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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Actus Reus

Warnings: nonconsensual sexual acts (oral, spanking, intercourse)

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find yourself at odds with Andy Barber both in and out of court.

Note: I just decided to write this one shot because I could and because @lokislastlove is harassing me all the time!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You stood as the judge went through the motions, the verdict closer and closer. Judge Hannon's voice carried through the courtroom and you longed for those words; 'Not guilty'.

As your victory was confirmed, you glanced across the room at the Assistant District Attorney. You smiled as his eyes met yours and his jaw ticked. More and more often you found yourself on the docket with Andy Barber and to your delight, the last three times had been successful. At least, on your end.

You shook the defendant’s hand and congratulated him on his avoided jail time. Your own celebration would have to wait.

You packed up and neared the aisle. Andy sat behind the desk, his briefcase open and his papers still stacked before him. You rested your bag on the corner and stopped.

"Head up. There's always next time." You chimed.

He looked over. His lips remained a straight line and his eyes burned fiercely at you. Usually he took it on the chin with grace and you were startled at the sheer anger in his expression. He sighed and turned to shuffle his papers into a single pile.

"Yeah," He stood, "Next time."

You smiled and nodded. You left him to stew in his ire and shrugged as you neared the door. You'd seen it before. Egos always seemed to find their way into the courtroom. Well, his wasn't your concern, you had your own to deal with. This high wouldn't last forever, but while it did, you were sure as hell going to enjoy it.

💼

Aaron finished his drink and checked his watch. The wife was waiting, so he claimed. That was always his excuse to cut out early and the rest were quick to follow suit; early morning, kids, cat needed to be fed. You bid Carlos goodbye next and then Geena. Your posse was rather lame outside the courtroom, not that they were much fun there either.

You shrugged and made your way to the bar for a second round. You stood at the corner trying to catch the attention of the bartender. The subtle movement of another at the opposite end caught your eye. You recognized the beard made darker by the shadows and you recognized your adversary despite his attempt to hide behind his hand.

You smiled and played his game. You pretended not to notice him as the bartender finally came your way. A double with lime. You waited and watched until the stout tumbler was placed before you. You paid and left the change as a tip. You walked a few stools down, closer to Andy as he stared into his rye. You climbed up and set your glass down loudly.

You stared at the Coors sign and crossed one leg over the other as you sipped. You smiled above the lip of the glass and sighed. His stool creaked and he cleared his throat.

"Come to gloat?" He asked.

"Nah, just wanted to see if you'd find your spine." You taunted. "I take it that's not a happy drink."

He glared at you and drained the last gulp. He motioned to the bartender and ordered a refill.

"And once she's done, give her another on me." His voice was low, monotone. He barely looked at you.

"You don't have to--"

"You won. You earned it," He huffed. "And I was always told it wasn't good to drink alone."

"You talking about you or me?" You countered.

He shrugged and accepted his second drink.

"Whatever makes you feel better," He grumbled.

"Look, Mr. Assistant District Attorney, I don't think you need to be so worked up over me." You snickered. "A public defender is hardly an enviable position."

"You do well enough, don't you?" He took a swig and licked the excess from his lips.

"Look, I think I'm good on the refill. A kind gesture but..." You stood and took your drink. "I don't think alcohol is a great mixer for us."

"What's wrong? Not so mouthy without an audience."

"Right, Andy," You backed up slowly. "I'll see you at the courthouse. Hopefully not soon."

You left him to mope and returned to your table, alone but not disheartened. The gin was just starting to kick in and lent a soft glow to the dark barroom.

💼

Another drink and you were ready to go. Admittedly it was one too many but tomorrow was your day off and despite his resent, Andy had insisted on sending it over. He left just as it was delivered to your table. You raised it in thanks as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

You left the empty glass on the table and slung your jacket over your arm as you hugged your bag to your side. It was barely midnight, the bar would be open for a few hours more. You stumbled out into the dim street and the door clattered behind you noisily.

You swayed as you stopped on the curb and looked up and down the road. A cab would be your best bet.

You chuckled dopily as you squinted at a set of headlights down the street. The alcohol was starting to really nip at you. You raised your hand to flag down the taxi but were suddenly pulled off balance. Your scream was capped by a hand over your mouth as you kicked out and dropped your blazer and bag onto the sidewalk. You flailed as you were dragged back into the mouth of the alley just beside the bar.

"Shhhh," The hot breath smelled like whiskey as you were shoved against the wall.

You looked up at the looming shadow, the silhouette of broad shoulders and a face shrouded in darkness. Your vision was hazy and your felt a draining warm flow through you as the gin sank deeper into your stomach.

"You make a noise," The coarse growl chilled you, "I'll make sure you never say another word again."

You gulped and slapped the stranger's chest. He was strong, big, immovable. You whimpered into his palm and he pressed it harder to your lips.

"Do you understand?" He snarled.

You nodded and your hand slipped from his chest.

You leaned against the wall, trying to flatten yourself as his hand slid from over your mouth.

"Please..." You wisped.

"Don't, " He warned as he grabbed the front of your blouse, his leg against yours as he pinned you there.

He tore your shirt open and pushed it aside. He squeezed your tits gruffly, your bra thin beneath his touch. He was quick to snake his hands down around your ass and knead with a beastly growl.

His hands descended further and he yanked on your skirt until it was above your thighs. He ripped your panties down just as quickly and your legs wobbled beneath you. You threatened to crumple entirely and he pushed your shoulders back against the wall.

He was terse, silently demanding as he led your body to his whims. He pulled your leg up and hooked it around his hip. You heard a buckle and a zipper, the noise cut through your panic and you were washed over with numb acceptance.

You blinked a long blink and when you opened your eyes, he was inside you. He jerked your body violently as he impaled you. His hand kept a hold of your knee as he writhed against you with muted grunts. His other hand moved in the shadows along the edge of your vision. You closed your eyes again and scratched your fingernails along the wall as your ankles buckled underneath your weight, the thin heels of your shoes threatening to snap.

You felt a painful fullness, an incessant pounding in your core, as this stranger ravished you. Your eyelids bloomed yellow for an instant and you opened them to another blinding flash, and another, several until the light turned constant. Until you were nothing but a rag doll crushed between the grimy brick and inhuman warmth.

The bar door opened with a shrill grind and closed again. Several times as you were trapped only feet away. Drunken footfalls echoed away and you just let them.

You gave a whine and the hand flew from your leg to your mouth. Another hush as your leg dangled around the stranger and he kept on rutting into you. Every thrust was harder, meaner, his sinister growls barely restrained as the light kept your clueless.

Then it all stopped. His hips slowed and he pulled out of you. Heat spurted down your thigh and the light moved lower before it died entirely. Your skirt was tugged down over the mess and you were left to collapse into a heap.

The buckle again, and the zipper. The soft soles on the ground and the drop of your bag beside you and the flutter of your jacket over your chest. You stayed there, weak, frightened, and the shadow walked away into the darkness.

You buttoned up your shirt, crooked and untucked as you pushed yourself to your feet. You pulled on your blazer and gripped your bag tightly, unsteadily finding your way back to the street. There was a drunk pissing on the other side of the road and you limped down towards the corner. Another taxi appeared and you raised your hand, almost tripping over your own feet.

All you had to do was get home. Get home, get safe, and you could figure it out tomorrow.

💼

The next day, you woke with barely any recollection of how you got home. You remembered your last drink and the door closing behind you but everything else was a garbled, retina burning blur.

You didn't do much more than hold together your splitting head. It really hadn't been that great a victory and you accepted this as the humbling you deserved. That and the ache throughout your body, the filth you felt upon waking on your couch. The feeling as if you had forgotten something very important. But all that remained was that blur. That painful blur that made you want to wretch.

It faded with each day that followed. As you got back to your usual toil, your little excess dissolved into the void of routine. You worked long hours, interview witnesses, consulted defendants, and pored over case files.

That night almost entirely slipped your mind but for the odd dreams that waited for you in the night. The bright light, the rutting breaths, the warmth in your core, broken by the sobering mornings and washed away with the hours between.

What was it? Two, three weeks. Maybe a whole month. You didn't dwell on that night until your old foe sat just across the aisle.

You stood patiently, quietly, as the judge read over your new evidence. It would be the crux of your next case but you couldn't betray that to Andy as his hand stretched across the plaintiff's table and he watched Judge Hannon closely.

"Your honour, we were not given sufficient notice--" Barber began.

"This trial has yet to commence. The defendant is giving notice now and as I see..." Hannon paused and flipped to the first page, "You signed off on the review."

"That is not what we saw," Andy lied.

"If there has been any tampering, it was not on our accord." You argued. "As is customary, once the plaintiff has reviewed the evidence it is then sent directly to the court to be held for official consideration."

"Mr. Barber, if you can give a valid legal argument why this evidence should not be permitted, I'm waiting." Hannon closed the folder and stared at the prosecutor.

Andy's nostrils flared and he lowered his head in deference. He had no argument. As you watched him, heard his gristly breath as he sighed, you felt an odd coil in your stomach.

"Very well. I haven't the time to argue this further. You have your approval," Hannon tapped the folder. "Dismissed."

You smiled, just a little. The tugging at the back of your mind kept you from your usual delight. You packed up your briefcase and headed for the aisle. Andy met you there and watched you with a stern scowl. He nodded you ahead of him and you skirted past without a second thought.

He followed you down the aisle as the next parties on the docket shuffled into place. You swept through the door and it was swiftly caught behind you. The hall was quite and sterile, especially compared to the courtroom.

"You won't win. Not this time." Andy sneered and you stopped to look back at him. "You can't base your whole case on a parking slip."

"We'll see." You said and turned back.

You took two steps before his hand was on your arm. He spun you back to him and you gaped at him in shock. You wrenched free of his grasp and stumbled back.

"What do you think you're doing?" You hissed. "Andy, it's just a case. You win some, you lose some."

"Yeah, well, I'm real tired of losing..." He reached in his pocket and slid his phone out. "Especially to you."

"I'm just doing my job and your numbers aren't my problem," You scoffed. "Get your shit together."

"I should say the same," His lips curved just a little and he turned his phone to you. "How many people want this decrying their morality to the world?"

You stared at the image and grimaced. It was you, your blouse was undone, one side of your bra had slipped down below your chest and your eyes were bleary and senseless. Your skirt was bunched at your waist and below... That night. What had happened that night?

"What the fuck!?" You snarled. "Andy, how did--"

"Shhh," He hushed you and pinpricks spread over your skin. Your blood curdled as you felt like throwing up. "You don't wanna do this here."

You glanced over at the scales of justice on the short plinth then back to him.

"You think I'll throw the case because you got a few photos of me?"

"I think you’ll do... whatever I want you to." He smirked. "You'll start by having a little chat with me. In my office."

"I have to get back--"

"You will lie and say there was a delay in court," He said staunchly. "Or... I can CC you on the email I send to Hannon."

You swallowed and lowered your eyes. You shook your head and took a breath. You threw your hand up weakly.

"Okay," You said quietly.

He neared you and you winced. He sidestepped you and his shoes clicked down the polished floor. They stopped at the very end.

"Well..." He said.

You turned stiffly and marched towards him, your fingers tight around the handle of your briefcase. He carried on and you followed just a step behind. He led you past the desks of his fellow attorneys and to the corner office where his name was etched on a brass plaque.

He closed the door behind you with a quite clasp. You stood just inside and he brushed past you and crossed to his desk. He dropped his briefcase and leaned against the corner as he flicked his thumb across his phone. He watched the screen intently and tapped it twice.

You saw the moving shapes, indecipherable from your vantage and you set down your briefcase by the door. You neared and looked down at the video of yourself. You had no doubt it was him doing those things to you but nothing in the video could confirm that. If it wasn't him holding the phone, you'd have no idea at all.

"Andy!" You reached out and grabbed at the phone. "What is wrong with you?"

"You seemed to enjoy yourself." He stood straight and held the phone above him, beyond your reach. "Didn't you?"

"I-I--" You spluttered. "I don't remember. Andy, don't you realise that what you did--"

"You think you'd win that case, hmm?" He chuckled. "Really? You were drunk, you can't remember what happened let alone who it was."

"Give me the phone, Andy," You growled and were almost flush to him as you tried to reach it. "How dare--"

"You really think anyone will believe it's me?" He caught your wrist and held it above you. "Maybe, but they know for sure that it's you being a little slut in this."

"What did you--"

He wrenched your arm down and twisted. You cried out as he spun you around and turned you toward the desk. He easily slipped his phone away and grabbed the back of your neck. You dug your heel in and he squeezed.

"Shhh," He hissed in your ear. "We don't want anyone to hear. To know what a slut you are."

"Stop, get off--"

He let go of your wrist and clapped his hand over your mouth. He pushed on your neck and forced you forward until you were against the desk. He bent with you below him until your cheek was on the wood. He wiggled his hips and you felt his arousal against your ass.

"If you want to keep your reputation, likely your job, you will be good for me," He stood slowly, his hand still on your neck as he held you down. "You get your wins and I get mine."

"You can't do this," You pleaded.

"I already have," He gloated, his other hand crept down your back.

His reached over your ass and bunched your skirt in his fingers. You squirmed and his grip sent a pang down your spine. You groaned and he forced your skirt up over your ass. He tutted and played with the lacy edge of your panties.

"Is this what you wear to court?" He asked. "Naughty girl."

"Andy..." You uttered.

"You be quiet," He ordered as he grasped the top of your panties. "Or these go in your mouth."

He tore them down past your ass and you gasp. He leaned his weight on your neck and rubbed your ass. You closed your mouth and shakily curled your fingers over the edge of the desk.

"Good," He tickled along your skin and pulled his hand away.

There was a lull, a tense pause as you waited for whatever he had planned. The sharp slap that followed stung your ass and shattered the silence. You choked on your cry and he did it again. His large hand sent ripples through you as he spanked you, each time a low purr rumbled from him. Your toes slipped along the floor as your legs turned to jelly.

He only stopped as a soft chiming sounded. He released your neck and slowly dragged his hand down your back as his other rubbed a circle over your ass.

"Stay," He said.

You covered your face with your hand but didn't move from the desk.

"Barber," He said and indiscernible chatter rose from the speaker of his phone. "Oh, yeah, yeah. No, I'm not busy. No problem."

There was a moment before he let out a long breath. He pinched your ass and stepped away from you.

"Canavan's on her way." He grabbed your bag and returned to you. He pulled you up by your arm. "Better hide."

"I should go--"

"No time," He said as he urged you around the desk. "Go on."

He threw your bag under the desk and pointed beside as he shoved you down.

"She said she was already on her way."

"Andy," You fixed your panties and skirt. "I'll just go--"

"How's this?" He tilted his phone toward you. "Another to add to the collection."

A photo of your ass above your lacy panties greeted you. You blinked and recoiled.

"Why are you doing this?"

"We'll have lots of time later to discuss," He pushed on your shoulder and put his phone in his jacket pocket. "Now, go on."

You dropped to your knees reluctantly. He sat and waved you under the desk. You back underneath it, careful not to knock your head. He wheeled his chair close and blocked you in. His knees were on either side of your head as he rubbed his thighs.

"You'll have to keep quiet," His fingers fluttered up to his fly and he shifted as he undid it. "Keep yourself busy."

"Are you ser--"

"Shhh," He caught your chin as his other hand pulled his cock free of his pants. "Remember, quiet."

He got as close as he could and drew you to him. He stroked himself and pressed his tip to your lips. A knock sounded at the door and you froze.

"Open your fucking mouth," It felt as if he would crush your jaw and you obeyed with a whine. He shushed you as he slid into your mouth. "Don't you fucking stop." He growled under his breath before raising his voice to an eerily chipper tone. "Come in."

His cock was at the back of your throat as you stilled. You heard the door open but not close. The heels crossed and the other chair creaked as someone sat.

"I heard about the new evidence," The district attorney said. "Bit of a rough patch, eh?"

"Can't all be home runs," He said and tapped your leg with his toe. "It's nothing. I'll find a way around it."

"Look, Barber," Canavan said. "I know you will. You're a good attorney but we all need breaks. I can see it, you're stressed. It's okay to take a vacation."

"You know, it has been..." You began to move your head as he poked you again with his shoe. "Tough but I think whatever it was, I'm past it. It was just... you know Laurie and Jacob. She was doing a lot of overtime and the kid likes to run off at all hours but I think we finally figured it out."

His legs held you snugly as he tensed at the feel of your mouth gliding up and down his length. You thought of the images on his phone, of the chaos they could inspire, of how hard you'd worked to get where you were. This man wanted to exchange all that for his own ego. You pressed your tongue to his shaft and he cleared his throat gruffly.

"A couple days, if you need them, more if you wanna take the family away," Canavan offered. "Look, a little while without you is better than you being here but not really being here. You get it?"

"Oh, I... do," He shuddered as you kept your pace steady.

You did your best not to make a noise as your spit dripped down his length. You could tell he was struggling just as much not to give you away.

"How about I think about it and get back to you tomorrow? I'll have to talk to Laurie." He said evenly.

"I can wait until tomorrow," The chair groaned and her heels clicked on the wooden floor. "Maybe dust off that Jack you hide in your second drawer. I'll keep pretending I don't know about it."

"I might just," Andy chuckled. "Thanks, Lynn."

"I mean it," Her footsteps neared the threshold, "Think about it."

The door closed and Andy let out a long breath. His hand went to the back of your head and he pushed himself down your throat with a moan.

"Fuck," He swore as he gripped your head between his hands. "You little fucking bitch. I thought you didn't want anyone to know you were so..." He hissed as he bobbed your head. "Bad. Fuck!"

You grabbed his thighs as he guided you up and down. You tried not to choke on him as he hammered the back of your throat. His right hand slipped around the back of your head and his other latched onto your shoulder.

He swore again as he leaned back in his chair and lifted his pelvis. He long legs stretched out around you as he spasmed. He held your head down as he grunted and emptied himself into your mouth.

His hips bucked only a few more times before he stilled. His hand fell from you and he hung his arms over the sides of his chair. He sighed and you nearly gagged as you pulled him out of your mouth.

You were trapped halfway under the desk and you felt around behind you with one arm as you cupped your other hand before your mouth. You had a pack of kleenex in your bag, somewhere.

"Ah," Andy clutched your hand and pulled you with him as he rolled back. His cock softened slowly over his pants. "Swallow or you can keep going until you get it right."

You frowned and your lips trembled in disgust. His cum had already thickened on your tongue and your eyes rolled back as you made yourself swallow. He let you go and you wiped your lips with the back of your hand.

"You know how it is," He winked as he leaned back and bent his arms behind his head casually. "You win some, you lose some."

#andy barber #dark andy barber x reader #dark!andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber x reader #andy barber x reader #dark!fic #dark fic #fic #one shot #defending jacob #dark!au #dark au #au #oneshot

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sunmoonandeddie · 4 years

Text

the sins of the father

pairing: prince!bucky barnes x pirate!reader

word count: 10,095

summary: You were nothing more than the Siren, the She-Demon of the Seas. At least, that’s what you thought.

warnings: POORLY WRITTEN SMUT PLEASE FORGIVE ME IDK WHAT I’M DOING. AND BAD WORDS.

a/n: So like. I’m real nervous about this one. Let me know what you think.

“Captain! Captain!”

Waves crashed up against the side of the ship, dark clouds covering the sky. There was the promise of a storm on the wind, though it wouldn’t come for a few days, you were sure.

“It’s a perfect day for sailing, don’t you think?” You asked as you leaned against the railing of the ship, taking your spyglass away from your eye.

The footsteps that had been hurrying to you stopped a few feet away. “Captain, there’s a ship on the horizon. Royal Navy.” From the voice, you could tell it was Peter. Sweet, sweet Peter.

“Oh, really?” You said as you stared out towards the white caps. “And which Royal Navy is it?”

“Ithair.”

Now that… That piqued your interest. “Ithair, you say?”

The large kingdom was one of the most powerful in the world currently. Their Navy was tough. It was up there alongside Sonia.

But not as tough as your men.

“They’re coming up on the port side,” Peter says, his feet nervously shuffling as he stands before you.

“Thank you, Peter,” you said as you fixed your jacket. You knew he was waiting for orders, but you made him wait just an extra minute or two. “Tell the men to get ready. We’re taking this one.”

Your men were always thrown into a dither anytime you gave the order to get ready for an attack. The excitement in the air was palpable. From your spot on the stern, you could see the men on the other ship rushing around just as hurriedly, clearly worried by the sight of your flag flying high in the sky.

You were the most feared pirate in the seven seas. And for good reason, too. You took what you wanted with no apologies. You were ruthless.

That wasn’t to say you were without honor, though. You had rules.

No women. No children. If a man surrenders, allow him his life. He’s already lost his dignity.

But the Royal Navy, well… They didn’t allow women or children on board, and they didn’t tend to surrender. They were stubborn like that.

“Get ready, men,” you shouted above the rabble as you unsheathed your jewel encrusted cutlass. Your left hand touched the handle of your dagger that your kept strapped to your thigh, ensuring that it was there.

You’d never lost a fight before and you weren’t planning on it now.

As the fight began, you stood above it all, peering down at them like a merciless god.

Your men invaded their ship with ease, taking down any of those who would dare stand against them. Navy men were relatively easy to take down. They got big egos from wearing a uniform, as though wearing a blue coat with some fancy buttons made them better than anyone else.

You walked along the edge of the stern, frowning as your eyes caught on something rather peculiar.

A man not in a Navy uniform. Interesting.

“Peter,” you called out to the young man, who had just finished off a man on the deck below.

He climbed up the stairs quickly, wiping the blood on his cutlass off on his breeches. “Yes, Captain?”

“Who is that man?” You asked, pointing towards the dark-haired man you’d spotted.

Peter had spent many years at the Ithairian court before his parents and uncle died in a fire. His Aunt May hadn’t been able to keep up with the running of the family estate, and the king had cast them out, making them peasants. The young man had joined your crew soon after and sent all the money he made from you and your crew’s raids back to May.

He squinted as he looked at the man, before realization bloomed in his eyes. “That’s Crown Prince James.”

“Oh, really?” You said as you eyed the man, lazily twirling the jeweled cutlass in your hand. “And tell me, Peter… How much do you think the King and Queen of Ithair would pay to get their precious son back?”

It didn’t take much to get the Navy ship to surrender.

Once they realized you were holding their precious prince captive, they became rather docile, actually.

You’d had Peter lure him over to your ship, playing as though he hadn’t a clue what he was doing, a poor clueless orphan that had been kidnapped by pirates and held aboard the infamous Medusa’s Revenge.

The prince’s heart was too pure for his own good.

Once he was close enough, you’d snuck up behind, forcing him to his knees with a swift kick. Both ships had gone silent once they realized you were holding a blade to his throat while Peter tied his hands.

“You tricked me,” Prince James spat at Peter, his face twisted in a scowl.

“I was simply following the Captain’s orders,” he said, which brought his attention to you.

You kept your sword to his throat, teasing the soft, smooth skin there with the dull side of the blade. “RETURN TO YOUR KING,” you shouted to the Captain of the Navy ship, a man by the name of James Rhodes that was glaring daggers at you. You deepened your voice in a way that you had rehearsed over and over. “AND TELL HIM THAT HE MAY HAVE HIS PRECIOUS HEIR BACK ONCE I RECEIVE PAYMENT.”

“This is outrageous!” Rhodes shouted back at you. His blue Navy coat and white shirt was splattered in blood. “You can’t make demands of the King!”

“Oh, really?” You said, a sadistic grin tugging at your lips. “If you won’t tell him of my demand, then you can tell him why his only heir’s blood is spilled all over my deck and why his body was tossed to the waves.”

He kept his dark eyes narrowed on you, as though he was expecting you to back down.

You narrowed yours in return, the playful teasing disappearing as you snarled, “Try me, Captain.”

The air was heavy as the others waited for his response. Finally, he gritted his teeth and asked, “How much?”

“£50,000.”

Rhodes choked on air as he stared at you in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am,” you said as you bent low, your cheek pressed to the prince’s, who squirmed. “I’ll be at the Rimora port in a month. Some of my men will meet you there to collect the money before we release the prince to you. Come alone, or you’ll be getting a head.”

The man had no choice but to agree. He nodded stiffly, before ordering his remaining men back to the Navy vessel.

They couldn’t win the battle even before you captured the prince.

You waited until the Navy ship was sailing back to Ithair to remove your cutlass from Prince James’s throat. “Please accept my most sincere apology, Your Highness,” you said with only a tinge of sarcasm, sheathing your sword. “I didn’t have to fight in this battle, so at least I didn’t drip blood all over your fine silk shirt.”

“How kind of you,” he said, fixing his startling blue eyes on you.

“I don’t believe we’ve officially met,” you said as you took off your hat with a flourish, curtsying. You had piled your hair atop your head to tuck under the cap and flattened your chest with a specially made corset. From a distance, you appeared to be a man. Up close, your gender was more obvious, but you could still pass as a rather feminine man. You gave him your name, before quickly adding, “I’m the Captain of this fine vessel.”

Prince James’s eyes widened as he stared at you. “You’re the Siren,” he whispered. “You’re her.”

Raising your eyebrows, you glanced over at your first mate, Sam, who shrugged. “The Siren?” You said, turning back to the prince. “What kind of fucking name is that?”

“The Siren,” he said, as though it were obvious. “The She-Pirate. The She-Demon of the Seas. You lure men to their deaths with a bat of your eyelashes.”

“She-Demon?” You repeated, pursing your lower lip. Facing Sam, you fake pouted. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

“You and I both know you’re much worse, Captain.”

You couldn’t stop the sly smile from creeping up on your face, though your heart twisted. “I do quite like that name though. The Siren. It’s fitting, don’t you think?” You placed your hat back on your head, already walking away from your new prisoner. “Tie him to the mast,” you called back. “I’ll decide what to do with him later.”

Later turned out to be three days.

Prince James stayed tied to the mast, refusing to talk to anyone. When you would approach to speak to him, he’d simply pretend you weren’t there, looking out at the waves. The only person he would even slightly acknowledge was Peter, and that’s because you’d send him to the prince three times a day with food and water.

It was also kind of hard to ignore the boy, with how much he talked.

“Are you always this rude to hosts, Your Highness?” You asked at one point on the second day.

Though he didn’t look at you, his jaw had clenched so tightly that you were sure his teeth would shatter.

“Some prince you are,” you said mockingly, curtsying before returning to your perch at the wheel.

But then the storm you had predicted the day you’d first captured him arrived.

It was the worst one you’d seen in months, sheets of rain coming down hard. Waves crashed into the bow of the ship as you steered into them. Luckily you had a pretty heavy cargo underneath, making it harder for the wind to knock you over and you’d managed to get the sails secured in time, which made your job a whole lot easier.

You were no stranger to surviving storms.

Your heart jumped in your throat as you realized that the prince was still tied to the mast, soaking wet and unable to move. “Fuck,” you swore as you searched for a crew member who wasn’t doing their best to keep water off the deck. “PETER!”

The boy looked up from where he’d been using a bucket to toss some of the collected water overboard.

“UNTIE HIM!”

He knew who you were talking about immediately, running to the main mast and untying the prince.

Your hair stuck to your skin, salt water stinging your eyes as you shouted, “GET HIM BELOW DECK!”

You didn’t see the prince again until hours later, when the storm had died down. You and your men were utterly exhausted. You’d been at the helm the entire duration of the storm, and your arms were aching, despite your years of experience.

Sam had offered to take over for you, allowing you the rest you so desperately needed.

You dragged yourself to your quarters, ready to change into a set of dry clothes and collapse into bed.

But when you entered your office, you were surprised to find Prince James on the chaise lounge that you’d acquired on one of your raids. He was half asleep, his arm hanging off the side.

You cleared your throat, frowning when he didn’t stir. You did it again, a little louder.

Nothing.

Fed up, you shoved his leg, glaring down at him as he jerked awake. “What the hell are you doing in my office, Your Highness?” You spat his name out at him like it was an insult.

“This is where Peter told me to stay until after the storm was done,” he said, glaring right back.

“Did you lay all over my nice chaise in your soaking wet clothes? Or did you at least wait until you were dry?” You asked, rolling your eyes.

Prince James scoffed. “Of course, I did. I’m not a heathen, unlike someone.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness,” you said, mocking him with an over-exaggerated bow. “What ever can I do to make your stay more pleasurable?”

“Are you always like this?” He asked as he watched you move around the office.

Stripping off your overcoat, you tossed it on the chair. “Like what?”

“Overly sardonic?”

Your white shirt was sticking to your skin and your corset underneath. God, you wanted nothing more to get out of the restricting piece of clothing. You’d been in it for hours, since before the storm began, but you couldn’t do that with him there. You had to wait until you were really ready to retire to your bedroom for the night.

“Are…” Prince James paused, his brows furrowing. “Are you wearing a corset?”

“And here I thought you were unobservant,” you said as you grabbed the journal you kept from the center drawer.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you wear a corset?”

