re good to go. Come on in, Buck.”

Charlotte sucked in a deep breath, aware that her heart beat was quickening by the pounding in her ears and the beeping on the monitor. She heard the methodical footsteps again, approaching her open doorway. Finally, he turned the corner.

He was as tall as Steve, slightly stockier. His dark hair had been tied back in a tiny ponytail, and the ring of sweat around the collar of his gray shirt told her he had come from a workout. His shoulders were slightly rounded, tense, as though he could spring into action at a moment’s notice. The way he stood, his left side was slightly hidden from view. Despite the shadow, the metallic glint of his arm caught her eye. Vibranium. Very painful when it hits you. Another unwelcome memory came knocking in her mind as Steve followed his friend in the room.

Everyone seemed to hold their breath. Dr. Banner, anxiously checking all the readings. Nat and Peter, hovering quietly in the corner of the room. Bucky and Charlotte as they locked eyes, far from the first time.

How many times have I seen those eyes, this face, and yet I don’t think we’ve ever actually met. Not really. Not when we’re us.

"Charlotte, this is James Bucky Barnes," Steve stepped forward, smiling softly. "Bucky, meet Charlotte Rossi."

Bucky nodded, a tight lipped smile on his face. "Nice to meet you, Charlotte."

Charlotte blushed, a reaction she hadn’t prepared for in the absence of her violent rampage. "Hi. I, uh, I'm sorry for how I acted…before," She paused, hoping he’d know she wasn’t just talking about the past two days.

“Don’t mention it.” His eyes crinkled in the corners. “Seriously.”

Bruce's eyes widened with amazement as he studied the data on his screen. "It worked!" he exclaimed, frantically pointing at the hologram, still glowing gold. He turned and embraced the closest person to him, who was a bewildered looking Peter. "We did it!"

Peter, still in a state of shock, smiled as Bruce set him back on the ground. "Didn’t doubt it for a second, Dr. Banner!”

“WOO! Yes! Oh, sorry - “ Bruce had raised his hand to high-five Charlotte before realizing her wrists were still strapped to the bed. “Let me just…okay, there you go!” He hugged her as soon as he released the second restraint, catching her by surprise.

“Oh!” She stiffened instinctively, but relaxed her shoulders to welcome his excited gesture. “Thank you, Dr. Banner…Bruce, seriously!”

“Alright, let’s not land her back in here for crushing chest wounds.” Steve chuckled, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“Ah, yes, sorry! It’s just that these things, getting a breakthrough, gah! It just gets me so jazzed.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Man, I love science.”

Bucky couldn't help but let a small smile slip through. He extended a hand toward Charlotte, his eyes reflecting a mix of relief lingering reservations. "Congratulations. This is one of the good days."

She put her hand in his and he squeezed it, quick and light, before letting go. One of the good days. The words may have seemed vague and ambiguous to everyone else, but they hit home for her. When decades of your life had been lost to a string of one bad day after the next, the good ones really stuck out. Especially when dealing with an inordinate amount of trauma, sometimes the bad days persisted even in the good times. They were unavoidable.

But today was one of the good ones.

Natasha, clearly not one for the touchy feely part, spoke up. "Well, now that you're officially not a threat to the lives of those in this room, I say we celebrate."

Peter nodded eagerly, looking at Steve who shrugged. “Yeah, sure, why not. Training will be there tomorrow.”

“Yes! I love off days, I feel like we never do anything fun anymore.” Peter pumped his fist before noticing Steve’s raised eyebrow. “I mean, not that training isn’t fun, I love training. I could train all day. You know what? I think I’ll do extra training tomorr -”

“Hush,” Natasha put her hand over his mouth. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. Steve, tell the recruits they’re working out on their own today. Finish their assigned routines and then take the afternoon off. Peter, get the football, the speaker, and the big blanket. Bruce, finish whatever report you’re itching to write about this and then log off for the day. Buck, go take a shower. You smell like sweat socks. Meet us by the lake in an hour.”

“And where are you guys going?” Steve raised an eyebrow, gesturing to both women.

Natasha grinned and started removing electrodes from the brunette, one by one.

“To get Charlotte the hell out of here.”

A little over an hour later, they traipsed down a paved path to the lake. Natasha carried a picnic basket full of snacks and drinks, although they were at most two hundred yards from the main cafeteria building. The sound of music grew louder as they approached the dock. Peter had laid out a large, thick blanket across the wooden boards, a portable speaker weighing down one of the corners.

Steve stood talking to Bucky, who’s hair was still wet from the shower. The back of his sweatshirt was decorated with pinpricks of water. The sound of shoes on the dock made them pause their conversation and turn.

“Long time no see.” Natasha thrust the picnic basket into Steve’s hands, grinning. “Barnes, you smell much better.”

“Feeling the love, Nat.” He rolled his eyes, hanging back as Steve followed her to the end of the dock. Charlotte hesitated, still a little reserved with her newfound mental autonomy. “Hey.”

