#turns out he was in his very late twenties apparently

[naturepointstheway]

The real question is how the fuck was I allowed to watch Cats at 13 when we have an entire song with Tugger pelvis thrusting and everyone being very sexual?!

#Rum Tum Tugger #Cats the musical #Cats1998 #john partridge #also I thought John Partridge was a LOT older back when I watched it as a teen #Thought he was like late thirties or something #turns out he was in his very late twenties apparently #when he filmed this #so now I'm older than he was in 1998 #the real kicker is though: I was very Catholic #like reallly religious #and yet #here we are #me watching Tugger thrust his crotch at everyone #back when I was like 13 #and not caring too much about it apparently or I just forgot all about it haha

[pellucid-constellations]

Are You Bored Yet?

Pairing: College!Bucky x Tutor!Reader

Summary: God, you hated Bucky. Bucky probably hated you, too. Maybe. It was hard to tell when he was drunk and calling you pretty at a party you shouldn't have gone to.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: Alcohol, annoyance to lovers, a bit of angst, a scary man in a parking lot, frat!bucky c:

a/n:​​​ I am so excited to finally post something!! It only took me four months 😅 If you enjoy it please please let me know ❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

12:59 pm.

The birchwood table nestled in the back of the library was long but otherwise empty, the only thing occupying it being your laptop and quite a few books. He wasn’t late. Yet. You weren’t going to hold onto that hope, however.

Tutoring Bucky Barnes was not what you had in mind when you volunteered for the peer assistance program at your university. It was true you were only using the club to boost your resume, but you had assumed the only people reaching out for help would be those that actually wanted it. Unfortunately, that was not the case. 

Sure, Bucky wanted help. Just not with anything that actually warranted the word. He wanted help sweet talking the cops so they wouldn't shut down his parties. He wanted help recruiting girls to show up to his parties. And—the one thing you could actually do—he wanted help passing his classes with the minimum GPA required to not get kicked out of his frat. So he could continue to throw parties. 

Everything in his life revolved around his fraternity, which made you very important to him. When he wanted you to be. 

With your apparently astounding knowledge of biology (you took notes during lectures), you became the star in Bucky’s life every Monday and Wednesday from 1:00 pm (give or take ten minutes) to 2:00 pm. He was also very attentive during the thirty minute phone calls he initiated prior to tests, and always looked happy to see you when he passed you devouring a bagel at the crack of dawn in the dining hall. 

Every situation in which you had come in contact with Bucky was isolated and purposeful (minus the bagel). You didn’t hang out or invite each other places, and you were almost positive that if you were to see him in his natural habitat, you would want to tutor him even less than you did now, and that was saying something. So you were important to Bucky during the times you were supposed to be important, and he was important to you in the sense that he was a job. 

But as your laptop blinked the numbers 1:22 pm back at your unimpressed expression, Bucky became much less important today. You took in a long, tortured breath before sending your gaze up to the ceiling, giving it another three minutes before you truly gave up on him for the day. 

One minute. 

Two minutes. 

The library really needed new ceiling tiles. 

1:25 pm and you snapped your laptop shut. Your fingers itched to send yet another complaint about this whole ordeal Natasha’s way, but you stopped yourself. She had already heard plenty about Barnes at this point, plus she always gave you a weird look every time you came stomping into the apartment, grumbling about something else he had done. 

You hated her weird looks, all raised eyebrows and stiff lips.

With your backpack heaved onto the table and your things slowly funneling in, you figured a nap was the best reward for sitting in the library for an unnecessary twenty-five minutes. Your last prickle of irritation was stifled at the prospect of a warm bed as you stood, only to find that irritation had returned to you tenfold. In the form of Bucky Barnes. 

“You going somewhere?” he seemed to taunt, his bag slung casually over one shoulder. 

Your jaw ticked. “Home.” 

His mouth turned up at one side, an expression you had learned meant he found you amusing. He never seemed to outright laugh at your annoyance, but apparently, it was hard to tamp down all of the joy he got out of it. Bucky took two long strides to meet the table you were attempting to abandon. 

“But I still got about—” he checked his watch “—thirty-three minutes? And an arsenal of questions about amino acids. Help a guy out.” 

“And I still got—” you checked the nonexistent watch on your wrist “—no patience for this today. You’re over twenty minutes late, Barnes. Use that watch to set an alarm on Wednesday and I’ll tell you everything you’ll inevitably forget about amino acids then.” 

He groaned, rounding the table to set firm hands on your shoulders as he hovered behind you. “Sit. I’ll buy you a coffee and I promise I won’t be late on Wednesday, okay? I was dealing with something before this and lost track of time.” 

“Were you dealing with another sorority girl in your bed? Who was it last week? Amber? No, Michelle?” 

“It’s a Monday, y/n. Cut me some slack.” 

“You came to me on a Wednesday with a hangover,” you deadpanned.

Bucky grimaced, the expression visible to you as he managed to guide you back into your chair. “Oat milk, right? A double?” 

You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest as he tossed his bag by your feet and jogged over to the coffee cart just outside the library. He fumbled with his wallet when he went to pay, and you watched him point to the carton of oat milk the barista had yet to reach for. His greek letters were printed on the gray hoodie he had haphazardly thrown over his shoulders, and you held the reprimand on your tongue when you saw the matching sweatpants he donned. 

The last time he had shown up in his pajamas—late—you’d had some choice words for him. Bucky turned around with your coffee then, poking the straw through the lid and sending you a sheepish smile through the window. 

He was lucky you accepted bribes. 

~~

“Please,” the boy across from you continued to beg, a pen held loosely between pliant fingers. “Just ask her, that’s all I want. You can even come too.” 

“Oh, wow, the great frat president letting me come to his stupid toga party? How could I ever thank you enough?” 

It was Wednesday now, and Bucky was surprisingly on time to the tutoring session. You’d gotten through about half of the last bio lecture before he started asking you ridiculous questions that had nothing to do with the content. Today, he was dead set on getting your lab partner from chemistry to go to his party this weekend. 

“Okay, yeah, you could come to whatever party you want, you know? I put you on the list—but this one will be even better if you’d just do this one thing for me.” 

You finally tore your eyes from your laptop, glancing lazily at him. “And what would make this one so—wait, what list?” 

He waved you off. “The one at the door. Did it like… the second week we started this? Anyways, Wanda?” 

You let this new information settle and tried to ignore whatever implications came with being on some frat list thanks to Bucky. He had never explicitly invited you to any of his parties over the past few months and you had never asked to come. Apparently, you could have shown up whenever you wanted to and had a grand old time. 

Not that that sounded the least bit grand. 

Bucky was looking at you still, all pleading features and a soft, infuriating smile on his lips. When he wasn’t talking to random girls in the library or taking annoying phone calls in the middle of your sessions, he was sort of endearing. In a terrible, awful sense. 

You groaned, throwing yourself back against your chair in begrudging defeat. “I don’t even talk to her outside of chem. Don’t you think it’d be a little weird to invite her to a party that I’m not even going to?” 

“So come,” he answered simply, as if that was in the realm of possibilities. 

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “Sure, I’ll come to your party, Barnes.” 

“Great,” he grinned. “Vision’s gonna be so hyped.” 

You watched as he pulled his phone from his pocket and kept your lie to yourself. He wouldn’t notice that you didn’t show up on Friday, and likely wouldn’t even bring it up the following Monday. He always had such vibrant, headache-inducing stories that you were sure your absence would be nothing more than a fleeting footnote. 

“You have a toga, right?” he mumbled, face still screwed up in concentration as he continued his text. 

“Isn’t it just a sheet all twisted up?” you asked, shutting your computer. Tutoring was obviously over. 

Bucky pocketed his phone again, brows raised in amusement. “Depends on your motives for the night.” 

“And my motives wouldn’t be to… wear a toga?” 

He chuckled and huffed out your name, resting an arm along the back of the chair to his right—your chair. “Other motives. Like if you’re trying to get someone’s attention.” 

You blinked at the warmth along your back. “Oh, of course. Then I would twist up a pillowcase instead, right?”

“Something like that.” 

He smelled like coconut. Like a day at the beach but afterwards, when the sunscreen still lingered in the air but fresh clothes covered skin that had been warmed by the sun. You could usually ignore whatever expensive combination he had on his skin, but when he got close like this it was almost impossible. 

Part of you always wanted to chuck his arm away when he leaned over you, but another part of you liked that he kept it there. It was a strange part of you, the same one that relished the looks you got from sorority girls in the library and harbored a sense of pride each time he made a blatant attempt to touch you. 

You had spent fleeting moments analyzing these emotions and chalked them up to some internalized desire for validation. Nothing else. Bucky was a hot guy and everyone knew that, so having his attention—in any capacity—felt nice. Sometimes. Meaning right now it was nice that he was looking at you with his arm practically glued to your back, but next week when he showed up late with a hangover and tried to steal the jacket off your body it would be not so nice. 

The duality of man. 

It helped your partial insanity that Bucky would never actually be interested in you. You weren’t in a sorority or interested to his parent’s money, and, worst of all, you didn’t know how to maneuver a sheet into a toga. When he put his arm around you or moved your hair from your eyes as you leaned over a book, it was probably out of habit. It felt nice, but you knew reality. This was a passing phase, and by the summer you wouldn’t even speak to him anymore.

“I’ll text you more info about everything,” Bucky called, pulling you from your thoughts. “You can come early and I’ll help you with that pillowcase.” 

You froze, the book you were shoving into your bag pausing in your hands. “Uh, maybe.” 

“No, seriously, it’d be better if you came early. I was kidding about the pillowcase but if you come on time it’ll be too crazy for me to show you around.” 

“You don’t have to show me around, Bucky. I’ve been to a house party before.” 

“Y/n, are you not coming to this thing?” Bucky accused, swiping the book from your hands and softly tossing it on the table. It still made a loud thud that had a few bitter looks thrown your way. 

“Dude!” you whispered, meeting each mean gaze with your apologetic one. “Why does it matter if I come? You just wanted Wanda anyway.” 

He knocked your hand away when you went to reach for the book again, encircling your wrist with his fingers. “You just lied to me. Straight to my face. You said you’d come and now you gotta.” 

You gave his fingers an experimental tug, but he was unrelenting in his soft grip. You glared at him through your lashes, meeting his uncharacteristically stern gaze that contrasted the humor on his lips. 

“You ever hear of sarcasm?” you whispered with a half-hearted bite. 

“Unfortunately, that’s about all I hear outta you,” he smirked back. 

You rolled your eyes, finally yanking hard enough to free yourself from him. “Then you should have known I wasn’t going to come. No matter what ‘list’ you put me on.” 

“What else could you possibly have going on on a Friday night?” 

Ouch. You felt your brows furrow even though you didn’t will them to, and even worse, you felt a rash defensiveness lodge itself in your throat. You hated the heat that now prickled along the skin of your neck, and you hated even more how it extinguished all of the good warmth you had felt from him earlier. 

This was humiliation, surely—the kind that only came from feeling small. 

“You don’t have to be a dick,” you seethed, snapping up the remainder of your belongings. “Just because I don’t want to go to your stupid frat doesn't mean I have nothing to do. I don’t spend all of my time hoping to get invited to ridiculous parties.” 

Bucky shifted up in his seat, eyes blown just a fraction wider. “Whoa, I didn’t mean—hey, stop a sec, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Whatever, Bucky,” you droned, as a new temperature seeped into the skin of your palms and made them clammy. Any semblance of delusion you’d fallen into earlier was long gone now, but you knew to expect that. He wasn’t interested in you and you weren’t interested in him. But embarrassment wasn’t a good feeling, regardless of a multitude of reality checks. 

Bucky got up when you did, his clothes looking creased and lived in. “We still have time in our session,” he defended, arm jutting out to the table. “C’mon, I didn’t mean you don’t have friends.” 

Your glare sharpened. “Great, another insinuation.” 

Bucky sputtered out incoherent words as you continued your trek outside, resorting to grabbing your wrist again, this time with more urgency. You felt the heat in you simmer down to a dull throb as he made contact, mostly out of respect for your future self. If you made this a huge deal it would only embarrass you more. 

“Look, it doesn’t even matter, okay?” you huffed, but he just tugged you forward. It was then that you realized you were in the doorway of the library, effectively blocking it off from anyone trying to leave. Bucky pulled you close enough to his chest that you weren’t in the way anymore. His cologne was back with a vengeance, your nose just inches from his collar.  

You took a steadying breath, blinking away the remnants of shame. “It doesn’t matter, I overreacted.” 

He clicked his tongue. “I’m still apologizing. I didn’t mean any of that stuff you were talking about.” 

Of course he did. You were sure he thought it all the time. He just didn’t mean to say it out loud. 

“It’s fine,” you rushed. “I have to go, anyway. Office hours.” 

“Okay,” he nodded, soft and low, like he just remembered he was in a library. “You’ll still come this weekend, right? Even if Wanda can’t?” 

“You have some kind of girl quota you need to meet?” you pressed.

Bucky smiled, still so close to you that you could feel the small breath that accompanied the expression. “And she’s back.” 

You left without promising anything, and Bucky left feeling like you had. 

~~

Sometime between Wednesday and Friday, your detestment for frat parties had snowballed into determination. You were going to go and you were going to look like you were having so much fun it was ridiculous. Then, on Monday, when Bucky would usually poke and prod about what you’d gotten up to over the past few days, you were going to pretend that it was nothing for you. That you did that every weekend. 

Of course, you didn’t. Your weekends typically consisted of calm nights with friends or dinners near campus. You’d been to a party before, sure, but you didn’t exactly frequent those kinds of scenes. 

Bucky had continued to make it clear that you were invited. He had texted you a few times, prompting you to come and thanking you for getting Wanda to agree. The messages looked strange under the plethora of biology related questions, but that just spurred you further into action. You weren’t just a tutor with no social life, and Bucky was going to see that tonight. You couldn’t remember doing something out of pure spite before, but you figured having fun to prove a point wasn’t the worst thing. 