Sighing, you dabbed your feather ink pen on the tip of your tongue before dipping it in the ink pot. Truthfully, you could wait to do your journal entry until the morning–you’d actually been planning to, since you were so exhausted–but for some reason, you just kept stalling. You could simply go to your room and lock the door, avoiding the prince’s company and his subsequent questions, but you didn’t. “If we run into new ships, it’s better for them to think me a man, so I had a few corsets specially made,” you said softly, biting your lip as you scribbled down details of the storm. You’d take inventory of what all had been damaged in the morning.

“Why?”

Huffing, you snapped, “Maybe your parents won’t pay the ransom just so they can get away from your endless questions.”

“They’re not nearly as interesting.”

Startled, your eyes flickered up to meet his, your cheeks hot. You quickly turned your gaze back to the journal, shaking your head. “Royalty rarely is these days.”

“So?” He prodded. “The corset?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, signing off on the journal entry. “Men don’t respect women. I don’t want them to underestimate me just because I was born with a pair of tits and a cunt.” You slapped the journal shut, shoving it back in the drawer. “Besides, women are considered bad luck on ships. It took my crew a while to stop believing in the superstition and accept me as their Captain.”

“That superstition only came about because people believe sailors will get distracted from their duties by a woman’s beauty,” Prince James said, watching you curiously. In his exhausted state, he seemed to forget his filter as he added, “Though I can’t imagine how anyone can not be distracted by you.”

“Who wouldn’t get distracted by the She-Demon of the Seas?” You bit back, a sarcastic smile on your lips. Before he could respond, you headed for the door that stood behind your desk, leading to your bedroom. “You may sleep there until one of the bunks opens up. Or your parents pay your ransom.” Standing in the doorway, you turned back to look at him. The light coming in from the setting sun cast a glow upon his face. He looked like an angel straight out of a stained glass window in a cathedral.

You shut the door, a soft, “Goodnight, Captain,” coming from the other side of wood as you flipped the lock.

Prince James stayed on your chaise for two weeks, and it didn’t seem like he would be leaving anytime soon. All the other bunks on the ship were taken, filled with your crew.

And you weren’t so cruel to force him to go back to sleeping outside, tied to the mast.

Even though sometimes he was so annoying that you seriously considered it.

You’d stopped by a small port town and while none of your men had abandoned ship and opened up a bunk for him, you did grab him a few sets of clothing, a few pillows, and an extra blanket.

Thankfully, he didn’t make any comments on how they weren’t up to his royal standards, because otherwise you probably would’ve fed him to the sharks.

Then again, he hadn’t made any comments like that after the first few days. In fact, he’d been rather… sweet. His demeanor had swiftly changed after you’d allowed him to be untied from the mast. It wasn’t like he could go anywhere, after all.

Other than the depths of the sea, and you didn’t think he loathed your company enough to drown himself.

Maybe.

“You like him,” Sam said as he passed you a mug of mead, the liquid frothing over the side.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said as you took a long swig, glancing around the deck. It was a calm night at sea, there was no sign of ships on the horizon.

It was a good night to let loose and live a little. Usually, you’d allow the men their drink but wouldn’t partake in it. You’d retire to your quarters before they got too rowdy, though you always heard the music they played late into the night.

James had started joining them a few nights after the storm, when you stopped tying him up.

Some nights, he came to your quarters so late that you were already in your bedroom, though you never could sleep before you were sure that he was on the chaise for the night. You’d lie awake in bed, your corset off, and listen for the tell-tale opening and closing of the door.

Most nights, though, you’d still be sitting at your desk. Whether you were flipping through papers and maps, writing in your journal, or reading from your massive collection of books, it didn’t matter. He’d sit with you and talk. Whether it was for a few minutes or sometimes hours, you’d talk and talk, and you would laugh.

And sometimes, you even felt like a woman. The way his eyes would sparkle in the dim light of the candles sometimes made you think he saw you as more than a captain of a pirate ship.

But that was impossible. Because he was a prince, the heir to one of the most powerful kingdoms in the world, and you were nothing but a She-Demon.

“Don’t play coy,” Sam said as he nudged your shoulder. He wasn’t blind to the way you were watching James joke around with your crew. He was laughing at some joke that Scott made, his head throne back.

“I’m not,” you said sternly. Suddenly, the mead in your cup seemed even less appealing than poison. You handed it to Sam as you stood, brushing off your breeches. “I’m going to turn in. Goodnight.”

Your first mate called after you, though you didn’t turn around. You needed to get away. You needed to get away from Sam and James and the rest of the crew and maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to get away from the feelings that had been blooming in your chest the last two weeks.

You were so stupid. James would never like you, never want you the way you wanted him. You were so stupid for trying to twist your hair into the latest fashions or buying skirts to wear around the ship. You were wearing one now, the loose fabric ending at your shins. Even though it wasn’t nearly as formal as the skirts most ladies wore–especially the ladies at court that James was most used to–it was still a skirt. Even Peter had made a comment that was also sort of a compliment.

But it didn’t matter. It was impractical for a Captain of a pirate ship, and you were stupid for it.

He wouldn’t ever see you as you wanted him to.

Your quarters felt so empty without James there. There were little signs of him all over the room. The two pillows on the chaise, the fur blankets that rested half on, half off. The little stack of his clothing that you’d bought for him. He’d been reading one of your books lately and had left it on the small table by the chaise, a hair ribbon that you’d given him tucked between the pages as a bookmark. It was a new one, Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe, that you’d picked up the same stop you’d gotten his things at.

God, your desk was a mess. Maybe that’s what you could do, you could organize your papers instead of thinking about the way your heart skipped a beat every time you saw the dark-haired prince.

“Captain?”

Speak of the devil.

You turned to see James standing there in the doorway, his fair features illuminated by the candle light. The white shirt he donned was left open, revealing dark hair splattered across his chest. Clearing your throat, you turned your eyes back to the papers on your desk. Your hands were shaking as you tried to organize them, doing your best to ignore how your heart pounded. “Shouldn’t you be drinking with the men and making merry?”

“I have their company every night, they can do without me for a while,” he said, chuckling a little. But when you didn’t laugh with him, he grew quiet. “Captain?”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Don’t do that,” he said, taking slow, measured steps towards you.

“Don’t do what?”

He stopped by the edge of your desk, his fingers trailing along the dark wood. “Don’t shut me out. Please.”

Your conversation with Sam from earlier rang loud and clear in your mind. “I’m not shutting you out, Your Highness,” you said sternly, avoiding his gaze as you shuffled through the papers. “Do you wish to get ready for bed? If you do, I can be out of your way in just a moment.”

“No.”

The silence between you was tense as you finally looked up at him. “What do you want, Your Highness?” You asked, hoping he didn’t notice the way your voice wavered.

“You.”

A stunned silence filled the room, your mind going completely blank.

“Surely you can’t be serious,” you said finally as you finally looked up at him, your brows furrowed and your lips twisted in a frown.

“I am.” His blue eyes still shone as bright as the moon reflecting off the sea in the dim light. He whispered your name as he came closer. “Please…”

Shaking your head, you grabbed the papers and turned to shove them in a random drawer, your heart beating against your rib cage like a drum. You were terrified that if he were to look you in the eyes, he’d be able to see the things you felt for him. You’d be done for. A laughing stock. Forget being the Siren, the She-Pirate, the She-Demon of the Seas, you’d just be another woman whose name wouldn’t be uttered without being attached to a man’s. The history books would simply remember you as a prince’s pirate whore, an anecdote before moving onto the story of whatever princess he’d end up marrying.

You jumped in surprise as he came up behind you, his chest pressed to your back. “Your Highness–”

“Please,” he said, his breath hot against your ear. “Don’t run from me.” His hands gently covered yours where they rested desk, his fingertips trailing ever so gently from your wrists up to your shoulder. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured. He spoke your name like a prayer, like it was the one thing that might grant him the grace of whatever god was looking down upon the two of you.

You weren’t sure you were breathing. Your heart had jumped into your throat and taken residence there and oh, his touch felt like fire on your skin.

“Say my name?” He pressed a kiss to your hair, his right hand toying with the loose sleeve of your shirt. “Please.”

He didn’t order you the way a prince would, the way he would’ve when he was first brought onto your ship. No. He asked. And more than that, he asked kindly. He asked as though it would sincerely bring him joy to hear his name falling from your lips.

“James,” you said, your lips curling around the unfamiliar letters as you said his name for the first time.

He let out a content sigh as your loose sleeve fell, exposing soft skin. “Again,” he said as his head dropped to press sweet, almost innocent kisses to your shoulder. His left hand moved to your hip as his lips traced the freckles he found.

“James, please.” Your eyes fluttered shut as your head lolled to the side, granting him access to the smooth expanse of your neck.

“Please, what?”

“Please touch me.”

A growl reverberated in his throat as his hand slowly bunched up your damned skirts, exposing your bare thighs to the cool air, his calloused fingers tickling your soft skin. You could feel a smirk against your neck as he found you bare underneath. “Oh, darling,” he murmured.

“J-James,” you stammered, your knuckles white as you gripped the desk.

“Yes, love?” He asked, one finger daring to tease your folds. “Fuck, you’re already so wet. Is that for me? Huh? Is that for me?”

“Yes. Yes. All for you.” Your breath was already so labored as you felt your knees go weak.

He reached down, and with one swoop, scooped you up into his arms. “Not here,” he said when you looked at him in surprise. “There will be time to take you on your desk later, Captain, but not now.” He kicked the door that led to your private chambers open, his mouth finding yours as he carried you inside. Moonlight filtered in through the portholes that lined the wall, illuminating the small room. He laid you down on your unmade bed as though you were made of porcelain, his hand cradling your head as he laid it on the pillow.

You’d never been treated so gently, touched as though you might break.

You were not a delicate woman, after all. You were made of the harshest storms, the highest waves, of salt and brine. You held your own when it came to battle. Your crew, your men, loved and respected you. You fought for that.

But fuck, if being treated so softly didn’t bring tears to your eyes.

James stood before you as you leaned on your elbows, watching as he stripped off his loose white shirt, revealing miles of tanned skin and that smattering of dark curls on his chest that had teasing you just a few minutes before.

You breathed out his name as he kicked off his boots, his eyes never leaving your face.

He stood before you in just his breeches, breathing heavily as he looked at you. “I’m going to take my time with you,” he said as he kneeled on the edge of the bed, crawling towards you.

“Oh?” You said as you swallowed around the lump in your throat. You were still trying to process how he could look at you like you were the most precious gem in the world.

James unlaced your boots, letting them fall off the bed. “I’m going to spend all night worshiping you,” he said as he pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your ankle. The beard that he’d grown while on your ship tickled your skin as he trailed his lips up your calf. “My darling girl. My sweet angel.”

Your skin felt like it was on fire as he kissed up your leg, getting closer and closer to the place you so desperately needed.

He stopped at your knee. “May I?” He asked as he tugged on your linen skirt, his eyes smoldering in the dim light. He waited until after you nodded to strip you down, leaving you bare on the bed. When you moved to cover yourself, face hot from the heat of his gaze, he stopped you, grabbing your wrists and holding them back. “Don’t hide yourself from me, my darling.”

With a surge of urgency, you pushed yourself up, your lips crashing into his.

James melted into you, his hand moving to cradle your head as he kissed you. His free hand cupped your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

It took you a moment to realize that the whimpering was coming from you.

He broke away to kiss along your jaw, down your neck, to the valley of your breasts. “Fuck,” he said as he swirled his tongue around the nipple that wasn’t being teased by his fingers. He nipped at it lightly before moving to the other, not stopping until both were hard.

You were even more shocked when he licked a stripe down the center of your stomach, stopping when he reached the patch of curls between your legs. “Wh-What are you doing?” You asked, propping yourself up against the pillows.

“Has no one ever touched you like this?” He asked, blue eyes meeting yours. When you shook your head, cheeks flushed, he frowned. “When’s… When’s the last time you were touched at all?”

Shrugging, you tried to close your legs, but he kept them parted. “A while,” you murmured, trying to hide how embarrassed you were.

In truth, it had been more than a year. And it hadn’t exactly been good. Just a one night tryst in a little port town with a man who thought he was better than he actually was.

None of your experiences with men had made you too eager to go out and try to find your pleasure. They all seemed so… selfish.

“Men don’t really like women that are more powerful than them,” you said, avoiding his gaze.

His index finger hooked under your chin, and he tilted your head up so your eyes met his. “I’ve never desired someone more than I do you,” he breathed. His nose nudged yours before stealing another soft kiss. Before you could stop to think, he was back down between your legs, nosing at your curls. His hot breath tickled your most private area before his tongue swiped through your folds.

You jerked in surprise, eyes blown wide. “James!”

“Shh,” he said as he coaxed you back down. Using two fingers, he revealed yourself to him. “You’re so pretty…” Using a flat tongue, he lapped at the wetness he found, eyes closing.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you sat up on one elbow, determined to watch him. You’d never had a man… taste you like he was. “O-Oh…”

There was a slight sting as he sunk one finger into your heat, carefully curling it. It had been much too long since you’d been touched.

It had been a long time since you’d lost your virtue, but you certainly felt like a virgin again.

“I’ve gotta get you opened up for me,” he said before finding your tiny bundle of nerves and sucking hard.

You saw stars as your jerked in his grip, feeling yourself growing closer and closer to something but not quite knowing what. Wonton moans dripped from your lips as you crept along the edge. You weren’t sure what you needed other than James.

“That’s it, darling,” he said, slipping another finger in and carefully scissoring you open. “That’s it. You’re doing so perfect for me.”

His tender words, mixed with the feeling of his thick fingers inside you and his tongue and how long it had been sent you over the precipice.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, watching with hooded eyes as James slowly withdrew his fingers. The wet digits sparkled in the light as he brought them to his mouth, sucking them off with a moan.

As he pushed his breeches down, you were suddenly hyper aware of just why he needed to prepare you so thoroughly.

He was thick. Long, sure, but it was the girth of him that made you pause. You’d had men before, but none of them quite as gifted.

“Is… Is that going to fit?” You asked, swallowing around the lump that had jumped in your throat.

“Yes,” he said as he crawled between your legs, dropping open-mouthed kisses along the soft skin of your stomach. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll go slow.”

You drew him into a kiss, sloppy and deep and hoping it would convey the words that you were too afraid to say.

His cock teased the slick folds of your cunt before carefully sinking in inch by inch.

“James,” you moaned as you clutched onto him, your nails digging into the taut muscles of his back. The stretch you felt around his cock was painful, but pleasant.

Yeah, it had definitely been too long.

“That’s it, darling, relax,” he said, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You bit your bottom lip so harshly you could taste iron. Your breath mingled with his as he sank in to the hilt, his nose nudging yours. You were almost kissing. But instead, he teased you, keeping his rose petal lips just out of reach.

He rested there for a moment, the both of you adjusting. The waves crashed up against the side of the ship, providing a rather pleasant underscoring to the labored breaths that filled the air.

When you were finally ready, you experimentally rolled your hips up against his, causing his icy blue eyes to pop open.

“Damn it, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he moaned as he carefully pulled out before pushing all the way back in. He kept his thrusts slow and deep, relishing in the feeling of you squeezing around him. “You were made for me, weren’t you, darling?”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him close as your fingers threaded into his hair. “Don’t tease me,” you said, pulling him into a kiss.

“As you wish,” he said, picking up the pace.

His deep, raspy moans mixed with yours, creating an unheard symphony as the two of you collided. Bass and soprano. Man and woman. Lover and lover.

There was no doubt in your mind that your crew knew what was happening behind closed doors, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as he rocked into you. Their raucous laughter was nothing but static in the back of your mind.

You felt like you were on fire. Every part of you was alight.

You couldn’t be sure how long you spent underneath him. Time was completely lost between sweet kisses and soft murmurs, things he whispered to you but couldn’t quite make out. Sometimes you would catch a glimpse of the moon through one of the portholes as it rose higher and higher in the clear night sky.

You saw stars as he pushed you over the edge yet again, leaving you gasping his name.

You clenched around him and James groaned, his nails digging into the soft skin of your back. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna–” He broke off as he pulled out of you just in time for thick, creamy white ribbons to decorate your stomach and thighs. He stayed bent over you, his forehead resting against yours, as he fought to catch his breath.

A giggle escaped your lips, your chest heaving as you stole a kiss.

Even after what you’d just done, it still made you nervous. It was so… intimate.

A slow smile tugged at his face as he returned the affection. “I love you, my angel,” he whispered into the soft skin of your neck.

Three little words. All it took was three little words to jolt your system.

You pushed him off of you, your heart pounding as you grabbed the closest shirt you could find, throwing it on. It was definitely his, judging by how it hung off of you. “Don’t mock me,” you snapped, glaring at him.

This was all a mistake. He had seen it in your face, how you felt about him. You had become what you always feared you would be, just a silly girl who wouldn’t be anything more than a prince’s pirate whore.

His blue eyes were wide with surprise as he watched you. “What in Heaven’s name are you going on about?” He asked, trying to step towards you. He was still completely bare, and it took everything in you not to give in and go to him.

But you wouldn’t be made a fool.

“You got what you wanted,” you said, a snarl on your lips. “Go. Leave me be. You may tell all the men of the court that you bedded the She-Demon of the Seas. You don’t have to dig the knife in anymore.”

He narrowed his eyes, grabbing his breeches. “Is that what you think of me?” He let out a harsh laugh that was more of a cry than anything. “Do you truly think me so horrid that I would bed you for the sheer novelty of it?”

“Men are all the same.” You threw one of his boots at him, feeling very much like a feral cat backed into a corner. “You say all the things you know I want to hear just so you can get between my legs.”

You were lashing out. You knew. You weren’t stupid.

But you couldn’t allow yourself to be so… hysterical. You would lose the respect of your men, your crew, if they knew that you were throwing a fit.

You willed yourself to go flat, your eyes cold and your lips pressed into a thin line. You would be composed, collected. “Get out of my room,” you bit out.

James stood there, looking a little lost. He held his breeches to his chest like an anchor. “What?”

“Get out of my room,” you repeated. “Before I have one of my men throw you out.”

You wouldn’t let any of them see you so naked, but he didn’t need to know that. As far as he knew, you were willing to let every single crew member see you naked if it meant he would be out.

He swallowed, leaving the room with a stiff nod. “Fine.”

The door shut behind him, and you quickly brought your hand to your mouth. Your teeth clamped around your fingers as you tried to muffle the sob that tore from your throat.

You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t be so weak.

This is what you got for letting him in, for letting him see you.

You quickly dressed, wiping away the dried remnants of him left on your body. You pulled on your breeches, making a mental note to toss those stupid fucking skirts overboard the first chance you got.

Taking a glance in the mirror, you wiped at your eyes. Thankfully, they weren’t too puffy.

You could cry later.

You came out of your room, appearing very much unbothered.

James had redressed, though he had a new shirt since his old one was in the corner of your room. He stepped forward, his lips moving as though to speak your name.

Before he could make a sound, you were crossing the room, opening the door. You were greeted with the lively sounds of music and laughter from the men still enjoying their night. “Sam,” you called out, catching your First Mate’s attention.

“Captain!” He said with a joyous laugh, waggling his eyebrows. “I didn’t expect to see you out of your quarters again tonight!”

“Gather the money needed for a horse,” you said, your tone causing the smile to drop from his face. “We will dock in Marolan in two days. We will give His Highness a horse to get back to his people.”

“What?” Sam said, his brown eyes wide. “Why? What about…” He trailed off, thinking better about what he was going to say. “What about the ransom money?”

You breezed past him, heading for the stern. You had a feeling you wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, and it would be better to be at the helm and let the salty sea air calm you than toss and turn in your bed for hours. “There are easier ways to get that kind of money than dealing with a prince.”

James called your name, having followed you out of your quarters. “Don’t do this,” he said.

The rest of the crew went quiet, having noticed that something was going down. The music that had rung through the air dissipated.

“I’m not doing anything, Your Highness,” you said as you took your place at the helm. There was an ache between your thighs that you prayed would go away quickly.

It wouldn’t do to think of him anytime you so much as took a single step.

“YOU ARE CASTING ME OUT BECAUSE YOU ARE TERRIFIED OF YOUR OWN FEELINGS!”

Waves crashed against the side of the ship, the only sound amidst the deafening silence.

James was pissed. Perhaps even more so than he had been the first day you’d captured him. His hands were fisted at his sides as he started to climb the steps that led up to the stern. “I love you. And I’m willing to bet all of Ithair that you love me, too.”

“You feel the triumph of a false conquest,” you hissed, standing your ground. “You think me to be a creature you have tamed.”

“I think nothing of the sort,” he said, holding onto the rails. The wind whipped his long, dark locks around his face. “You have me mind, body, and soul, my angel, my darling, my love. Please…”

Your heart was racing. There was a war inside of yourself. You wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and allow him to hold you, to comfort you. But your head was telling you that this was nothing more than a dirty trick.

The men were watching unabashedly as he came closer. His hand reached for yours, but you snatched it out of his grasp. “I will give you everything,” he said, blue eyes searching yours desperately. “I will give you a throne, a kingdom… me.”

“A She-Demon cannot sit upon a throne,” you spat, taking a step back. “You will marry some princess, someone raised for that life.”

James shook his head, grabbing your hand despite your protests. “I don’t care about some old rule. I don’t want a princess. I want you. I will speak with my father, and–”

Smack.

The slap resounded throughout the air. The prince looked at you in shock, his hand reaching up to hold his cheek.

“Do not touch me,” you said, gritting your teeth. “And it’s your father’s fault that I’m a pirate in the first place. He is the reason for me becoming the She-Demon you hear tavern tales about.”

“What?” He asked, still holding his reddening cheek.

You felt a little bad about slapping him, but you’d made it clear that you didn’t want him touching you and then he did.

“Your father allowed his soldiers to destroy my village,” you said, fury boiling in your veins. “I was fifteen when they came, ransacking our homes, killing our men, kidnapping our women and children. We had nothing to do with his war with our king, but he didn’t care.” Blood trickled from your hands, where your nails had dug so deep into your palms that they’d cut through the tender skin. “More than one of your soldiers attempted to carry me off. I was lucky to make it out alive.”

James had gone silent by now, shock and sorrow written across his face plain as day.

“One of your men chased me all the way to the docks. The only reason I survived was because I made it onto a pirate ship that had docked there.” Most of your men knew your story. You hadn’t tried to hide it, though it wasn’t something that was openly discussed. “The Captain found me and took me under his wing,” you said. “He gave me this ship, but your father is the reason why I’m the She-Demon you speak of.”

“I didn’t know,” he said softly, swallowing down the lump that had lodged in his throat. “I swear to you, my angel, I didn’t know.” He reached out for you again, but thought better of it. “I was only eighteen when the war happened. I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me all the soldiers did.”

“Because you didn’t ask,” you said. “Because we were poor, and the king doesn’t give a damn unless you have a title.” You turned back to the helm, your hands resting on the wheel. “You will get off my ship at Marolan. Speak of me how you wish. The words of a royal mean nothing to me.”

You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your head, as though wishing you’d turn back to him and say it had all been a jest. But you didn’t. You kept your eyes ahead as you set the course for the port city.

“Whatever you wish, Captain,” he said, the words half lost in the wind.

You bit your lip to keep the tears at bay as you heard him go back down the stairs to the main deck before disappearing into your quarters.

It didn’t matter.

You’d be at the helm all night.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and you knew it was Sam without even looking. “What do you need?” You asked, your voice cracking despite your attempt to sound tough.

He stood at your side, his arms crossed over his chest. “Are you going to punish the son for the sins of the father?”

“He has his own sins to atone for,” you said softly, “Just like his father, just like me.”

“Is that what this is? Self punishment?”

“You heard him.” You gripped the wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white. “I am but a She-Demon.”

Sam glanced down to the deck, the men not-so-subtly taking glances at you. “He never called you that, if I remember correctly. He simply said that’s what others have called you. But he never did.”

You didn’t reply, choosing to stay silent as you stared ahead.

If you opened your mouth, all that would come out were broken sobs.

You didn’t speak for James for the last two days he spent on your ship. You stayed out of your quarters during the night, and when he finally awoke and left your office, you snuck in and locked your bedroom door.

You stood atop the stern, looking down at the tiny port town that you had docked at. Your men took the chance to explore some of the shops since this was an unplanned stop.

James stood at the top of the ramp that led down to the dock. You’d had Sam give him enough gold to pay for a horse and then some.

The sun gleamed off his dark hair, tied back with the green silk ribbon that he’d been using as a bookmark. He looked like a man from a romance novel, one of those Shakespearean heroes.

He looked up at you, his blue eyes startling even as far away as he was. “Goodbye, Captain,” he said, his voice barely audible.

You swallowed, looking away. “Goodbye, Your Highness.”

Hot tears pricked your eyes as he walked down the ramp, the sound of the gold clinking in his pocket fading as he got further and further away. Ignoring the men still on the ship, you stormed down the stairs and into your quarters, slamming the door to your office shut and locking it.

It was only once you were alone that you allowed yourself to collapse. You fell to your knees as sobs wracked your body. The feelings you’d been fighting had fought their way to the surface, breaking through your glass exterior.

How had he done it? How had the prince wormed his way into your heart? He had slipped through the bars of its rib cage prison and sunk his teeth into what you thought had been a frozen chunk of ice.

You rubbed your face, trying to contain yourself to no avail.

But something caught your eye.

There, on the chaise, was a folded piece of parchment.

You crawled over to it, feeling no shame at how pathetic it was. Your hand covered your mouth to muffle another sob as you recognized James’s handwriting. Some of the letters were runny, misshapen from the tear stains that littered the paper.

My darling angel,

If you’re reading this, it means that I’m gone. You’ve cast me off your ship and out of your heart.

But I can’t let you think that I was simply trying to conquer you. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I left without telling you, and you won’t even look in my direction, which is why I have taken to paper and pen.

I meant what I said that night. I love you with all of my soul. You surprised me with your wit, your strength. I never dreamed that I would meet a woman like you, and I mean that in the best way possible. If you would allow me to, I would make you my wife, my queen.

It is not hard to guess that you think I couldn’t see you as anything more than a pirate, but you’re wrong. The softness that you try to hide calls to me. I want to take you in my arms and show you that the world will not always be cruel to you.

My father was wrong to allow his soldiers to do what they did. It was not your war. You were innocent. If there was a way for me to turn back the clock and stop it all from happening, I would. I would give you your village back, your family back.

Alas, I am incapable of doing so, despite how badly I long to. So I must do the next best thing.

I will be a better king than my father. I will do my best to ensure that there are no more innocent people punished by cruel, battle hungry men.

I won’t allow any more little girls to be sentenced to running from grown men who should know better.

I wish I could give you back your girlhood, my love. I wish I could see you with daisies in your hair, untouched by the horrors of the world.

If you will not allow me to love you up close, then this is how I shall love you from far away. I will do better than my father, in your name.

Is it peculiar of me to say that I miss you already? You are simply above deck, and yet, my hands long to hold yours, my lips feel like winter ice. Must you really leave me alone?

I am fearful that when I leave the Medusa’s Revenge, I shall never see you again.

I haven’t slept in the past two nights, but my nightmares invade my daydreams and make me see visions of a life without you, the life I am facing ahead of me.

How is it that I have fallen so deeply in love with you in such a short amount of time?

Perhaps, if I am lucky, and if you are feeling so gracious, I will hear your voice one last time before I go. Is it so greedy of me to wish to hear my name falling from your lips one last time? To feel you gaze upon my face, even if it is with scorn?

When I am back in my castle in Ithair, I shall pace the royal gardens and lament that the red roses the gardeners so painstakingly tend to cannot compare to thy sweet lips. I shall cry each night that the furs that line my bed are not as warm as your embrace.

Will you miss me as I miss you? It may be wrong of me to hope so, but I do. I shall miss you ‘til my dying breath, and perhaps even beyond then.

Will your siren’s song call to me beyond the grave? I suppose I shall have to wait and find out.

I will speak of you fondly, lovingly, for you were never the She-Demon the bastards tried to make you out to be.

Forever yours, my love,

James Buchanan Barnes

If any of your crew noticed that your eyes were swollen and glassy when they came back, ready to set off, they didn’t mention it.

Almost two years had passed.

Two years, and yet you were still crying yourself to sleep most nights.

Prince James had truly done his damage in the short amount of time he spent on your ship.

Well, he wasn’t a prince anymore.

When you’d docked in Genia about four months ago, you’d been given the news that his father, King George IX, had died, and King James II had been coronated.

You’d avoided docking at any of Ithair’s ports since letting him go. You refused to risk seeing any sign of him.

Your heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

You kept his goodbye letter close to you at all times. When you went into battle, the tear stained parchment was tucked inside of your corset, right over your heart.

You read it every night before you went to sleep, the parchment soft from how often it was unfolded and refolded.

“Captain,” Peter called to you from the deck. The boy had grown so much in the time since James had left. He was no longer the lowest member of the crew. He’d been given more responsibilities, and if you were being honest, was the person you trusted most on your crew, behind Sam, of course.

“Yes, Peter?” You had one hand on the wheel, and you were half lost in a daydream.

“There’s a ship coming up on the starboard side,” he said.

Frowning, you turned to your right, and sure enough, there was a ship much closer than you first thought it’d be.

Had you really been so deep within your own thoughts?

“Do you know whose ship?”

“Ithair. Navy.”