“Hi,” She smiled, wincing as her nose crinkled. “Ow.”

“That looks awful.” He frowned.

“Now I’m feeling the love.” Charlotte narrowed her eyes, teasing.

“No, I mean - shit. I meant it looks painful.”

“I’m kidding. I avoided any and all mirrors on the way here. It always looks worse than it is.”

“Well, I know from experience that Nat doesn’t pull her punches, so I’m sure it didn’t tickle.” He offered a half smile, brows furrowed with concern.

“Guess I better get my mind off of it.” She pursed her lips, feeling more herself now that she didn’t fear her own actions. Bucky’s eyes scanned her face, she couldn’t tell if he was assessing the injury or really looking at her for the first time. She swore she saw his eyes linger on her mouth for just a fraction of a second.

“Guess so.”

Hours later, the sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow across the Compound. It was a perfect fall day, the air crisp, the lake sparkling under the sunlight. Truly unbeatable, especially for their day of celebration. They’d spent the afternoon talking, letting Charlotte get to know them. Although she seemed comfortable enough, Natasha had discreetly reminded them that it was still her first week in an unfamiliar place with perfect strangers. Over stories, snacks and general shit-shooting, they’d become a little further from strangers and a little closer to friends.

Just a little.

Sitting on the edge of the dock, their legs dangling over the water, Steve grinned at Peter. "Hey, Parker, you thinking what I’m thinking?" He held up the football.

Peter leapt up, landing in a crouch. "Always, Cap."

"Go long!" Steve called, his voice echoing across the water.

In a swift movement, he hurled the football with a strength that only a super-soldier possessed. It soared through the air, a perfect spiral against the backdrop of the clear sky.

Peter grinned as he launched himself into the air, shooting a web across the lake to a massive tree. He swung gracefully over the lake, his eyes locked on the football. With a perfectly timed web-shoot, he snatched it from the air, the impact making a satisfying thud against his palm.

"Nice catch, kid!" Sam called out, standing. “Damn, I knew I should have brought the wings.” He paused. “Yeah, I’ll be right back.”

Bucky walked to the edge of the dock, mock flexing his biceps. "You're not the only one with a half decent throwing arm, old man."

Steve chuckled, his competitive spirit ignited. "Let's see what you've got, Buck."

Peter dropped back on the dock with a soft thud. Charlotte and Natasha were sprawled across the blanket, leaning back on their elbows. They exchanged an amused glance at the show of testosterone.

Holding his hand out for the football, Bucky strode to the edge of the dock. He shot Steve an arrogant look before turning and hurling the football. It cut through the air, disappearing almost instantly.

“Oh, shit!” Peter stumbled over his feet as he leapt to chase after the football.

“I got it!” A gust of wind blew through across the dock, ruffling everyone’s hair. Looking up, Charlotte saw Sam soaring across the lake towards Peter and the long-disappeared football.

“Dammit, Bruce never came out here, did he?” Natasha narrowed her eyebrows. “Oh well, his loss.”

“Okay, you had a head start.” Peter protested as he dropped back on the dock beside Sam, who held the football like a trophy.

“Whatever stops the tears, kid.”

The friendly competition between super soldiers intensified over the next hour, each determined to outdo the other.

“Alright, I think I’m warmed up now.” Bucky's blue eyes looked mischievous as he glanced back at the girls, a teasing smirk playing on his lips before he released the football with all his strength.

The ball sailed through the air, Sam and Peter taking off after it. Sam got there faster, but Peter's acrobatic finesse won the day. He caught the football mid-air, swinging back to the dock where he immediately collapsed on his back. "I tap out, guys! I need a break."

Natasha smirked. "Getting old, Spidey?"

Peter feigned offense, panting dramatically. "Not all of us are super soldiers!"

Chuckling, Steve clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Good job, Pete. You earned the break."

"I must be getting soft, letting the kid beat me." Sam shook his head, landing beside them.

“Alright, this pissing contest was getting old anyways.” Natasha stood to her feet. “I’m thinking pizza and shitty action movies for the next phase of our day off. Yes?”

“Yes,” Charlotte joined her. “I’m starving.”

They packed up and headed back for their building, Nat making a point to linger at the back of the group. She raised an eyebrow at Bucky. "If I didn't know any better, Barnes, I'd say you were trying to impress our newest addition."

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” She mocked innocence.

“Try to play matchmaker, like always.”

“She’s pretty.”

“Yeah, sure, she’s pretty.” He gave her a dirty look. “But she was also hell bent on ripping my head off until, oh yeah, this morning.”

Natasha shrugged. “That was then.”

Groaning, Bucky shook his head. “I think she’s got more on her mind than finding a date to the prom.”

“Hm, prom sounds like fun. Maybe we should have one here.” She winked.

“You’re impossible.”

#james bucky barnes #avengers #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes #bucky fluff #bucky fanfic #sebastian stan #winter soldier fluff #winter soldier #winter solider x reader

25 notes · View notes