Wanda pulled you out of your thoughts as the Uber rounded the last dark corner and revealed an overcrowded house with too many lights on. She rambled on about some guy she couldn’t wait to see and confirmed that she would likely be spending the night. You expected as much; it hadn’t taken much convincing to get her to come. If this night resulted in anything good it was apparently the blossoming relationship between your new friend and a man you’d never met. 

Wanda continued to chat as she yanked you out of the car and past the yard littered with sparse grass. The music was loud already—the type of loud that you needed to be at least a little drunk to enjoy. And that was the plan. 

“Okay, if I start dancing on a table you pull me down. And if you start dancing on a table I support you, right?” Wanda giggled, her voice now raised as you walked past the threshold of the house. 

“Exactly,” you yelled back. A guy nodded to you as he leaned against the front door, his eyes glancing up from his phone and then returning. It seemed Bucky’s ‘list’ was a page on some guy’s notes app. How luxurious. “Let’s drink.” 

The next hour was a blur. You tried your hardest to get as drunk as possible and Wanda tried her hardest to find the British man she was enamored with. You hadn’t seen Bucky, but you figured he wasn’t looking for you too hard since you hadn’t responded to any of his texts. Not out of anger, but because you didn’t know what to say. Somehow, with alcohol warming your blood and music vibrating your skin, none of that mattered anymore. 

You: Your house is soooo dirty

Your phone jostled in your grip, people bumping into you from every side. When he didn’t answer in the thirty seconds you spent staring at the screen, you locked it and continued on with your mission. 

After a few too many shots of hard liquor, you switched to beer. Gross, but decidedly less likely to make you pass out on the staircase of this house. Because you weren’t lying in your text—it was slightly disgusting. You figured you should clarify that with Bucky. You reached for your phone once again, knocking your head against the wall in the process and giggling to yourself. You had no idea where Wanda went. 

The device was snatched from your hands just as quickly as the screen had lit up your face. 

“You ever answer this thing?” an accusing voice called out. “Or do you just insult people and put it on do not disturb?” 

The look on Bucky’s face would have made you roll your eyes in any other circumstance. Right now, however, it had a startled laugh bursting past your lips. You clutched at your stomach as the laugh grew and you found yourself tipping forward until your forehead met his chest. You felt delirious, almost silly. A hand came around to rest on the back of your neck.

“Alright, alright.” Bucky’s words rumbled against your face. “I get it, this is hilarious.” 

“Your… your face,” you breathed out, catching your breath enough to part from him. “It was all—” you mimicked the straight line of his eyebrows, voice raising in a mocking tone. “—You don’t ever answer your phone. You’re so boring, y/n, answer your phone.” 

“I didn’t call you boring. Hey—hey,” Bucky stressed, reaching for you as you leaned too far to the side, a smile still lingering on your face. “Jesus, y/n, how much did you have to drink?” 

You went to mock him again, but his fingers on your jaw stopped you. He tilted your head up and to the left, and although he was much more composed than you were, you could still smell the alcohol on his breath. You scrunched up your nose as he continued his inspection. 

“Why’re you being so uptight?” you slurred, trying and failing to push away from him. “I thought you were all like, ‘I’m Bucky and I party and get drunk and have sex with girls.’”

Bucky pulled you forward as you laughed at your impression of him, his shaking head making you blink away a bout of dizziness. You toppled over a set of stairs as he threaded his fingers through yours, and then you stumbled through a doorway and onto carpeted floors. Being pressed into an uncomfortable chair was the most jarring action, the world still spinning as you sat. 

“You’re even more mean when you're drunk,” you heard Bucky mumble. You couldn’t quite catch him as he moved around whatever room you were in. “And I don’t talk like that.” 

You let out a careless sigh and leaned back. “You soooo talk like that.” 

Something cold pressed to your hand, followed by another touch to the back of your neck. You gazed down at the water bottle being guided up to your lips and couldn’t find it in you to fight against it, despite the small spark of defiance on the tip of your tongue. After about four large swallows, Bucky was satisfied. 

He asked again how much you’d had to drink. 

You answered that you didn’t know—that it didn’t matter because he wasn’t your dad and you were having fun like you always did. He bit the inside of his cheek and didn’t say anything for the next few moments. 

And then, “Thought you weren’t gonna come tonight.” 

You hummed, rolling your head against the chair to look up at his standing form. “Of course I was going to come. I love parties. Love drinking alcohol.” 

His expression twisted into something you couldn’t recognize. “God, you’re so drunk.” 

“M’not even that drunk!” 

“You’re willingly in my room right now. You’re plastered.” 

“Maybe I want to be in your room.” 

“We both know that’s not true.” 

You chuckled breathily, closing your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see the pretty flush of Bucky’s face. “You think you know everything, don’t you? Don’t know much about me though. Or biology.” 

Bucky kneeled down to the height of the chair. “And what do I not know about you?” 

“So much.” 

“How much?” 

You bit into your lip and cracked an eye open, catching the amusement that had slipped past the strange mask of his emotions. With blissful ignorance, you heaved yourself forward on the chair, your nose a few inches from Bucky’s. His eyes didn’t waver from yours as you swayed. 

“You don’t know that I’m the most interesting person on Earth,” you boasted, fingers gripping the upholstery of your seat. 

“That right?” Bucky probed, his voice a melodic hum. 

“Yup, I’m always really busy and even though you think I’m some boring biology tutor I’m actually super cool and, like, go to raves and stuff.” 

His brow twitched but his mouth stayed soft. “I’ve never said you were boring. And I don’t think you’ve ever been to a rave.” 

You groaned loudly and flopped against the backrest of the chair. “See! I’m telling you I do all this cool stuff and I’m so drunk my fingers are buzzing and you still don’t believe me.” 

You crossed your arms with a huff, a small pout forming on your lips. In any other context, this behavior would probably embarrass you to no end. In the dim light of Bucky’s room where you felt the feeling leave your fingers and the care leave your mind, you were just disgruntled, not embarrassed. If you remembered this tomorrow the latter would surely catch up to you.

Bucky stared at you from his spot on the ground, his gaze a bit foggy and unfocused. He was clearly intoxicated, as you deduced earlier, and it made him look more wild. Mused hair and pink cheeks, he looked like he’d been having plenty of fun before he found you. It was distracting. He was distracting you from proving that you were having a blast.

“What?” you snapped, the tone a testament to the drunken fit you were throwing. 

“You’re so fucking pretty.” 

He must be really, really drunk. Despite your clouded mind, you knew that, but the words affected you just the same. Your lips parted as a new lightness both lit up and compressed your chest, and Bucky watched the movement. 

“Yeah,” you scoffed, but it was hardly a scoff. “Sure, Bucky. How much did you have to drink—” 

“I’m not lying. I’ve thought about you in my room for weeks and now you’re here and you’re so pretty. Even when you’re yelling at me.” 

“You’ve… thought about me in your room?” 

Bucky shuffled forward and you subconsciously parted your legs to allow the space for him. “I think about you everywhere.” 

This was crazy. It was certifiably insane. A voice in the back of your head—Natasha’s voice, it sounded like—was screaming at you to stop and think about the situation at hand. He was drunk, you were even more drunk, and he was far too close to you. He had ushered you in here with good intentions and had sobered you up a fraction, but things had taken a turn and this was a sensitive situation. The kind of sensitive that altered your reality and his and probably a bunch of other people’s you’d never met. 

Or it could be nothing and you were over exaggerating. 

But then Bucky’s hand was warming your thigh. You’d felt the press of it on your back and your shoulder and your head before, but it had never been on your thigh. It felt heavy there, hot. His other hand moved to touch your face and he propped himself up on one knee. His thumb brushed your cheek. Words tumbled from your mouth before you registered that you were speaking. 

“Are you going to kiss me?” 

Why would you ask that? Who asks Bucky Barnes if he’s going to kiss them? 

“Would you let me?” he responds. 

“Yes.” 

He didn’t waste any time, his mouth hot against yours. He tasted like mint and vodka and his lips moved so slowly it ached. You had expected a fervor behind his lips, but instead you got a build up, an orchestra reaching its crescendo. He was kissing you like you were important, like this wasn’t some random hookup in his bedroom at 1 o’clock in the morning, and you had to catch your breath when he parted from you. 

But he moved back in so quickly after your brief respite, and you were eager to give him more. This was crazy, insane. This was the best kiss you’d ever have and also the worst. This was months of staring at his stupid lips when he tried explaining concepts back to you, but this was also weeks of feeling small in his presence. Bucky slid his hand back to press against your hair and you didn’t feel small anymore. 

A loud thud from the hallway interrupted the silence you’d created, and Bucky pulled back, keeping his hands on you as he craned his neck around to stare at the door. He waited a beat, and then two, and then he turned back to you. The moment was gone, but he was still touching you. You weren’t sure what you wanted—if you wanted him to kiss you again or run out the door—but when he slid his hands from your body and rubbed them down his jeans, it became clear that was not what you wanted. 

A knot formed in your stomach when he met your gaze again, and you tried blinking the feeling away. It didn’t work. 

“Um,” Bucky began, his voice sounding more clear, his tone not holding the weight it had.

Your plan had backfired. Severely. This was a mess and you needed to save yourself before you ended this night even more humiliated.

You were still drunk. Pretend you were still plastered. 

You giggled airily, the sound burning your throat. “That was loud.” 

Bucky blinked at you in what you assumed was disbelief. “Probably just someone trying to find the bathroom,” he clarified.

You shrugged, nudging him back with your knee as you stood from the chair. “I’m bored now.” You took fast steps to the door, your words foreign to you. “Thanks for the water,” you all but gritted out. 

You expected him to get up. Not to run after you or proclaim his love or even say anything. But you expected him to get up. 

He didn’t, and you couldn’t understand how the knot in your stomach had moved to your throat. Or how it made tears spring to your eyes when your feet hit the sidewalk outside. Your Uber came and you couldn’t understand how you felt hot and cold at the same time. How it was freezing outside but you were sweating. 

You couldn’t understand why you were crying over a boy that so often infuriated you, or why he kissed you in his bedroom. The reasonable side of you sent gentle reminders that he was in a frat and kissing people is just what he did. All the time. But the unreasonable side of you won out tonight, and it was telling you that this felt different.

That you should be different, somehow.

~~

Bucky: You’re here???

Bucky: Where are you?

Bucky: Y/n answer your damn phone

Bucky: This place is fucking packed tonight I thought you weren’t coming 

You stared at the text messages you hadn’t read last night, the bright light of your phone burning into your retinas. You had a brutal hangover, and the memory of the disaster in Bucky’s room felt like an even bigger one. 

You’d gone through a myriad of emotions the night before, tossing around excuses and speeches in your head until you were so exhausted you let the alcohol in your system lull you to sleep. With all of that delirious thinking, you’d landed on blacking out. You were going to tell Bucky you blacked out last night and couldn’t remember a thing. He obviously wouldn’t care and would probably appreciate it. 

Saturday was slow-moving. Reruns of television shows and bags of popcorn and overthinking. Natasha was at her parent’s house in the city, so you had no one to bounce your racing thoughts off of. You certainly weren’t going to text her about it. 

When the evening finally rolled around and your attempts at distracting yourself with mind-numbing movies failed, you checked your email. You always tried not to on the weekends, but doing anything else sounded much less appealing. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t get past the first one. 

From: University Peer Assistance Program 

Dear Y/n Y/l/n, 

This is an automated message from the campus peer assistance program. We thank you for your continued devotion to the betterment of students at this school. At this time, your tutoring placement with James Barnes has ended. We will search for a new placement to fill your current hours. 

Thank you, 

University Peer Assistance 

You blinked at the email, then blinked again. The breath left your chest and the muscles on your face twitched, but you were otherwise frozen.

This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To be free from the haughty frat boy that didn’t even listen to you when you tried to help him raise his grades. You wanted someone nice, someone that had the same goals as you and appreciated the color-coded notes you took for them. Bucky only tried to get a rise out of you. He sat too close and made fun of you and put you on lists you didn’t ask to be on. 

But he had kissed you. He had kissed you and then tutor-dumped you. 

You knew you weren’t his type, but were you really that bad? Was the kiss so terrible? 

Every inferiority complex you had developed exploded. You over-analyzed things that had already happened, things you had said. Not just at the party, but in the library, the coffee shops, the lecture halls. 

Was he really willing to risk his position in the frat just to avoid you? 

The strangle tickle of tears itched to be released from your eyes again, but you pressed it down. No, this wasn’t on you. He had kissed you. He had dragged you into his room and stumbled on pretty words. If he didn’t want you to tutor him anymore because of his stupid mistake, fine. 

His mistake. 

That word felt wrong. 

You tossed your phone on the couch with vigor. The clock above the television read out 10 pm, but that meant little to you as you slid on your shoes at the front door. You were wearing sweatpants and a jacket that was far too big on you, sadness and frustration and raw confusion propelling you down your apartment stairs. 

Ice cream would fix this. 

The only place open at this time was the gas station at the edge of campus. It wasn’t university affiliated and was usually overrun with belligerent greek life trying to buy alcohol, but the decision-making part of your brain was currently shut off. 

Ice cream, anger, probably watching tiktoks until your eyes were too heavy to keep open—those were the only things rattling in your head. 

You yanked open the gas station door after your short walk, the glass smudged and fogged from the cold night. The fluorescent lights aggravated the headache you’d been sporting all day and the floor made sticking noises with each step you took. To add insult to injury, there were only three cartons of ice cream left, and they weren’t even the good flavors. Grabbing the least offensive one, you made your way to the small line of people by the register. 

“Nice outfit.” 

Too enthralled by the disappointing ingredient list on the side of your ice cream, you had missed the tall man now looming at your shoulder. You whipped your head around with a start, taking a step back, smelling menthol and asphalt and nothing good. 

“Thanks,” you quietly replied. 

He waited until you turned back around to continue. “You go to school over here?” 

You kept your gaze forward. “Um, yeah.” 