Ice ran through your veins as you turned back to the helm. “Tell the men to ready themselves, but we are not planning on fighting. We’re going to avoid them if we can.” Your hands were shaking as you turned the wheel, planning on making a sharp left and avoiding them completely. “Get Sam,” you said after a moment as your hands refused to stop trembling.

Your First Mate was there within seconds, taking over. “I’ve got this,” he said, ushering you away. He knew how you were feeling with just a look. “If we really need you, I’ll send Peter.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly as you went to your quarters, shutting the door before you began to pace.

It couldn’t be him… could it?

Surely he wouldn’t taunt you with his presence like that. After all, it would be cruel. There was no way he didn’t have some princess waiting for him.

But then again, wouldn’t you have heard of a royal engagement when you heard of his coronation if that were the case?

No. You couldn’t think like that.

Besides, he most likely wasn’t on the ship.

A king had better things to do.

You grabbed your jewel encrusted dagger from your desk, sliding it into its sheath. Your cutlass was already ready at your side, just in case.

But when you opened the door to step out onto the deck, you were caught by surprise.

Your ship hadn’t been steered away as you’d wanted it to. The Ithairian Navy ship was right alongside yours, a plank connecting the two. And more than that, there was no fight going on.

King James stood before you, grinning as Peter rambled onto him about all that had happened since he left.

A board creaked under your foot, and his head snapped in your direction. Your breath caught in your throat as his eyes met yours.

He looked older, more worn. Maybe a little tired. There were shadows under his eyes, and his hair was longer.

It was tied back out of his face with a green silk ribbon.

Your mouth went dry as you stared at him, not daring to move any closer. “Have you come to kill the Siren?” You asked, though you didn’t bother to reach for your cutlass.

If he truly wished to gut you, you would allow him to. It would hurt less than living with the pain of knowing that he wanted you dead.

“No,” he said, his voice soft and full of something you couldn’t quite name. “I’ve come to wed her.”

You blinked in surprise, your heart constricting. “Do you now?” You asked slowly. The letter that was pressed to your chest felt like it was burning your skin.

“Well, I truly hope so,” he said as he came a few steps closer, his hands behind his back. From what you could see, he had no weapon.

Perhaps he truly wasn’t here to hurt you.

“You see, you’re not exactly an easy person to track down,” he said, stopping a few feet away. “Especially since you haven’t docked at any Ithairian ports in almost two years.” He reached inside his coat, pulling out a small box.

“Your Majesty–” Your voice cracked as you snuck a glance at the people watching you. Your crew and his were staring, grins on their faces as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

James ignored your question, looking at the ring with a soft smile. “It took Sam sending me a letter from the last place you’d been docked at, telling me where you were heading, to find you.”

The man in question had the decency to look a little sheepish. “It’s time for something new,” he said, leaning against the railing of the steps that led up to the stern. “You haven’t been happy with this life ever since James left.”

He wasn’t wrong, per say, but you thought you’d hidden it better than you apparently had.

“Well…” You turned to look back at James, shaking your head. “You… You can’t marry a pirate. Or even just a commoner.”

“Why not, my love?” He asked as he got down on one knee, holding the ring up for you to see. It sparkled in the late afternoon sun. “I thought that the point of being king was that I made the rules.”

Your heart was racing faster than it ever had before. “I… I keep your letter on me,” you blurted out, stumbling over your words like a newborn foal. Your fingers trembled as you reached through the neckline of your shirt, into your corset, before pulling out the worn piece of paper. “I read it every n-night before I go to sleep.” You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt a tear hit your hand.

“Have you missed me as I’ve missed you, my angel?” He asked, not moving. His own eyes were glassy, his speech thick from emotion. “I’ve dreamed of you every moment, waking and asleep.”

“I have. I have, James,” you gasped out, your chest heaving against the corset. “I’ve missed you so much.”

His hand reached for your left, grasping it softly and bringing it to his lips. “Will you marry me?” He looked up at you with pleading blue eyes. “Please, my angel? I shall never ask for anything more if you say yes.”

You fell to your knees in front of him, your hands grasping his face as you pulled him in for a kiss. “Yes,” you whispered against his lips. The salt from both of your tears lingered in your mouth, but you didn’t care as you pulled him into another kiss. “Yes, I will marry you.”

The ring somehow found your left finger, sliding on with ease.

“I love you,” you said as you pulled away for air, resting your forehead against his. “I love you so much and I’m so sorry I was too afraid to say it then.”

“Shh,” he said, caressing your face. “You have nothing to be sorry for, my darling.” He stole another kiss, a smile creeping up on his face. “And I love you, too, my siren.”

“James?” You said, your nose nudging his. His breath mingled with yours in the most delicious way. Your chest was pressed against his, your arms wrapping around his neck. It felt so good to have him in your arms again after two years.

You’d thought you’d only get this in your dreams.

“Yes, my angel?”

“Does this mean I have to wear dresses?”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #royalty au #pirate au

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catlordewrites · 4 years

Text

Where the Roses Grow: Chapter One

The compound on Arvala-7 didn’t house one bounty, but two. Elsi Nokk is an enslaved nanny with more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She’ll do anything to protect her charge, even if it means standing against - and then with - a certain Mandalorian. Rated M.

This story can be found on Ao3 and fanfiction.net.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Mild violence, electrocution, reference to sexual assault, mild language, slavery and associated themes.

This Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter One

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.”

The thin metallic voice echoed faintly through the stone halls, but after a lifetime of eavesdropping she heard it loud and clear. Without missing a beat, she scooped up the tiny green creature that had been playing by her feet. To the baby, with his massive bat-like ears, the not-so-distant blaster fire must’ve been frighteningly loud. His dark eyes blinked up at her worriedly, ears held flat to his shoulders.

She pressed a kiss to his wrinkled forehead. With the child cradled protectively to her chest, she hurried across the room, neatly side-stepping piles of supplies and junk. The baby’s bassinet sat among the wall, small and unassuming among the scattered bits of droid and speeder parts the Nikto mercenaries had scavenged from raiding bounty hunters.

With practiced ease, she balanced the baby in one arm while opening the bassinet with the other. The quick press of a few buttons revealed the baby’s sleeping space. Small and dark, but made homey by several small blankets and a patchwork cloth frog, all lovingly made in the bright colors. Her fingers ached with the memory of each tiny stitch. She deposited the baby in its bassinet, tucking in the blanket corners gently.

He curled his little claws into the top blanket - the red one. His favorite. She smiled down at him sadly, wishing there was something she could do to stop the never-ending noise and violence; to stop him from being afraid. He was unlike any other child that had fallen into her care over the years. If he were, perhaps she could offer more comfort. But he always seemed shockingly aware of the galaxy around him.

He knew there were people dying outside. He knew they were coming for him.

She pressed a finger over her lips. It was something they’d practiced extensively. He copied the gesture, pressing one of his three fingers over his mouth with a self-pleased grin.

She could distract him, at least.

Despite the severity of the situation, she couldn’t help but return the smile. She leaned down to press a last quick kiss to the baby’s brow before pulling away and closing the bassinet’s shutters.

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.”

A few armed Niktos swarmed through the narrow space, causing her to flatten herself against the wall to let them pass. She was of little interest or value to them. An extra piece of furniture that they had to feed. They sidestepped her with the same regard they gave to the half-forgotten piles of junk they housed her and her charge among. Her safety was the absolute last thing on their minds.

She was far too used to it to be offended. The heavy metal collar around her neck caused others to set her apart and then aside. It had once bit into her skin and drawn blood, but over the years the skin underneath had scarred and calloused.

Now it only itched.

Knowing that it was up to her to keep herself alive, she tossed a ragged tarp over the bassinet and piled a couple of other odds and ends on top in hopes that if anyone did make it through, they wouldn’t realize it contained what they sought. At least not immediately. Just long enough for her to get a bearing on the newcomers’ intentions. Specifically, whether or not they intended to harm the baby.

She had no love for the Nikto gang. They were just the most recent in the rather long line of hands the child had fallen into over the past two years - and those were just the ones she knew about. But as brutish as the group of mercenaries could be, they generally left her and the child to their own devices - so long as they weren’t in the way.

She’d had far worse masters.

But, should the newcomers be successful, She didn’t want to be seen as one of the mercenaries. That was a very easy way to get a bolt through the head. Nor did she want to show any support for the attackers. Should they lose, the Nikto would be sure to express their displeasure.

She slipped behind a few crates to wait, well out of sight but with a clear view of where the baby hid. Passive defense had served her well in the past, and she saw no reason to alter tactics now.

The battle outside was louder than ever, the usual blaster fire underscoring heavy artillery that made the air vibrate. She waited with bated breath, listening intently despite wanting to clamp her hands over her ears to defend against the volume.

Silence fell.

She waited.

There was movement outside. Footsteps. Two, at a guess, but there was no way to tell which side they were on. She stayed hidden.

She was startled by the sound of someone running. Someone close, too close. Before she had a chance to work out who they were and why they’d been able to get so close without her noticing, they were crashing into the barrels she had hidden herself behind and locking a hand around her throat just above the collar.

She wheezed as the grip tightened. They slung her around violently so that she faced them. It was Grod, the leader of the mercenary band. There was nothing particularly special about him - besides him being a little bigger than the rest... and the fact that he currently had the control fob to her collar.

Grod hissed something at her in Nikto, squeezing her throat tighter for emphasis.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, eyes wide and pleading. “I don’t know Nikto.”

It was a lie, of course. But the tide had turned against Grod and she had no intention of assisting him in whatever he had planned - which probably included running. A bad idea in the middle of the desert. Especially while being hunted.

Grod snarled, perhaps having caught the lie. He fished in the rugged leather of his jacket and revealed the fob. It was small - just the right size to fit in the palm of the hand - metallic and black. A dial sat in the center of the object, along with a few buttons.

She was painfully aware of its function. Cold fear washed over her, but she didn’t back down.

Grod turned the dial and pressed the button. The collar around her neck seared into her skin. Her vision went white. She crumpled to the ground, mouth open in a silent cry as her limbs jerked and twitched with electricity.

She wasn’t entirely aware of what happened next, but through the pain she saw Grod turn with his blaster only to fall at her side an instant later.

Someone loomed over her, no more than a pale shadow in her pain-washed vision. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, unable to get enough air to cry out. Her teeth gnashed and rattled in their sockets. She heard voices, but couldn’t make out the words through the ringing in her ears.

The electricity stopped, but the pain didn’t. She gasped like a fish, trying to force her lungs to draw in enough air to breathe through the pain. Her muscles twitched by their own volition, trying to work out which electrical signals they were supposed to obey now that the horrible surge had come and gone.

Darkness ate at the corners of her vision. She sank away into dizzying blackness.

. ~0~0~0~

“Nan!” Hetta’s shrill voice sliced through the air, shattering what had been an otherwise peaceful evening.

Elsi Nokk heaved a great sigh, trying to convince herself to be content with listening to her charge’s whiny shouts, so long as it bought her a few more minutes of solitude. She bent over her needlework with redoubled effort, so that when the child finally found her, it would seem that she’d been too preoccupied to notice.

“Nan Elsi!”

Nan, of course, was short for Nanny, as a slave could never hope to be awarded the title of Governess. It was a comparatively small insult, and one she was all too used to.

She didn’t like being called Nan. It made her feel old, which she wasn’t. Her wavy blond hair had yet to start greying, even if it did look a little mousy tucked away in the low braided bun she always wore. The weathered places lining the corners of her soft grey eyes placed her in her late thirties, though her true age was anyone’s guess. A stressful life had the tendency to age a creature beyond their years, and she was no exception.

Elsi had no guilt at leaving Hetta to search for her. At twelve years of age, the child was spoiled, bratty, and had the wit of a bantha. Each day, Elsi would take her sewing to the riverbank while Hetta took her mid-afternoon nap. She always sat in the same spot, underneath the same tree that acted as a protective screen sheltering her from both weather and prying eyes.

Despite having found her nanny in the same spot a fair number of times, Hetta couldn’t seem to come to the logical conclusion as to where Elsi could have possibly disappeared to.

It only took another thirty odd seconds for Elsi to give up the charade. Hetta was loud and shrill, which wasn’t good for the headache that had already been building behind Elsi’s eyes. She heaved a great sigh and tucked her sewing back into her bag, folding everything neatly and ensuring that the needle wasn’t going anywhere.

She stood and brushed away the low hanging leaves, parting them and striding out into the sunlight. “Here, Hetta.”

Hetta bounded across the short lawn and stopped in front of her nanny, where she stood bouncing on her toes. She was a blonde-haired bundle of sickeningly sweet pink and lace, a dress that Elsi had slaved over for weeks. Elsi’s keen eyes picked out the dirt smudged across the fabric covering her left knee and the slight tattering on the hem; two flaws that hadn’t been present when she dressed her that morning.

Elsi tried not to be harsh about it. Hetta was only a child, and she was constantly reminding herself that children were SUPPOSED to play and get dirty. Had the universe been different, Elsi herself might’ve been exactly like Hetta as a child . But she’d learned early on to keep her smocks clean and pressed, as those that taught her weren’t quick to make allowances.

She subconsciously tugged at the side of her simple blue dress to straighten the imaginary wrinkles. Lessons learned at the end of a whip didn’t fade with time.

Hetta didn’t seem to care that she behaved more like a common street urchin than the daughter of a nobleman. She had the same smug look on her face that she always wore when she knew something Elsi didn’t, which usually ended up being bad for the nanny.

Elsi was usually quite good at predicting potential outcomes and preparing for them. But an unanticipated scenario meant she had no contingency plan for it, which exponentially increased her chances of being punished for negligence of duty.

Elsi crossed her arms over her chest, jutting out her hip and tapping her foot impatiently. Hetta’s father, Lord Burkisn, might be Elsi’s master, but Hetta certainly wasn’t.

Hetta’s expression faltered under Elsi’s piercing stare. Her internal debate flickered clearly across her face: to bask in powerful sensation of teasing, or to risk some kind of punishment later on. Lord Burkisn cared for his daughter, but since the death of her mother and despite his severity towards his slaves, Elsi had almost absolute power over Hetta’s upbringing.

Elsi was not afraid to use what little power she had been allotted, and that’s what made her the best nanny an aloof widower Nobleman could possibly ask for.

“Father wants you,” Hetta explained, glancing sheepishly down at her nanny’s shoes.

Elsi quirked an eyebrow, hiding her unease with a lifetime’s worth of practice. “What for?”

“Dunno,” she said, then quickly adding, “But he wants you to hurry.”

Elsi doubted the child’s ignorance. Despite the threat of being reprimanded for a lack of punctuality, she fixed her charge with her best ‘no nonsense’ look that could cause plants to wilt and waited for her to offer a more acceptable explanation. It was better to be prepared than to walk into any situation blind.

Hetta loathed that look. While she loved to cause trouble, she couldn’t stand being IN trouble. The death-glare was one of the most effective weapons in Elsi’s child-rearing arsenal, and she saved it for special occasions. Although being called to her master seemed arbitrary, having been sent for by Hetta sounded alarm bells for Elsi; it meant everyone else was otherwise preoccupied, and Elsi hadn’t been aware of anything out of the ordinary.

“We have visitors. Daddy’s special guests,” Hetta started sheepishly. “And there’s a sick baby.”

~0~0~0~ .

Elsi found her way back to consciousness slowly; she had to coax it - her mind and body - away from the relief of dreamless sleep and into the light. It burned her inside and out.

She groaned softly and forced her eyes open. The dull sandstone ceiling twisted dizzyingly overhead. Nausea coiled in her gut like a serpent. She rolled over on her stomach and retched, but there was very little to vomit up.

The collar had been on a high setting, higher than the usual level used to punish a slave. Anything above 75% for more than a minute or two, and you ran the risk of causing permanent injury to the slave - brain damage, heart conditions. In other words, property damage - something no slave trader or master wanted.

If she had to guess, she would say that the collar had been set to somewhere around 90%.

Grod had probably only intended to give her a brief shock, a few seconds of electricity strong enough to break her into compliance. She imagined that he hadn’t expected to be distracted by the blaster bolts cutting down the thick Quadanium door. The Nikto had drawn his blaster, no longer caring about the woman writhing in uncontrollable agony at his feet.

Movement flashed in the corner of her eye. Elsi wiped her mouth and gathered what little strength she still had in order to lift her head. She found herself looking into the smoking cranium of the IG unit, presumably the same one that she’d heard earlier.

Panic filtered through her foggy mind. The hunter was dead. Had one of the Nikto killed it? Did she still belong to them?

Oh, how she hated not knowing what to expect. She’d survived this long by knowing how to play her cards; and though they were often shitty, she won by playing the other person.

Not knowing the other players could be fatal.

Instinctively, her head snapped to where she’d stashed the crib. To her dismay, the debris she’d hidden it behind had been tossed carelessly to the side. From her place on the floor, she could see that the shutters were open and the baby peeking out curiously at the man that stood between him and Elsi.

A Mandalorian.

She hadn’t met one before, but the trademark T visor was hard to miss. She’d heard the stories, and she wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted them to be true. They were supposed to be warriors, noble soldiers in shining armor that were indomitable on the battlefield. The best warriors in the galaxy.

Elsi couldn’t speak as to the rest, but this particular Mandalorian seemed to have seen better days. The only parts of his armor that could even begin to be described as shining were his helmet and right pauldron, and those were coated with a fine layer of dust and sand. The rest of it was mismatched, a hodgepodge of dented metal that he wore like scales, painted with rust red or a shade of tan paint that was faded and scratched.

If he gave a shit about his appearance, he certainly didn't show it. He stood nonchalantly with one finger extended to the baby, who was reaching for it with interested little coos. Although the baby seemed to be at the center of his attention, she could infer from the tilt of his helmet that he was keeping her in his periphery. He didn’t seem to feel at all threatened by her, though. But why should he? From what she could see, he had at least one blaster at his hip and a fearsome rifle strapped over his shoulder.

More than that, Elsi spied her slave-fob clipped to his belt.

Feigning another bout of nausea, Elsi grit her teeth. She hadn’t met a Mandalorian before, but from what she’d heard, they could be brutal… and tricky. Some lived by what most species would call honor, others lived by how their own personal code defined it.

He hadn’t killed her yet, so that was something. But there were much worse things that could be done to a female slave, a bitter lesson that she’d learned very young.

Slowly, Elsi worked her way up to stand on shaking legs. Once up, she kept her hands folded in front of her and her head bowed submissively. The T of the Mandalorian’s visor turned to fix her with an empty stare.

“What is it?”

Despite knowing exactly what he was asking, she played ignorant. “He is a child.”

“Yes.” The indignation only just caught on his vocoder. “I was told the target was 50.”

“I can’t speak to his age,” Elsi offered, “but he has been in my care for two years, and he looks the same as he first did.”

The Mandalorian grunted and dropped his hand, which went to his hip. Elsi stiffened, bracing for pain, but instead of her fob, he came away with a canteen. He held it out to her.

Wary, Elsi accepted it. She uncorked it and subtly sniffed the contents. Water. She took a few meager sips to help wash away the taste of sick, but didn’t dare drink outright. Water was precious in the desert. She wasn’t.

The last thing she needed now was to outspend her own worth.

She returned the canteen. While he clipped it back to his belt, he asked, “You good to walk?”

Elsi wasn’t optimistic about how far her legs would carry her. She was already exhausted, drained by her collar and subsequent illness. And if that weren’t enough, months of being confined in a compound hadn’t done her any favors by the way of exercise. But, the way she saw it, there were only a handful of responses she could expect from telling a new master that she was too weak to walk and thus work. The Mandalorian had yet to be cruel, and might be willing to allow her to rest a little longer before setting out.

But she couldn’t rule out the other options just yet. The baby was the valuable one. Elsi severely doubted any bounty he intended to collect would be for her own delivery. He could just simply kill her to save himself both time and trouble. Or he could leave her behind.

For the baby’s sake, Elsi couldn’t afford to risk either.

“I can walk,” she said. “But first, may I collect his things?”

The Mandalorian’s helmet adopted a thoughtful tilt, as if he hadn’t considered that the child should need things other than a bassinet.

He nodded curtly. “Be quick.”

Elsi dipped her head obediently and shuffled off to the abandoned corner she and the child usually occupied.

Her limbs were still wobbly and ached dully from the collar, but she ignored them and quickly packed the few meager possessions they had between them into a worn russack sack; several of the child’s robes, an extra dress for Elsi, a few days worth of rations and a large canteen of water, as well as a few other odds and ends.

Last but not least, Elsi’s special needle in its ornate casing was tucked away into one of the hidden pockets she’d sewn into her dress. The casing was made of rosy bronze metal, embossed with finger-worn roses and an image of a needle and thread. It was the only thing of worth she possessed, having inherited it from another slave. Although its contents had long since dried beyond use, she kept it close, waiting for the opportunity to fill it again.

She finished quickly and padded back to where the Mandalorian stood waiting. Her heart clenched when she saw him holding the little cloth frog she’d made for the baby. He held it up to his visor, turning it back and forth. Elsi held her breath, half expecting him to toss it to the side.

He didn’t. When he saw Elsi approaching, he returned the doll back to the child’s outstretched hands. The baby squeaked happily.

The Mandalorian held his hand out for the bag. Elsi gave it to him without question and watched with subdued frustration as he rooted through it and upset all of her carefully folded and packed items.

She picked idly at the bracelet snaked around her wrist. It was the only ornamentation she’d been allowed to keep over the last ten years or so. It was nothing special, just a long braid of twisted leather with little burgundy beads that wrapped around her wrist seven or eight times. It was cheap and looked it. But wearing it made her feel safe, and so wear it she did.

Satisfied that she wasn’t hiding any weapons from him, the Mandalorian stuffed everything half-hazardly into the bag before thrusting it back in her direction. She shouldered it without comment, hiding her displeasure at how lumpy and awkward it now was.

Unbothered, the Mandalorian tapped idly at one of his vambraces. The bassinet beeped in confirmation.

When he led the way out into the compound, the bassinet trailed after him obediently, its passenger giggling excitedly to his nanny, who forced a smile and nodded along to his babbling. Elsi, already dreading the journey, brought up the rear.

~0~0~0~ .

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soyeahitsmiddleearth · 4 years

Text

May I?

Bard x Reader

Breasts are natures greatest built-in hand warmers, and somebody wants a turn.

Cringy summary warning.

Why must this god forsaken town always be so. Damn. Cold. The winter is bad enough, but even in the spring and fall it is usually much chillier than it has any business being.

It probably has to do with the high altitude and waters that surround your town, but even if it does make sense doesn't mean you have to like it.

You own a simple shop in the Laketown, you home since you were but a child, and in this shop you sell a small variety of different things.

Some of the things you vend include spices, sometimes baked goods, and individual ingredients like flour and butter as well. You're inventory is mostly kitchen goods. The payments you accept consist of more than just money, too. You barter your things in exchange for services and other goods that you need. For example, if someone comes in and they don't have enough, they offer a trade of your things for a service or something that they may sell depending on if they own a shop.

This is common practice here in Laketown.

For the most part, you gather your own ingredients for spices and concoct original blends for both sweet baked pastries and savory meats, and yo usually go out on weekly trips to collect more of the herbs, fruits, and other plants you need.

Your biggest problem in the beginning was finding a mode of travel out of the town, but that all changed after you met Bard.

Well, you actually met his children first. Tilda, Bain, and Sigrid. They were out getting the groceries when they came across your little home-stationed store. They were browsing around and you got caught in a pleasant conversation with Sigrid, and when you mentioned needing to find a boatman for hire to leave the next day, she positively lit up.

"My Da has a boat! He goes out of the town all the time, and I'm sure he'd be happy to take you."

Suffice to say you sent them home with a nice basket full of things from your store.

Later on in that same day their father entered your store and greeted you very nicely. He told you his name, Bard, and thanked you for all the things you gave his children.

At the time you laughed, "It was purely selfish, I'm afraid. Your daughter, Sigrid, informed me that you're a Bargeman."

And then you offered him a very generous price to take you across the lake each week, and, for some reason, he declined payment and agreed to do it all the same. This arrangement has been going on for quite a few months now, and it didn't remain strictly business for long.

Anyways, brining you back to your current problem with the cold.

You are seated just to the left of Bard on a small box, relaxing as he steers the two of you through the calm waters. Your fingers are freezing and stiff from reduced blood flow, and your nose feels as if it's about to fall off.

With a glance up at Bard you can tell the weather doesn't bother him quite as much, so you don't bother complaining and instead move to rummage through the covered basket you'd brought with you.

"The waters are rather calm, why don't you take a seat and come see what I've brought." You state suddenly, tilting your head up to look at him again.

His gaze flickers to you from the open waters ahead, then back, seemingly considering your suggestion. "As much as I'd love to see what spoils you've brought, I think it would be better if we land first." His eyes flicker to yours then back again, "You can wait 10 minutes, sweetling, can't you?"

A small, childish pout shows your displeasure, so nudges your knee with his foot to grab your attention. "Come on now, do not look at me like that." He says with a contagious smile. You can't help but to grin back.

"Fine. I'll be patient."

---

His promised time is rather accurate, you find, when not even 15 minutes later he's bringing the boat to shore and tying it down firmly.

Once he's done securing the vessel, he steps back in and settles into a crouching position in front of you. "Alright, now show me what you've got there."

Despite your stiff fingers you still manage to open up the basket rather quickly from excitement to present your items.

Inside the basket you stored a newly baked loaf of bread, various fruit pastries, some seasonings and spices, and, finally, some fancy butters and spreads you managed to snag from a woman the other day who traded you for a few things from your shop.

Once he registers all the things in the basket he looks up at you in shock. "I cannot possibly accept all of this!"

You narrow your eyes at his bafflement and reach over to pinch his cheek. "Well, you don't let me pay you, and I know that your children love my baking. If you refuse to accept my gift then I will only bring it by your house later on."

Reluctantly you release his cheek, his face is much warmer than your own and it feels nice on your frozen fingertips, and smooth your hands down your skirt to flatten out the waves.

"The warmth you provide my bed at night is appreciation enough, but if you still think you're lacking then by all means come and show me how thankful you are again." He tells you slyly, a smirk on his face as he wraps one of his arms around your waist.

Your face heats up at the very clear implications behind his words, though it's true, and playfully smack his arm. "You absolute scoundrel! You're corrupting me, I swear."

He laughs good-naturedly and releases you, moving to sit with his back leaning against the side of his ship.

The basket creaks as he lifts it up and places it on his lap, it seems he's no longer rejecting your gift, to look through the assortment of pastries and condiments you gave him.

While he sorts through your basket you look down at your hands and flex your fingers to try and increase the blood flow, frustrated at how the cold almost burns you. The cold even seeped in through the thick material of your jacket, though to be fair to it's quality, you are wearing a rather thin blouse.

You open and close your fist a few times, then reach up and unbutton the first few buttons of your jacket. Then you shove your hands down your shirt and curl your frosty fingertips under your breasts and have your thumbs press against your palms.

The stark contrast in temperature of your hands versus your chest makes you squeeze your eyes shut for a second, but it doesn't last long so you look back over at Bard who is, now, looking at you with a weird look on his face.

His gaze drops to where you've situated your hands, and you glance down as well.

"My hands are cold." You say shyly, returning your attention back to his face.

He raises an eyebrow at you in questioning, but doesn't verbally respond.

"Oh come on, I'm not trying to seduce you by warming up my fingers. It's warm in here and I am not ashamed of my nature-given hand warmers." You grumble, still quite embarrassed despite your words insisting otherwise.

Bard moves the basket to rest on the ground again and scoots forward, "If you're so cold then allow me to warm you up." He suggests mischievously, clearly teasing you.

"No thank you, I'm quite content with what I've got here." You reply, lifting your hands a bit to jostle your shirt.

"If it's as warm as you say, then I would like a try." Comes his arbitrary request.

Your face heats up at the nonchalant way he says this, and while the warmth is nice, you're still quite flustered. "You would l-like a try?" You stutter out, watching that devilishly handsome smirk appear on his face.

"That's what I said."

Gosh, his confidence is sexy.

You drive that thought away quickly, slipping your hands out of your tucked in blouse and letting them drop to your lap.

His eyes follow the movement of your hands, then looks at your face again expectantly.

"Fine. But if you pull anything I will take that basket and tell your children not to allow you to have even a crumb." Your threats only make him chuckle, and you can't help but to smile in return.

He wraps his hands around your waist and tugs your towards him, turning you so your back presses against his chest and you're seated between his legs.

First, he wraps his arms around your shoulders and crosses his wrists, simply messing with the fabric of your blouse for a few moments.

You grasp the bodice of your shirt and pull it forward, dipping your head down briefly to invite him in already. And he takes that invitation swiftly.

He pushes his hands into your shirt and you shift around at the temperature difference (though you were expecting it). His right hand rests on your left breast, and his left hand lays on the opposite.

Now, you'd never admit it verbally or anything, but you actually quite like it. The cold contrast of his palms pressing into your heated skin creates a whole new sensation you're not used to, and the strength you know those hands have only make the gentleness of his hold so much sweeter.

You bend your knees and press them against your blouse and hand clad chest, then lay your head back against his shoulder.