“Nice. I graduated a few years back. Marketing.” 

“Cool,” you replied. What had compelled you to leave your phone on the couch? This night sucked. 

You found reprieve in the line moving, the employee calling you over to check out. As soon as you paid—a few dollar bills funneled out of your pocket with shaky hands—you booked it. Your ice cream burned in your palm but you didn’t care, feet carrying you out the door and into the dimly lit parking lot. You fisted your keys in your fingers; pointless, you knew, but a small comfort. 

The man’s voice returned with the chime of the bell over the gas station door. “Wait! Wait, I’m Beck. I own a business nearby.” 

You should have kept walking, but one of your fatal flaws was, apparently, people pleasing. You turned to him. He smiled at you but it made your stomach twist. 

“Oh, nice,” you responded, rocking back on your heels. 

“We should connect. Maybe go for coffee or something?” He took a step forward. You fought the urge to take one back. His beard was unkempt and he held a six pack in his white-knuckled grip. 

“Um, I don’t know. I’m pretty busy with finals coming up. Plus, I’m not really in the business field.” 

“Not for business then,” he smiled again, teeth dull in the streetlight. 

Just agree. If you agreed you could block him soon after and everything would be fine. 

You took too long to answer. He took the final step forward to arrive in your space and wrapped his fingers around your bicep. “C’mon, I’m not asking you to marry me or anything.” 

Frozen by fear, you let out a weak laugh. The pint in your hand was sticking to your skin now in a way that would be painful when you tried to let go of it later. Your breath rattled in your chest when you laughed again. 

“Sure, okay.” But he didn’t let go of your arm, instead sliding it down to the bone of your wrist. 

“What about now?” he posed. “You don’t look too busy. I can make you something at my place.” 

He was at least ten years older than you. You attempted to pull yourself from his grasp to no avail. Maybe reasoning would work. 

“My roommate's waiting for me,” you lied. “Could you let go? I sprained my wrist at the gym last week,” you lied again. 

He refused with a shake of his head. You took a panicked glance inside the gas station to your right. No one was looking. 

“Please let go of me.” 

The call of your name from the other side of the parking lot initially sent more unbearable fear down your spine. But then the owner of that voice registered in your brain, and although it had been the cause of your recent internal strife, you couldn't be more grateful to hear it. 

He said your name again, closer now and questioning. Bucky jogged up to the pair of you, saw your wrist and the man holding it hostage, and looked back up at you with confused, wild eyes. 

“You know this guy?” he asked, jutting his thumb out at Beck.

“No,” you whispered. The word was short but the syllable still trembled. 

Bucky didn’t look confused anymore. He looked pissed. “Wanna take your fucking hands off her?”

Beck was tall, but Bucky was taller. And angry. Beck released your wrist and raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa, man, no need for the theatrics. I’m guessing you’re here to stock up for a party? I used to be in Sigma Nu.” 

When Bucky’s silent glare failed to dampen, Beck continued with, “We were just planning a night at my place, right?” 

His nod in your direction made your breath catch. Bucky took his piercing gaze off of Beck and softened it as it fell on you. You wanted to respond, but words were gone. They were impossible. Your ice cream was melting. 

“Yeah, I think we’re done here,” Bucky scoffed, placing his arm around your shoulder. He guided you past the wall of a man, making sure to drive his shoulder into his chest as he went. Beck went to say more, to protest or whine, but Bucky shot him such a scathing look it almost made you wither. 

The smell of coconut and spices and a hint of whisky met your nose, and it was familiar. It was safe. You fumbled with the keys in your hands as your feet guided you wherever Bucky was going, and then you fumbled even more, soft jingling disrupting the softness of footfall. God, why wouldn’t you stop shaking? 

A hand fell atop yours, crunching the keys to a halt. You stared down at them, unsteady breath hitting the tanned fingers that served as your current anchor. 

“Look at me, y/n.” 

You couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything. 

“Sweetheart, eyes up. All you gotta do.” Bucky’s voice was as soft as it was last night. That was the only reason you were able to follow his request. “There she is,” he hummed. 

He removed his arm from your shoulders and shifted in front of you, placing his hand on your cheek. You ignored that it felt the same as it had last night. You ignored that you wanted it to feel the same for him, too. 

“You okay?” he asked, tilting his neck down to better see your face. His thumb brushed under your eye. “He hurt you?” 

You shook your head, whispering no, whispering that you were fine. 

Bucky nodded to himself, eyes tracking down to your toes and then back up again. He must have mistaken your shaking for coldness because the next thing he did was guide you into the car behind him. You didn’t know it was his.

He blasted the heat the second he got in. He had shuffled you into your seat with his hands before that, smoothed your hair down and closed the door after you were settled and not shaking as hard. The heat dried out your eyes. It distracted you enough to let words form. 

“Thank you,” you said. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t bring my phone with me. I should’ve.” 

“Of course.” 

There was a beat of silence. The relief you had felt earlier had been muddled down to an awkward pit in your stomach, and you weren’t sure if Bucky felt it too or if he was still riding a testosterone-fueled adrenaline high. 

You wanted to go home now; this was uncomfortable and you had felt Bucky’s lips on yours less than twenty-four hours ago with no closure. He obviously didn’t want to be around you. This was probably a responsibility thing for him. 

“I can… I can walk home now. The guy left. I’m just a quarter mile away and you probably have to stock up or whatever.” 

He looked at you with a pinched expression. “I’m not letting you walk home after that. You kiddin’ me?” 

“I’ll be fine, really. I walk over here all the time.” 

“You get harassed all the time too?” 

“No…” 

“Exactly. So you’re not walking home.” 

“Bucky—” 

“Look I’m not gonna kiss you again, alright? So you don’t have to turn down a ride because of that.” 

Your ice cream was soup at this point. You let it roll into your lap as you clamped your mouth shut just to open it again. Bucky ran a rough hand through his hair before dropping it on the steering wheel, clutching at it with no place to go. 

“I’m not following,” you finally relented. 

A loud sigh released from his nose. “You don’t have to worry about me kissing you again. I just want to make sure you get home safe and then I’ll leave you alone.” 

“Worry about—you’re the one trying to avoid me,” you snapped, frozen fingers pointing to your chest. “You tutor-dumped me.”

“Tutor-dumped? How do you…” he trailed off. 

“I get an email when you make a change request, Bucky.” 

He stared at you for a moment, lips parted and unmoving. He clenched his jaw a moment later, a red tint adorning his cheeks. 

“Well, you—you—look, I know you don’t like me, y/n. You’ve made that clear,” he stuttered, words getting louder as he moved his hands around with each one. “But I like you. I like when you get mad at me and when you yell at me for not listening and when you get all embarrassed when I play with your hair. And I’ve been trying to get you to come to one of my parties since we started this whole thing, but every time I talk about them you seem to like me even less. 

“If I had known insulting you would get your attention, I woulda done that week one,” he exasperated. You sat up in your seat but he continued. “I didn’t mean any of that shit you thought I did. You’re not boring. And I didn’t mean to kiss you, but you looked—well, I already told you.” 

“So you don’t want me to be your tutor anymore because you like me?” You spoke slowly, each word careful. 

“No,” he sighed, frustrated. “I can’t be around you because I kissed you and you didn’t care. Because I’ll want to kiss you all the time and you didn’t even wanna kiss me once. I know we were drunk, I get that, but I’ve wanted that for a long time and I need to move on. It’s nothing against your… tutoring skills. If that’s what you’re worried about” 

“But you talk about hooking up with other girls all the time, Bucky. To me.” 

“You ever hear of lying?”

“Why would you—” 

“You really gonna make me live out all of my failures with you?” 

You’d read so many things wrong. Taken so many things the wrong way. You figured the email earlier was the final nail in the coffin, but this was something else entirely. This was Bucky, sitting next to you in his car looking distressed and frazzled with his hair six different directions, telling you that he’s been trying to get your attention since he met you. That you weren’t small or insignificant or boring. 

It was probably a terrible idea to follow through with your next thought. You’d probably get hurt in the long run. But you did it anyway. 

“I wanted you to kiss me.” Bucky’s head whipped towards you. You bit the inside of your cheek and said, “I want you to kiss me all the time.” 

He whispered your name. It sounded like the air had left every corner of his body. But he didn’t move, and you needed to rectify that. 

“You’re infuriating,” you began. Bucky cringed, but you needed to explain as he had. “You’re like the antithesis of everything I want out of college. You don’t care about classes. You’re always late. You talk too loud in the library.” 

You took a deep breath, fiddling with the loose thread of your pants. You couldn’t make eye contact with anything but the ground. 

“But then you know my coffee order when I’ve never told it to you. You save me from losers in parking lots and make sure I’m not drunk out of my mind at your obscene party. You make me feel… you make me feel stupid sometimes. And I thought it was because you’re everything I’m not, but I really think it’s because you’re everything I told myself I should stay away from. But I don’t want to.

“I wanted you to kiss me at that party and I want you to kiss me now.” 

“Then get over here. I’m not kissing you over some bullshit center console.” 

You twisted to follow his directions, gasping as his hands clasped around your waist to tug you into his lap. It wasn’t seamless—there was laughing and your head briefly connected with the roof of the car—but Bucky’s touch was everywhere, soothing the uncertainty and fear and slight headache. 

His forehead connected with yours when you felt secure in his arms. His fingers slid down from your waist over the material of your sweatpants and when he spoke next you felt the words on your own lips.

“You’re wearing sweatpants. You get so mad when I wear sweatpants.” 

You laughed. “I get mad because it usually means you just rolled out of bed, and you’re usually. late.” 

“I got a secret,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours. “I’m never late. And I only wear those sweatpants around you. You get cute when you’re pissed at me.” 

“Well, I’m about to be really cute—”

He kissed you. You’d have plenty of time to argue later.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #college!bucky #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #college AU #frat!bucky #marvel imagine

[marvelfilth]

The Witches Trap

Part 2

Pairing: dark!Wanda Maximoff x f!reader

Warnings: ghosts, description of death, paranormal activity, gore, blood, a bit of horror ig, typical ghost hunting stuff, nothing too scary tho

Words: 5.5k

Summary: you go ghost hunting with Peter, Yelena and Kate. What could go wrong?

A/n: first time trying out some spooky stuff, so bear with me. Heavily inspired by Sam and Coby on YT.

Masterlist

The way Yelena drives is far from smooth and sound, but she vehemently refuses to let Peter behind the wheel, so here you are, yelping and griping the sides of the driver's seat headrest like your life depends on it. You hiss when your head meets the roof, and Kate sends you another toothy smile from the front seat, her eyes flickering to look at Yelena every few minutes. You look to your right to check on Peter, but he is busy fumbling with equipment, his camera carefully stored away in a bag as he keeps checking the microphone.

You sigh and relax against the seat when the road finally smoothes out, and think about why you even agreed to this. Peter asked you to tag along for a new video for his YouTube channel, and by asked you mean begged you with his best puppy eyes and a bag of goodies in his hands. Apparently, if you agreed to go, Kate will go too. And if Kate goes, he won't even have to ask Yelena.

He was right.

So now the four of you are on the way to one of the most haunted places of America - Westview hotel.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Yelena asks, turning her head left and right.

"Yes," Peter answers, glancing up for a second.

"Honestly, this is too creepy already," Kate mumbles, her eyes locked on the numerous dolls pinned to the trees surrounding the road.

"The owner probably made someone do that. No way they had this type of dolls back in the eighteenth century." You try to reassure Kate as much as yourself.

"Actually, the first doll like that was made-" Peter finally looks up with an excited glint in his eyes, and you immediately press your palm against his mouth, "No. I don't need to know that."

"Ha! Little Y/n is scared," Yelena laughs, but her laughter is cut short when a twig hits the side window, making her shriek like a maniac.

"This never happened," she grumbles when the laughter finally dies out.

Relaxing against the seat you try to remember everything Peter told you about this hotel.

It got notoriously famous in the late eighties, when a high schooler got possessed by a demon and later died in a psych ward. The room the girl stayed in was closed off for twenty years after that. You wonder if Peter managed to book it.

Another thing you remember is numerous sightings of a dark, cloaked figure appearing in most random places, whether it's a supply closet or a presidential suite. It always managed to scare the shit out of anyone who was unfortunate enough to catch its interest. You shudder at the mere thought of encountering that particular entity.

"We're here," Yelena cuts off the ignition, and leans against the wheel to take a look at the building.

Your breath catches in your throat the second your eyes land on the magnificent hotel. At seven stories high it stands proudly on a hill, overlooking the vast grounds. The facade is noticeably worn, but no less majestic - a blend of dark wood and stone, a balcony stretching along its entire length. A dark figure on the corner of the rooftop makes you squint, and you gasp when you realize it's a gargoyle, albeit a very rickety one. You make a note to yourself not to walk under it.

Yelena ushers you along, shuddering as she notices the stone figures. “The air here is kinda thick,” she mutters.

You nod, feeling your chest tighten. She's right - the air grows heavier with each step you take. You hope the hotel itself is ventilated enough.

When you finally step inside you take a deep breath, looking around the foyer and spotting who you presume is the owner.

"Welcome to Westview Hotel! My name's Agatha, I'm the owner of this happy little place and your guide for today. Hope you have the worst time of your life here!" Her voice is too cheerful for the late hours, and you cringe at the full on villainous laugh she lets out.

Peter goes to speak with the woman while the rest of you look around. Yelena plops on the loveseat, her backpack thrown on the carpeted floor near her feet, and Kate just stands beside you with her mouth hanging open - you're sure you're wearing a similar expression.

While the outside of the hotel looked somewhat old and weathered, the inside completely blows you away with its beauty. It's elegant, if a bit eerie, with a grand chandelier and high arches that make the space feel even bigger.

You frown, sensing someone's eyes on you, and notice Peter glancing in your direction every so often. You send him a questioning look, but he only shakes his head, his lips pressed together and his cheeks puffed.

"Do you think he's going to sacrifice one of us to that witch? Scarlet Witch, right?" Yelena muses.

"Yeah, but I don't think you're her type." Kate winks at the blonde.

You snicker at her annoyed expression, and stumble back, accidentally bumping into someone. You turn around, an apology on your tongue, only to choke on your words when you are met with an empty lobby.

Your friends stare at you quizzically, but Agatha seems to be lost in thought, her eyes trained on the space right above your shoulder, then she slightly shakes her head, her lips pressed in a tight line.

"Sorry. I thought I bumped into someone…" You trail off, your back burning, an eerie feeling settling in your stomach.

"Sure thing, buttercup." Agatha winks at you, her mood changed back to normal in an instant.

You shudder, looking back at your friends. Yelena whispers something in Kate's ear that causes the younger one to chuckle, and Peter has his camera pointed at you.

"We already got some paranoid activity ten minutes into the night," he blabbers behind the camera, motioning for you to explain what happened.

"Um... It felt like I bumped into someone?" Talking to a camera is weird, but you manage to explain what you felt. "... I think it was nothing though, just my nerves acting up." You force a chuckle, your eyes moving to meet Agatha's stare.

She moves closer to be in the frame, and tells everyone about how much the Scarlet Witch loves to mess with younger women, her favorite pastime in this hotel seems to be entertaining the ladies. However, her idea of entertainment slightly differs from yours, and you gulp when Agatha mentions her choking sleeping guests and locking them in elevators.

"This is going to be incredible, guys," Peter says to the camera, his excitement too contagious for you to worry about your safety.

×××

The next two hours are spent walking behind Agatha and listening to her stories about various tragic deaths that occured in this hotel over the past hundreds of years. She stops every ten minutes or so in front of different rooms, each story worse than the previous one, and you shudder when she tells you a story of a woman buried alive in one of the walls, Agatha's hand casually resting on said wall.

She is telling you another story about a guy that danced on a ledge to impress a girl and fell on one of the spikes in the lobby, when you suddenly feel a tug in your chest. You stop, checking to see if anyone else felt that. Kate is staring at the ledge with her mouth wide open, Peter's busy filming Agatha and butting in with commentary (much to Agatha's displeasure), and Yelena grips Kate's hand so hard, you are sure she couldn't possibly see anything other than the wall in front of her.

You exhale and look around, trying to spot anything interesting, even though you've been looking at the same set of stairs for the past ten minutes. Strangely enough, you notice a door that surely wasn't there before, because you would've noticed it right away if it was.

While every part of this hotel was renovated, this door looks like it belongs in the past, with heavy iron hinges and a weird looking handle. There are no signs on the door, nor any numbers or words, and when something tugs on your hand, you follow the feeling.

You walk almost in haze, your friends' voices blurred in the background, unfamiliar warmth surrounding you, your chest lighter than it ever was and your mind in a euphoric state. You turn the knob and it gives in, the door rattling loudly as you tug it open, but before you could even glimpse inside, a hand slaps harshly on the wood, the door closing with a loud creak.

You blink owlishly, warmth gone and your head suddenly clear, as you take in Agatha's furious expression.

"It says 'Employees only'," she hisses through gritted teeth, and you step away from the woman.

"No, it doesn't, there's noth-" you choke on your words when you look back at the door, because now it looks like every other door in the room, 'Employees only' written in bold.

You look back at Agatha and apologize, but it seems like she doesn't hear you, her brows furrowed and her eyes flickering between you and the door.

"Okay that's hella creepy," Kate breaks the silence, her unoccupied hand digging in a pocket of her jeans to present a cross. "God will protect us." She puts it around her neck, and nods to herself.

"You don't even believe in God." Yelena jams her in the ribs, not letting go of the brunette's hand.

"You really should," Agatha casually advises, tugging at your elbow to move you further away from the door, "follow me, I'm going to tell you the story of the Scarlet Witch."

You cast one last look at the door and follow her down the hall to the very last room, something warm pressing at the low of your back to lead you. Shuddering at the feeling, you wonder why it is only you who feels something weird. Kate keeps sending you worried looks, but, other than that, she seems okay with Yelena's hand pressed firmly into her side. Peter isn't fazed at all, excitingly recording everything in sight.

Exhaling, you try to relax. If something here wants to harm you it wouldn't use such a gentle approach.

Or maybe it's just luring you in.

When you finally stop in front of room number 208 you feel a poke in your ribs, Yelena nods her head for you to look at Agatha, and you confusedly look up. Apparently, she wants you to open the door. Gulping, you move forward, your hand reaching on its own accord. You turn the doorknob with some hesitation, your hand trembling slightly. When you're met with a sight of a regular hotel room, you let out a quiet breath.

The walls are painted an unassuming beige, with green and brown accents, the earth tones bringing a feeling of calm. The four poster bed is pushed against the farthest wall, with nightstands on either side, and you could already imagine how soft it would feel to sleep in it. But the only thing that truly gets your attention is a floor to ceiling window and a french door, which hopefully leads to a balcony you spotted from the outside.

Agatha walks past you into the room, resting her weight against the foot of the bed. "It was locked," her eyes seem to be glued to yours as she speaks, "second locked door you opened today. I find that… interesting."

You are aware of Peter's camera being shoved right in your face, you're aware of Kate's hand reassuringly clasping your own, aware of Yelena's calming presence, but you are focused on something else entirely. There is this feeling again, now familiar warmth taking root in your chest, almost singing to you. You briefly close your eyes, savoring the sensation, wishing you could feel more.

"This is our most active room," Agatha says, "last year some teenagers decided to use a Ouija board in here and it got even worse. So you're in for a wild ride."

"This is nuts," Kate says from the other side of the room, trailing her hand over the painting of a burning witch.

"Oh, this actually happened here," Agatha drawls, taking note of your surprised faces, "almost a hundred young alleged witches were burnt at the stake here, on these grounds…" Agatha continues on with the story, but your eyes are stuck on Kate, on the other side of the room, your body frozen in shock. You can still feel what you thought was Kate's hand on your own, but with her standing on the other side of the room, and Yelena looking at you like you've grown two heads, you decide it's enough.

"Can you tell them to stop?" you shriek, stepping further into the room.

The warm feeling in your chest intensifies, the ghost of a hand sliding up your arm to settle on your cheek, turning your head to look at the painting. It's so gentle, so soft, it makes you lean your head in search of more.

"Them?" Agatha's voice grounds you. "I believe there's only one witch who is interested in you."

"What's going on?" Kate asks, moving away from the painting. Panic starts to rise in your chest, making you struggle to breathe. "Y/n, are you okay?" Kate's by your side in an instant, hands rubbing your sides, and you lay your head on her shoulder, silently reminding yourself that no ghost can hurt you.

"I thought you were standing beside me, I felt you take my hand, but you were on the other side of the room," you whisper against her shoulder.

"No. We're going back home." Yelena pales and tugs at your elbow, smacking the back of Peter's head with her other arm. "Your idiotic idea is going to give her a heart attack," she hisses and leads you to the door, hurriedly turning the knob.

It doesn't turn.

"What the fuck." She tries to open it again, and again, and again, until Agatha gets pissed and yells at her for trying to break the door.

"If she wants you to stay, you'll stay." She places her palm on the wooden door, and gives everyone a stern look.

"Say the word and I'll break that door open." Peter reappears by your side, looking guilty as ever, his camera now hidden away.

You take a deep breath and look around, now feeling much safer with all of your friends (and Agatha) by your side. The room looks like no one has touched it in years, and the warm, calming feeling in your chest only intensified after your little break down.

Maybe the witch just wants some company.

You meet Peter's eyes and manage a smile. "I survived Yelena's driving, I'm sure I'll be fine after this."

"Are you sure?" Yelena and Peter ask you at the same time.

"Yes, guys, I'm fine. I'm just not used to it like you are," you smile at Peter, and he nods in understanding.

He spent his college years filming in haunted places, a little hobby turned into a full time job as his channel grew bigger and bigger. Usually he invites his friend Wade to film together, but this time he really wanted you to come.

"Glad we settled that. Now sit," Agatha commands.

You take a seat on the bed, Yelena and Kate immediately placing their arms around you. Peter settles in a comfortable looking chair by the window, and Agatha stays standing, clearing her throat before venturing into the story of the Scarlet Witch.

"I'm sure you know that being a redhead, green-eyed, and exceptionally smart young woman in the 17th century meant one thing."

"Barbecue," Yelena mumbles, earning a scathing glare from the older woman.

"Yes. But here's the thing - the Scarlet Witch was never burned at the stake, and not because she was so good at staying hidden, but because she has never had a physical presence in this world, at least one that we know of. There's no proof of her existence, no paintings and no pictures, no sightings either."

Yelena shifts beside you. "Then how do you even know-"

Agatha cuts her off with another scathing glare, before continuing on. "We know because every single one of these poor women cried out her name before their inevitable death. They begged her to save them, but she never did."

"That still doesn't-"

"For the love of god, just shut up and let me finish!" The older woman shrieks, throwing her hands in the air. Momentarily closing her eyes, she clenches her jaw. "She never saved any of these poor girls, feeding on their fear, anger and desperation. She enjoyed what was happening. Hell, she spurged it on, manipulating minds, changing people until they became unrecognizable, and after this hotel was built she took charge, driving owners and residents away, leading people to their inevitable death, and lately possessing unsuspecting women. All of those poor people had one thing to say - 'it was the Scarlet Witch'." She shifts on her feet, turning to look out the window. "Hundreds of years of terror, but there was one good thing she's done. There was a particularly nasty witch trial, the poor girl was accused of seducing a priest's daughter. Imagine the horrors she was bound to be faced with if they got their hands on her. They never did, she escaped their clutches, and every single man involved in the hunt on the girl was brutally murdered. The girl died of old age in the safety of her own home, forever protected by the magic of the Scarlet Witch." Suddenly, her eyes lock on yours. "There's no trace of the Scarlet Witch, but there's a painting of the woman she saved. I'd show it to you, but for you it'll be the same as looking in a mirror, so I'll save myself the trouble."

Peter suddenly sits up straighter, nodding along to Agatha's words.

Kate slides her hand away from your shoulders. "Don't want to make her jealous or anything," she whispers, looking around.

"Do you say this to everyone or..?" You hesitantly speak up.

Her eyes turn serious, causing a chill to run down your spine. "Oh no, buttercup, you're a spitting image of the only woman she deemed worthy enough to save."

"She's not lying," Peter says, "that's actually the reason why I asked you to come." He sends you a sheepish smile, and shows you a picture on his phone. It's an old painting, weathered by time, but undoubtedly beautiful.

The woman looks just like you.

You gulp, your heart hammering in your chest. "Well, I'm not her."

"Maybe not. It's not like it matters." Agatha mumbles, standing up, a faraway look in her eyes. "She must've had her reasons to save the poor girl, and I suspect they were far from noble. Be careful." She looks at you one last time before turning to Peter. "Well, it's been fun entertaining you, but it's nearing midnight, so I'll leave you to your ghost hunting, or whatever it is that you're doing." Her lips purse at the numerous cameras Peter's unloaded from his bag.

"Wait!" You jump up, stalling Agatha. "How do you even know about what happened at the trials? Is there some kind of document?" You're aware of the absurdity of your questions, after all you are the one who experienced all of the activity so far, and while some of it could be blamed on your nerves or your brain playing tricks on you, the door accident still burns at the back of your mind.

"You don't believe me?" Agatha smirks, making you shift uncomfortably. "Don't worry, you'll see, you have a long night ahead." She sends you one last look, and easily opens the door before disappearing behind it.

You fall back on the duvet, pressing your palms against your face. The past hour puts an uncomfortable weight on your chest, and you struggle to wrap your mind around the fact that you're probably going to be targeted even more as the night goes on, either by your terrified, overly anxious mind, or the Scarlet Witch.

The warm feeling you felt when you first stepped into the room slowly disappeared, leaving you to wonder if it's done its job in luring you in.

"Okay, it's time to-"

"We're not using a Ouija board."

"- light up some candles." Peter says, looking quizzically at Yelena. "I'm not stupid, you know." He huffs, rolling his eyes.

You snort, shaking your head at your friends' antics. "Why do we need candles?"

Peter rolls his eyes. "To communicate with ghosts."

"Don't you have some fancy tech for that?"

"I prefer to keep it simple," he shrugs.

You share a look with Yelena. "And we'll be left talking to the AC," you mumble loud enough for Peter to hear and send you a middle finger.

"There's no AC in this room. Some people use flashlights, but I prefer candles. We'll also use a spirit box."

"We're not catching any spirits in a box, right?" You sit up, eyes darting between your friends.

Peter sighs and goes on a rant about his tools, explaining how everything works. To your great relief, you won't have to catch anyone, just put on a blindfold, some noise canceling headphones, and let some spirit talk though one of you.

"Sounds fun," Kate gulps.

"I'm not doing that." You shake your head, crossing your arms.

Peter looks up from the floor, where he adjusts the rem pod, the piece of equipment going off when he touches it with a tip of his finger, calibrating the sensitivity. "Yelena will do that."

It's almost comical how far Yelena's jaw falls. "And why is that, Parker? Why don't you let some spirit use you as a radio?"

"Um… my tarot reader told me you'll do best out of all of us."

Kate starts cackling like a maniac, clutching her stomach and bending over. You can't help laughing either, burrowing your face into the pillow to keep quiet.

Yelena continues arguing with Peter, and you decide to leave them to it and satisfy your curiosity. You smile at the questioning smile Kate sends you, and gesture to the balcony door.

You were right, it is the balcony you saw from the outside, stretching all the way to the other side of the hotel. You sigh and lean against the railing, taking in the view. If you thought it looked terrifying on the way here, it looks even worse from high up. Moonlight shines on crooked trees surrounding the land around the hotel, dark and menacing, broken branches hanging on the last threads. There is a well within walking distance, not too far away from where you parked the car. You swear to yourself you won't let Peter drag you over there, it looks way too creepy.