His own legs come up and bend at the knees much like your own, but he instead presses his knees into yours and presses you tighter against him while also moving his head down to nuzzle the junction between your neck and shoulder.

The moment is intimate, but in a way that isn't quite sexual despite the current location of his hands and the way he presses his nose against your neck.

The two of you sit just like that for who knows how long, and you love every second of it. Though eventually you simply have to ask, "Are you hands warm yet, my dear?"

He doesn't reply right away, and for a moment you wonder if he's fallen asleep, but a gentle squeeze of you bosom tells you that he is, in fact, very much awake.

"What did I say about funny business, Bard?" You scold, though the annoyance doesn't actually fill your voice.

His chest practically vibrates against your back as he laughs, and he presses a light kiss to your neck. "Forgive me, I have trouble controlling myself when such a wonderful woman is within my grasp."

Oh this man is a complete flatterer.

"I'll allow this infraction to pass, but one more slip up and you'll really be in for it." Once again the threat has no actual success in intimidating him, but that's alright.

"We should probably get to work, now."

#the hobbit #fluff #bard the bowman x reader #bard x reader #bard the bowman #bard #the hobbit fanfiction #romance #reader insert #reader #cringy summary but decent story

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junosartsthetic · 4 years

Text

Modern Kars

You took in a breath of air, heels clacking nervously against the pavement. You gripped the black leather briefcase tightly. Your crimson pantsuit suddenly made you feel hot, though the chilly New York air rolled against your skin. You stole a glance at the fading sun before turning to gaze in front of you.

The building in front of you was a massive, towering object, piercing the air and making the skyscrapers around it small in comparison. Near the top of the building, backlighted massive letters spelled out the name of the company. Kars.

As Lisa Lisa’s personal assistant, you were assigned to make a business dealing with the CEO and founder of Kars. Lisa Lisa’s brand of fashion was interested in collaborating with Kars’s upscale vehicles to bring in profit.

It sounded like a good plan, and if you were her you’d want to make such a dealing, but you were not her. You were you. And you did not want to be here.

Quickly flattening your jacket and patting the lint off your pants, you walked into the building.

A bulky man sat behind the circular front desk. His sleek blond hair was styled nicely. You spotted a gold ring clasped around his bottom lip. Curious.

“Excuse me,” you said, strolling towards the granite desk as you flashed the man a smile. “I’ve got an appointment on behalf of Lisa Lisa.”

He grunted, large fingers typing away at the stark white keyboard for a moment. “He’ll see you now,” he said, gesturing to the elevator behind you. “The top floor.”

You nodded. “Thank you Mr….” you read his nametag. “Wamuu.”

He didn’t respond.

Your heels clicked on the expensive tile as you made your way to the pristine elevator.

Pressing the up button with a gold-painted nail, you waited for the doors to open. In a smooth motion, you were greeted with a small white room.

You stepped inside the elevator, one hand grabbing the silver railing as the other skimmed the many golden buttons for the correct floor.

After finding the highest one, you clicked it, and the doors slid shut.

You noticed Wamuu staring at you for a moment, expression unreadable.

Clearing your throat, you rolled your shoulders back, posture straight as you prepared for the doors to open.

You spotted yourself in the reflection of the elevator doors. You looked nervous. You smiled. Ehh. Still nervous, but it’ll have to do.

With a soft click, the doors began to slide open.

The first thing you spotted was a large black desk, polished to perfection. Behind the desk a large figure sat. The walls were mostly windows. The height made your stomach churn. A golden glow shone through, illuminating the figure brilliantly.

Your eyes went back to the man. His hair, long and dark violet, cascaded elegantly down his back and around his shoulders. His eyes were piercing and stern. High cheekbones and a sharp jawline complimented his handsome features. His lips curved into a lithe smirk as soon as you took a step into the spacious office.

“Hello,” you greeted, back now against the closed elevator. You waited for him to beckon you forward.

He raised his head from his work, one large hand setting down a pen as the other closed a black book. He placed an elbow onto the desk, a beautifully polished nail motioning you forward as his smirk widened into a cunning grin.

You noticed his black suit was embellished with small gems in some places, and a large red stone hung around his neck.

“Good evening,” he spoke, voice deep. You felt something inside you twitch. “You’re Lisa Lisa’s assistant, I presume. My name is Kars.” He pointed a nail at the black comfortable looking chair in front of his desk. “Sit down. Let’s begin.”

You nodded, and introduced yourself quickly before taking a seat.

The meeting went by in slow, painful sections. You could barely meet his gaze, and everytime he grabbed a paper from your hands you felt his sharp nails graze against your skin. It gave you goosebumps.

His mannerisms were polite, and he spoke words of only hospitality and professionalism, but something felt off. The way his eyes looked you over. His honeyed tone. The brushing of hands. You didn’t know if you felt excited or curious or even scared by him.

The meeting came to a close after what felt to you like hours of interrogation. You had struck a deal with him, and a weight lifted off your shoulders. The churning in your chest remained, however.

You stood up, brushing off your clothes as you picked up your briefcase with one hand.

Kars stood up as well, and with one long stride he was in front of you, hand held out for a handshake.

Cautiously, you met his hand. You gave his surprisingly soft hands a strong shake, but he clasped tight still.

You rose a brow. “Uhh, is there something wrong, Mr. Kars?”

He let out a low reverberating laugh. You felt your chest tighten.

“You’ve been a delight,” he said, finally letting go of your hand. You felt an odd disappointment when he did so. “I look forward to this partnership.”

You nodded, smiling. “Of course. Thank you.”

With a sigh of relief, you turned on your heels, heading back towards the elevator. Before you could press the button, however, his voice stopped you. “Before you go,” you heard the clink of glass and the popping of a cork. “Would you like a drink?”

You shifted one foot, biting your lip. It would be rude to refuse, and there’s no harm in just one drink.

You turned back around, giving him a polite nod. “Sure, thank you.” You felt queasy and excited all at once. Did he do this with every guest, you pondered as you accepted a glass of what looked like red wine. You assumed so. I mean, why else would he want you to stay for a drink?

A fleeting thought crossed your mind, but you shooed it away with a blush.

Kars strode to the long white couch pressed against the side wall. You noticed a door next to it and wondered what it led to.

He took a seat, leather croaking as he did so. He gestured next to him. “Sit.”

Setting your briefcase against the side of his desk, you wandered over, taking a seat a ways a way from him. Your lip shook as you sipped your glass. It tasted better than any wine you’d ever had.

“Why’d you choose to work for Lisa Lisa?” he prompted, shattering the silence. You jumped in surprise, almost spilling your wine.

“The money, honestly. I don’t want to sound shallow but she offered me an amount I couldn’t refuse.”

He let out a hum. “I see. What’s your salary currently, then?”

“Uhh, umm. About 80,000 a year, I think. Of course, there’s benefits too…”

Kars turned his gaze towards you, body shifting as well. He rested a muscled arm against the back of the couch. Taking a sip of his wine, he clicked his nails on the glass thoughtfully.

“Would you ever consider leaving?”

That took you by surprise. What was he getting at? You supposed you could take a rather good guess, but decided to brush that aside. Maybe he was just being friendly towards you. Making conversation.

“I suppose,” you mused, swirling around the wine in your glass. “But not at the moment. My position is nice and I make more than enough.”

He set his glass down onto the glass coffee table. You heard him chuckle lowly. “I see.”

You took a small sip of your wine before following suite. You then folded your hands in your lap. You refused to lean back against the couch. You weren’t getting comfortable. This was a business meeting.

You noticed the sun had gone down completely. Stealing a glance at your watch, you noticed it had been an hour since first arriving here.

Kars must’ve noticed your glance, as he said, “I have no other meetings, You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.” As he spoke, you could’ve sworn you saw him wink.

Your cheeks dusted pink. No. Ridiculous. You needed to leave now. The last thing you needed right now was--

A hand on your knee shook you from your rambles. Kars had moved closer. You glanced at his face.

“Are you alright? You’re all red. Was it the wine?”

You weren’t drunk, just mortified at your own thoughts. “Oh no, I’m quite alright. I should leave, however. It’s getting late and I should get home.”

A part of you wanted him to tell you to stay, but he simply nodded and helped you stand. He then walked smoothly over to your briefcase, picking it up and handing it to you.

You gave him a thankful smile. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Kars,” you said, pressing the elevator button. “Thank you for the deal, and the wine.”

“Of course, now run along,” he said, gesturing you towards the now open doors. “Have a nice night.”

“You too,” you spoke, stepping inside before pressing the lobby button.

The last thing you saw was his gaze as the doors closed.

You let out a sigh.

“Oh my,” you muttered. “That was more than I bargained for…” a sudden grin graced your features. “I did it! I made the deal!”

You clapped your hands as best you could with a briefcase in hand. “Now, I just have to tell Lisa Lisa!”

A sudden halt of the elevator shook you from your glee. The lights began to flicker before shutting off completely, only red emergency ones illuminating the tiny space.

You almost burst into tears. Of course you were now stuck in the elevator. Of course. Just your luck.

You pressed the emergency help button, which flashed red. You assumed that meant people had been notified and you would be rescued shortly.

Grunting in annoyance, you gave a hard knock against the metal doors. The sharp pain made you wince and you pulled your hand back. “Damn it,” you muttered, leaning against the wall with both hands holding the briefcase in front of you.

To your surprise, you heard a knock on the other side of the door. “Hello?” you called, setting down your briefcase to knock on the door again, lighter this time. “Is somebody on the other side? I’m stuck.”

“I thought I heard a noise,” a familiar voice quipped. It was Kars. The elevator must’ve shut off before it even began to move. “Wamuu must’ve turned off the elevator for the night. Now, you need a keycard to use it.”

“Can you get me out of here?” you asked.

You heard a light beep and the doors slid open, revealing him with a lanyard in his hands and a smirk on his face. “Back so soon?”

You winced. “I’m sorry. I should’ve left earlier.”

“No, it’s my fault,” he said, waving his hand in dismissal as he tossed the keycard onto his desk.

Kars took a seat on the couch, making you raise a brow. “You said it needed a key to work.” Leaving your briefcase inside, you walked into the office. “So, how will I get down? Do you have stairs? Or can I borrow your keycard?”

He set an elbow against his knee, holding his chin up with his hand as he cocked his head. “You have to use the keycard twice. Once to get in and once to get out.”

Wow. Great. Perfect. Amazing construction. “So, then, what should I do?” you asked, crossing your arms. You really didn’t want to stay here any longer. You were hungry and tired and wanted to take off the stupid heels which killed your feet.

He clicked his tongue before standing, taking off his suit jacket as he did so before tossing it onto the couch. Underneath was a purple silken undershirt with golden trim. It looked nice on him, and if you looked closely you could make out the toned chest and ab muscles underneath… you shook your head. No. Bad thoughts. Bad, dirty, nasty thoughts you shouldn’t be having.

“I suppose you’ll just have to remain here until I finish up my work and then I’ll walk you out. Is that alright?” He cocked a brow.

You nodded. “Of course… how long are you going to be?”

He sat down at his desk, opening his black book back up. “Not long, maybe ten minutes.”

Thank God. You didn’t bother to grab your briefcase, simply wandering over to the couch and taking a seat.

Despite your earlier rule of not getting comfortable, you leaned back against the surprisingly plush leather, letting your heels come partially off as you closed your eyes.

Ten minutes flew by before you even opened your eyes again, the sound of Kars pulling out his chair startling you up.

You opened your eyes, rubbing them. “Are you done?”

“Yes, let me just grab my things and we can leave.”

He entered the room beside the couch, and you spotted a sort of bedroom in there. You let out a hum. Nice. Guess it’s for when he works late.

You winced as you put your pumps back over your heels before standing up and stretching. God, you were exhausted.

As soon as you saw Kars exit his room you booked it to the elevator, waiting patiently by the now closed doors.

He grabbed the lanyard with the keycard on it from his desk, walking over to hold it against a section of the elevator like you would a hotel key. A light flashed green and you heard the light beep. The elevator doors glided open and you stepped inside, picking up your suitcase as he stepped in beside you.

You hit the lobby button.

There was silence as the elevator started to move.

You glanced over at the tall man beside you. The calming warm light of the elevator illuminated his handsome face nicely. If you were crazy you’d even debate telling him that aloud.

Snorting softly at your own thoughts, you rubbed your eyes once more. Exhaustion was getting to you. Your stomach growled. And so was hunger.

A sudden jolt made your heart race. The elevator began to shake violently and you let out a scream as you grabbed onto the railings for support, dropping your briefcase.

“What the hell is happening!” you yelled, eyes looking at Kars as he grabbed onto the railing with one hand.

“Earthquake, maybe,” he said as though he was talking about something mundane. “Or drilling underneath the tower. They’re working on the parking garage under there.”

A rather large jolt sent you almost barreling into the ground if not for Kars. In a second, you were in his arms and pressed against his chest.

He held you there tightly as the shaking slowly died down.

When it finally stopped, he released his harsh grip, but his arms around your waist remained.

“Damn construction,” he snarled, a complete 180 from his usual tone. “I told them not to work underground until everyone had already gone home.”

You didn’t want to interrupt to say you were still pressed against him, and so sat in silence, looking upwards as he ranted about the unprofessionalism of some of his employees.

When he finally stopped, he looked down at you. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head. “Just scared me.”

After that, you two sat in silence, just staring at each other. You noticed his face coming closer. Or was it? You couldn’t tell. You were all shaken up. You felt his hands grip your hips. Your heart skipped a beat.

Fuck it. You were so pissed and anxious and annoyed at this day that you deserved some relief.

Throwing aside any doubts, you laced your hands behind his head, threading them through his hair as you pressed your lips against his.

Immediately, he pulled you flush against him, and you felt your back hit the wall of the elevator.

His lips were soft for such a cruel face. You could smell his cologne.

You moved a hand down to caress his shoulder and bicep, running it across his chest and abs. You knew it.

He, despite being in a desk for most of the day, was somehow toned in all the right places.

One hand of his moved up towards your chest, and you opened your mouth in surprise when his palm rubbed against your breast.

His tongue quickly took advantage, slipping inside your mouth.

You felt his teeth nipping at your lips as the kiss deepend, becoming rougher by the second.

You could feel his other hand slip over the hem of your pants, slowly moving downwards, towards--

The elevator doors opened.

You pulled away, face flushed and lips red. You could taste blood in your mouth. Where did it come from? You couldn’t say.

You glanced out the door to see Wamuu. He held a keycard in his hand. “The elevator said it had arrived on the first floor. I assumed something happened to your key and so opened the doors for you.”

Kars said nothing, merely gestured him away. He stepped out, and you quickly grabbed your briefcase and followed behind him.

You weren’t sure what to say after that, and so hurried out the door. He didn’t stop you. Didn’t even say anything.

You didn’t stop to question it.

But he knew what he was doing. He had a plan. And it was coming together quite nicely. Before long, you’d be in the palm of his hand, begging to work for him. Work with him. Work against her.

He wasn’t the type for romance. He thought it was needless. But he didn’t mind you. Not at all. And besides, he’d do anything to destroy her company once and for all. Soon, he’d be the only major company worth buying stocks from.

He smirked, looking to see your form already outside and walking briskly down the sidewalk.

“Oh, you poor little plaything. You have no idea what I’ve got planned for you.”

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writingmyselfout · 3 years

Text

Because I Could Not Stop For Death - Chapter Two

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue 1

Chapter 2: Wind That's Carrying A Change

Summary: Harry receives magical visitors.

MORNING on Harry Potter’s eleventh birthday dawns with the boy in question wide awake, having barely been able to sleep for the excitement coursing through him. Mrs. Figg had assured him Friday that she had sent his letter out while he napped, then said no more. He had been left to worry on his own whether it would be received in time, and anxious about what the response to it might be. He was afraid to hope he could attend this mysterious school, to hope for something better than what he’d come to know in his short life. So he had received the news delivered to him Saturday morning that not only had the school’s deputy headmistress received his letter already, but that she would be coming to see him on his birthday with a great deal of surprise.

He was a ball of anticipation the rest of the weekend, incapable of sitting still for long. Time seemed to crawl by, to the point that he was actually happy to be picked up by the Dursleys come Sunday afternoon, as it meant the weekend was basically over, and The Day, as he’d come to think of it, was that much closer. No amount of bullying or teasing from Dudley and Piers could bother him Sunday, no amount of chores heaped on him Monday, and certainly no amount of yelling from his aunt and uncle come Tuesday, could dampen his spirits. He had tried, in vain, to go to bed early Tuesday night in the hopes that if he just went to sleep, time would fly by and he would wake up to find his visitor waiting for him, but it was no use. If he dozed, it was for minutes at a time, for he’d suddenly be wide awake and alert, desperately wishing the sun would just hurry up and rise already.

It’s how his family comes to wake up to the smell of breakfast. Harry had needed something to occupy his time, and maybe if they’re in a good mood when his guest arrives, they’ll be less likely to be rude. In truth, Harry doesn’t believe that, but he needs something to do anyway.

It really only serves to make Vernon suspicious, although he only grumbles ‘the boy is up to something’ before shoveling food onto his plate. When breakfast has been consumed, Harry waits to be told to clean up to avoid further speculation.

He’s not surprised that no one remembers his birthday or thinks to give him anything. His birthdays were as unlike Dudley’s as was possible; just another day, barely worth noting, and certainly not cause for celebration. Before the Hogwarts letter, he’d hoped for something more, like he did every year. A candy bar would be an improvement to some of the terrible gifts of previous years, when they’d bothered to give him anything at all. This year, all he wants is the okay to go to this school, even if it means that they never again remember much less give him anything for said birthday.

Once the dishes are clean, Harry sits in the living room, keeping an eye on the window as best he can without appearing as if he’s watching for something. His fidgeting doesn’t go unnoticed, though, and Vernon snaps at him eventually to stay still or get out of his sight. Harry wishes he’d thought to ask Mrs. Figg what time Mrs. McGonagall was due to come, because it’s barely ten in the morning and he doesn’t think he can do this for hours longer. He’s sure he’ll lose his mind first.

It’s with great relief that he hears the doorbell ring precisely as the living room clock strikes eleven.

“I’ll get it!” Harry announces, jumping up to his feet.

If he were thinking straight, he’d have waited for them to tell him to go open it, as they usually did anyway, but his excitement gets the better of him. As a result, Vernon stands up and grabs him, practically throwing him back onto the couch.

“Stay put, boy,” Vernon orders him. “You’ve been acting strange all morning. I’ll see who it is.” Then he storms out of the living room.

His reaction has drawn both Petunia’s and Dudley’s attention from the television, with the other boy looking from his father over to Harry. The cousins share a brief look and then they are both on their feet scrambling for the hallway. It isn’t a fair race, never is with Dudley, and Harry gets shoved into the doorframe by his larger cousin, practically collapsing into the hall just as the door is opened.

“Whatever you’re selling, we are not interested,” Vernon announces as he opens the door. His large body blocks Harry’s view so he can’t tell who is on the other side. “Soliciting isn’t allowed in this neighborhood, I’ll have you know.” Harry doesn’t know if he hopes his wait is over, and this is indeed the woman he’d written to, or if he rather hopes it’s not to avoid the embarrassment. His uncle hadn’t so much as offered a ‘good day’ before offending their visitors.

In response to this rather rude declaration, an older woman’s crisp Scottish accent states, “Vernon Dursley, I presume? If you would be so kind as to let us in, we have come regarding Mr. Harry Potter.”

“For Harry?” Vernon half turns as he yells out. “Boy! What did you do now?” He spots Harry and Dudley behind him, and his eyes narrow as he opens his mouth.

What he might have said next goes unheard, because there’s suddenly a gasp of surprise from Petunia, who had followed the boys out of the room to sate her own curiosity. Harry looks at her but her eyes are focused on the doorway where just beyond Uncle Vernon stands a man in a business suit, his long, greasy black hair brushing his shoulders, and an older woman dressed in an old fashioned button down shirt and skirt.

“You!” Petunia’s voice is a strangled sound, but Harry recognizes that tone of disgust, although there’s some definite surprise in there as well.

The man does not seem as surprised. “Petunia.”

“I don’t know who you are, but I think you should leave now,” Vernon announces after this brief exchange, taking a cue from his wife’s reaction that these are people he does not want around.

“Not until we have discussed Harry’s acceptance to Hogwarts.”

“Hog-what?” Dudley pipes up, just as Aunt Petunia lets out a small shout.

“Absolutely not !” Vernon roars. Harry jumps involuntarily, caught completely by surprise by the vehemence with which his uncle shouts, and only used to having that level of anger directed at himself.

Petunia rushes over to him, ever cognizant of what the gossips might say, and reminds him, “Vernon, the neighbors-”

“I’ll not have this nonsense in my home,” he announces, ignoring his wife as he then goes to close the door.

But suddenly it flies out of his hand and is flung wide open. He and Petunia jump back and away as it does. The man standing outside holds a stick in his hand that Harry was sure he didn’t have a moment ago, and he watches him slip it into his suit jacket as he strides in. Petunia and Vernon practically flatten themselves against the wall to get away from him, and the older woman comes in calmly, unperturbed, closing the door softly behind her.

The two pause at seeing Dudley and Harry. Their eyes flicker over the larger boy, then move onto Harry. He tries not to fidget as they look him over, acutely aware of the second hand clothes he’s wearing that are obviously a few sizes too big. He isn’t sure what to make of their frowns, wondering if they disapprove of what they see and deciding he has to break the silence or he’ll go mad.

“H-Hullo,” he manages to get out. He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as shaky to them as it does to his own ears.

The older woman smiles at him reassuringly suddenly, reminding Harry of a handful of old teachers whom he’d actually liked over the years. “Mr. Potter. I’m very glad to meet you. I’m Professor McGonagall, and this here is Professor Snape.” She motions to the man who continues to frown at Harry. “I must thank you for writing to me, for I’m afraid we had made some assumptions regarding how much you might already know about Hogwarts.”

The school’s name suddenly seems to stir his aunt and uncle, as Petunia suddenly steps forward. “Now, see here, he will not be going to that school of-of-of freaks .” Professor Snape’s eyes narrow as he turns to look at her, and Harry watches his aunt visibly shrink away from him. “We-”

“You what?” he asks. “Think you’ll stop Lily’s son from going to Hogwarts, Tuney ?” He looks back at Harry, then down the hall as if he is looking for something. His eyes narrow and he moves past the boys.

“Severus, what are-” Professor McGonagall stops mid-sentence as Snape reaches the stairs and walks just past them, stopping at Harry’s cupboard. He swings the door open, takes a moment, and then looks past them all to meet Petunia’s gaze.

Petunia looks away, her face red as Snape practically slams the cupboard door shut. “She would be ashamed of you.” The words are low, but they carry down the hall, and Harry’s wide eyes move between this man and his aunt, whose entire face and neck are covered in red splotches.

“Mr. Potter.” Harry looks back at the deputy headmistress, who motions towards the living room area. “Let’s have a seat. I’m sure you have many questions.”

Harry nods, looks back at the other adults for a quick moment, then follows after the older woman. Professor Snape is only a few steps behind him. McGonagall motions for Harry to sit with her on the couch, and he sits so he’s facing her. Snape moves past them to stand behind Harry, just next to the arm of the couch, facing the doorway where the Dursleys have collected, seeming unsure of whether they should enter the room or not.

“Now Mr. Potter. Harry. You wrote in your letter to me that you had not heard of Hogwarts.” Harry nods his head and McGonagall continues, “What do you know of your parents?”

Harry looks from her, to the Dursleys, then over his shoulder at Snape before he answers. “Not much?” he admits, then rushes to add, “I mean, I know they died in a car crash-” Behind him, Snape snorts and Harry looks back at him to see him shaking his incredulously.

“As if James Potter had the faintest idea how to drive a car.” Snape shakes his head in disbelief

“Uncle Vernon said they were drinking and we got into a crash,” Harry tells them, looking and sounding confused, before turning accusing eyes on his aunt and uncle. “You lied to me?”

Snape is also suddenly angry, his wand in his hand again, pointing in the direction of the Dursleys. His eyes were on Petunia again. “You would have him believe that of Lily? She died protecting him and this is what you tell him?”

“Wait, protecting me? Protecting me from what?”

“Now, see here,” Vernon suddenly interrupts, seeming to finally find his voice again. “We agreed when we took him in that we’d stamp out this affliction. We won’t have it here.”

Harry opens his mouth to ask his uncle what he means, but a hand on his shoulder keeps him quiet. “Severus.” McGonagall’s voice is stern, and after a moment Snape puts his wand away. She turns her gaze back on the Dursleys, and her tone is cold as she says, “Let me make something perfectly clear to you, Mr. Dursley. You may be ignorant of our world, but I am perfectly aware of the laws of yours. Having a child sleep in a cupboard alone would warrant a visit by local authorities under the Childrens’ Act of 1989, which is not to take into account what other treatment may be occurring that might negatively impact a child’s development. Furthermore, under our laws, you could very well be prosecuted for neglect and abuse as well.

“Finally, I am more than certain that the letter left here with Harry explained not only the circumstances by which he came to you, but that he would be expected to attend Hogwarts in the future. I am certain of this because I was here that night. You can no more prevent his attending than you can stop time, so I suggest you leave us be before I am the one to lose my temper.”

She keeps her eyes on them for a moment, the threat hanging in the air, before turning back to Harry, effectively dismissing the Dursleys in their own home. In a gentler, quieter tone, McGonagall explains to Harry that his mother and father were a witch and wizard that met while they attended school in Hogwarts, and the events that led to his being orphaned and raised by the only family left to him, the Dursleys. He’s famous for defeating the dark wizard who’d given him his lightning scar, and non-magical folks--Muggles--may not know him, but all of wizarding Britain had known his name since that fateful night.

Harry swallows, not sure he likes the idea of being famous for something he can’t even remember. Especially not when it ended with his parents dead and him an orphan. He’s quiet as he stares at his hands, processing all this new information.When he looks up, he realizes both professors are watching him, and he shifts uncomfortably.

“So, uh, h-how do I get all the stuff on that list for school anyway?” He makes a vague motion towards the door as he says, “They won’t want to buy me new school supplies.”

“How would you feel about a shopping trip?” She stands up, smoothing out her skirt and pulling a key from her right pocket. “This is the key to your Gringotts vault. As your father had no other siblings or next of kin, you are the sole heir to the Potter fortune. I don’t know the specifics, but I’m certain there’s enough there for your school supplies.”

Blinking at the key, Harry repeats, “Fortune?” He’s inherited a fortune ? He stands up and takes the old fashioned key, the weight of it somehow making it all feel more real. “Did the Dursleys know?”

“Likely not.” Snape answers, thinking if Dumbledore had kept the key this long, he had likely also kept the vault’s existence from Lily’s sister.

McGonagall nods her head in agreement, half turned as she looks back towards the doorway as if she could see the Dursleys through it, wherever they had retreated. “Severus, why don’t you go on ahead while I speak with Mr. and Mrs. Dursley? I will meet up with you afterwards.”

“Excuse me?”

She looks back to meet his gaze, a challenging look in her eye. “I do believe in this, I am the better choice. Don’t you agree?”

Harry looks between them as her question is met with silence. There’s a long stretch where Snape does not answer before he sighs in defeat. “How, pray tell, do you suggest we get there? I am certain that the fireplace here has not been connected to the Floo network.”

“I was thinking the Knight Bus,” McGonagall states. She stifles a smile at the audible sigh that response elicits. “You know how the Ministry feels about Side-Along Apparition outside of an emergency, Severus. Besides, it may be a bit much for the boy.”

Harry frowns, not liking the implication that he couldn’t handle whatever this ‘apparating’ is, but he holds his tongue not wanting to give either adult a reason to cancel this trip either. He’s never been anywhere that wasn’t school or Mrs. Figg’s without the Dursleys, and he’s definitely never been shopping for himself. He’s not sure the Dursleys have ever bought him anything in his entire life, aside from his glasses, and even those had been bought second-hand so as to be as cheap as possible.

Snape mutters something under his breath, but Harry only catches the word ‘Ministry’. The man looks him over and his frown deepens. He seems like he wants to say something, but doesn’t, and seeming to read his mind, McGonagall adds, “There are some shops on Oxford Street, if memory serves. Could probably get some better clothes for Mr. Potter there.”

Red-faced, Harry looks down at his ill-fitting, visibly worn clothes. He’d set aside the clothes that fit him the best and looked the least worn, but considering what little care Dudley took of his clothes, knowing they’d be replaced as needed, very little of what Harry received was in any good condition.

He looks back up when a hand is placed on his shoulder, and his eyes meet the kindly blue ones of the deputy headmistress. “Think of it as a gift. It’s your birthday today, is it not?” Harry finds he can only nod in response, a lump in his throat as he suddenly gets the urge to cry.

“Very well, then. Come along, Potter.” Snape strides past them and back towards the front door, leaving Harry to run to the cupboard to hurriedly put his shoes on and then out the door after the professor. He closes the door on the sight of Professor McGonagall giving him a small wave before heading down the hall towards the kitchen, presumably to look for his aunt and uncle.