You finally relax, letting your eyes fall shut for a second, but a blurry movement to your left forced them open. You grip the railing, squinting.

Nothing.

"What the fuck." Kate's voice sounds from the inside, and you rush back just in time to see her exit the adjoined bathroom, snapping the door shut with a terrified look on her face. "No. Oh fuck no. Oh no, no, no."

Peter sits up, alarmed. "What is it?"

"There's blood on the mirror," she whispers, her hands shaking violently, "and in the tub, and on the floor."

Peter immediately gets up, taking the only camera that's been filming the whole time with him. You follow your friend, not paying attention to your shaking hands and your hammering heart.

When the door opens you see a pristine bathroom, so clean it's almost mocking. He inspects every corner from every possible angle, only to come up short.

"Guys?" Kate calls out from behind the door. "Are you good?"

"There's nothing he-" you freeze mid sentence when your eyes land on the mirror.

It's fogged up, one word clearly written.

Your name.

You reach out - not of your own violation, your hand guided by some unseen force - and touch the reflective glass right where your name is. You're hit with a vision, bits and pieces of what feels like distant memory escaping the prison your mind put them in.

You see a wrinkled face of an old man, his expression pure disgust as he spews something right in your face. The scene changes abruptly, and now you're in a dark cell, with only the moon to keep you company. Your heart clenches at the pure anguish you're hit with, the desperation drowning you, leaving you no room to breathe. There's a sudden blur, and everything turns blinding white, and then… you feel that warmth again. A woman stands in front of you, reaching out, her eyes glinting red. She looks ethereal, her skin pale, almost sheer, her unruly hair pushed back by a red tiara. You gulp, feeling the power radiating from her, chest aching with the need to submit to it.

You stumble away from the mirror. There's no warmth in your chest now, only pure, unconcealed dread. You lean against the door, palms pressed to your face. Peter doesn't dare breathe, his hands only shaking slightly as he makes sure to get it in the frame.

"Where did you just go?" He whispers, not daring to speak any louder.

You shake your head, blinking back tears. "Tell me you did this. Tell me it's a prank."

He looks at you, eyes full of fear. He bites on his lower lip, eyes wide. "I did this. I totally did this." He nods rapidly, ushering you out of the room.

Kate and Yelena wait on the other side, each holding a candelabra. You don't even bother to ask where they found them, heading straight to the balcony for a breath of fresh air while Peter explains what happened.

You look at the full moon, rubbing your chest in tight circles.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Again, and again.

The floorboards of the balcony creak, along with the railing, and you wonder if it's all gonna fall to the ground, and bury you in a mess of wood and cement. Maybe that's what the witch wants - for you to stay here forever.

You feel the remains of that need, that hunger for the witch. You long to see her again, even if it's just a glimpse, a whiff of her presence.

When you come back, the lights are off, and Peter is already asking questions, Yelena's terrified expression telling you everything you need to know about the answers they've been provided with.

The candle on the nightstand goes out, and Peter blinks, looking at you. "Weird."

"What?" You ask, looking around, hair on the nape of your neck standing up.

"He asked the ghosts if they wanted us to leave." Kate answers.

"That means they do." Yelena points at the candle.

You shiver, a breeze from the balcony making you curl in on yourself, eyes flickering to every dark corner of the room, flinching whenever you see shadows from the moonlight that look a little too ominous.

Someone is watching you, you're sure. A part of you hopes it's her.

"And why is that weird?" You ask Peter, watching as he collects the candles. You sigh in relief, glad to have missed the conversation.

"I thought they liked us - you - at least," he mumbles.

"Maybe they want us gone so the witch can have some alone time with Y/n." Yelena's brows jump up and down suggestively, and you can't help, but laugh, some of the tension finally seeping away.

That is, until the last candle on the nightstand lights up again, completely on its own.

Peter staggers back, dropping the stack in his hands. "No fucking way," he whispers, "that never happened before."

He pulls back to check the camera, making sure it's still recording.

"That's a yes, right?" Kate gulps, looking at you with wide eyes. "She wants you wants you. It's not a coincidence."

You take a seat on the rocking chair in the corner and close your eyes, reminding yourself that nothing here could ever hurt you. It doesn't really work when you still feel eyes on you. Your hands tremble, and your legs feel too heavy to stand on. Every sound is amplified, your senses going into overdrive, so when a clock stops ticking, you immediately notice.

The clock reads 12:08, the hands still for a moment, before resuming their course.

You're slowly starting to wish you never agreed to come to this place.

Agatha's words ring in your head. What if the witch thinks you're that poor girl? That'll explain the witches' interest in you. Maybe she made you see those visions to help you remember.

But… What if it's not even her that's been following you? What if it's one of the dark entities Agatha told you about? The thought makes you even more uncomfortable - you'd prefer the Scarlet Witch to haunt you instead of some dark, trapped soul, no matter how absurd it sounds.

"Hey," Kate approaches you.

You blink, and offer her a hesitant smile. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" She bites on her lip, her hands on your knees.

You nod, and take her hands in yours. "I'm fine. Just a bit shaken up."

She sighs heavily, head falling to rest on your lap. "Same," she mumbles, "I feel like a prey."

You rub her shoulders, hoping to ease some of her tension. "We'll be out of here in the morning."

She looks up, smiling. "Actually, we're not sleeping here. Peter said we'll try to talk to them one last time and then go."

You hum, wondering why the information makes you feel worse. Shouldn't you be relieved to leave earlier?

"Okay, come here," Peter calls, putting noise canceling headphones on Yelena's head.

Kate jumps up, her eyes lightening up at the sight of Yelena sitting rigidly on the chair, a blindfold and headphones in place. "Oh, this is gonna be good," she smiles, settling in front of the blonde.

Peter looks at you. "I think you should ask the questions."

You nod, biting on the inside of your cheek. You think of something appropriate to ask - something that would reveal information without offending any of the spirits here.

"Are we here alone?" You ask, and everyone turns to look at Yelena, awaiting an answer.

Yelena's head bobs up and down, like she's listening to her favorite song, but you know for sure it's just white noise.

"Hello," Yelena says, smiling slightly.

Not alone, then.

You nod, and Peter gestures for you to continue.

"My name is Y/n, what is your name?"

It's quiet for a little while, occasional squeaks from the balcony making you jump up and look around.

When Yelena doesn't answer, Peter decides to speak up. "Did you follow us here from the lobby? Was it you-"

"Shut up," Yelena barks.

Kate stumbles back on the floor, and settles against the foot of the bed. "Oh fuck."

Peter takes a step back, raising his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Sorry." He nods at you, urging you to continue.

"Do you not like him?" You ask.

"In… in the way…" her voice is unsure as she trails off.

"Peter's in the way? In the way of what?" Kate speaks up, looking at you.

"Deal," the blonde whispers, "owe."

Peter frowns. "You made a deal and you owe someone?"

Yelena purses her lips, tilting her head to the side like she can't quite figure out what is being said.

The bathroom door slowly creaks open.

"Are you in the bathroom?" Kate's voice shakes, and you take her hand, shuffling closer to the girl.

"Blood."

You exhale, looking at the open doorway with wide eyes.

Kate nods rapidly, her hand trembling. "There was a lot of blood. You scared the shit out of me."

Yelena chuckles, "Feed."

So whatever is here has been feeding on your fear.

"Who are you?" You ask again.

"You know," Yelena replies. "You all do."

"What's behind that door?" You have the strongest urge to go back there.

Yelena chuckles, shaking her head. “Go see for yourself.”

Light starts flickering, tears spring to your eyes, and you fight the urge to curl into a ball and cry. Yelena turns her head and sits up, leanings towards you.

"You forgot."

"Forgot about what?" You shudder, eyes darting between the door and Yelena.

"Our deal."

Peter darts to the other side of the room and snaps the door to the bathroom shut, his mouth set in a flat line. "We're leaving."

"She can't," Yelena singsongs.

"There's no deal. You're mistaken," Peter snaps, collecting the equipment.

"What deal?" You hesitantly ask.

Lightning strikes outside, a loud boom of thunder following. The painting of the burning witch falls.

"I own y-"

Peter tugs off the headphones, Yelena's mouth snaps shut. She tugs off the blindfold and blinks, brows set in confusion. "Are we gonna start any time soon?"

Kate groans, falling face first to the floor. "Fuck my life."

_______________________

Before you yell at me - yes, there will be a part two

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x y/n #scarlet witch x y/n #scarlet witch x female reader

[lowkeyremi]

Compatible choso x fem!reader

remi's note: thank u guys again for 1k AHHHHHHH idk where i'd be without your support!! you guys chose choso so here's the 1k special fic!! i am obsessed with the "best friend's older brother trope" yuji is the best friend :3

content: fluff, meeting, yuji doesn't get a break, etc.

Being one of Yuji's closest friends you've seen his "roommate" as you like to call him, every once in awhile. He would always leave his room to grab something to eat or such whenever you were hanging out with your pink haired friend.

Today you finally had the courage to ask who he was. You and Yuji are sitting very close on his couch, practically cuddling, while watching Inuyasha on Netflix when you suddenly ask, "Hey Yuji, who's that black haired guy who lives with you?"

He doesn't turn his attention away from the tv but instead answers you with, "you know how I told you I have a brother?"

He notices you nodding in his peripheral vision. "Yeah, well that's my older half brother Choso."

"Oh.. I thought he was like your roommate or something." Yuji chuckles, "haha.. technically yeah. I'm crashing with him until I get a place of my own. He doesn't mind though."

This whole time you thought this was Yuji's place, but it does make sense. Yuji's been job-hopping lately. He hasn't had a stable career in seven months.

And speak of the devil, Choso came out of his room without a shirt on, he passes by the two of you on his way to the kitchen then he stops, "Sesshomaru is the best character."

The two brothers argued about this for twenty minutes. Apparently it's a hot take in their house hold. "Inuyasha is obviously better than his older brother!" Yuji yells for the 9th time.

"Sesshomaru is cooler, and has a better understanding of the world. Like me. You only like Inuyasha because you're a younger brother." What he's saying actually does make some sense.

"Yuji, I have to agree with your brother. On top of Sesshomaru being smarter he's also hotter." Yuji looks betrayed in a playful way.

"What?? Oh come on! Not you too. Might as well go hang out with my brother, you traitor." Yuji isn't serious about the offer but Choso makes the offer real.

"I mean, if you're not opposed to it we can hang out? I don't mind joining you two." He's standing closer to the couch now with a mug of tea in his hand.

His shirtless body does something to you, because your mouth hangs open trying to form a response but you close it again not knowing what to say.

"We're good thanks! Go on back to your cave, Batman!" Yuji rolls his eyes trying to get his brother to leave.

"I was asking her, dumbass. Not you." He says getting close enough to kick Yuji and the younger retaliates by trying to block it.

"Um sure, you can hang out with us." You mumble and Yuji whines in defeat.

"Seriously?! I'm your friend not him!!" To your ears it sound like the pink haired boy is jealous.

"Scoot over Yuji. I'll sit in the middle." Choso says with a smirk on his face.

"Nuh-uh! I'm sitting next to [name] you don't even know her like that!!"

That was the first time you'd hung out with Choso Kamo.

---------

That was about four months ago, as of current, you're sitting on Choso's bed waiting for him to grab the snacks you two bought a few hours ago.

When he returns you show him a tiktok that reminds you of him, "Cho, you look like this cat!" Upon seeing the cat he chuckles a little bit, "I do not."

Yuji's started working a night job so you usually hang out with Choso until he gets off of work.

"Thanks for the snacks. I love these ones." He nods politely at you and joins you on his bed. The first time the two of you hung out in his room you were very nervous and sat on his floor as to not invade his privacy. He thought it was so cute how you were acting and invited you up on his bed.

You told him it was a mistake on his behalf because now you make yourself comfortable in his bed any time you come over.

"Do you wanna finish that show we were watching?" You turn to him and catch him staring at you. He quickly turns away and fakes a cough. You've been wondering if your accusations were true.

Yuji tells you that all his brother wants to talk about now is you. Yuji suspects his brother has a crush on you, but when he confronted him the gloomy looking male denied it. Yuji doesn't know that you like Choso.

"Yeah sure, do you wanna, like, cuddle? Platonically, though." You wonder if he's making it clear for you that he doesn't like you or he's just trying to keep you from becoming uncomfortable.

"What if I wanted to cuddle romantically??" You ask with a sudden sprout of bravery.

"Um.. I'd be okay with that, heh." He says shyly, you noticed how his face slightly turned red.

"I like hanging out with you, Cho." You crawl into his lap and he wraps his arms around you. He places his head in the crook of your neck and breathes in deeply.

"I lik- no I love hanging out with you too, [name]."

#choso #choso kamo #choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #kamo choso x reader #choso jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso jjk #choso kamo jjk #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x female reader #yuji itadori

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (7/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Having a movie night is a good way to spend the evening with your roommate. If it were not for the wine that loosens the mouth.

Warnings: TENSION, FLIRTING (you've been warned), alcohol consumption, a Charles picture (badly edited), Cars (movie)

Word Count: 3k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: I'm sitting here like a fourteen year old whose crush admitted to liking her. that's how I'm feeling about this chapter. feedback is appreciated!

"You're kidding me."

"I would never."

Charles sets his wine glass on the coffee table as you clutch yours, though there's not a sip left in it. "How have you made it through life so far?"

You shrug. Charles looks at you with a look like you kicked a dog and insulted his mother. "I never got around to it."

That's only half the truth. Since you moved out of your parents' house, you'd actually had plenty of time to catch up on that sort of thing. But at some point you had decided for yourself that it was too late to get into it in your early twenties, when you should theoretically be out of it.

Apparently Charles doesn't see it that way. He reaches for the remote control and presses a few buttons until first a castle and then a bouncing lamp appear on the television in front of you. He then presses the stop button and turns back to you. "Get comfortable, because you're not getting off this couch again until we're done here." He places the bowl of popcorn between you on the couch. "And if you fall asleep, you'll have to watch the movie again."