Outside, Professor Snape is waiting for him by the street. When the door is closed, he pulls the stick out Harry had previously seen and now assumes is his wand, holding it out in the air as if he’s hailing a cab. Seconds later, there’s a loud, almost deafening BANG, and a bright purple, triple decker bus pulls to a stop in front of Snape. Harry stares wide-eyed, too shocked to move for a moment, as a conductor in a uniform the same purple as the bus hops out.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency trans-”

Snape cuts him off. “Two to London.” He puts his wand away inside his coat and produces a coin purse from which he passes money over to the conductor. When that’s done, he takes a step as if to get on, then stops to look back at Harry. “Come on, then. We don’t have all day.”

“O-Oh, right!” Harry quickly follows after, getting onto the bus.

Snape motions for him to move towards the back, instructing him to take a seat, so Harry moves almost to the very rear, just a few rows ahead of stairs leading up to the higher decks. He sits by the window, wondering what the neighbors might think if they looked outside to see this bright purple monstrosity, and almost wishing he could at least see his aunt’s reaction. The professor is holding onto a pole behind the driver’s seat, speaking with the driver as the conductor jumps back on. With another loud BANG, they’re suddenly on a completely different street, and Harry can’t keep the shock and delight on his face. If he had doubted the existence of magic before, this surely was proof enough to wipe away all doubt.

Snape finishes his conversation with the conductor, which had amounted to specifying he needed to be dropped off by a clothing store on Oxford street, preferably one where children’s clothes might be purchased, and as close to Charing Cross Road as possible. He starts to head back to where his charge has taken a seat and finds himself stopping halfway to study him.

He looks incredibly like his childhood bully and nemesis, which he supposes is to be expected considering he is James Potter’s son. His eyes, though, are entirely Lily’s. A bright, disconcerting green he was not prepared to see when he first laid eyes on him, but which coupled with his uncanny resemblance to his father had made him easily distinguished from his cousin. Frankly, Snape had been entirely prepared to hate the boy on sight as soon as Dumbledore reminded him he would be starting at Hogwarts this coming school year.

Now, he is just deeply uncomfortable with the boy. He looks like his father, but he was nothing like him in manner. Not yet, at least. He also doesn’t resemble his mother either, the Lily he had grown up with, who had been playful and gregarious, entirely familiar with her magic long before she’d heard of Hogwarts or even known what she was. Instead, Harry Potter reminds Snape of himself as a child, the product of an abusive home and not used to speaking with others. He is perhaps less uncomfortable than Snape was himself, it’s hard to tell after such a short time in his company, but there’s a distinct familiarity in the way he seemed unsure as he spoke to them. Even the way he had been embarrassed at the quality of his clothes, though they hadn’t distinctly pointed them out, is something Snape could relate all too well to from his own childhood.