You pour yourself some more wine and take a big gulp. As some of it runs out of the corner of your mouth, you wipe it away with the back of your hand. "Aren't we too old for this?"

Charles raises an eyebrow before pressing the play button. The screen goes black and you hear someone take a deep breath in and out before an off-screen voice says okay, here we go. focus. The grin on your roommate's face grows so wide it almost touches an ear. Speed. I am speed.

"You're never too old for Cars."

Apparently Charles not only works in the car industry, but is obsessed with cars. And even more so with this film. 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see that he is silently moving his mouth to speak along with every single character while you sit next to it, eating popcorn and drinking your wine. 

The beginning of the film doesn't particularly captivate you. An arrogant car with no team spirit as the protagonist. For sure he would make friends in the course of the film and appreciate them and then he wins his race. Very predictable. Even for a children's film. 

All you have to do now is stand there and let me look at you, Lightning McQueen says to the Porsche and you cringe.

"Wow, that's hardly bearable." You put a piece of popcorn between your teeth and wash it down with a gulp of wine. 

Charles, who has slid down a little further on the couch, looks at you. "Lightning or the whole movie?" He reaches for his glass on the table. 

You spread your index finger from the glass and point it at the screen. "Lightning. That was so slimy. Like anyone would fall for that." As Sally embarrasses the hell out of the red speedster, you thrust your fist into the air enthusiastically. 

Charles laughs. "So you're not into that sort of thing to seduce you?" He sips his wine, you shake your head. He props himself up on the seat with one elbow, resting his head in his hand, and stretches his legs out in your direction so that he's almost completely on the couch. He dangles the wine glass casually in his free hand. The film pauses. "How else can you be seduced?"

If you hadn't caught the phone call this lunchtime and the conversation with Joris, both of which involved a woman, you might think that Charles is flirting with you. That maybe he sees more in you than his roommate and friend. And if your ex-boyfriend hadn't spoiled your mood before - or generally not crossed your life - you'd go for it, too. 

You glance at Charles. He has taken off his jumper sometime after the second glass of wine and thrown it towards the dining table chair, so that he is lying next to you in his shirt. The strands of his hair stand on end after running his hand through them several times and his cheeks are slightly flushed. His green and otherwise alert eyes seem a little misty, almost certainly due to the alcohol. 

And his smile. God, his smile is so crooked and beautiful and his dimples give him something childishly cheeky that makes your heart beat a beat faster. 

Is he cute?, you hear Vicky's voice in the back of your mind. 

Damn cute, even. 

'Definitely not like that,' you finally answer his question, lowering your gaze towards your wine glass. If your mind is already drifting like this, maybe you should stop drinking. 

"How then?", Charles asks, his eyes fixed on you. 

Unsure, you look at him. "Why do you want to know?" Inwardly, you command your heart to give it a rest. Just because he asks doesn't mean he needs the knowledge for himself.

"Well, maybe one day a guy will come along who doesn't know how to approach you. And then I can give him a hint, if you want," he explains with a shrug, before taking a big sip of his wine and emptying his glass. 

You try not to let on how much his answer hits you. Somehow you hoped he would want to know that for himself, in case he decided to approach you at some point. But apparently you haven't been listening to Charles properly for the last few hours. 

That's what friends are for, after all. 

You're my friend. 

For not being a good friend to you. 

And friends who live together fight in between. 

Inwardly you slap your forehead with your palm. The wine is definitely to blame for your thoughts. 

"When you remember little things," you finally answer Charles' question and set your glass down on the table, which Charles seems to take as an invitation to top up, and before you can do anything about it he has refilled your glass. 

"Little things?" Charles lies back in his comfortable position and eyes you. 

You nod. "Yes. Like the fact that I think peonies are much prettier than roses, or that I prefer muffins to cupcakes. Little things like that, that define me." You shrug. "It just shows that the person has been paying attention and cared about me."

Charles nods, and you think he glances briefly at your almost empty wine bottle before reaching for the remote again. "Good to know."

The film continues and you decide that little blue Guido is your favourite character. As Lightning McQueen pulls yellow Betsy across the road and chats to Luigi and Guido, you raise your eyebrows in surprise. 

"Kind of strange to hear Formula One mentioned."

You notice Charles stiffen beside you, but his gaze remains forward. "Why?"

You reach - despite your brain vehemently telling you not to - for your glass. "Well, it's an animated film and the fact that Formula One is mentioned makes it kind of real. Although it's not. You know what I mean?"

"Do you watch Formula One, then?" asks Charles a counter-question, without answering yours. By now he is looking at you, but you can't interpret the expression on his face.

As you shake your head, he seems to relax a little. For whatever reason. "No. I used to watch it with my grandfather. Back when Michael Schumacher drove for Ferrari. We watched every race and cheered for the red team." You take a sip. "I lost sight of it at some point."

"Do you think you'd still be a Ferrari fan now if you'd stuck with it?" your roommate asks. Why he's so interested in it, you don't know. 

You point to the two Ferrari fans from Cars and smile. "Isn't everyone a Ferrari fan somehow? Even if they're not?" You turn back to the film and continue sipping your wine. 

Which is definitely not the best idea, because it seems to cloud your thoughts and loosen your mouth, because when Lightning decides to help Radiator Springs, it just bursts out of you. "Lightning is hot."

Charles, who has just taken a sip, chokes and nearly coughs his guts out. When he has calmed down, he looks at you, distraught. "Excuse me?"

"Yeeeees." You turn a little in his direction and pull your legs to your chest. You're sitting opposite each other now, except that Charles is lying down. "Not so 'wow, I'd like to fuck him'-hot. But his vibe makes him hot."

Charles wiggles his eyebrows. "I was once told I looked like him."

You have to laugh out loud, and you reach into the popcorn bowl once and throw it at him, laughing. He's not that quick to open his mouth to catch the pieces, but he gathers them up off his shirt and puts them between his teeth, grinning. 

"Why are you laughing like that? Someone actually said that once! Don't you believe me?"

You realise that the wine has gone to your head, because you can hardly stop laughing. You can hardly breathe and tears spring to your eyes, which you wipe away with the hem of your jumper. Your stomach hurts and you force yourself to breathe in and out deeply. "No, I believe you. But Lightning is just hot, and you're cute. There's a difference between the two."

Your sober self, which is napping somewhere deep in your brain, startles from its slumber and would love to slap you for it. 

Charles cheeks turn even redder and somehow the hem of his shirt seems very interesting because he rubs it between his thumb and forefinger before looking at you. "So you think I'm cute?"

This time he is quicker and catches the piece of popcorn you throw in his direction with his mouth and chews on it with relish. "Oh, come on. I'm definitely not the first one to say that to you," you try to somehow talk your way out of it. "I'm probably just the first to say that without flirting with you. My statement is to be considered purely objective."

"Objective, then?" He sits up a little straighter. "What would it look like if you were flirting?"

You put your wine glass down on the table and decide to actually let it go for today. You've definitely said too much, which you'd almost certainly regret tomorrow, and just thinking about how weird things might get in the morning makes your blood rush to your ears. So you reach for the popcorn. "I'm not doing that to you."

Your roommate raises an eyebrow in confusion. "Why? Are you that bad?" he quips.

You shake your head playfully. "On the contrary. I'm so good at it, you'd fall in love with me instantly," you joke, and have to grin, but Charles doesn't return it. 

"Don't worry," he replies without taking his eyes off you. "It takes more than that to make me fall head over heels in love with someone."

You'd love to ask what exactly it takes, but why should you care? You're friends, he's made that clear. And you should definitely get it through your head. In your drunken estimation, the line of friendship you're walking right now is clearly too narrow for your liking. 

You purse your lips and watch the film in silence. The mood has changed, no longer as easy-going as it was a few minutes ago. You would like to say something, but you don't know what, so you sit still. 

When you reach the point in the film where Lightning pushes the King across the finish line - against your expectations - to finish third in the Piston Cup, you can't stop the sob that leaves your mouth. Out of the corner of your eye you see Charles looking at you. And then all the dams break.

"How can a film about cars - about cars, Charles - make me cry like this?" You wipe away your tears. "This isn't normal. What's the point? It's a movie for kids, for fuck's sake."

Charles' smile is gentle. "No swear words, please. The film is my favourite."

"The film is first class." You try to breathe but hiccup as a result and Charles has to laugh slightly. "Oh, shit. Do kids even understand how important the message is? That it doesn't matter if you win or not as long as you do the right thing and have your friends around you?" 

"There are two more parts, by the way. We can watch those too if you like," Charles suggests and he looks a little offended when you shake your head and get up from the couch. 

"Let me process this movie first and then we'll see." You grab the empty wine bottles and glasses to take them to the kitchen. Charles grabs the bowls and you put the dishes in the sink. Neither of you would manage to wash them properly yet and with a single glance you silently agree to clean up the rest of the living room in the morning. 

You go together to the bathroom where you get ready for bed. You are brushing your teeth when your gaze catches his in the mirror. You smile at him. "But I would love to watch the films with you. I had a lovely evening, if that wasn't clear." You spit some excess foam into the sink. "Thank you for that."

Charles sticks his thumb in the air and washes his mouth out before answering you. "Anytime." He places his toothbrush in his cup. "I haven't had this much fun watching a movie in ages." As he looks at you, his gaze goes through your skin and bones. "Thank you for forgiving me. I couldn't bear it if you were angry with me."

As he combs his hair with a brush - yours - you rinse out your mouth as well. It's so mundane the way the two of you get ready for bed next to each other, as if you've grown up together and not as if you've only known each other for exactly one day. This familiarity between you should feel strange, but you have to admit yourself that nothing has ever felt better. 

"I don't think I can stay mad at you for long." You tie your hair into a braided pigtail, which takes a little longer than usual because of the wine. "I like you far too much for that."

You don't wait for his answer, but leave the bathroom, grabbing your camera and phone for a moment. "Do you have your AirDrop on?" you ask him. "So I can send you the photo."

"Oh, yeah. Hang on a sec." He rummages around among the cushions on the couch for a moment until he pulls out his phone and taps away on it. You look at your screen, and see "CL iPhone" flashing up. You press his name and the picture your camera automatically sent to the phone app is now sent to Charles. He looks at it for a moment. "I look so good."

"Don't get too carried away," you laugh and move towards the bedroom door while Charles gets his bedding from the wardrobe in the hall. You watch him for a moment as he gets his things ready. "Good night, Lightning."

His smile is so gentle you could melt. "Good night."

After closing the bedroom door behind you, you slip into your sleeping clothes and climb under your duvet. With your phone in your hand, you lie down on your side. You release the key lock and Charles' picture appears. 

He is right. He does look good in it. 

Just as you are about to plug your phone into the charger and put it away, a message pops up on the screen. 

CL iPhone would like to share a photo

Surprised, you click on "Accept". 

You giggle and think about sending a picture back, but don't. "You can sleep in your bed tomorrow," you shout across the flat and receive a "Thank you!"

Grinning, you snuggle into your pillow and force yourself not to stare at the picture he just sent you. It's almost cheeky how he can still look so good after such a long day and a bottle of wine. 

You put your phone next to your pillow and turn onto your back. To cope with this situation, you have to draw clearer lines. And lock away the thoughts that are running around in your head in between. 

You have a crazy ex. And there's something going on with Charles too, although you don't know what exactly. It definitely wouldn't be the right time for either of you to develop feelings for someone. And as often as he's referred to you as his friend, you want to spare yourself the shame of falling for someone who doesn't want you. 

You put your forearms over your face. 

You have known each other for twenty-four hours. How can someone be so etched in your mind after such a short time? 

You blame your emotional state on the wine, close your eyes and try to think of something else. Of cute penguins, puppies, sheep. But the thoughts circle and circle and always find their way back, as if they only know this way. 

Always back to Charles. Charles. Charles. Charles.

next part

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #carlos sainz jr #charles leclerc one shot #f1 #Charles Leclerc fanfiction #Charles Leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you

[intricatechaosofyou]

Blind Date Gone…Wrong?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x f!reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Summary: Maybe getting stood up isn’t the worst thing ever

Warnings: drinking, alcohol, language

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

You glanced down at your watch for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. It was 7:45, almost a full hour after you were supposed to meet your date. Convinced you needed a boyfriend, or at the very least a hookup, your best friend insisted on setting you up with one of her friends at the office. Having nothing better to do, you agreed.

Your blind date, Thomas, and you had talked, agreeing to meet up at an Italian restaurant on the beach. Putting on one of your favorite dresses that did wonders for your ass and donning a little extra makeup than usual, you had arrived at the restaurant five minutes past seven, fully expecting Thomas to be there. When you discovered he wasn’t, you shrugged it off and ordered yourself a drink while you waited.

You waited for ten minutes before texting him. You never got a response but you decided to wait a little bit longer.

Ten minutes turned into thirty.

And thirty minutes had turned into forty.

The waiter had been asking you if you were ready to order for the past twenty minutes, and yet you still insisted you needed more time, praying that Thomas would walk through the door.

You were starting to get blatant looks of pity from the patrons seated around you.

He wasn’t coming.

You were flagging down the waiter, ready to pay so you could escape the restaurant with some of your pride still intact when a man slid into the seat across from you.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Darlin’. Maverick kept me late and then traffic was just awful,” he announced loudly before leaning across the table and planting a kiss on your cheek. His voice dropped in volume so only you could hear him when he whispered, “I’m Bob. Just go with it.”

You nodded slightly and tried your best to smile at the man, Bob apparently, once he pulled away from you. “Don’t worry about it, honey. I was more worried than anything.”

The waiter smiled at the two of you. Whether he was glad your date had finally showed up or glad you were finally going to order, you couldn’t tell.

Once the two of you ordered and the waiter was out of earshot, you turned back to the man seated across from you. “Thank you so much.”

He blushed and nervously rubbed the nape of his neck. “It’s no problem, really.”

“I appreciate it though,” you admitted. “Got stood up and I was getting all those looks of pity.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help.”

You smiled. “So, your name’s Bob?”

He nodded. “Lt. Robert Floyd, but everyone calls me Bob.”

“Lt. Robert Floyd?” You repeated. “You Navy?”

“Yes, ma’am. How’d you know?”

“We are in Fightertown, USA,” you mused with a grin.

“I guess you’re right,” Bob chuckled.

“I’m (y/n) (l/n),” you introduced yourself, sticking your hand out for him to shake.

Bob smiled and grabbed your hand, bringing it up to his lips to leave a kiss on the back of it. “Nice to meet you, (y/n).”

“Nice to meet you, too,” you replied, blush creeping up your face at his actions. “So is this your typical Friday night? Going around saving girls who got stood up?”

“N- no, this is the first time I’ve done this. And whoever stood you up is an idiot,” Bob replied.

You smiled at the man, head tilting slightly. The way he had said it was so genuine, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell at the comment.

“Thanks, Bob.”

“Anytime, Darlin’.”

———————

“No way!” You giggled. “I don’t believe it!

Bob shrugged, bashful smile on his face. “Yup. Punched him right in the face.”

“What happened after that?” You questioned, trying to contain your laughter so you could hear more of the story.

“Suspended for two weeks.”

“And the other kid?”

“Nothing.”

You gasped, utterly appalled. “But he was the one being a bully! You were just standing up for your friend!”

“School didn’t see it that way.”

“Well, I do. Looks like you’ve always been a hero, Bob.”

A blush spread across his cheeks. “Anyone would have done it.”

“I don’t think so. You don’t give yourself enough credit, honey.”

The blush on his cheeks deepened as the pet name rolled off your tongue. “It really wasn’t a big deal.”

“If you say so,” you said with a laugh, resting your head on your hand as you gazed at the man.

The two of you had been talking for hours, meals long gone and a crème brûlée now being shared between the two of you. The conversation flowed naturally despite never having met before. You had talked about almost everything, from why you were in Miramar, childhood memories, to your favorite ice cream flavors.

“So, what’s it like being in the Navy?” You asked, pointing your spoon at him.

“It’s fun. I’m a Weapons System Officer which means I’m in charge of all the weapons in the back of the plane. Phoenix is my pilot.”

“Phoenix?” You question, tilting your head.

“That’s her call sign. Everyone has one,” Bob explained. “There’s Phoenix, Rooster, Hangman, Payback.”

“So what’s yours?”

“Uhh…Bob,” he admitted bashfully, eyes not meeting yours.

You grinned and let out a small giggle. “I like it. I think it suits you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, short and sweet.”

“Calling me short, Darlin’?” Bob joked.

“Definitely,” you replied with a wink.

———————

When the cheque came, Bob swiped it up before you could even touch it.

“To repay you for letting me crash your date,” he explained.

“‘Crash my date?’” You repeated. “Bob, you saved it.”

“Then to repay you for your company.”

You pouted and leaned back in your chair. “Fine. But you let me pay next time.”

“‘Next time?’”

Your cheeks heated up as you realized your mistake. “Not that there has to be a next time. I just had a lot of fun and thought maybe we could do this again. But that was a very bold assumption,” you rambled.

“Actually, I was gonna ask if I could see you again?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I had a really good time tonight,” Bob admitted, awkwardly shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Smiling, you reached across the table to grab his hand. “I’d like that.”

“Next Friday?” Bob suggested.

“It’s a date.”

———————

The two of you walked outside the restaurant hand in hand, giggling like a couple of high schoolers.

“Well, my car’s this way,” you mumbled, pointing behind you.

“Mine’s the other way,” Bob replied, frown making its way onto his face.

“Then I guess this is where we part,” you sighed dramatically. “But I’ll see you next Friday?”

Bob nodded. “Six o’clock.”

You smiled. “Goodnight, Bob.”

“Goodnight, (y/n).”

With a sudden burst of confidence you grabbed his collar and pressed your lips to his, relishing in the small gasp that left him. His hands came to rest on your hips as your mouths slotted together almost perfectly.

It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was long enough to leave Bob a mess when you pulled back. His glasses were knocked askew on the bridge of his nose, his cheeks were flushed, and a bit of your lipstick was now staining the side of his mouth.

You giggled at his appearance and patted his bicep. “You good there, Robby?”

“Better than that,” he whispered.

“I should get going.”

He nodded and pecked your lips once more before letting you go.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but spare one more glance at the man. He was walking in the opposite direction, fist pumping as he went.

You smiled to yourself. Maybe this blind date wasn’t a total disaster after all.

TAGLIST

@pono-pura-vida

#lewis pullman #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd fluff #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x you #top gun bob #top gun fanfiction #top gun movie #top gun fluff #top gun maverick #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x y/n #robert floyd #bob floyd x you #robert floyd x you #robert floyd x reader

[negansbackdoorwhore]

Scrimmage

Summary: Negan coaches college ball for a small community college. One of his players however keeps up a little game that he is tired of playing

Warnings: swearing, age gap (early 20s reader, Negan is mid 40s), smut, p in v sex, daddy kink

Negans POV

There she goes again, purposely wearing those fucking short shorts. They hugged those thighs tights and made her ass pop. Fuck, what I’d do to her if she was mine for one night. But I can’t risk my fucking job over pussy. I try to ignore the way she sways her hips when walking past me and how she’s able to be a star during practice. There is no denying that most of these girls are crushing on me but Y/N just has to make her desires known in a more outlandish way. She was by no means shy about the attraction, sometimes I would slip up a flirty comment to amuse her game. But never actually go to touch her or anything stepping over that boundary.

Tonight was a scrimmage game to see how well we are prepared for the season. Along with to see what we need to practice on. As the game went on, a few students watched in the gym and I focus on different plays.

“C’mon girls! Defense, defense!” I call out and blow the whistle for a quick time out. They came over to the side line and gather in a circle.

“We’re doing great so far, but defense needs work. It doesn’t really work out well if we can’t keep the opposing team off our dick, right?” They laugh at my joke and nodded in agreement. I blew my whistle once more to set off the game again. Much improvement in our team and I shout out my criticism and let them finish out the last quarter as champs. We had a little get together after they showered up in the cafeteria. Apparently, there was a little froyo social, bullshit that college campus’s do. I snuck away as the girls started talking whatever girl language they do. Hopefully, they have fun tonight. I sigh and walk back to the gym to gather my stuff to go home. As I unlocked the gym door, I go to my office and flip the light switch.

“What are you doing here?” I sigh looking at Y/N on my desk, her legs are crossed. “Not much. Just waiting for you…Daddy.” I hissed as I heard that nickname and shook it off. I move pass her and grab my duffle bag.

“Get out of here and go to that gay froyo social.” I say making sure all my things are in my bag. I then heard movement around and hoping she left. But instead heard the locking of the door.

“Y/N. I’m telling you one more time, leave.” I say in a stern tone and remove my hat. I run my fingers through my hair as I turn off my computer.

“Am I not attractive?” The question made me turn my head towards her. “You are very attractive, Y/N.” I say throwing my bag on my shoulder.

“Am I not your type?” She keeps on asking and trying to trap me. “I don’t have a type.” I say trying to dismiss her. “Then what is it? I’m twenty one, so it’s legal and I’ve caught you staring at me numerous times…” She says reaching to touch me but I dodge the advance.

“This is inappropriate and you know it.” I say going to unlock the door and then heard her let out a dramatic sigh. “I see how it is. Coach Smith is just too scared.” I gripped the door handle tight, I knew exactly what she was trying to do. I just shook my head and unlocked the door to make my leave. “Fine. Run away like a coward.” I heard her say in a disappointed tone.

-

Another week passed and I was grading the last few exams. I hated graded these papers especially since I’m supposed to be hands on. But can’t be so lucky as the curriculum calls for state testing and at least a few tests to exercise their brains. I sigh feeling bored already and sip the coffee from my thermos. It was late evening as I got stuck here. I did however procrastinate my duties, I had a couple dates with a few faculty members. Unfortunately, they were boring and even worse no pussy either. I growl under my breath and felt it was too long since I’ve felt the warmth of a woman. Two long months and not getting my dick wet. I lean back in my office chair and ran a hand over my chin. As I took a break, I heard some noise outside of my office. It sounded like some stupid kids finding the empty gym to fuck. I would leave it alone but hearing some guy get lucky instead of me, just pisses me off. I go to stand up and open my door to see some frat boy with Y/N.

“Shit! You fucking lied to me!”

“Hey! I didn’t know he was still here.” She retaliated and I was fucking furious. For one, she was here with this idiot and the other thing was that she intended to let another person have her.

“That’s no way to speak to a lady. Now, I’ll give you two options. One, you can leave and I won’t do a fucking thing. Two, I’ll suspend you and fail your sorry ass.” I say looking at them both. I scowl at Y/N to make her feel how angry I was.

“Fine. I’m out of here.” He walked away quickly and Y/N was shooting daggers at me. “Thanks a lot! I was trying to have fun but I can’t get that when you’re around.” I shook my head and grabbed her wrist. “I’m so sick and tired of your ass. You need someone to fuck you? Fine, I’ll change your fucking life.”

She didn’t put up any physical protest or verbal as I lead us to my office. I could practically feel her excitement as I push further inside and lock the door.

“Get your ass on the desk.” I say removing my cap and see her immediately jump to my orders. I smile to myself seeing how happy she was, I was too. Finally get to feel that tight cunt on me along with her ass. I bit my lip and approach the desk. Her thighs opened for my body to fit and instantly my lips were on hers. I held her by the waist as I leaned down to deepen our kiss. Fuck, they were so soft and tasted like honey. I groan into her mouth and felt her hips buck. I grin against her lips as I felt her thighs going around my waist.

“Eager?” I teased her and grind against her, she let out a cute whimper to feel my semi erect cock. I bit my lip and moved to bite her neck. Her skin tasted just as good as I sucked a dark hickey on her bare neck. Want everyone to see that she’s owned by me. And me alone. I growl as I move lower and felt her body through the thin shirt.

“Fuck. Coach.”

“Not coach. Negan or Daddy, either one is fine as long as you scream it.” I heard her breath get heavy at the statement and took the opportunity to kneel down. Y/N looked down at me, all that cockiness she had was out the window. It turned me on even more, seeing her slick mouth shut and her actions were all shy. All because I have her trapped under my grasp. Her limbs were trembling as I had my head between her thighs. I bit my lip looking at her turn red.

“Someone getting cold feet?” I teased as I reach to tug away her shorts. She tensed instantly and almost pushed me away. I look up at her and stopped my hands from going further. I can read how nervous she was to do this and pecked my lips on her knee.

“It’s okay. Just relax baby, Daddy won’t hurt you.” I coo as I gently massage her calf. I move to stand up and moved my hand up from her leg toward her chin. I held her cheek gently in my hand as my thumb swept along her skin. She was still flushed and I saw how she wanted to hide from my gaze.

“And I thought you’d be more fiesty. Guess that was all bullshit, but don’t worry. I know how to treat a fine piece of ass.” I kiss her again but this time, softer and more attentive. She moaned against me and I reached my hand lower to touch the front of her shorts. Her thighs daring to close but I stop the resistance. “Be a good girl. Let me touch your pussy.” I purred and her muscles slowly untensed. I caressed her through her shorts and felt her hips buck.

“Mm baby. You like that?” I say pressing harder and kissing the mark I left. She only nodded and I bit down on that spot, making her let out a wince.

“Use your fucking words.” I warned. “Yes, I like it.” She whined feeling my hand go beneath the fabric. I felt the little damp spot on her panties making me growl. Fuck, I barely even touched her. I could feel the excitement in her body after making such a noise. I go by her ear and nibbled her earlobe as I growl again. She let out a moan this time as my finger teased her clit.

“Negan, it feels-“

“Oh yeah. Tell me baby, tell me how I feel.” Y/N moaned and went to hide her face in my chest. Her hands reached to grip onto my sweatshirt. I laughed lightly and shoved her panties away. I moaned at the warmth of her nectar hit my skin. I felt her erect clit practically twitch against my touch. Her body clings to me as I finger her dripping cunt. Her noises were muffled into the fabric of my sweatshirt and I kissed the top of her head. Her thighs dared to shut. Damn, she must be close.

“Don’t do that. Be a good girl and let me make you come.” I say against her ear and felt her pussy clenching on my fingers. “Daddy!” She squealed into my chest as I felt her come. I groan feeling her sweet juices coat my hand and brought her into another kiss. I groan and pulled away to take off my shirt. I heard Y/N catching her breath and guided her hand on the buldge of my sweatpants.

“It’s big…” She said in a shaky tone but I reassured her motions and pulled down the waistband. My cock sprung out almost hitting poor Y/N in the face. She visibly shook at the sight of me.

“Don’t worry about putting it in your mouth. We’ll do that another time, for now…” I take her hand and had her touch my shaft. Fuck, her skin was soft and warm. “Just play with it. Get a good feel for me, sweetheart.” Her palm gently went down my cock and back up. She was still shaking but it only made me twitch in her hand.

“Don’t be scared to get a little rough. Go on and give a firm squeeze.” I instructed and she obeyed immediately. I bit my lip feeling her slowly jerk me off. “Oh shit. That’s a good girl.” I praised and see her body language change, she must like that. I smirk to myself and go to stroke her hair. “You want to be my good girl, don’t you?” I asked and gently massaged her scalp. Y/N let out a light sigh at my attention and it encouraged her to go faster. I moan and starting to buck my hips against her. Her grip grew tighter as I felt her.

“Shit. This is making Daddy feel so fucking good.” I smile and brought my hand to lift up her chin up at me. Her eyes were full of desire and I wanted to fill that need. Along with her pussy.

“Behind? Or do you want to face me?”

“What?” She asked and I laughed lightly at her question and squeezed her chin. “How should I fuck you? Behind or do you want look at me?”

“Can I look at you?” She says in a hesitant tone and I gently push away her hand off my cock. I lean over her and kissed her lips as tugged for her shorts to come off. Her hips lifted up and I quickly toss them onto the floor. She shivered feeling the cool touch of my wooden desk as my hands brought her legs to my waist.