Strange, he thinks, that this boy seems more like him than he ever thought would be possible for a son of James Potter.

~~~

OXFORD street is almost overwhelming for an eleven-year old boy used to being left behind before such excursions. For the first time in his young life, Harry Potter can actually take in his surroundings without having to worry about somehow stepping out of line and getting in trouble with his aunt and uncle, or somehow inviting his cousin’s violence. He’d been too engrossed in watching the world speed by, and too intimidated by the serious professor, to ask Snape anything on the trip there, but as the Knight Bus disappears with what he thinks should be an audible bang, he notes that no one looks over.

“How did they not see the bus?” Harry asks Snape.

“Spells,” is the simple response he receives. Snape looks about, notes the large store they were dropped off, and moves towards the store. “Come. Stay close. I would rather not have to search for you in this crowd.”

Harry hurries after the man’s longer stride as he heads for a store named Marks and Spencer. Inside, they find their way to the children’s section and Snape instructs Harry to start looking for clothes that seemed likely to fit him. Having never actually worn clothes that fits him, Harry has no idea what size he is, and after a few minutes, looks hopelessly lost. Snape stifles the annoyance he feels, finds a store clerk a section over putting things away, and enlists their help by flat out lying. He tells the woman his nephew’s recently lost all his possessions in a house fire, and could she assist them in replacing his wardrobe? He was sadly unfamiliar with the boy’s size and could use the help of an expert.

In moments, the woman has Harry trailing after her as she goes and grabs a few basic things before directing him into a dressing room. Once his size is found, she chats amiably with Harry, putting him at ease as she determines the colors he likes best, all the while creating a small pile of clothes. In the end, there are five pairs of jeans, three pairs of shorts, some slacks, half a dozen T-shirts, another half dozen polo shirts, and a two button down shirts, all in mostly neutral, darker solid colors with about two plaid patterns, and the only white shirt being one of the button downs. Two packs of half dozen underwear, a new pair of sneakers, and a pair of dress shoes top it all off.

“If you’re anything like my boys,” she says, ringing it all up, “you’d be a right terror on light colors.” She adds to Snape in a low, conspiratorial voice, “Don’t think I want to know where even half those stains come from, to be honest.”

Harry ends up changing into a pair of jeans and a blue plaid shirt, while the rest is bagged away and his formerly ill-fitting clothes unceremoniously tossed into the closest bin. If it didn’t seem likely to annoy the professor, Harry thinks he’d jump for joy. He grabs the bags with his new clothes, almost like he’s afraid that if they’re out of sight, he’ll never see them again.

“Can you manage?” Snape asks, an eyebrow raised skeptically at seeing the small eleven year old juggling the numerous bags. At Harry’s nod, he adds, “We will be walking to our next destination, nearly two kilometers away.”

“Oh.” Harry still looks reluctant, but he relinquishes some of the bags over to the professor to carry.

Snape takes most of them, noting the boy’s reaction. He considers trying to comfort him for a moment, decides against it, and instead prompts him to follow. The silence that ensues feels awkward, so after five minutes, he finds himself asking him if he has any questions about Hogwarts.

“Loads,” Harry admits after a moment.

They pass the next twenty minutes of their walk with Snape telling Harry about the subjects he’ll be taking the first year, being sorted into a House the first night of the semester, and a little about each House, explaining who the head of each House is as well. Of course, Harry asks what House his parents belonged to, which then prompts him to ask if Snape knew his parents well.

Uncomfortably, he admits, “Your father and I were never friends, but Lily and I were friends before starting at Hogwarts. We...grew apart…”

Before he can ask for Snape to elaborate, they reach a broken-down shop front whose better days are, clearly, a distant memory. To the side of a door sits a tabby cat who, at their approach, starts to walk towards them and changes, mid-stride, into Professor McGonagall. She’s no longer dressed in the button down shirt and skirt he’d originally seen her in, instead wearing long black robes and a pointed witch’s hat. Harry stares, wide-eyed, and she gives him a small grin.

“You’ll learn about it in school,” she tells him to head off any questions, then motions at the bags between them. “I see clothes shopping was quite successful, Severus.

Harry flushes, remembering that the professor had paid for it all. “Yes. You said there’s a bank? I’ll pay it back,” he offers immediately, looking up at Snape. It’s hard to gauge whether the man likes him or not, as he seems to never smile unlike Professor McGonagall, but as someone who once knew his mother, he hopes to at least stay on the professor’s good side. Given the change, he’d like to find out more about his mother. Even a little bit about when she was a kid would be a vast improvement on the complete lack of information from his aunt, his mother’s own sister.

“Nonsense,” McGonagall says with a wave of her hand. “I will take care of it. Consider it eleven years’ worth of birthday presents.” Harry thanks her, and McGonagall continues. “Come then. We’ve still plenty to do. I’m sure Tom can hold onto these purchases in the meantime.”

She motions to the door of the shop front behind her, and as they approach, it seems to change before Harry’s eyes. The sign above the door reads ‘Leaky Cauldron’, and when he is ushered inside, he finds himself inside the dimly lit interior of a pub. They make their way towards the bar, Harry between the two professors, when a booming voice calls out.

“Professor McGonagall! Professor Snape! Fancy seein’ yeh here.”

Harry turns and finds himself looking up, up, up into the face of a giant of a man. He nearly falls back trying to see him, and ends up taking a few steps back when the man approaches, as he seems to not notice Harry at first and gets too close for the boy to comfortably look up at him without moving. The movement catches his eye, and after a moment, recognition sparks in his eyes.

“Why, if it ain’t Harry,” he says, his voice carrying easily in the suddenly quiet pub. “You was only a baby las’ I saw yeh. Look just like yer dad, yeh do. ‘Cept the eyes, yeh’ve got yer mum’s eyes.”

Snape groans, as they’ve inevitably drawn the attention of everyone else in the pub. Harry hears his name being muttered, and suddenly many are approaching, trying to introduce themselves and shake his hands. Professor Snape ends up taking his bags and going to speak to the man at the bar, while McGonagall attempts to prevent people from crowding around the child. She throws an annoyed look at the giant man who first saw them, and he seems to realize the problem as he flushes and then loudly speaks over the growing noise.

“Now, now, that’s enough,” he calls out, moving close to Harry’s other side. The sheer size of the man forces the patron’s crowding Harry on that side to move back and away. “Leave the boy; very busy, he is. Gettin’ ready fer Hogwarts an’ all.”

He maneuvers them towards the back of the pub, one heavy hand on Harry’s back to push him along. Harry looks over his shoulder to find McGonagall directly behind them. Further back, he thinks he might see Snape talking to a man in a turban briefly, but people shift and his view is blocked. Finally, they’re in the backyard of the pub, and the door is close decisively behind them.

“Really, Hagrid,” McGonagall scolds. “There was no need to draw attention to the boy.”

“Sorry.” The big man looks chagrined, but he directs a smile at Harry. “Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts. Be seein’ quite a lot of yeh this comin’ school year, I reckon.”

Harry finds himself smiling back, already liking the giant man.

“Speaking of Hogwarts, what brings you from the school?” McGonagall questions.

Hagrid looks down at Harry briefly, then says simply, “Business fer Dumbledore over at Gringotts.” This causes McGonagall to narrow her eyes, but she says nothing as Snape steps out of the pub to join them. He, too, is now dressed in a robe, much like many of the patrons of the pub had been, and Harry wonders if that’s just normal attire in the wizarding world. “Professor! Good of yeh to join us!”

“Hm.”

Snape says nothing else, walking over to the brick wall and pulls his wand out. Harry watches him tap the wall three times, and then a hole appears in the middle of the wall that expands until it has turned into a large archway. Beyond is a cobbled street with more people of various ages in robes bustling about or standing looking into shop windows. He can’t get enough of the sights and sounds, and Harry finds himself following after the adults in a daze, wanting to look in every direction at once and lamenting his inability to do so.

Vaguely, he hears them agreeing to head to Gringotts, and he brings his attention around as they approach a large, towering white building with bronze doors. Outside is a very short creature, impossible to mistake for anything human, and Harry finds himself wanting to ask but not quite wanting to do so where the creatures will hear him.

“Goblins,” McGonagall supplies suddenly, and Harry looks up to see her watching him. “They run Gringotts.” Harry nods in understanding, and they collectively make their way inside, to a second pair of doors in silver this time, and then into a marble hall. They approached a counter and McGonagall waves Hagrid forward.

“I’ve a letter from Professor Dumbledore,” says Hagrid proudly. He searched through the pockets of his large, black coat until he produced said letter. Puffing up his chest proudly, he passes it over to the goblin at the counter. “About the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen.”

The goblin reads over the letter. “Very well. Someone will escort you down. Griphook!” As another goblin approaches, the one at the counter turns to the rest of them. “And you?”

“Mr. Potter needs to access his safe.” Snape replies.

McGonagall then tells Harry, “Show him your key, Harry.” Harry, who stuffed it in the pocket of his new pants when he changed back at the store, takes it out and holds it out for the goblin. As he’s examining it, McGonagall adds, “I also had some questions regarding the Potters’ last will and testament.”

Snape seems surprised, turning to look at her and raise an eyebrow in question. She ignores him for the moment, turning to Hagrid. “Could you accompany Harry to his vault?”

“Course,” Hagrid agrees readily. The goblin passes Harry back his key, directing him and Hagrid to follow after Griphook.

Once they have left, the goblin looks back at McGonagall. “What question did you have? Be aware, client confidentiality limits what information we can provide to anyone except for Mr. Potter’s guardian and Mr. Potter himself when he’s of age.”

“That is precisely the question I have,” McGonagall explains. “Mr. Potter’s legal guardians to this point have been Muggle relatives, the Dursleys. Would he need to bring them here with him to hear his parents’ will?”

The goblin stares at her for a long moment before answering. “They are not his magical guardian.”

“Who is?” Snape questions, knowing James Potter died with no known relatives, and Lily’s only living relative was her Muggle sister.

“If a magical child is orphaned and his parents or legal guardians have not designated a guardian in their place,” the goblin states, almost as if reciting from a document, “one is determined for the child.”

“That is normally their Head of House,” McGonagall says aloud. “But Mr. Potter has not yet started school. Which would make his guardian--”

“The Hogwarts Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore,” the goblin finishes. “We therefore would require the headmaster’s authorization to release any information from the will to Mr. Potter or anyone else.”

Story Notes:

Chapter title comes from the Christina Perri song "Burning Gold".

Marks and Spencer is a real place.

#Because I Could Not Stop for Death fic #BICNSFD #Harmony fanfic #HP fanfic #Harry Potter

1 note · View note

angelofrainfrogs · 4 years

Text

Essence of the Spirit (Ch. 1)

Fandoms: The Bartimaeus Trilogy and Lockwood & Co. (Crossover)

Description: During an assignment in the government archives, Nathaniel, Bartimaeus, and Kitty come across a scrying glass that’s a portal to another world—a world where Spirits aren’t made of magic and essence, but are the sorrowful souls of those dearly departed. However, before Nathaniel and Kitty can enlist the help of Lockwood and Co. to get home, they must convince the ghost-hunters they mean no harm—a task made difficult when it comes to the obviously unhuman Bartimaeus at their side.

Rating: K+

Genre: General/Humor

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25476073/chapters/61797229

A/N: This is a crossover I've been working on for quite a while, and I'm excited to finally share it! A few notes before you get started reading: This takes place in a “Nathaniel Lives" alternate ending to Ptolemy's Gate, meaning that Nathaniel survived the battle with Nouda. It's been a few years since then, so Nathaniel and Kitty are meant to be about 19-20 in this fic. Lockwood & Co. are fresh off the events of The Creeping Shadow when this fic takes place, but haven't been through the events of The Empty Grave. I love trying to combine the worlds of Jonathan Stroud, and I hope you enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Chapter 1

Nathaniel shivered and crossed his arms tightly. His sweater did little to stave off the cold in the government vaults, and he’d been down there for hours.

“Ooh, it does feel a bit nippy in here, doesn’t it?”

Nathaniel glanced to his left and found Bartimaeus pretending to shiver along with him, wearing a puffy jacket so big it nearly swallowed up Ptolemy’s small frame serving as the djinni’s current guise. The magician rolled his eyes, knowing perfectly well Bartimaeus wasn’t bothered by this insignificant amount of cold.

Bartimaeus met Nathaniel’s gaze and grinned. “Want me to light a fire? It would make the room nice and toasty!”

“Yes, and burn us all up in the process,” Kitty snapped from Nathaniel’s other side. She was bent over a large wooden box, busying herself with sifting through various items of unknown magical origin. She paused momentarily to glare at the djinni. “With all the documents in this stuffy room, one spark would light the whole place up in seconds.”

“No need to get tetchy; it was merely a suggestion!” Bartimaeus responded, sounding offended, making the puffy jacket disappear with a wave of his hand to reveal the jeans and grey t-shirt he’d dubbed his “modern” outfit underneath.

“It was a bad one, and you know it.” Kitty went back to rummaging around in the box. “Can either of you make yourselves useful and help me find this stupid thing? Nathaniel, remind me what we’re even looking for again?”

“Um, let me check,” Nathaniel replied, uncrossing his arms and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out an index card and read, “’A small, rounded grey disc.’ Be careful rooting around for it, though; supposedly those who have touched disc have… ‘disappeared?’” Nathaniel frowned. “If that’s the case, I don’t know why they’d leave it at the bottom of a box, lumped in with a bunch of other magical artifacts…”

“Why do humans make any of the decisions that they do?” Bartimaeus mused. He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “5,000 years coming and going from this dreadful Earth, and I still haven’t the faintest idea.”

Nathaniel pointedly ignored him, silently reading over the index card again.

Two years after the Makepeace Incident, as the attempted overthrow of the government and subsequent near-takeover by magical spirits had become known, Nathaniel was fully resituated into his job as Information Minister. Once he’d recovered from his miraculous survival, there was talk of him moving up in the ranks, and even mention of him taking on the role of Prime Minister someday. But after everything he’d been through, Nathaniel realized he truly didn’t want the immeasurable power that came with leading an entire country. All he wanted was to have a stable job that kept him busy, with his newfound companion Kitty by his side.

Nathaniel never planned to see Bartimaeus again, figuring that after all the djinni had done for him and the world, he deserved a long rest. But, to his surprise, the time they spent bonded together (not to mention Kitty’s visit to the Other Place) had sparked a strange desire for Bartimaeus to want companionship from the two of them. Of course, until a way to freely move back and forth from the Other Place was discovered, Bartimaeus could only visit through a Summoning. So, the djinni agreed to be occasionally summoned to Earth by his familiar master under the strict condition that Nathaniel would release Bartimaeus whenever he wished.

This arrangement suited everyone just fine. Nathaniel had to admit that being so closely connected to the djinni’s essence created an irrevocable bond between them; he often felt as though a part of him was missing whenever Bartimaeus rested in the Other Place. There were so many things about Bartimaeus and Spirits in general that Nathaniel wanted to learn, and the snarky djinni was more than willing to divulge this information to him and Kitty in his own time. The trio still argued constantly, but their words were now only full of playful banter; a mutual understanding between them assured that no one truly wanted to hurt each other anymore.

It was during one of Bartimaeus’ visits that Nathaniel had been tasked to go down to the government vaults and locate an item of interest for Internal Affairs to review. Kitty wanted to help, and her new position in the government, as well as her close relationship with Nathaniel, allowed her to aid him with this task. While Kitty never wanted to be too embroiled in politics, she found success and a sense of worth as the official liaison between the members of Parliament and the common people. Nathaniel had been extremely vocal about Kitty’s efforts in helping take down Nouda, giving Kitty a notoriety that allowed her to have a hand in a lot more things than would normally be expected from her job title alone.

Thus, the trio found themselves down in the dusty government vaults. Kitty immediately set to work rifling through boxes upon their arrival and, seeing as she was on a mission, Nathaniel and Bartimaeus knew not to get in her way unless she asked for assistance.

“Wait, I might not need your help after all!” Kitty suddenly exclaimed. With a grunt of effort, she pushed herself back onto her feet. A circular object was clutched in her right hand, barely wider than the length of her palm. It was wrapped in a black cloth that had begun to fall off in one place, revealing an outer edge to the grey disc laced with an intricate pattern.

“Those are runes!” Nathaniel said excitedly, peering closely at the exposed edge. “Like from a summoning circle, but… off, somehow.”

“Interesting,” Bartimaeus agreed, his golden eyes lighting up with curiosity.

Kitty laid the disc on top of another box and carefully pulled the cloth away, revealing a scrying glass covered in strange markings on the outer circle. The three of them stared at the disc, trying to decipher what it was and, more importantly, what it was used for.

“It seems like a combination of runes for a typical summoning, some Ptolemaic markings of a reverse summoning circle, and…” Nathaniel wrinkled his nose in confusion, pointing to a symbol scratched near the edge of the disc. “…something else. I’m not sure what that symbol means. Bartimaeus, care to enlighten us?”

“What, that one?” Bartimaeus raised an eyebrow. “That’s the Greek word for ‘stay!’ Come on, Nat; this is kids’ stuff!”

“No, not that one!” Nathaniel jabbed his finger a little closer. “That one!”

“The Egyptian symbol for water?”

“No!”

“The Greek word for-”

“I can read Greek!” Nathaniel let out a growl of frustration. Bartimaeus knew just how to push his buttons, especially when he wasn’t in the mood for it. The slightly upward tilt of the djinni’s mouth made Nathaniel glare harder. “This symbol right here.”

For a second, dead silence filled the room. Nathaniel swiveled between Kitty and Bartimaeus’ shocked expressions, eventually casting his gaze downwards to where his index finger pressed firmly against the grey disc. Another beat of silence passed, and then Kitty began to shout.

Nathaniel couldn’t hear her words clearly, for his mind was solely focused on his hand currently being pulled into the center of the disc. The rest of his arm followed suit, flattening and twisting as if it were liquid being pulled down a drain. He felt only a numb tingling sensation, and for that he was grateful. If he was about to die, he’d rather it be fast and painless.

A tug on Nathaniel’s other hand made him glance back to find Bartimaeus clutched onto him with an iron grip. The djinni pulled as hard as he could, and this did cause Nathaniel much discomfort; he felt as though his arm might be ripped out of its socket. Kitty firmly grasped him around the waist and tried to aid Bartimaeus in moving Nathaniel away from the dangerous object.

But the pull of the disc was far stronger than the combination of a determined human and a powerful spirit. Before he could utter any poignant final words, the rest of Nathaniel’s body was sucked into the disc and the world went black around him.

***

When Nathaniel opened his eyes, his first thought was that the afterlife looked extremely dull. He’d expected white, pearly gates or some other fantastical sight, but the area he laid in was dark, dingy, and only marginally warmer than the government vaults. He felt a pressure upon him and turned his head to see Kitty laying on his back, arms still clamped tightly around his waist. Her eyes were shut, face twisted in an expression of fear and determination.

“Kitty?” Nathaniel said quietly. He made a move to stand and realized that Bartimaeus’ hand remained tightly around his own. The magician gave a small sigh of relief; if the djinni was present, it meant that Nathaniel was still alive. It also meant that they weren’t completely defenseless.

“It amazes me how you continue to do such stupid things after all this time,” Bartimaeus commented dryly, his eyes glowing in the dim light as he wrenched his hand back. His intense glare made Nathaniel grimace; he could tell Bartimaeus was legitimately upset with him.

“I agree, and we need to have a serious talk about that again… but that’s not our main concern right now,” Kitty said, disentangling herself from Nathaniel. Bartimaeus stood and held out his hands; Nathaniel grabbed one, Kitty took the other, and in one swift motion, the djinni pulled them both to their feet. As the trio examined their surroundings, they realized a rather startling fact:

They were not alone.

A pudgy boy sat at one of the desks that formed a semi-circle around the room. He had round spectacles, wide, bright blue eyes, and a pale-lipped mouth that hung open like a fish. His gaze swiveled to each member of the trio, trying to take them all in at once.

“Oh, uh… hello!” Nathaniel quickly regained his composure, straightening out his shirt and puffing himself up like a person with authority. He flashed a smile, but the boy simply stared. Nathaniel noted that he appeared to be in his mid-teens. The magician took a step forward and extended a hand. “We apologize for the intrusion but… we seem to have found ourselves here accidentally.”

“…I can see that,” the boy responded, slowly getting to his feet. The trio watched him intently as his eyes flickered to a door at the other end of the room. “And how exactly did you end up here?”

“Well…” Nathaniel trailed off, wondering how much he could reveal. His work within the government vaults was top secret and couldn’t be shared with just anyone he came across.

“Magic,” Bartimaeus said, and Nathaniel snapped his head towards him. The djinni wore an indecipherable expression, though Nathaniel could tell by his posture—arms crossed, hip jutting out slightly, eyes scanning the boy up and down—that Bartimaeus was sizing this kid up to determine how much of a threat he was.

“…Magic, huh?” The boy looked mildly offended as he removed his glasses and rubbed them furiously on the bottom of his sweatshirt. “Right. Well… I know someone who’s quite skilled in magic, so… I’m just going to pop upstairs and find him.”

The boy calmly repositioned his glasses onto his nose. Then, with a surprising burst of speed, he suddenly bolted for the door. Kitty took off after him, but the boy was already too far ahead of her and slammed the door in her face. Kitty smacked a fist against it with a growl of frustration, while Nathaniel looked at Bartimaeus questioningly.

“Why didn’t you go after him?!” he asked. The djinni shrugged.

“He’s just a human,” Bartimaeus responded. “Maybe he’s getting help, maybe he’s getting the authorities. If he causes trouble when he comes back, I’ll take care of him. Right now, our most important task is to try to find a way out of here. Since that disc was obviously a portal, I suggest we see if there’s a matching one somewhere in this room.”

Nathaniel pursed his lips but couldn’t argue with Bartimaeus’ logic. He glanced at Kitty, who had already busied herself with trying to pick the door lock with a hairpin pulled from one of her jacket pockets. Nathaniel sighed and turned back to Bartimaeus; with a nod, they began their search for a way home.

***

Read Chapter 1. (You are here.)

#The Bartimaeus Trilogy #the bartimaeus sequence #lockwood & co #crossover #fic #fanfic #bartimaeus #nathaniel #kitty jones #anthony lockwood #george cubbins #lucy carlyle #the skull #essence of the spirit #fanfiction #ao3 #phantomhivemast3r #midna3452

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prxst-n · 4 years

Photo

TASK NUMBER SEVEN: a body tour !!

GENERAL APPEARANCE:

Facial Type:

oval, soft facial features but a slightly wider jaw that tapers into his chin

Eye Color: dark brown, he would say shit brown Hair Color: raven black, like dark oil Hairstyle:

-for a male his had is considerably short but extremely shaggy and always being pushed back or his bangs fall into his face, in the mornings it’s so fluffy that he has to spend a bit of extra time flattening it and even then its still everywhere

Skin Tone: tan, more olive tones in the winter when he doesn’t get sun Complexion:

-preston has had pretty good luck when it came to complexion, he has a few pimple scars under his chin but no one has or would really notice them. other then that hes got pretty smooth skin

Makeup: none Body Type: large, muscular, and wide set Build:

-he has extremely long legs, most of where his height comes from. his torso is wide and pretty muscular, hes so tall though that even if he is mostly muscle its pretty average looking

Height: 6′ 4′‘ Weight: 205 ibs Facial Hair:

-normally none, but will let out a soft shadow grow if he’s feeling lazy... and this might be once a year and it lasts maybe a week is that.

Shoe Size: 14 US Birthmarks/scars:

-preston has a few birthmarks along the spine of his back, they are a soft brown shade and honestly just look like splotches. -his face, ribs, arms, and knuckles are always covered in cuts and bruises. these are from his fights obviously and just when one of starting to fade he’s going back in the ring to get more. it’s apart of his stress reliever and if he wants to get better he can’t look too pretty doing it can he? -preston was in a car accident when he was seventeen and the window was smashed inward on the side of his car, as the door pressed against his chest he got a huge gash so there is that larger one on his chest and a few small silver ones that are along his jaw, and arm where it went up to block his face and protect himself where he could.

Distinguishing Features:

-beside his bruises that stand out first he has several tattoos and can be seen on his hands or when he isn’t wearing a jacket since the two are on his arms. TATTOOS CAN BE SEEN HERE -he has a small beauty mark just under his right eye -he’s tall and to make it worse he isn’t just a thin, lanky tall, he has a wide set body, making him very noticeable when walking through any crowd. -one of his feet is slightly bigger than the other making it hard for him to go shoe shopping because just one size up could be too big

PRESTON’S REFLECTION:

scowl; like his father. smile; like his mother. in the reflection of his mirror the boy switched back and forth from feature to feature trying to point out the parts he got from his parents. looking closely though he was more pleased to tell himself he had always looked more like his mother and he was sure his father would agree with this. the less suspicious it would seem if he ended up looking like that man.

he had this grin though, yes more like his mother’s but also one he fashioned all on his own, he could almost say it was a smirk of sorts. he always held his stone like appearance but there was something about that little turn of his lip on one side that fascinated others, it made him less intimidating even under that scowl he had possessed. finally his eyes set on the bruise that formed along his jaw and even moved down his neck parts of that were a faded hickey but the one that was now a rather muddy looking purple didn’t even concern him. what did though was that when he went to press his hand against it... there was only the faintest of stings. was he just so used to the feeling he knew what to expect and blocked it? perhaps.

enough of mirrors though. preston moved on, pulling one cartoonishly long leg through a pair of black jeans after the other. shimmying as he went to button them around a built and toned waist. he then followed the very simple task of getting dressed with a white shirt and his dark blue hoodie; man preston sure made it easy.

one last check in the mirror and the boy was off, not even bothering to try and flatten the hair that had been fluffing up a bit. he could only do so much before just letting that black mess do it’s thing.

#malnatitasks #malnatism #task:007

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saltybaltic · 5 years

Text

Natasha Romanoff x Reader - SPILLED MILK

Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow x FemReader Fanfic

Prompt: A misstep causes one to spill something all over the other

Warnings: Language

Words: 1950

For @barnesrogersvstheworld 3k writing challenge. I know this is HELLA late but I tried and it’s here and I’m sorry I suck! I can only apologise for the poor and shameful quality of this story, it would appear I’m a little rusty and if I’m totally honest, endgame ruined me. I have seen that movie 5 times so far and let me tell you this for free - it hurts just as much each time! Anyway, enjoy this jumble of words I threw together ✌️

The morning had been a disaster from the word go and no amount of preparation or intervention was changing that. You had been positive the whole thing was planned to the very last detail but now as you dashed down the busy streets of New York clutching your portfolio to your chest and frantically pushing people to one side, all you could do was wonder how it had all gone so sideways.

A power cut at your apartment, losing your keys, a traffic jam downtown and an unexpected wrong turn had all lead to this moment; running desperately late for the job interview of your life. Your legs ached and your lungs burned as you checked your watch again and huffed out a breath before picking up the pace. You were now able to see the building just up the street, rushing out an apology to the man you nearly knocked flying as you approached the entrance to the foyer and attempted to straighten out your hair and clothing.

As you pushed open the doors to Stark Tower, you allowed yourself a quick calming breath and a glance at your reflection in the glass before continuing inside and starting your hunt for the reception. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, you were relieved to see that you had made it, just. A sense of calm descended on you finally, spotting the receptionist sat behind the desk and making your way over. Unfortunately your positive mood was only allowed to last a moment as no sooner had you taken a step forward you felt the weight of another person slamming into you, quickly followed by a hot liquid splashing down your front.

For just a second you were stunned, jaw slack and mouth slightly agape as you stared down at your white shirt that was now very much not white and instead covered in what appeared to be coffee. You almost couldn’t believe that something like this had happened to you, arms thrown out to the side as your brow furrowed and you looked up at the person stood in front of you holding a rather crumpled looking coffee cup.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!’ You snapped, one brow arching in question as you glared at the other woman.

To your surprise, she breathed out a laugh, lips turning up slightly at the corner of her mouth as she looked back at you seemingly unfazed by your outrage, “Well ... shit.”

“Excuse me?” You almost couldn’t believe her calm reaction to having near enough covered you in her drink. “You just walked into me with your coffee!”

Tilting her head to one side, she didn’t flinch even slightly at your tone, “Well I think an arguement could be made that it was you who walked into me.”

“Is this funny to you?! I have a ridiculously important meeting in like 3 minutes and you’ve covered half my shirt in coffee. How am I supposed to go in there now?”

Your voice had increased in volume and your anger was blatant to anyone close by but her demeanour didn’t falter for even a second, “Look I’m sorry but you weren’t exactly looking where you were going and I couldn’t move out of the way in time.”

Shaking your head furiously from side to side, you pointlessly wiped at the front of your shirt with a napkin from your pocket and muttered under your breath, “Great, so you’re a bitch as well as clumsy.”

This time it was the man stood beside the woman that laughed as he nudged her playfully, “Wow she’s got your number.”

“Shut up Clint.” She warned, the amused twinkle in her eyes betraying her tone as she turned her attention back to you, “Look, do you need some help? There are toilets just down he-“

“I think you’ve done enough thanks.” You cut in, giving her a final glare for good measure before hastily buttoning up your jacket and side stepping around her to continue your journey to the reception.

The pair watched you go, arms folded across their chests and a slight curve to their lips as you muttered a few more profanities quietly with the first couple of steps you took. Clint released a small chuckle, “I thought she was gonna kill you Nat.”

“Me too.” She agreed, turning to Clint with a grin, “I like her.”

His laughter only increased, slinging an arm around her shoulder and turning her away from you, “One track mind as always. Come on we’re already late.”

Somehow you had found yourself sat at a desk, waiting nervously for whoever would be conducting your interview. You couldn’t help but readjust your suit jacket every few seconds in a fruitless bid to hide the large stain on your shirt. Anger still resonated in the back of your mind towards the woman who had put you in such a position but the anxiety that was now creeping in was the only thing you were able to focus on. Your heart stopped and you held your breath as the door behind you clicked open and then abruptly closed, the sound of a heels clattering on the wood floor as someone made their way into the room and settled into the chair in front of you.

“So who do we have here ...” the woman glanced down at the file in front of her as she flattened down the front of her skirt.

In a shocked daze, you couldn’t stop the words as they slipped out, “You have got to be shitting me.”

Slowly she raised her head from her papers, with an arched brow and the faintest trace of a grin teasing the corners of her lips, “Would you like to start again?”

“You ... but ... you.”

“Agent Natasha Romanoff.” She cut off your rambling, looking back down at her papers briefly, “And I assume you’re (Y/N).”

Swallowing down your surprise, you nodded your head slowly as you gave a quiet reply, “Safe assumption.”

“And you’re interviewing for... our opening in A&T.”

Feeling more out of your depth by the second under Natasha’s gaze, you managed another dumb nod, “Correct.”

With a hum of a reply, Natasha looked back down at her files, tapping her pen gently against the edge of the papers as she tucked a curl of red hair behind her ear, “How did you hear about the position?”

“Through an old friend.” You paused to clear your throat in a bid to make your voice come out stronger, “He works in the same department.”

She asked a few more questions, her eyes remaining on the forms and papers as she jotted down the occasional note. It wasn’t until you were finally starting to ease into the situation that she actually looked up and scanned over you with an amused smile, “Rough morning?”

“I...” her question took you aback for a moment, having not expected her to acknowledge what had happened earlier in the lobby, never mind with such a teasing tone, “Guess you could say that.”

“In a hurry or something?”

You pursed your lips, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as you considered whether she was simply trying to wind you up, “I was running a little late ... yeah.”

“So not great with time management?”

You opened your mouth to respond but abruptly snapped it shut as you realised you had absolutely no comeback for her remark.

“I’m joking.” She stated matter of factly, as if it should have been the most obvious thing in the world before her grin broadened and she picked up her pen again, “Not great with social cues.”

“Hang on a minute.” You muttered hurriedly, sitting up further in your chair and placing your palms down on the desk, “I ... that’s not ... I ...”

You trailed off as she simply smiled back at you, a glint in her eye as she settled back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other. There was a few seconds of silence as you simply looked back at one another before you blew out a breath, “And you’re joking again.”

“Relax, okay? You’re more than qualified for this position.” Natasha threw her pen down onto the desk, raking a hand through her hair before folding her hands across her stomach, “Tell me why I should recommend you for the job.”

“Because it’s the perfect position for me? I have years of experience in the field? I’ve proven myself time and time again that I can do this job and I can do it well?”

“Are these questions or statements?” Cut in Natasha, “Tell me why we should hire you.”

Taking a breath, you tried your best to come across confident with a small smile and a shrug, “Because I’m the best at what I do. And you need me.”

Natasha returned your smile as she reached across the desk and grabbed your portfolio, tipping it open and flipping through a few pages, “Well ... you’re not wrong.”

“I have more files at home if you needed them, it was just a lot to cram int-“

“This is more than enough don’t worry.” Interrupted Natasha, pushing the folded closed again and sliding it back over to you, “When can you start?”

“Well ... now.”

She laughed, rubbing at the underside of her chin as she thought for a minute, “How about Monday?”

“Are you serious?!” You blurted out, unable to quite believe you were lucky enough to have actually landed the job you so desperately wanted after such a disaster of a morning.

“I’m serious.” She chuckled, “Besides, I kind of think I owe you one.”

She gestured to your ruined shirt and you dismissed her with a bat of your hand, “Honestly, Agent Romanoff if it means getting this job then you can spill coffee on me every morning.”

Standing from her seat, she gestured to the door, “Come on, you’re gonna love the paperwork. And please just call me Natasha.”

A few days later when you arrived at the tower block for your first day of work, you made sure you had more than enough time for your 9am start. However it did nothing to settle your nerves, unable to shake the feeling that you were incredibly out of your depth surrounded by the bustle of agents. You looked around uncomfortably, not really sure if it was a terrible faux pas to arrive nearly forty minutes early for your new job and you were fairly certain you were beginning to attract attention.

A tap on your shoulder startled you, sure that you about to be questioned by security for your prolonged lingering but it seemed you needn’t have bothered as you turned on the spot and were greeted with a warm smile and an outstretched hand offering a coffee.

“Hopefully you won’t end up wearing this one.” Teased Natasha, pushing the drink into your hand before flitting her head in the direction of the elevator, “Come on I’ll show you around.”

And so began your new ritual without even realising it. You eased into life at your new job with the boost of confidence and comfort that a morning coffee with Natasha could bring you. On your second morning she had introduced you to a few other people from different departments. On your third she had taken you out into the grounds to show you all of the best quiet spots for lunch. On the fourth day you simply sat in her office and were joined by the man you had met on your first visit. You learned that Clint was an agent like Natasha. It struck you how close the pair of them seemed, laughing together and occasionally exchanging a private glance that you could just tell said more than words ever could.

It went on like this for a while, not every morning but often enough that you were no longer surprised when Natasha flopped into the chair opposite your desk and pushed a coffee over to your side. Even when you had been at the tower a little longer and were more comfortable so you didn’t necessarily need the support, you couldn’t help craving the company of the other woman on a morning.

It had been five weeks since you had been hired when your attention drifted from the computer screen in front of you to the woman now slouched in a chair at your desk.

“It’s half eight nerd, why are you working already?” Asked Natasha, sliding a drink over to you.

You shook your head and laughed quietly, “I have a lot of work to do this week.”

“You know you’re not the new girl anymore? You don’t have to work so hard to impress now.”

“I know that.” You muttered, eyes still focused on the screen as you tapped away on the keyboard.

“Need help with anything?”

Glancing across from the screen, you couldn’t ignore the warm sensation in your stomach that the wide smile on the face of the other woman brought you. If you were totally honest this had been happening more and more recently and you were doing your best to pretend it wasn’t. You found yourself thinking about Natasha more, missing her company when she wasn’t around, looking at her more carefully when you were together and noticing all the little things about her. She made you laugh without even trying, something that seemed insane to some of your colleagues who apparently found the red head nothing short of terrifying. Time with Natasha had started normal and boring enough; she had made you comfortable in your new surroundings and most of your coffee meetings had involved talking shop or the red head answering any questions you had. You had half expected her to start leaving you to your own devices after a while, sure that she would start to get bored of your company and leave you to it. You were positive it shouldn’t have made you as happy as it did that she stuck around.

A sharp click of her fingers brought you back to reality, looking over and seeing the other woman smirking at you over the top of her coffee cup, “Penny for your thoughts.”

Cleaning your throat, you tapped at the keyboard a few times to close what you were working on and turned in your chair so you were facing her properly, “Just thinking it’s been nice ... starting here and you looking out for me and stuff. I’m really grateful for your help.”

She placed her coffee down, a curious smile gracing her features, “Well ... I know we didn’t get off to the best start but, I like having you around. You’re not a pain my ass like most of the people here.”

You laughed, “Seriously Nat, you’ve made this whole thing so much easier.”

“Good.” She adjusted herself in the chair, sitting up a little straighter and folding her arms across her chest, “Your six week review is coming up.”

You didn’t fail to notice her slight shift in demeanour, “Okay ...”

“And it would normally be me doing it but ...”

As she trailed off you couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy at the sight of Natasha exhibiting signs of nervousness and discomfort for the first time since you had met her.

“I think ... I well I-“

“Are they firing me?”

Until now she had been staring down at the desk as she tried to mumble out a intelligible sentence but your words caused her head to snap up so she could look at you, “No! God, no! Of course not, you’re great don’t worry.”

“What’s wrong then?”

She chewed on her lip nervously as she looked back at you in a way that you couldn’t help but feel she was trying to read your mind, “I was going to ask you something this morning ... and depending on your answer, I’m not sure it would be ... appropriate for me to be monitoring you anymore.”

Rubbing at your eyes in thought, you shook your head from side to side, “Please start making sense soon, it’s still early and you’re giving me a headache.”

“Do you want to go out with me?” She had spat the words out before she had a chance to stop herself, “You know, for coffee or something. Instead of me hand delivering it.”

Gripping the edge of the desk, you rolled your chair a little closer so that you could lean on top of the wooden surface, “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“If you want it to be.” She answered truthfully, mirroring your position and sitting forward in her chair so that she could fold her hands on top of the desk, “Doesn’t have to be a date. Doesn’t have to be coffee.”

“I ... are you serious?”

She breathed out a nervous laugh, “We’ve been through this, just assume I’m always serious.”

“But ... look at you!”

She shook her head gently, an amused smile on her face as she leaned a little further forward. One of her hands crept just far enough across the desk that she was able to ghost her fingertips over yours, a touch so light that you couldn’t believe how much it had made your body tingle, “Are you going to say yes or not?”

You were sure you couldn’t have looked more stunned if you tried at the idea that this gorgeous woman in front of you had any kind of trepidation about asking someone out on a date. “Of course I’m going to say yes.”

“Say it then.” Her fingers moved again slightly, this time brushing over the back of your hand, but her eyes never left yours.

You smiled, turning your hand over on the desk so that you could squeeze her fingers reassuringly, “Yes, obviously, no brainier.”

The pair of you sat like that for a minute, her hand atop yours and eyes focused on one another, both sporting what could only be described as a cheesy grin before she cleared her throat and rose to her feet, “Right I need to go, but I’ll see you at lunch?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully, “Is that where you’re taking me? The canteen?”

Natasha snorted, “You’re an idiot. We can talk about it at lunch yeah?”

“Sounds good.”

Turning on the spot, Natasha picked up her cup and made her way over to the door, pausing for a second to look back at you and smile, “Super glad I spilled coffee on you a few weeks ago.”

“Get out.” You joked, chuckling quietly, “I’m still mad no matter how cute you are.”

She quirked an eyebrow and smirked, “You couldn’t be mad at me if you tried.”

As you watched her leave and basked in the feeling only spending time with Natasha could give, you had to agree she was probably right.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #shotthroughtheheart3k #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow #natalia romanova #natasha romanov #natalia romanoff #x reader #mcu fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfiction #fanfiction #reader insert

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tibbinswrites · 5 years

Text

Suptober Day 5 - Water

Castiel waited until both Winchesters were asleep before quietly making his way outside. He used the garage exit rather than the loud, main door in the war room. He’d left his phone on the desk in his room, and he’d left his coat and suit jacket on the chair as a clear sign that he was coming back, just in case one of the others woke up and worried about where he had gone. After all, who would want to go out in such weather?

Dean had been complaining about the rain for the last several hours now. It had been a near-constant deluge; audible even from underground, it providing a rhythmic soundtrack no matter where in the bunker they went. Dean found it annoying. He’d wanted to drive into town for a special late-night Western movie marathon. When Cas suggested that he could still go, as sitting in a movie theatre was usually a dry activity, Dean huffed and said that he’d have to get there three hours early if he even wanted to get a place in line, a line that was very much outside.

Castiel hadn’t realised that there was such a large percentage of the population of Lebanon, Kansas that were Western fans. The town was reasonably small after all, and they didn’t get a lot of tourists. People passed through here, of course, on their way to larger cities in other states, but very rarely was it a place that people would stop without a reason.

Sam didn’t much like the sound either. He said it was soothing on its own, a nice thrum to read to like white noise, but when the wind started to interrupt the rhythm of it he said the effect was somewhat spoiled and kept making him jump when it came back with force after a lull.

Castiel suspected that that Sam’s agitation would have gotten worse when the storm began in earnest an hour ago and the snap and roll of thunder became interspersed within the calming rain. When Castiel had first met him, Sam was as unbothered by loud noises as Dean was, but since the return of his memories from the cage, he flinched with little provocation, the slam of a door, someone snapping their fingers, even a too-quick movement in his direction. Sometimes it helped his hunting, other times it didn’t, but it was something that Castiel couldn’t heal, and something that he doubted would ever fully go away.

He crept through the garage, the rain and wind was louder here against the warded corrugated steel shutter that had had to be unlocked from the ground, then raised or lowered by hand when the brothers had first arrived; Dean had quickly thrown together a simple mechanism that meant it could be done remotely. At least, he’d termed it simple. Castiel privately thought that some of Rowena’s magic was easier to understand, and it wasn’t as though lifting the thing was difficult for him. But now, all he needed to do was press a button on his keyring and the shutters would lift.

The shutters were loud though, so he took the side door. Both led out into a passageway large enough for two of Dean’s impala to drive side-by-side. It sloped gently up and around, emerging about a hundred and seventy yards away from the bunker itself onto a dirt track that was difficult to find unless you already knew where it was, in case it was besieged and the occupants needed a discrete escape. Dean called it ‘great planning’, Sam called it ‘the paranoia of old men’, Castiel however, called it ‘inconvenient necessity’. He figured that he would resent the long tunnel until the very second that he needed it.

Castiel hadn’t bothered turning on the garage lights and so the tunnel was as black as the Empty. The passageway had no lights of its own, for stealth, if Castiel was to guess, though Dean had installed a runner of reflective tape along the bottom to help navigate the middle section where neither the garage lights nor the natural light of outside could reach. The storm was so heavy with cloud that there was no natural light save for the occasional electric flash that skittered along the reflective runner.

Castiel picked up his pace, excitement swirling from his very core. The darkness was nothing to him, after all. He could still see the places where the tape was beginning to peel, and the slow lightening as the darkness became less solid when he rounded the final bend.

The dirt path was a sluice of mud, Castiel saw, stopping just inside the tunnel, allowing the cold spray to lightly hit his face and shirt, a promise of what was to come if he took just one more step. But he hesitated. He had been with humans too long, perhaps, and when he was human, he’d learned that rain was to be avoided when possible, that it was unpleasant to be wet and cold, that it made one shiver, that it seeped through below his skin, could make him sick.

He shook his head. He didn’t like to think of that time, it only brought resentment to the surface; how different his experience as a human could have been if Dean hadn’t unceremoniously kicked him out with nothing but a clap on the shoulder, a duffle bag and a wad of cash, some of which he’d spent, the rest he’d gotten careless with. He had to keep reminding himself that it wasn’t truly Dean’s fault, he’d been oblivious to how vulnerable Castiel truly was. He’d thought that one with all the memories of an angel, a soldier with a vast inherent knowledge of how human bodies worked would be fine. But knowing and experiencing were two different things.

He stared out of the mouth of the passageway, feeling the gentle spray, watching the rain that seemed less like droplets and more like ever-moving strings stretching up into the sky. The sound was mesmerising. The wind gave a sudden howl, tugging at his loose shirt and hair as though urging him out.

Castiel took off his shoes and socks and left them in the dry passageway before he stepped forward, his foot immediately sunk up to the ankle in mud. It was cold, and smooth between his toes. He could feel the temperature, could pinpoint it to exactness, but it had no effect on him anymore. He enjoyed the sensation of his frivolity and took another few steps, his hair quickly flattened to his skull under the force of the rain and his clothes began to cling to his skin.

The wind buffeted him a little, sending rain straight into his face one moment, or pushing him forward the next. It seemed almost playful, eager. It had been a long time since Castiel had gone out in a storm and perhaps the storm had missed him too.

He kept walking, yanking his feet from the sucking mud to keep moving forward, the trees along the road began to bow and creak as the wind picked up. He was following the lightning. He knew it was close, it had to be. He hadn’t felt a storm call him like this for a few years now. After a while he squelched off the path and into the forest, heeding the call of the thunder. It seemed to rumble his name and he quickened his pace. He had missed this.

He emerged in a clearing and lightning forked above him in greeting. He raised his eyes to the sky, letting the water hit him, creating rivulets in the creases of his skin. He felt… energised as lightning flashed again, striking the very edge of the clearing, adding smoke and electricity to the smells of rain and earth. Storms were a meeting of all four elements, and they carried a kind of magic in them that had always drawn Castiel. Very few other angels felt the storm as he did, and none were left now.

Lightning struck again, only feet away now and Castiel screamed into it. He screamed where he couldn’t be heard, he screamed out his grief, his anger, his anguish. He screamed out his frustrations and his love and his joy. He screamed until his vocal chords gave in, and then, purged and empty and free, surrounded only by the storm, he began to laugh. The thunder laughed with him, the rain danced around him, and as lightning struck the ground inches behind him he leaned back into it and for an instant, he had his wings again.

@winchester-reload

If you liked this, please consider buying me a coffee.

#suptober #suptoberart2019 #day 5 #water #castiel #storm #rain #lightning #a little angsty #a little sad #spn fanfic #prompt #writing #TibbinsWrites

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too-old-for-fangirling-but-idc · 5 years

Text

My little Squeaky Toy Pt.5 (Tom Hiddleston x Reader)

Title: My little Squeaky Toy Pt.5

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary: In which Tom and you finally have dinner together in an Italian restaurant.

Warnings: fluff, romance, kissing, a lot of blushing, clumsiness, shy reader, Tom Hiddleston is a ridiculous gentleman and sweetheart, embarrassing situations

Notes: I’m not really satisfied with this part, I’m sorry.

(Y/C) = your city

Word count: 2008

Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Requested by: @eye106

The restaurant was small. A tiny building so far off the main streets that it was no wonder that it was pretty much empty. Tom’s hand lay on your lower back as he guided you into the even smaller room. It felt good, though, his grip was neither too strong, nor was force put into it. You could barely feel his fingers on your back, so light was the touch.

It puzzled you, how you had survived the car ride and the permanent side glances he had thrown at you, without going insane. Well, you had been in some sort of daze the moment you had landed in his arms and had just managed to snap out of it when you had arrived at the restaurant.

Tom talked to a waiter, who quickly took your jackets and led you to a table in one of the corners, far away from the entrance or anything that could make noises which would interrupt or distract you. In a hurry he lit the candle in the middle of the table - it was a small one in a glass - and pulled out the chair for you to sit down. You were a bit flustered, but concentrated only on the beautiful human being, that was just getting comfortable, in front of you. He really was beautiful.

The candle light and the smile, that was plastered to his lips, didn’t make it any better. Talking about it… said smile grew until a row of perfect white pearls was being revealed. How did he even manage that? Keeping his teeth in such perfect condition?

“Are you okay, darling? You look a bit flushed.” He sounded concerned, but the grin on his lips told you something different. He was teasing you on purpose.

“I have never felt better.” That wasn’t a lie. Internally, you were screaming in pure excitement and joy and you couldn’t remember the last time you had to suppress a grin with such force. The smile was everything you let slip. At least, he should know that you enjoyed yourself.

One of Tom’s eyebrows shot upwards when you took the menu from the waiter, smiling at the middle-aged man shortly in thanks. Then your gaze was fixed on Tom again.

The light in the restaurant was dim, although it was still bright daylight outside. It made you wonder about how in the world Tom had managed to spot this place without having directly passed it on his way into the city.

Small shadows were cast along Tom’s soft features, his sharp cheekbones and tender throat highly accentuated in contrast to his cheeks and the crook of his neck. He wore a dark-blue button-down shirt, that almost seemed black, with rolled up sleeves. The light linen – seemingly crinkled at the sleeves and near the buttons – caressed his body in a way you had never seen on another man before. Basically, and honestly, Tom could wear whatever he wanted, and you would still drool over him, no matter how messy he would look.

“Do you already know what you want to drink?” The moment he spoke, your eyes were drawn to his lips. God, what was wrong with you?

“No – I mean yes. Yes, I do.” Could it possibly get any more embarrassing?

By the way he smiled at you, you could tell that he had caught you staring and apparently, he found that rather amusing. Just seconds later he leaned a bit forward and propped his chin on one of his hands.

“What are you going to take?”

“I’m – uh…” You stammered and internally applauded yourself for such an intelligent statement.

“You didn’t choose anything, am I right?” He flashed you a cheeky grin. “What about Pinot Noir? It goes really well with pasta.”

You assumed that Pinot Noir had to be wine or something similar. At least it sounded like it was. Maybe red wine. Actually, you weren’t someone to drink alcohol, but that was a special occasion and one single glass couldn’t be that bad after all.

“I’m sorry.” Concern showed on his face, his brows knitted slightly. “I didn’t even ask you if you liked wine.”

“Depends. What is Pinot Noir?” You answered truthfully, causing Tom to laugh heartily.

God, he was so beautiful like that.

“It’s red wine. Trust me when I tell you that it is worth trying.”

“Okay… How much is it?” You meant the price, because, considering the name of that wine, it might be expensive, and you weren’t exactly rich.

“Don’t worry about the price, Darling, I’m paying.”

Of course, you should have known that he would offer that. But now you were sitting in front of him, agape at his kindness and just didn’t know what to say, completely surprised, although you should have known. You felt your cheeks flush and, considering how hot your face was at that moment, you were probably as red as a tomato.

Tom tilted his head slightly upwards and then down again, smiling gently at you, no judgement to see in his eyes.

“You are beautiful when you blush.” It sounded so innocent and soft, coming from him and it just made you blush all the more.

“Thank you?” How were you supposed to react to something like this? His stare was intense enough to make you shift nervously and curl a strand of hair in between your index finger and your thumb.

His smile grew wider and he leaned back slightly, obviously looking you up and down. Normally, you wouldn’t have noticed, but that was different. It wasn’t just some guy, it was Tom.

And apparently, he did it with the knowledge of you noticing what he was doing. Hopefully, he would stop soon. Not, that you didn’t like having his attention, you merely didn’t want to be blushing for the rest of the evening. He chuckled and looked down, studying his hand, while you were studying him.

His glasses were sliding down his nose, just a bit and they definitely wouldn’t have fallen down - they stopped mid-way - but you couldn’t resist the urge and leaned forward, gently pushing it up again. Then holding his gaze, you wanted to sit down again, but his slender fingers wrapped around your wrist, as he gently pulled you forward. And suddenly you felt overwhelmed by his presence. Before you knew what was happening, he cupped your cheek and pulled you even closer, careful so you wouldn’t hurt yourself.

“Are you seeing anyone lately?” His voice was slightly hoarse and his gaze intense and fixed on you. It made you shudder and colour, when you realized what he had meant with that question.

“No…” You hesitated to hold eye contact, but at the same time, you wouldn’t even have been able to withdraw or do anything at all, his scent and hot hand on your skin almost too much to bear.

“That’s good.” He shifted slightly, reached for the back of your neck and kissed you. For the first few seconds, you couldn’t think, were not able to realize what was happening. Your head was spinning and all at once, you felt lightheaded and dizzy. Then you noticed how soft and warm his lips were, how gentle the kiss and how patiently he merely pressed his lips against yours, waiting for you to respond or to reject. And that was all it took for you to kiss him back, to move your lips and show him that, yes, yes you liked it and yes, you wanted more.

At some point, you might have knocked your – still empty – wine glass over but you couldn’t care less. You wanted to kiss him forever.

But Tom was the first to part again, slightly dazed, and caressed your cheek gently. Flushing deeply red, you looked away and sat down again, flattening your blue dress to keep your hands busy.

The hand, that had cupped your cheek only a few seconds ago, had wandered down your neck, shoulder and arm until it had reached your hand and Tom intertwined your fingers with his.

You stared at him wide eyed, not really registering when he ordered a bottle of wine and your meals and sent the waiter away again, paying his every attention to you once more. He squeezed your hand gently and smiled reassuringly, as if he was afraid you would change your mind at the next best opportunity.

“How can you brighten up with one smile?” It was barely a whisper, not intended for him to hear, but he did and chuckled amused, making you flush all over yet another time. But why did you even take the time to be embarrassed for what you had said? He was the one who had kissed you, wasn’t that obvious enough? You didn’t think of Tom as someone who would play games for fun with other people’s feelings. Nevertheless, you couldn’t help but feel insecure. Showing people your vulnerability was never something that was easy for you, and even Tom was no exception in that case. Although, you were already trusting him a lot more than you had ever trusted anyone before – again, besides your best friend of course.

“Because I mostly laugh when I am truly happy.” He guessed and now it was your turn to laugh.

“What did you order?” The least thing you wanted to do, was ruining the mood, but at some point, you had to know what you were going to eat.

“I ordered Fettuccine Napoletana for the two of us. Is that okay with you?”

“How did you know that I love this pasta dish?”

“You said you love pasta.” He smirked and winked at you. You knew that he had probably simply guessed, but it was a cute and sweet gesture anyways.

The waiter came back to your table with a bottle of wine and poured you a glass, moving on to Tom’s glass afterwards. When he had left again, Tom lifted his glass and smiled softly.

“Cheers.” You clinked glasses with him and took your first sip of the red wine, all the time being observed closely by Tom.

“It’s good, I like it.” You stated and put the glass down again, the sweet taste of the dry wine still lingering on your tongue. Truth be told, it tasted exactly like every other red wine, making you wonder why Tom was so fond of it. At least, he seemed pleased with your answer.

The two of you were talking until your food arrived. He told you about his tight schedule, the many takes they had to shoot, the mistakes that happened to nearly every actor on set, his utterly frustrating and annoying costume and at some point during your conversation he trailed off to Shakespeare. It was plainly adorable. You listened, loving every word that left his mouth, and watched him as he gesticulated to strengthen what he was saying. You could listen to him forever, so every time it seemed as if he wouldn’t continue to talk, you asked him a new question. Actually, it was the first time that he talked that much, but probably because he was just as nervous as you.

He kept his word and payed for your dinner, tipping the waiter generously, before helping you stand up and put your jacket back on.

His hand was on the small of your back again, as he led you out of the restaurant.

“That was really lovely.” He turned to look at you, his other hand curling around your waist. He was all smiles.

“Yes, it was. Thank you.” Almost intuitively, you placed your own hands on his chest, once again marvelling at his height. “Thank you for inviting me.”

There was a short silence, in which he just looked at you in awe.

“I’m sorry that I talked that much, darling.” There was a hint of concern and guilt in his eyes, his grip around your waist tightening protectively. “Do you want to come with me for a cup of coffee?”

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#my little squeaky toy #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #Tom Hiddleston is a gentleman #tom hiddleston fic #fanfic #fanfic request #flu #fluff #romance #kiss #still setting up this account sry #flirting #fanfiction #original female character

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shipper-trash-bag · 6 years

Text

Not With a Bang, But With a Kiss

Dean was nervous, which was ridiculous because he was a grown man, damn it! He shouldn’t be having sweaty palms or a racing heart at the thought of a date. A date. Dean Winchester was nervous about a date.

“Stop fussing.” He looked up from where he was unbuttoning and rebuttoning the top two buttons on his dress shirt to see his mom walking towards him. Her hair ties up in a messy short bun, wearing one of his flannel shirts to stave off the chill of the bunker, he saw a side of her he wasn’t expecting. His mother was aging. Obviously, she’d age just like him and Sam, but seeing the grey hairs peaking through from where they escaped the hair tie, Dean felt his heart sink. She reached forward and smoothed our the wrinkles he’d created and rebuttoned the top two buttons. “You’ll be fine, you’re gonna do great.” She smiled at him as she rummaged through his dresser. “Now, where’s that dark green tie of yours? It’ll look good with those pants. Also, don’t wear your boots. It’s not exactly appropriate for a first date.”

“Mom...”

She turned back holding the tie, draping it around his neck. “Don’t ‘mom’ me. I wasn’t around for your first date when you were a kid, so I’m trying to savour this one, okay?”

He sighed, nodding as she fussed with him. He had to admit, it was kinda nice. “Kay. Thanks mom.”

She nodded, pleased with how the knot turned out before opening his closet and looking for his good leather jacket. “Are you going to dinner first or the movie first?”

“It’s a vip theatre, mom, they bring the dinner to you.”

She swiveled on the spot and stared open mouthed at him. “Oh, what? Like... like dinner theatre but without the actors messing up they’re lines?”

Dean laughed, nodding. “You like dinner theatre?”

“Not really, but my mom did. Whenever my father went on a hunting trip without us - which wasn’t that often, actually - she’d drive us to the closest city and we’d go see a show. They were expensive, but she absolutely loved the cheesiness of it all.” Her smile was wistful but not sorrowful, no tears coming now. She’d had time to grieve, time to move on from her parents death, but she still loved them. They were her only family for so long, she was attached. Letting out a breath, she found the jacket and proceeded to help her son into it. “So do you order the food before hand when you order a ticket? How does it work?”

Dean shook his head. “I have no idea, honestly. Sam found this place and I’m just hoping it turns out okay.”

“It will.”

They turned their heads to see Sam standing in the open doorway.

Dean nodded, thanking his mother and heading to the garage. His palms were sweating and he felt seconds away from puking, but the second he stepped into the garage, everything melted away.

Leaning against the impala was Castiel, his posture more relaxed than Dean had ever seen, and boy did he look good. He’d unbuttoned the top two buttons like Dean had done for him years ago, and a new trenchcoat hung off his frame elegantly. He’d even done his hair, or rather, Sam probably did.

“Wow,” Dean breathed, incapable of saying anything else.

Castiel chuckled as he looked at his date, eyes crinkling as he did so. “Wow yourself,” he replied in a soft voice. “The tie really brings out your eyes.”

Dean smoothed a hand over the tie to flatten it, and blushed. Of course his mom chose it for that reason. He shuffled forwards, hand extending to Cas’ who took it easily. They didn’t move, just stood there holding hands as they looked one another over softly.

Dean broke the silence with a whisper of, “I’m nervous” before letting his head hang a little.

Castiel hummed. “Me too. Sam took me shopping this morning so I could pick out the perfect coat. He said my newest one wasn’t the same.”

“Oh, I like this one. Reminds me of the first one you ever had.”

Castiel’s hand crawled its way up to rest on Dean’s cheek, cupping it and bringing Dean’s attention to his eyes again. “Would it be inappropriate if we just found an abandoned parking lot and made out in the impala for the rest of the night?”

That got Dean’s gut shaking with laughter. “Think Mom and Sam would kill us if we did that.”

“Jack too,” he agreed. “He picked out shoes.”

Dean looked down to see Cas was right. His shoes were new too. Normally, Dean would bitch about using so much of their stolen cash on clothes, but today he didn’t care. “Well then, should we get going?”

Cas nodded and he let go of Dean’s hand to climb into the impala. Once Dean had her started and was pulling baby out of the garage, Castiel pulled his hand back into one of Dean’s. It was a comfort for both of them as their worried melted away like butter on a hot skillet.

The date was perfect, despite the theatre getting Dean’s order wrong twice, a group of teenagers throwing popcorn at each other and landing a good amount in Castiel’s newly styled hair in the lobby, and Dean slipping on a patch of what he hoped was ginger ale. It was perfect, sitting in a theatre holding Castiel’s hand, the angel rubbing his bicep whenever the movie made Dean emptional, and at the end of the night, once they’d gotten home, the goodnight kiss.

Soft and full of promise for more, the kiss was everything Dean had ever dreamed of, and more. It was made only better when an hour later, Cas knocked softly at his door, slipping in from prying eyes to kiss him again, a bit more desperately. And again. And again. And the night went on as Dean’s heart soared above the skyline, the sun too far away for him to pull an Incarus, but close enough for him to feel its heat as Castiel’s hot mouth settled against his own, hands wandering all over each other.

Yep. Perfect.

#spn #destiel #destiel fanfic #fanfic #my fanfiction

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nympsycho-ao3 · 5 years

Text

Tell Me What You Want

Want to read on AO3? Click here!

Rooming together in a dingy hostel in Singapore, Jotaro and Kakyoin settle in for the night after a full day of crusading. After some questionable choices on Kakyoin's end and Jotaro's incautious response, the pair end the night full of tension and regret. Yet, Kakyoin can't help but wake Jotaro up after he stirs in his sleep from a nightmare, leading to a night full of firsts for Kakyoin.

(Kakyoin and Jotaro engage in some rambunctious frotting before aggressive DomJotaro and PraiseKinkKak fucking [basically read the tags] and sharing their feelings for one another, with some filler fluff thrown in)

Jotaro’s ragged, canvas shoulder bag thumped against the stained floor of the Singaporean hostel room Joseph had managed to haggle down to an affordable price. He heard the light monsoon-season rain patter against a pitiful window draped by thin curtains, hardly blocking the aggressive lights of the adjacent metropolitan displays cutting the darkness of the night. Two beds, stingily dressed, filled most of the room’s space leaving little capacity for much else other than a small bedside table between them.

“What a shithole…” Jotaro chastised to himself, his voice barely a mumble overcoming his sore throat, exhausted from yelling and speaking more in the last three days than he was used to. He kicked off his shoes, not particularly caring where they ended up, before walking further into the room.

Kakyoin stepped over Jotaro’s bag, tempted to kick it out of the way but knew he would probably be murdered for it. The door closed behind him with a soft click. He carried his own bag past Jotaro, who inspected the bed closest to them, before placing it on the foot of the bed closest to the farthest wall. He reached up to brush his maroon hair from his face, not liking the sensation of it sticking to his sweaty forehead.

“Well, it’s only for a night,” Kakyoin reassured, reaching down to unzip his bag.

Jotaro perched on the side of the bed, moving his hand to grip his hat and unceremoniously remove it from his head before placing it on the pillow. A stray lock of black, curly hair bounced in front of his eyes, his gaze locked firmly on the dark carpet beneath his feet. He heard Kakyoin unscrew a bottle and take a drink from it before recapping it and placing it back in his bag. He realized he was thirsty, himself.

“Though I can’t believe that hotel didn’t have any rooms available,” Kakyoin continued. Jotaro heard him click the lamp on the nightstand on before shifting onto his bed, his head plopping against the pillow, a relief from the tension of fighting and riding in cars. Surely enough, as Jotaro turned to remove his jacket and lob it onto the bed next to him, he caught a glimpse of Kakyoin’s outstretched legs crossed at the ankles as he laid in his bed.

Jotaro, opting to say nothing and let out a sigh instead, rested his elbows on his knees. Star Platinum, materializing only for a moment from behind Jotaro, gripped Jotaro’s coat and hung it on a small hook across from Jotaro’s bed. He grabbed Jotaro’s bag and impassively brought it to his User, who took it from him and placed it on his bed. Rummaging through it, Jotaro retrieved a few supplies and indolently zipped his bag back up.

“I’m showering first,” he glowered, standing but not turning to acknowledge Kakyoin.

Kakyoin hummed in affirmation, not one to contend Jotaro when he had evidently made his mind up. Instead, he rested his clasped hands behind his head and rested his eyes, the small lamp on the bedside table emitting a dull light that was just too bright for his sun-scorched eyes. He heard the splattering of the shower’s water against the tub for only a moment before Jotaro closed the bathroom door and the sound became muffled.

Jotaro resented the dingy bathroom not because he felt he was too dignified, but because he’d been promised a room to himself by his grandfather on their way to Singapore. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Kakyoin, in fact he figured him more of a friend than anyone else, but Jotaro was looking forward to some solitude after this chaotic trip he’d embarked on. He’d never admit it to anybody, but he wanted some time to think, rest, and maybe read a bit before continuing their journey.

Yet he felt comfortable with Kakyoin there and was surprised to note that he may have preferred rooming with him rather than being alone. Maybe it was the shadiness of the hostel, but he felt more willing to have a roommate than usual. Perhaps he could find some time during the next branch of the trip to have a moment to himself.

The shower would have to do for now.

Jotaro stripped, his clothes draped carelessly over the porcelain sink. Stepping into the shower, water cool to contrast the intense heat he’d been battling all day, he let the water pour over his head and down his shoulders. His neck craned down, the water slicking his hair against the back of his neck. After a moment of contemplation, he opened his eyes and reached for his soap.

Kakyoin stared up at the ceiling above the bed, his lips lightly pursed in a fit of boredom. Physically exhausted, but not tired enough to sleep, he fidgeted with the buttons on his coat, sitting up to peel it from his shoulders and drape it against his bed. Noticing that the water’s noise against the tub had unmistakably been interrupted, he set about finding something to do. He had been woefully underprepared for the trip, barely having enough clean clothes to get through the trip. Normally, he’d have brought some books or something, but of course with extenuated circumstances he’d packed light. His gaze instead wanders to Jotaro’s bag, still situated on his bed. Not normally one to pry, Kakyoin wondered if Jotaro had anything interesting packed. He was sure he saw Jotaro rummaging around his bag during long car rides. Glancing once towards the closed bathroom door, he sent Hierophant Green to lightly grasp the zipper of his friend’s bag and slide it open. Beneath the expected change of clothes, pajamas, and cigarette boxes, he spotted a flash of shiny color. Intrigued, Hierophant’s inquisitive fingers carefully pried what seemed to be a magazine from between Jotaro’s clothes before carrying it to his User.

Kakyoin’s eyebrows raised in slight amusement. He’d have been less surprised with a porno mag than with what was before him right now.

Marine biology?

The magazine promised enticing articles about the population and ecology of seaweeds in the Pacific Ocean and ecologies of deep-sea hydrothermal vent communities. Kakyoin couldn’t help but grin, taken aback by the nature of his friend’s interests. Perhaps he had just found the magazine somewhere.

Either way, Kakyoin held the cover of the magazine backwards on itself, reading an article not particularly interesting to him yet better than nothing. He leaned against his pillow and the wall behind his bed, eyes scanning the vivid pictures of sea life that greeted him from the pages. Turning the page, he was amused to find something even more surprising than the magazine itself; scribbled notes and highlights marked the page, drawing interest to key points in the article. Kakyoin grinned widely, knowing for sure the messy handwriting was Jotaro’s.

The dry nature of the article seemed intriguing to Jotaro, if the questions written in margins had any indication. So he hadn’t just found the magazine somewhere. Jotaro Kujo, apparently, had a monthly subscription to The Journal of Marine Biology.

Kakyoin’s lids felt heavier with each word that he read. The dim illumination of the lamp behind him was barely enough light to read from, but was comfortable and relaxing. He found himself pulling the thin bedsheet over his legs, not soft, but pleasant enough. He didn’t understand most of the articles themselves, but found delight mostly in Jotaro’s notes.

How many were there before? In reference to a study on the declining population of a species of small crabs. Indeed, the article did not mention the original population.

Why would they use that?

Who conducted this study?

When…

Where…

Kakyoin’s eyes snapped open, startled, instinctively pulling out Hierophant with the sudden noise that ripped him from his sleep.

“What the fuck?” Jotaro thundered, yanking the magazine from Kakyoin’s chest with an apparent visceral disgust. With his other hand, he held up a raggedy towel around his hips. Kakyoin felt drops of cool water drip from Jotaro’s hair onto his lap from the sudden movement. If he wasn’t intimidating enough looming above the lounging Kakyoin, Star Platinum hovered above his back, a warning to Hierophant Green to not even dare.

“J-Jotaro,” Kakyoin huffed, meeting Jotaro’s dagger-like gaze with an almost regrettable quickness.

“You went through my shit?” Jotaro let the magazine flip closed, unbending it and flattening it.

“I—” Kakyoin paused. “I was bored.”

Jotaro let out a furious scoff before turning and lobbing the magazine on top of his bed. He turned back to Kakyoin, who had returned Hierophant Green and sheepishly looked up at the much-taller and very evidently angry Jotaro.

“I don’t fucking care. Don’t go through my shit.”

Kakyoin immediately felt guilty. He knew he’d crossed a silent boundary, one that he wasn’t sure they’d ever needed to verbalize but apparently so.

“I’m sorry.”

Jotaro’s furrowed brow remained tensed, cerulean eyes burning with a look that Kakyoin hadn’t seen in his friend’s eyes even in the most heated of battles. Not just anger, something else bloomed there, making Kakyoin feel two inches all. His hard features angled into a grimace, the stress in his face spreading to his neck and chest.

Kakyoin realized he’d never seen Jotaro without a shirt on before. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised with just how muscular Jotaro was, but he doggedly kept his eyes on Jotaro’s face. The last thing he needed was to piss him off even more checking him out.

Suddenly, Jotaro reached down with his free hand to grip the neckline of Kakyoin’s undershirt and pulled him close to his face. Kakyoin’s eyes widened as he felt the material strain against the back of his neck, letting out a surprised choke before gritting his teeth.

Jotaro opened his mouth so as to say something, but nothing came out. Kakyoin dared not say anything and did not break the fierce stare between he and Jotaro. He could feel Jotaro’s fuming breath on his throat, too close for comfort.

“Y-you’re hurting me,” Kakyoin uttered after a moment, the back of his neck burning.

Another moment, and Jotaro released. Kakyoin fell back onto the bed, bouncing slightly, gawking at Jotaro who finally broke eye contact. It was unlike Jotaro to be without some super cool one-liner after pulling a stunt like that.

Jotaro said nothing, only turning to return to his bag on his bed, reach inside, and retrieve his pajamas before entering the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.

Kakyoin released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He deeply regretted snooping, unsure how to patch the ridge that his actions caused. He didn’t even remember following asleep. Gripping the bedsheet draped over him, he felt his heart rate slow and his adrenaline finally abate.

Jotaro emerged from the bathroom dressed in his pajama pants and t-shirt, composed, avoiding the look that Kakyoin gave him. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ground in front of him. Kakyoin wasn’t sure what to say as he reached over the bed to retrieve the magazine and stuff it haphazardly back into his bag, zip it back up, and drop it onto the floor on the side of the bed opposite of Kakyoin. Jotaro, mirroring his position from before his shower, planted his feet on the ground while sitting at the edge of his bed. He ran the towel through his hair, drying it, sending locks of hair dancing into curls around his face. He grasped the bill of his hat, moving it from the pillow, simply tossing it to the floor before laying on the bed and slumping his head into the pillow. His back turned to Kakyoin, he reached down to draw the blanket up over his shoulders. The damp towel lay haphazardly bundled next to his hat.

Kakyoin swallowed, wanting to say something but not knowing what. When they’d shared rooms before, they’d usually end the night by playing cards or discussing classes before turning out the light and, perhaps, even continuing the conversation in the dark. Such a stark contrast to tonight, he thought, and due to no one’s fault but his own.

“Jotaro,” Kakyoin tried, his voice not as strong as he had hoped it would be.

“Shut up,” Jotaro barked, almost interrupting him, “I’m trying to sleep.”

Kakyoin had no option but to obey. He didn’t press, only swung his legs to plant his feet on the floor and rose from the bed. He rummaged around his bag discreetly, collecting only what he needed. He took caution walking past Jotaro into the bathroom, not looking at him, and definitely not saying anything. The door shut behind him as silently as Kakyoin could manage, deadening the harsh noise of the shower’s water pounding into the tub beneath it.

Kakyoin took his time in the shower, relishing the barriers between he and Jotaro. He’d never done anything so stupid with a friend in his life. After a childhood rife with loneliness and ostracization, he’d almost gotten comfortable with never having a close friend in his life. Yet, just as he needed him the most, Jotaro had salvaged what little hope he had for friendship left. His friend’s coldness especially stung, having gotten a bit uncomfortably cocky in their relationship. He didn’t think Jotaro could get so angry at him, but didn’t know why he had stupidly assumed that. Perhaps his childhood, bereft of close-age friendships and typical adolescent dawdling, may have had a larger impact on his socialization than he was comfortable admitting.

He felt a particular, unaccustomed ache when he considered he may have had hopes for more than just a friendly relationship with Jotaro, as well. These feelings tinged his thoughts whenever he was with Jotaro, a perplexing sense of desire he’d never felt with anyone else before. Jotaro was just so different from anyone else in his life. He’d chalked the desire up to infatuation, deeming himself pathetic to grow so attached to someone simply showing basic decency and consideration.

Withdrawing from the bathroom, Kakyoin allowed the door to remain ajar as he carefully stepped past Jotaro. He couldn’t help but sneak a glance towards Jotaro, a decision he was prepared to regret.

To his relief, Jotaro’s eyes remained closed, his usually furrowed brow straightened in a rare moment of relaxation. Still on his side, his shoulders and chest rose and fell in perfect balance, slow and draggy. His left hand curled towards his face while his right dangled limply over the side of the bed. Still-wet black hair spread out on the pillow. The lackluster illumination from the lamp casted shadows of his eyelashes onto his cheeks, hardened features softened in sleepy felicity.

Kakyoin shook himself from his staring, knowing he was already in deep shit without getting caught doing whatever it was that he was doing. Walking over to the lamp, he switched it off, complete darkness interrupted by urban radiation filtering through the singular window. Kakyoin tucked himself into bed, turning his back to Jotaro, deciding he would dedicate himself to getting some rest before the expedition continued tomorrow.

Kakyoin roused from his sleep, at some point during the night turning onto his back and ruffling the sheet drawn over him. His eyes cracked open, the room oddly silent from the lack of rain pummeling the window.

Then, a sound.

Kakyoin’s brows came together for a moment, not sure if he had truly heard the quiet interruption to the silence.

Another.

Kakyoin was sure he’d heard it this time. A whine, low and grumbling, almost desperate sounding. He summoned Hierophant, a precaution against his first consideration that an enemy stand user was nearby.

He turned his head, scanning the room with the aid of the residual outside light. Nothing seemed out of ordinary, everything left just as it was before he’d drifted to sleep. Jotaro had also moved to his back, one arm resting over his abdomen and the other disappearing under his blanket.

Kakyoin returned Hierophant, though his nervousness heightened his reception to every change in shadow or flickering light.

“Stop…”

Kakyoin’s watchful eye snapped to Jotaro, who had let out a command in a similar tone to the helpless whine he’d heard before. He was doubtlessly still asleep, his eyes closed, but his brow appeared slightly crinkled. His chest rose and fell quickly, his arm bobbing with it. Kakyoin noticed movement from his feet, toes curling then extending against the resistance of the blanket.

Curious, Kakyoin fought the urge to return to sleep as he watched Jotaro start to squirm. It was so unbecoming and unusual for Jotaro to be seen this way. A touch of concern came over Kakyoin as his friend began to grind his teeth, the muscles of his jaw flexing and relaxing. He wondered if he was simply dreaming, or if something more sinister was coming over him.

With a heavy heave of his chest, Jotaro let out a much louder whimper, his growling, gritty voice making way for an almost childish outburst. The volume surprised Kakyoin, who jumped slightly in place yet remained a close watch on Jotaro. The muscles around his eyes began to twitch, his lips curling into a grimace around gritted teeth.

His index finger trembled for a moment before all returned to stillness, his face relaxing, his breathing slowing. Kakyoin felt a yawn bubbling within him, his eyes heavy. He closed his eyes once more, still facing Jotaro, the sheath of sleep overtaking him languidly.

“Fuck!” Jotaro exclaimed, voice muffled and slurring. Kakyoin felt adrenaline push the sleepiness from his mind with the outburst, eyes locked on his friend again.

Jotaro, a sheen of sweat enveloping his forehead, appeared more stressed than before. He groaned once before thrashing his head to the left, away from Kakyoin, his blanket caught in his tightly gripped fist.

Kakyoin swallowed. He wasn’t sure what Jotaro would want him to do in this situation. Glancing at the watch that Jotaro had placed on the bedside table, he estimated it was around three in the morning. He had already overstepped an unspoken boundary tonight, he definitely did not want to risk doing so again. Yet a primal anxiety built in his throat, choking him with concern and uncertainty. As Jotaro seesawed in his bed, Kakyoin debated his current choices and went with the most selfish decision, deciding he valued a few more hours of sleep as opposed to being continually awakened by Jotaro.

Kakyoin rose to his feet and closed the distance between he and Jotaro. He kneeled down on one knee, not wanting to shock Jotaro by looming over him as he had done to him earlier that night. As he watched him from up close, Kakyoin recognized just how much Jotaro was contending with himself. Behind clenched eyelids, his eyes zapped back and forth. His breathing was labored, a very soft groan escaping his lips every so often.

He admitted to himself for what felt like the hundredth time that Jotaro was really, really beautiful.

The best approach escaped Kakyoin. He had to wake him up, but how would he do it without pissing Jotaro off? Would he be pissed no matter what?

Kakyoin took a thoughtful breath before reaching up to place his hand on Jotaro’s forearm, outstretched on his abdomen. He gripped it lightly, then, after Jotaro didn’t seem to respond, began to shake him lightly.

“Jotaro… wake up,” he muttered, barely over a whisper. When Jotaro remained entranced in himself still, Kakyoin shook harder. “Jotaro.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Jotaro’s eyes flashed open and fixed onto Kakyoin. His face danced with the always-moving lights of the city, illuminating his stunned expression. He raised his arm to rub his face, clearing the sweat from his forehead.

“What?” he grumbled, his voice gritty with sleep.

“You were… dreaming,” Kakyoin elaborated. He remembered that his hand was lingering on Jotaro’s arm and hastily returned it to his side.

Jotaro rested the back of his hand on his forehead. Kakyoin was afraid he would start chastising him any moment now, sending him sulking back to his bed.

“Thanks,” Jotaro offered instead, opening his eyes to spare a glance to Kakyoin. He even gave him a small smile, before bringing the blanket to his face to dry the wetness that accumulated. He must have been aware of the dream he was having, Kakyoin thought.

Kakyoin listened to Jotaro’s newly calmed breathing, inwardly beaming that Jotaro wasn’t upset. He decided he’d push his luck, in the interest of helping his friend.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Kakyoin offered, his weight shifting from right to left.

He didn’t seriously expect Jotaro to take him up on the offer, instead he just wanted to extend a hand for the sentimentality of it. Jotaro paused, then brought the blanket back down to rest on his chest.

“Right now?” he asked, his voice softer than Kakyoin had been expecting.

“If you want,” Kakyoin crooned, not quite thinking before speaking. He didn’t expect to be asked that question.

Jotaro sighed, averting his gaze. “If you really give a shit.”

Kakyoin was incredulous. He tried to hide this as he shifted to a more comfortable position sitting on the floor.

“I’m willing to listen,” he tried his best to keep his tone smooth, comforting.

Jotaro gazed down at him with a look Kakyoin was not familiar with. Was this… fear?

“Come here,” Jotaro turned his head and patted the other side of his bed. “Unless that’s too weird.”

Kakyoin stood and approached the opposite side of the bed. He noticed Jotaro averted his gaze, staring at the end of the bed.

“It’s not weird to me,” Kakyoin perched on the bed, resting his back against the wall and sat cross-legged. He wasn’t sure what else to do or say, not expecting this reaction from Jotaro in the first place.

Jotaro cleared his throat, pulling himself further up on the bed to rest his back against the wall as well. The passing cars’ headlights lit up Jotaro’s face in strange, undulating patterns as he stared ahead of him, his features uncharacteristically benign.

“Sorry that I hurt you,” Jotaro began, fidgeting with his fingers. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Kakyoin knew Jotaro well enough to not be shocked at his apology. One way or another, Jotaro had a strong sense of justice, of right and wrong. If he believed he did something unjustly cruel, he wouldn’t hesitate to apologize.

“It’s alright. I’m sorry I—”

“It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just with… everything going on, I’m…” Jotaro interrupted, his eyes darting from one focus to the next. Silence filled the space between them after he drifted off.

“I understand,” Kakyoin reassured, watching Jotaro’s expression carefully. “Is that what your dream was about?”

Jotaro blinked, letting it linger for a moment longer than necessary. “I dreamed that you died.”

Kakyoin was taken aback. He wasn’t sure what to say. Sometimes, saying nothing is exactly what someone needs. Just being there, listening actively, is more therapeutic than prying further or offering benign platitudes. He knew Jotaro may have just needed a moment to parse his words.

“Well, you were killed. I just remember running to you. No matter what I did, I punched and yelled…” he trailed off again, quiet voice still with an edge of gruff as anger returned to him. “I was so close, but never close enough. I watched it. I watched you die.”

Kakyoin considered extending a palm to rest on his back, but decided against it. Silence, again.

“I—” Kakyoin stuttered. “I can see why you were so bothered.”

“Bothered?” Jotaro asked.

“You were calling out.”

Jotaro exhaled with a huff, his lips upturning in a small grin. “I woke you up.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it, though.”

Was he embarrassed? Jotaro had never been so open with Kakyoin before, especially not with a smile.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Jotaro sighed. “Which is a stupid fucking thing to say, since the last one to hurt you was me. And it was just a dream.”

Kakyoin let out a diminished laugh through his nose. “You think I didn’t deserve it, but I’d understand if you thought I did.”

“You kind of did,” Jotaro glanced towards Kakyoin, his tone more comical than Kakyoin was familiar with Jotaro being. “But we have enough shit going on, you don’t need me breaking your neck for reading a magazine.”

The quietness was interrupted by passing cars and irregular shouts from local night-dwellers.

“Marine biology?” Kakyoin raised a brow at Jotaro.

He rolled his eyes, inhaling sharply. “Shut up.”

“I’m not trying to make fun of you,” Kakyoin clarified. “I just didn’t know that you… were into that.”

Jotaro groaned to himself. “It’s just a hobby, I like… fish. And stuff.”

Kakyoin chuckled, the lightheartedness of the conversation refreshing after the tenseness of just moments before. Jotaro pushed his friend’s shoulder playfully.

“You can’t tell fucking anybody.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kakyoin grinned. Then, the upturn of his lips began to slowly deflate. “Could I actually be honest with you? About that?”

Jotaro was obviously skeptic. “I guess.”

“I think it’s really cool. You’re smarter than you let people know. You figured out that one article didn’t explain the baseline population of those crabs, and—”

“You read my notes, too?” Jotaro glared at Kakyoin.

“Uh—” he chuckled awkwardly, “Just a few…”

Jotaro groaned exasperatedly.

“I really liked them, honestly.”

Jotaro seemed taken aback by that. His frustration fell to reveal intrigue. “You’re smart, too. Aren’t you in the honors program? Teacher’s pet and all that.”

They shared a chuckle. “I try, only because I want to be accepted to a good school.”

Jotaro shifted in bed, pushing the blanket down to his feet. He turned to place his feet on the floor. “I get that. I’m thirsty as fuck, gonna go see if the sink water is drinkable or if I’ll get cholera.”

“You can have the rest of my water,” Kakyoin interjected. “It’s in my bag.”

Jotaro looked at Kakyoin, who summoned Hierophant Green and sent him to retrieve the bottle.

“If you really don’t give a shit,” Jotaro muttered, watching the Stand return to the pair and hold the water out for Jotaro to grab.

“I give a shit about you, there’s more water in the car anyway.”

Jotaro, back turned to Kakyoin, opened the bottle and took a drink. It soothed his throat, strained from dehydration and talking.

“You give a shit about me, huh?” he said slyly, recapping the bottle.

Kakyoin realized what he had said and felt his cheeks seep with heat. He hadn’t intended for it to come across that way, but he couldn’t honestly deny he cared deeply about him. Not entirely sure in what manner, and without knowing exactly how Jotaro had interpreted his words, he was choked by his own unease.

Jotaro wasn’t expecting Kakyoin to be stone-silent in response to his jest. Turning to meet his gaze, he paused when his friend’s eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed.

“Ah—uh…” Kakyoin stuttered, averting his eyes, “You’re a good friend, Jotaro.”

Jotaro hummed in response, straightening, uncapped the bottle, and finished the water.

“Is there more to it than that, Kakyoin?”

Kakyoin’s heart, already quickened, now rapidly beat through his chest. He could feel his breathing get heavier, his throat becoming drier with each breath.

“W-what do you mean?” he stammered, smiling in his nervousness, hoping it came across as indignance at the mere suggestion.

Jotaro placed the empty bottle on the bedside table before returning to rest the small of his back against his pillow. He glanced at Kakyoin, who avoided his eye contact.

“Nevermind.”

Kakyoin was unsure if he wanted to take this chance, right now, at some ungodly hour in the morning in Singapore, to tell Jotaro how he felt. Or, how he maybe felt. He didn’t know. Kakyoin felt a rush of frustration and confusion, yet at the same time, a heat rise from his gut into his throat that he’d never felt before. He felt Jotaro look away and check the time on the watch next to the bed, retrieving it before straightening his torso.

“Holy shit, it’s four—”

Jotaro was interrupted by Kakyoin pressing his lips onto the corner of his own in a chaste, quick kiss that ended sooner than it had began. Kakyoin fumbled awkwardly while balancing himself on one arm to get closer to Jotaro while Jotaro simply looked on, still holding the watch in his hand.

“I’m… sorry,” Kakyoin began to lean away from Jotaro, his voice shaking and almost too quiet to hear. He went to turn his head away, his lips agape, astonished that he’d done that.

Jotaro intercepted, a large, tender hand cupping the side of Kakyoin’s face. Before he could interpret what was happening, Jotaro turned Kakyoin’s face towards him and placed a more genuine, assertive kiss on his lips. Jotaro’s palm felt cool against his flushed skin, Jotaro’s breath on his cheek not helping. Kakyoin’s eyes felt glued open until he matched Jotaro in closing them. He reached up to grip Jotaro’s arm, his fingers finding stability in an incredibly unstable situation.

Jotaro broke the kiss, sensing Kakyoin wouldn’t do so any time soon.

“J-Jotaro…” Kakyoin’s eyes sprang back open, meeting Jotaro’s clear blue eyes just inches away from his own.

“Looks like you knew what I meant,” Jotaro jested, his hand falling from Kakyoin’s face.

Kakyoin stared wide-eyed with parted lips, still feeling the warmth and softness of Jotaro’s lips that were pressed against them moments go. “You…”

“I’m no expert on this shit,” Jotaro muttered.

“N-neither…”

Kakyoin debated telling Jotaro that the kiss they shared was the first he’d ever had, and the feelings he felt now were so brand new he didn’t know how he could even handle them. Jotaro looked so collected and cool, but he noticed the apples of his cheeks beginning to redden.

Overstimulated and overwhelmed, one of the only sensations keeping Kakyoin grounded was a tightness in his groin.

“How long have you felt it?” Jotaro asked breathily, moving to decrease the distance between their bodies.

“S-Since the plane to Hong Kong,” Kakyoin admitted, feeling Jotaro’s hand rest on his thigh, warm and robust.

“Me too,” Jotaro smiled. “Watching you take down Tower of Grey…”

“How did you know?” Kakyoin asked, the praise exciting him unexpectedly.

“That you liked me? You’re not very good at hiding it.”

Kakyoin felt his face flush even hotter than it already was, questioning all the times he’d lingered on a gaze too long, showed a bit too much concern for his well-being, or stumbled over his words.

Kakyoin had never in a million years considered that this was the way he would be sharing his feelings. He especially had never anticipated that Jotaro felt the same way. He felt his cock push against his pajamas for a moment, hearing Jotaro praise him and his Hierophant and still relishing the feeling of Jotaro’s lips on his.

Jotaro suddenly closed the distance between them, their chests pressing together with Jotaro’s face buried in Kakyoin’s neck. He smelled so good, still freshly showered, the same scent that lingered in the steam of the shower. Kakyoin felt Jotaro drag an index finger across the redness on the back of his neck from their altercation. Kakyoin gripped at Jotaro’s shoulder, the heat pooling in his gut getting uncomfortable, his breath feeling impossibly hot. Jotaro placed his palm against the small of Jotaro’s back instead of on his thigh, supporting him.

“What did you have in mind, kissing me like that?” Jotaro dragged his lips behind Kakyoin’s ear, the sensation sending sparks down his spine that pooled in his cock. Kissing him along the way, Jotaro rested his lips at his collarbone, awaiting a response.

Kakyoin had to let go of the fear of judgement if he was going to be honest with Jotaro. “I want to kiss you more.”

Jotaro understood, placing a gentle kiss on Kakyoin’s collarbone before rising. “Lay down.”

Kakyoin fumbled as he complied, his legs barely cooperating under the weight of the situation. Jotaro poised himself over Kakyoin, supporting himself with his elbows on either side of Kakyoin’s head. One of Jotaro’s leg’s pried between Kakyoin’s knees, insisting itself there before Kakyoin even realized he couldn’t close his legs.

Kakyoin’s cheeks burned with heat as Jotaro placed tender kisses along his cheekbone, feeling a sense of disbelieving vertigo cloud his mind as he gripped the back of Jotaro’s shirt, loose fabric balling in his lax fist.

“Just from kissing?” Jotaro mused, his knee grinding against Kakyoin’s inner thigh, obviously alluding to Kakyoin’s hard cock constrained by his pants. Kakyoin’s jaw flexed, Jotaro feeling the muscle tense beneath his lips.

“I-it’s—” Kakyoin babbled, his grip on the situation still not as grounded as he would be more comfortable with.

He was surprised when Jotaro’s face hovered over his own, so close. He pecked his lips, barely touching them, making Kakyoin let out a pursed whine involuntarily.

“Well, you kissed me more,” Jotaro’s lips turned into a muted devilish smirk.

Kakyoin’s heavy-lidded eyes looked up at the mischievous expression Jotaro wielded, eyes searching for answers to a question he wasn’t quite able to discern.

“N-not like that,” he crooned, seeking more apt words but resigning when they never came.

“How, then?” Jotaro was nearly purring, rasping his knee harder against Kakyoin’s thigh. So close, yet so far, Kakyoin’s hips bucked, yet Jotaro kept his knee just far enough away to keep driving Kakyoin crazy.

“How do you want me to kiss you?” he repeated, forcing Kakyoin’s attention away from his knee.

“M-more,” he breathed, almost frustrated now.

“More what?” Jotaro teased in return.

Kakyoin pursed his lips for a moment before thrusting his lips onto Jotaro’s, neck craning, a slight burn reminding him of the redness there. He pressed, indignant against the soft pecks Jotaro teased him with, reaching up to wrap a hand around the back of Jotaro’s neck. Jotaro thrummed into the kiss, a long note of approval exciting Kakyoin with the implications. He never thought he’d be doing this with Jotaro in the first place, and he was especially startled by how much he craved Jotaro’s approval, how much he needed to know he was enjoying this too.

Jotaro pressed his tongue against Kakyoin’s lips, begging to part ways. He gripped the hair on the back of Kakyoin’s head, yanking it backwards in a sudden jerk, causing Kakyoin’s eyes to snap open and his voice to hitch in a breathy cry.

“O-ow,” he uttered between the hot breaths of parted lips. Jotaro seemingly paid no mind and deepened the kiss, tongue rubbing against Kakyoin’s, a sensation he’d not expected to enjoy so much. Kakyoin’s brow furrowed, his eyes caught in the waves of Jotaro’s hair. His hand drifted from Jotaro’s neck to the space between his shoulder blades, feeling the breadth of muscles in his back. His hair in Jotaro’s fist kept him pinned in position as Jotaro broke the kiss, a string of saliva sticking to Kakyoin’s chin as he drifted downwards, again kissing his neck in a row of aggressive caresses.

Kakyoin’s cock felt choked in his pants, wetness accumulating in a small spot at the tip. He reached down to adjust, move, do anything really, feeling the pressure ache deeply at the root of his cock. He pulled on his pant leg, thankfully adjusting it just enough to relieve some of the tension.

Kakyoin’s head thumped back onto the pillow after Jotaro released his grip on his hair, the soreness in his neck easing away. Jotaro rocked back onto his knees, the sudden absence of pressure from his chest allowing Kakyoin to take a full breath that he didn’t know he desperately needed. Jotaro rested on his calves, Kakyoin’s legs splayed to either side of him, lazily bunching the bedsheets to his feet. The tenting in Kakyoin’s cream-colored pants was stark against Jotaro’s black shirt, Kakyoin’s eyes transfixed on the sight.

“Are you touching yourself?” Jotaro sneered, placing his hands on Kakyoin’s sides, thumbs rubbing at the flexed muscles there. He edged the hem of his shirt over his abdomen, reaching up to rest warm hands on even warmer skin.

“M-my pants,” Kakyoin huffed, his gaze falling to look at Jotaro’s hands, seemingly dwarfing his body under them. Jotaro had always been much taller than Kakyoin, wider, more commanding, but Kakyoin hadn’t thought about how large his hands must be.

“Want them off?” Jotaro slid one hand to hook the waistband with his thumb. He felt a budding patch of coarse hair, just barely, under the pressure of his thumb.

Kakyoin hesitated. He’d never been so exposed to anyone before. Yet the creeping throb of his cock against his pants seemed to speak for him, his head nodding almost erratically.

Jotaro clutched Kakyoin’s left leg, bringing it to the other side of him. He moved Kakyoin’s legs up onto his shoulder, his feet dangling behind his head. Kakyoin blushed, noticing exactly how large Jotaro’s arms were, now. He lazily pulled the waistband downward until Kakyoin’s cock sprang up to his navel, a short, relieved sigh escaping his lips at his finally-freed cock.

“Your shirt,” Jotaro mumbled, pulling the pants upwards over Kakyoin’s stretched legs. With a thud, his pants landed next to the bed, Jotaro not considering wherever they ended up. He returned Kakyoin’s leg to his opposite side, stroking his thighs gently as his knees bent to encapsulate Jotaro around them as he remained laying on his back. Kakyoin’s thighs draped over Jotaro’s, his cock bare and thankfully free.

Kakyoin obeyed, arms crossing to remove his shirt as he arched onto his ass to provide leverage. Jotaro watched as Kakyoin’s slender build maneuvered the task, Kakyoin finally tossing his shirt to the floor and relaxing his back.

“You too,” Kakyoin whispered, his gaze meeting Jotaro’s, questioning if he must’ve liked what he saw. Not usually one for self-consciousness, Kakyoin suddenly felt very appropriately exposed, an unfamiliar anxiety overtaking him.

“Is that what you want?” Jotaro explored, his fingers still dancing on Kakyoin’s inner thighs as they were propped against his own. The sensation began to drive Kakyoin crazy.

“Yes,” he hissed, his eyes dancing around Jotaro’s chest and arms.

“Tell me, then, what you want,” Jotaro insisted.

“I want you to take off your shirt,” Kakyoin felt embarrassed just saying it, his voice quivering.

Jotaro suspended his ministrations on Kakyoin’s thighs to reach up and uncover his chest from beneath his shirt. Kakyoin admired the way his muscles stretched and his hair bounced in front of his forehead as he pulled his shirt up over his head and casually tossed it to the floor.

Jotaro spared a glance towards Kakyoin’s firm cock, returning his hands to rest over Kakyoin’s iliac crests, accentuated by the compromising position he found himself in.

“Is there anything else you want?” Jotaro gazed down at his lover, icy eyes glistening in the dim early morning light as sunrise would peek over the horizon any moment now.

Kakyoin’s cock twitched at Jotaro’s hold over him, his voice, the view of Jotaro so easily overshadowing him with that irresistible air of coolness. “My…”

He reached down to grasp the base his cock, the contact almost too much after such prolonged touch-starved stimulation.

“If you just want to jerk off, I can leave you to it,” Jotaro’s even, hushed tone still booming in Kakyoin’s ears.

“No,” he groaned, the air of desperation in his voice sending jolts to Jotaro’s half-hard cock. “I want you…”

Jotaro let Kakyoin take a breath, thumbs tracing his hip, feeling his thigh muscles flex and relax. He released the grip on his cock, instead gripping the bed sheets beside him.

“Could you…”

Jotaro grinned, watching Kakyoin squirm under his own discomfort. He trailed off, his hand raising to palm his own face, covering his eyes with the back of his hand for a moment, relishing the pressure.

Kakyoin’s hips bucked with the sudden contact of Jotaro running a finger up the underside of his shaft, petting the soft skin under his head. He relished the sharp intake of breath that Kakyoin offered, noticing his hand now remained plastered against his forehead.

“Could I what?” Jotaro pried, a singular finger stroking the hardest part of Kakyoin’s erection too slowly.

Kakyoin writhed under Jotaro’s touch. His demure demeanor suffocated whatever words he’d wanted to say.

Jotaro scoffed. “Good grief…” he withdrew his hand from Kakyoin’s cock. “You’re hopeless.”

Kakyoin almost feared Jotaro would rescind his offer of intimacy but was reassured when he watched him reach into his pajama bottoms to pull out his cock, half-hard yet still larger than Kakyoin’s. Kakyoin’s eyes widened at the sight, running his hand through his hair to unstick it from his forehead.

Jotaro leaned his cock into Kakyoin’s, stretching his grip to accommodate both of them as he held them at their bases. Kakyoin’s lips parted to make way for a lustful groan, his back arching slightly to meet Jotaro’s touch, feeling the tip of his head rub against the edge of Jotaro’s.

It was almost magical feeling Jotaro’s cock harden against Kakyoin’s, his hand stroking the both of them while holding them together. Jotaro’s jaw clenched, the friction and warmth from Kakyoin’s cock combined with his gasps and moans emboldening him. He grinded his hips towards the man under him, their balls smoothed against each other, Jotaro’s shaft pressing on the sensitive part under Kakyoin’s head on the underside of his cock. Kakyoin writhed, his hands gripping the bedsheets by his side, seeking any sort of grounding that he could find.

Jotaro was too far away, Kakyoin thought to himself, gripping Jotaro’s knees with sweaty palms. His eyes clenched shut, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Jotaro…” he groaned, eyes peering open to gaze longingly at him, “I want…”

“What do you want?” his ministrations picked up in pace, prompting a moan from Kakyoin.

“I want you to be closer… to me,” he breathed, his fingers digging into Jotaro’s knees.

Jotaro smirked, drawing out a long, tight stroke before releasing and gripping Kakyoin’s leg instead, widening the breadth between his legs. He lowered himself down on Kakyoin, their chests pressing together briefly before Jotaro balanced himself on his elbows once more. Kakyoin closed his eyes with the sensation of Jotaro’s warm body against his, wrapping his arms around his wide, solid back.

Jotaro’s hips slid his cock against Kakyoin’s again, this time the friction between their bellies pressing them together. Kakyoin felt the muscles in Jotaro’s back flex with each thrust.

To Kakyoin’s surprised delight, with Jotaro’s face buried in the pillow next to him, he was able to hear his subdued groans with each thrust. He felt his hair tickle his face, sticking to his sweaty skin. Jotaro’s brow, barely visible, was unsurprisingly furrowed, his eyes pursed shut.

Lustful fire burned in Kakyoin’s lower abdomen, not just because of Jotaro’s sparse hair that decorated the area around his umbilicus. He clawed at Jotaro’s back, his hips gyrating to meet his thrusts. He’d never anticipated he’d ever be doing anything like this with Jotaro, especially not now. A voracious thirst overcame his mind, pushing all his doubts and thoughts away, leaving him only with a searing tickle that crept from his gut to his fingers and toes. He felt all of Jotaro’s weight on his cock, the sensation too much.

“J-Jotaro—” he craned his face into Jotaro’s shoulder, lips pressed against the abundant muscle there.

When Jotaro’s head rubbed against Kakyoin’s sensitive point in a rough stroke, Kakyoin felt his threshold breach with a final buck of his hips. He came, tendrils of cum spurting onto his chest, a sharp moan escaping his throat. Jotaro’s gravelly groan of approval warmed the side of his neck.

“Could have warned me,” Jotaro mewled.

“So—”

“Don’t apologize.”

Kakyoin couldn’t come up with anything to say, his mind blank, struck with post-orgasm vacancy. He didn’t even protest when Jotaro lifted himself up and rocked back onto his knees, revealing Kakyoin’s softening cock and heaving chest.

“How did that feel?” Jotaro asked, his hands winding swirling patterns on Kakyoin’s inner thighs.

“Amazing,” Kakyoin huffed, blurting the first thing that came to his mind, incidentally the only thing that came to his mind. He felt his heart beat slow in his chest as he relaxed, the peak of his orgasm leaving him lethargic.

“Kakyoin,” Jotaro murmured, gaining Kakyoin’s sudden attention.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he commanded, his boldness eliciting a twitch from Kakyoin’s diminishing erection. “Have you ever done it before?”

Kakyoin gave a weak shake of his head, still groggy. Jotaro gripped his thigh and closed his legs together, shifting his weight to the end of the bed. Kakyoin’s leg muscles were soothed by the regained mobility after being held in one place for too long as he stretched them. He felt the cool dampness in the sheets where Jotaro must’ve been sweating. The cum on his chest glistened in the neon lighting from beyond the window, and Kakyoin went to clean it off with his hand.

“Leave it,” Jotaro ordered. He dropped his hand, thudding it softly against the mattress.

Jotaro sighed, his own exhaustion suddenly apparent to Kakyoin; his tiredness maintained secondary to his profoundly hard cock, bumping against his abdomen. He leaned closer to Kakyoin, his hand dipping into the puddle of cum on his chest, coating his fingers. Kakyoin furrowed his brow in confusion, but didn’t have time to question his actions before Jotaro’s grizzly voice pierced the quietness.

“Get on your hands and knees.”

Kakyoin had always been excited by the thought of sex, but in his lonely upbringing had resigned himself to only fantasies. He’d masturbated plenty, yet never explored his ass, not knowing the intricacies and figuring it superfluous.

“I’m—I’m not sure…” Kakyoin crunched upward, big violet eyes peering doe-eyes at Jotaro. Was he really able to maintain such a position? The idea made him uncomfortable.

“You’ll be fine,” Jotaro reassured. “I’ll make sure.”

Kakyoin wasn’t sure how to bring up the fact that he merely felt self-conscious, knowing that Jotaro wouldn’t hurt him… too much. Yet he complied, planting his palms into the blankets and raising his ass into the air, a pensive grimace gracing his face.

Jotaro moved behind him, a dry hand pressing on the top of Kakyoin’s back. “Good grief… bend your back.”

After a rough push, Kakyoin’s chest fell to the bed, his head turning to let them breathe after it was pushed into the pillow. He felt Jotaro’s palm slide to the small of his back, where it pressed there more gently, angling his ass farther upward.

He felt extraordinarily exposed.

His self-consciousness was interrupted by a cold harshness against his entrance, Jotaro’s cum-slicked finger having cooled before it quickly warmed from Kakyoin’s body heat. He let out a breathy yelp at the surprise, feeling no less discomfort when Jotaro’s fingers began to circle him. Kakyoin’s fingers gripped the sheets around him, his legs feeling weak and shaky.

“You have to relax,” Jotaro’s voice was more blunted than before. Kakyoin looked back to Jotaro, catching his authoritative gaze. “Take a breath.”

Kakyoin did as he was told, apparently not to Jotaro’s commendation; he continued to circle Kakyoin with increasingly impatient fingers. “You look fine, Kakyoin.”

Kakyoin’s eyes widened. Had he read his mind?

“You look great, actually. Just relax.”

Kakyoin gave it his best effort, relaxing his muscles starting at his thighs. He let out a long breath, his gaze averting from Jotaro’s.

Kakyoin gasped when he felt Jotaro insert his index finger, sending a rush of pain through him. Jotaro felt him tighten around his finger in protest. He pushed his second knuckle in, stopping there.

“Relax, I promise it feels good,” Jotaro comforted, rubbing Kakyoin’s lower back with his free hand.

“You should have told me,” Kakyoin whined, still feeling the invasiveness of Jotaro’s finger even as it laid still.

“You’re right,” he admitted, looking down at Kakyoin’s straining features of his face. “I’m gonna keep going. You have to relax.”

Kakyoin gave it his best effort, and when Jotaro felt him loosen, he advanced further. Kakyoin felt the end of his knuckle pressing against him, then the absence of it when Jotaro’s finger withdrew.

“You’ve never even done this to yourself?”

“N-No,” Kakyoin said into the pillow, adjusting to the subsiding pain and the alien feeling of pressure that replaced it.

Jotaro grinned, but Kakyoin didn’t see it. Jotaro began to pump slowly, his fingers slicked by Kakyoin’s cum and meeting less resistance with each advancement into Kakyoin. He let out small gasps every so often, the pressure from Jotaro’s finger pushing out his breaths each time he slid it further in.

Kakyoin didn’t see Jotaro’s mischievous simper, his eyes clamped shut and half his face in the pillow. Jotaro changed the angle of his finger, curling it downwards towards Kakyoin’s belly. As he dragged his finger out, Kakyoin’s toes curled and back arched when he felt an intense pleasure from deep within his pelvis. He smoothed his back when Jotaro coaxed it with his hand. Jotaro hit the same spot again as he pushed in, then again when he pulled back. Kakyoin groaned, his grip on the bedsheets turning his knuckles white.

“Do you like that?” Jotaro asked, relishing in Kakyoin’s reactions.

Kakyoin only nodded his head against the pillow, disheveling his hair more than it already was.

“What do you like?”

“I like when you… touch that spot.”

Jotaro continued, speeding up after Kakyoin’s approval. His cock remained rock hard, almost beginning to ache as it leaked precum into a bead at his head. Kakyoin felt drool seep from the corner of his mouth, agape.

“I’m gonna put another one in,” Jotaro warned before stretching Kakyoin’s hole with the addition of his middle finger. Kakyoin grit his teeth, lips still parted, eyes hazy and glazed. He moaned in response, the extra digit pressing on his sensitive prostate.

Jotaro pumped slowly, each drag eliciting a delicious reverberation from Kakyoin’s body.

“M-more,” Kakyoin uttered, the pillow muffling his words yet Jotaro heard loud and clear.

“Hm?”

Kakyoin whined, nodding his head into the pillow.

“Tell me what you want,” his pace quickening, Kakyoin’s dangling cock swaying with the impact.

“I want more!” Kakyoin exclaimed, louder than Jotaro expected. Was he getting frustrated? The feeling was mutual, Jotaro’s balls beginning to pang with neediness.

Jotaro withdrew his fingers slowly, humming in approval. Kakyoin’s eyes opened, the lack of stimulation starkly disappointing to his most primal senses.

Jotaro gripped Kakyoin’s hip firmly, indenting the soft flesh beneath his fingers. With the other hand, he aligned his cock to Kakyoin’s hole, the warmth extremely gratifying to his desperation for touch. He sent a string of spit down onto the head of his cock, spreading it across Kakyoin’s hole.

“What do you want?” Jotaro managed to contain himself as he coaxed Kakyoin.

“I… want you to fuck me…” he answered, blushing at the sound of the words coming out of his mouth.

Jotaro pushed against Kakyoin’s hole, prying him open to accept his head. Kakyoin’s mouth lay agape, no noise able to escape the tension straining his throat shut. He flexed his toes against the blankets he found them entwined in.

“Relax.”

Kakyoin felt Jotaro’s thighs against the inside of his own as he released the breath he had been holding. Sweat budded at his temples. He released the tightness he found in his abdomen, taking a deep breath in, then out.

“Good.”

Kakyoin didn’t expect to be so excited by praise.

Jotaro pushed in further, managing to fit his head inside. He let out a lecherous grunt, his eyes focusing on the joining of him and Kakyoin, intensely aroused by the sight. He had to resist the urge to pound himself into Kakyoin, remembering he was still so new. Instead, he pushed in further, putting pressure on Kakyoin’s lower back when he tried to arch in resistance.

When he fit half of his cock inside, he slowly drew back with a moan. Kakyoin shivered at the movement, his eyes rolling briefly before closing.

Jotaro growled, his head nearly exposed to open air before he thrusted forward abruptly. Kakyoin nearly yelped, though remained relaxed, the sudden pressure forcing its way past his prostate in a rush of electric sensation. Jotaro didn’t bother telling Kakyoin what to expect as he drove the entire length of his cock flush with his ass, wringing a strained whine out of Kakyoin. He felt Jotaro’s balls press against his taint, a sensation he’d not known would be so enticing. His thighs jerked together before Jotaro’s knee jammed its way between them, keeping them open, ready to accept.

“J-Jot—”

“I know.”

Jotaro would have felt guilty if his mind wasn’t clouded by lust and frustration. He maintained as much control as his body would allow him to, the warmth of Kakyoin’s ass making him cross a line he normally wouldn’t even toe.

Kakyoin felt a sense of dejection, only for it to be obfuscated when Jotaro dragged his cock out again. Jotaro paused, then. He moved to hover over Kakyoin, his back arched like a big cat who’d just captured its prey. The pressure on Kakyoin’s back was almost painful as Jotaro’s hips pushed his own forward.

Jotaro swiftly gripped Kakyoin’s wrist with an outstretched arm and yanked him upward, the side of his face that was previously planted into the pillow greeted with the cooler air of the hostel room. The pair straightened, balanced on their knees, the back of Kakyoin’s shoulders pressing against Jotaro’s chest. Jotaro’s other hand snaked up to Kakyoin’s neck, wrapping his fingers around the delicate skin there. He felt Kakyoin’s throat bob under his palm as he swallowed, the strong pulse of his carotid on his fingers.

“Jotaro!” Kakyoin exclaimed, incensed at the sudden, rough movement.

Jotaro responded by burying his face in Kakyoin’s hair, kissing roughly at his neck. His grip on Kakyoin’s wrist didn’t lessen, keeping him in place as he rocked backwards, drawing out his cock slowly.

“I’m sorry,” Jotaro growled into Kakyoin’s neck with an air of dubious honesty, hot breath adding to the stickiness of his sweat. The sensation jolted Kakyoin’s cock. “Stay relaxed.”

Kakyoin almost resented him for saying that. He was he supposed to stay relaxed with a hand wrapped around his throat?

Jotaro glided back inside with abandon, Kakyoin squirming but dropping his jaw to let out an exasperated moan. He fucked him rhythmically now, smoothly but quickly, Kakyoin’s cock bouncing in return. Jotaro kissed Kakyoin’s neck sloppily, his fingers feeling the vibrations of his cries.

Kakyoin had doubted that Jotaro’s huge cock would have even fit in the first place, yet it glided in and out with ease now as Jotaro pounded into him over and over again. He stared ahead at the wall, gasps escaping his lips with each grunt that Jotaro delivered into his neck. Jotaro’s hips slapped against his ass in a lewd applause. His overstimulated prostate made him want more, each thrust leaving him impatient for the next.

“How does it feel?” Jotaro’s voice rumbled against his skin, his grip on Kakyoin’s neck tightening briefly before loosening to allow him to speak.

Kakyoin had to catch his breath before gathering his thoughts enough to speak. “I love it,” Kakyoin smiled with open lips, the realization that he indeed loved this hitting him the exact moment he found the words to say.

Jotaro nuzzled into his neck, his pace quickening. He moved his hand from Kakyoin’s neck and gripped his shoulder instead, his fingers digging into the muscle.

“What do you love?” he prodded, voice low and laced with gasping whispers.

“I love h-how you fuck me,” Kakyoin gushed. “I l-love your cock, I lo—”

Jotaro snarled loudly, pushing his cock as deeply into Kakyoin as it could go. He came hard with quivering abdominal muscles and a desperate grip on Kakyoin, holding him as if he was afraid he would float away if he didn’t. With his eyes clenched closed and a furrowed brow he rode out his orgasm, Kakyoin’s words echoing in his head.

Slowly but surely, his tight grasps weakened, allowing Kakyoin some slack to relax his posture. He took advantage of this, craning his head to lightly peck Jotaro’s cheek.

“I…I love you, too, Jotaro,” he whispered, finishing the statement he’d begun moments before.

Jotaro sighed deeply, sweat decorating his forehead, finally relaxed from the contentment that could only come after cumming.

“Love you too, Noriaki.”

Tags:

Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Showers

Love Confessions

Friendship/Love

Fluff and Smut

Anger

Physical Abuse

Sexual Tension

Declarations Of Love

Nightmares

Late Night Conversations

Explicit Sexual Content

Dubious Consent

Mildly Dubious Consent

Frottage

Mutual Pining

Light Dom/sub

Begging

Choking

Loss of Virginity

Prostate Massage

Doggy Style

Multiple Sex Positions

Come as Lube

Spit As Lube

Anal Fingering

Anal Sex

Praise Kink

Hair-pulling

dom jotaro

sub kakyoin

jotaro has a monthly subscription to the Journal of Marine Biology

Snooping

Jotaro has anger issues

virgin kakyoin

Awkward Kissing

Awkward First Times

Awkward Conversations

Porn With Plot

Porn with Feelings

Verbal Bondage

Dirty Talk

Top Kujo Jotaro

Bottom Kakyoin Noriaki

jotaro is a dick but he's really a gud boi

#jotaro x kakyoin #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jotaro kujo #noriaki kakyoin #jojo part 3 #n/s/f/w

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