“Like this?” I ask knowing fully well how embarrassed she was having me doing this to her. Her cheeks were flushed and her thighs tensed. “Hold on to me, I want to feel you scratch my body as I make you all fucking mine.”

“Yes Daddy.” She whispered and I felt my cock turning to steel. Y/N’s arms go around my shoulders and I lean lower to guide my body to tease her wet slit. I groan at the feeling and heard her let out a moan. I bit my lip and eased the tip inside. She was already squeezing me and I go deeper watching her expression closely.

“Relax for me.” I whispered and stopped my movements feeling her clenching harder. Her nails scratched my shoulder and eventually her velvet walls relaxed.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never felt someone this big.” She winced gently moving her hips up making me moan. I took the opportunity to go all the way inside and moaned at how good she felt.

“Fuck. Tight little pussy on you, feels so fucking good on me.” I moan slowly moving my hips as she whimpered to feel me stretching her cunt. I reached my hand to hold her hip as I kept my thrusts slow to make sure she was adjusting to my size. I was really giving her the special treatment, might as well savor this. I lean closer to her face and kissed her softly. She moaned on my lips and I moved up for her legs to go onto my shoulders. She let out a surprised noise as her back landed onto the papers on the desk. I could careless about that shit right now.

“Oh Y/N.” I groan as I move inside of her as her cunt started overflowing with her sweet juices. Her hold grew tight on me as I started to pound her into the desk. I couldn’t hold myself back, it felt too fucking good.

“Fuck! Daddy!” She whined as my hips seem to have control over me. Well fuck, I think I might be in love with her cunt. “Good girl, letting me have you like this.” I groaned feeling her clench down on my cock.

I growled as those perfect manicured nails dug into my skin and I pumped my cum deep inside this perfect pussy. I moan and dug deep to hit that special spot and watched her mouth hung open. Her eyes shut and tears roll down her cheeks. Fucking fuck fuck fuck! This might’ve been a mistake….

#jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jeffrey dean morgan #negan x reader #negan smith #negan fic #negan #negan smith x reader #coach negan #negan au #negan smut

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for correcting my niblings without my brother's input?

I had a massive falling out with my family when I was a teenager. I was into goth/edgy/horror culture and true crime before it was accepted by the mainstream, plus my parents were older when they had us and we lived on a farm. They needed my brother and me to keep the farm going, and I decided to pursue college instead. At some point after this they sold/lost their farm, but I do not know when, which fueled their resentment. At their request I did not speak to them until 2021, when my brother found me on Facebook to tell me my parents both died of covid and we held a Zoom funeral. After that he moved several states over to be closer to me so we could work on reconciliation and forgiving me for the farm incident.

So now I (45f) babysit his (44m) two youngest children (10m, 8f) for free, and have been since 2021. Initially he had full custody as his ex wife did not have a job or any job experience when they divorced (before we reconciled) but she now has a full time job so they share custody currently, although she is in our home state, so they decided the kids should go to school there still and spend holidays and summers with him. I am currently an art professor at a local university and for summer semester I only have morning classes and he works afternoons, so it works out.

Last week, his youngest asked me; "OP, how come you lie so much?" Her brother tried to shush her but I asked for clarification. Her brother told her she wasn't supposed to tell me, but she did anyway, and then he also chimed in to confirm. Turns out, whenever I told his kids about any vacations to other countries I took, he said I was making it up to sound important. When I told them I went to medical school, he said I was lying and was a glorified art teacher and only went to community college. I have a serious boyfriend who I have mentioned, although I do not spend time with him while babysitting per the mother's request not to have any adult with her children before meeting them and giving the okay, and so my brother insists I made him up.

I was very hurt, and so I showed them pictures, diplomas, videos, etc proving I was not lying. It is true I got into a community college near our home town on an art scholarship and an FHA grant, but I was able to skip generals due to advanced courses I was taking in high school. I quickly got interested in the medical field and was able to transfer to a medical school on several scholarships and obviously loans. I became a pediatric oncologist and was happy with that until my later thirties. I had kept art as a hobby but eventually realized I wanted to do more with it. I retired from pediatric oncology and then became an art professor five years ago. When I was a doctor, I met my current boyfriend (46m) who is a trauma surgeon. Starting in my late twenties, until covid, I was able to travel throughout the US and even to many foreign countries, sometimes for work, sometimes for vacation. There was no way for him to know this as we were not in contact, but I was very hurt that instead of believing me, he has been telling his kids I'm a liar for the past two years. So yes I did show them the photos and videos specifically because I was hurt.

The following day my brother called me and shouted at me, angry I had deliberately contradicted him. He was angry enough he was shouting at me. He has been dragging this on through text for the past few days. His ex wife also contacted me, asking for my version of events, as apparently their children called her crying about the situation. I told her exactly what I said here. He called me not an hour later screaming. Unbeknownst to me, she has been trying to get full custody of the children and he's convinced that this situation will get his kids taken from him, something he has a fear of due to the fact he has two adult children from a previous marriage who went no contact when they both turned 18. He insists that his ex wife turned them against him, and now he is terrified it will happen again. I was not aware of this until recently, nor did I think this would cause an issue with his custody. It has been very awkward babysitting his kids, as they have been very quiet since this whole thing happened. I don't have kids myself, nor have I been divorced, so I don't understand parenting or divorce etiquette, but I am still very hurt and even angry with him for calling me a liar to his children. Before I make any further decisions regarding an apology, I wanted to get advice as to whether I am the asshole for not bringing it up with him before showing his kids evidence that I did, in fact, do those things, and if so, how I can rectify this appropriately.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-one of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

“Sure,” Tim says in a mostly-reasonable imitation of a normal person who is not in a good ten feet over their head, taking the seat Kon left him. Kon flashes him another grin and unzips his jeans. He is still wearing his suit underneath them. It still does not even slightly matter to Tim’s stupid idiot hormones. 

He tries not to stare at Kon stripping off his boots and jeans, but absolutely, undeniably fails. The situation is not improved when Kon turns his back towards him and smirks back over his shoulder at him. 

“Unzip me?” he asks, the bastard. Tim does not in any way believe he needs the help unzipping his suit, but also Tim is a stupid idiot with stupid idiot hormones and he does, in fact, lean forward on the bench and reach up to do so. He pulls Kon’s zipper down his spine and, miraculously, does not spontaneously combust in the process. 

New information: Kon doesn’t wear any kind of underlayer under his suit. At least not over his torso, anyway. Which Tim supposes shouldn’t be a surprise, but certainly is something he’s noticing right now. 

He can’t even decide if he’s hoping for him to be wearing underwear or not. He should be hoping for him to be wearing it, given they’re here to try on clothes and that’s therefore kind of necessary, but . . . 

Kon strips the rest of his suit off. He is, unfortunately, wearing boxer briefs. Very small and very tight boxer briefs, but boxer briefs all the same. Tim tries not to stare at Kon’s ass and then immediately encounters the larger problem of accidentally looking at Kon’s reflection in the changing room mirror, which offers the opportunity to stare at other things that belong to Kon. Like his chest. And his abs. And his Adonis belt and–

Fuck his life, Tim thinks feelingly, barely resisting the urge to cover his eyes before he can embarrass himself. He’s already embarrassing himself; it is way too damn late for anything like that to help. 

“What should I try on first?” Kon asks. Tim, in mute panic, grabs the first thing off the top of the pile and shoves it at him. Kon, unfortunately, accepts it. 

More unfortunately, it turns out to be a very clingy black T-shirt with a very deep V-neck. Kon doesn't have actual cleavage, obviously, but that T-shirt has not gotten the memo. 

And apparently neither have his pecs. 

Fuck, Tim thinks with great feeling, still barely resisting the urge to cover his eyes. Fuuuuuck. 

“Hmmm,” Kon says, tugging at the dip of the V-neck with a finger. “What do you think? My color or naw?” 

Tim is suffering. There is a hell and he is currently in it, right here and now. 

“Black isn’t a particularly daring color choice, most people look good in it,” he says, clearing his throat. “The fit’s nice, though.” 

“Fair enough,” Kon says, plucking at the collar again and then stripping the shirt off. While facing Tim. Directly. So Tim therefore has a front-row seat to his bare abs stretching and flexing and–

Jesus. Just–Jesus. 

“Next?” Kon asks, holding out an expectant hand and smirking at him. 

Bastard. 

Tim, in vengeance, hands over the leather pants. It immediately backfires, because Kon just smirks wider and steps right into them, and in fact the process of watching Kon get into leather pants is . . . well, it's a fucking process, alright. And then Tim is alone in a changing room with a shirtless Kon in very tight leather pants and absolutely no one else around to interrupt. Not a single convenient supervillain attack to be seen. 

Fuck, Tim reflects with great feeling. 

“Guess this still isn’t a very daring color choice, huh?” Kon asks, tugging casually at his own waistband. Tim's teeth would also like to do that, please. Like. He has never done that to anyone's waistband in his life, but he would like to start. Right now, ideally. “Maybe I should've gone for something else.” 

“They look alright,” Tim says, desperately trying not to choke and die. He may or may not have had to put one of the shopping bags in his lap. Kon seems unconcerned and just twists to check out his ass in the mirror. His ass which is in very tight black leather. With belts. And buckles. 

And straps. 

Tim is disproportionately fixated on the straps, maybe. 

“Take a picture, it'll last longer,” Kon tells him with a smug grin. 

“I . . . kinda want to?” Tim admits helplessly, then winces at himself. Oh, that was the literal opposite of smooth. Kon laughs anyway, though.

“Oh do you now,” he purrs teasingly. “Is that why you were so concerned about getting me a phone with a good camera, pretty boy?” 

“. . . technically it only matters if my phone has a good camera in that situation,” Tim points out, and Kon actually pouts at him. It’s clearly a put-on, since he’s still half-smirking, but it’s a pout all the same. 

“Aw, you don't want me to send you any pics, Tim?” he asks. 

Tim might be, like, dead now. That might be a thing. He might just be dead. 

“Uh,” he says, blinking rapidly a few times in a desperate attempt to make his brain do literally anything but go down that particular avenue.

“These are a little tight, though,” Kon muses casually as he looks back down to the pants in the mirror, and then smooths a hand down his thigh because he apparently wants Tim to die. The bright fluorescent lights glint across his earring and make those inhumanly blue eyes even more undeniably inhumanly blue, and also make all his muscle definition all very, very visible. 

Technically, Kon has muscles like these because he's a genetically-enhanced half-alien who's all jacked up on solar power. Tim is perfectly aware of that fact. A normal unenhanced human being built like this would probably need an assist from steroids and a ridiculously-specialized diet and to basically never leave the gym. And also probably they'd be at least a little bit dehydrated, to look this cut. 

Tim can tell himself all that all that he likes, but Kon still looks like the bodybuilder edition of Playgirl right now. 

“Since when do you mind tight?” he asks. 

“I don't,” Kon says, sparing him another smirk. “But if I didn't make sure to keep my TTK on them 24/7, they'd probably rip. Leather's a little less forgiving than spandex, you know?” 

Tim is fairly sure Kon said some words after “rip”, but fuck if he could tell anyone. He couldn't tell anyone with a gun to his head. He couldn't tell Batman. 

Fucking hell. 

“Then I'll buy you another pair,” he says reflexively. Kon laughs, ducking his head. He is still shirtless. Very, very shirtless. 

“Man, I don't care what you think you owe me, you cannot possibly wanna buy me this much stuff,” he says. 

Tim tries to figure out how to say “you're my teammate and ally and you deserve to be somewhere safe and taken care of and have everything you need” without actually saying “you're my teammate and ally and you deserve to be somewhere safe and taken care of and have everything you need”. It's difficult, mostly because the alternate and equally true answer is “I think I'm kind of getting off on this, actually”. Which is actually kind of weird and questionable of him even if Kon is flirting with him and acting kind of–

Yeah, he really needs to stop being weird about this. 

“I have the money,” he says reasonably. “It’s not any harder for me than using your powers is for you. And I like doing it.” 

“You like doing it?” Kon says, tilting his head. Possibly Tim should’ve phrased that differently. Or just not said it at all, more like. 

“Yeah,” he says, then quickly changes the subject in self-defense. “And you did me a favor. I want to pay it back.” 

“There’s ‘paying it back’ and there’s ‘signing a lease’, man,” Kon says, raising an eyebrow at him. “Like, you offered me an apartment.” 

“If you’d let me I’d give you a fully-furnished apartment, bills and expenses, and an allowance,” Tim says wryly, and belatedly realizes that last one maybe sounds a little bit patronizing or weird when Kon–pauses.

“An allowance?” he repeats, just barely frowning. 

“Yes,” Tim says, because fuck it, he’s committed now and trying to backtrack would just make it more awkward. If he acts like that was a normal offer to make, maybe Kon will buy it. It’s not like he doesn’t know his initial socialization and education came from a bunch of weird nerds in a lab. “You know, rent and bills and groceries and a little extra, so you don’t have to call me up every time you want something.” 

“Because I saved your life?” Kon says, fidgeting with the button of his pants for a moment. Tim pretends not to notice. Pretends very hard not to notice. It’s . . . arguably a success. Maybe. 

“Yes,” Tim lies. Kon’s saved his life plenty of times; it’s really not relevant to wanting to see him actually properly taken care of and not just ditched in a lab without any damn windows in it. 

Seriously. Kon is solar-powered and Cadmus is underground. What advantage-taking idiots thought he belonged there? 

“Just that?” Kon asks, biting his lip. Tim . . . pauses. 

That’s a weird question, he thinks. It is, right? 

He’s not sure how to answer it. He lies to Batman, so that’s not a concern, but . . .

But. 

“Not just that,” he says after a moment, and just . . . doesn’t elaborate. Kon reddens a little, and then, weirdly, smiles a little. Tim does his damnedest to deal with the sight of him half-in civilian clothes and looking very, very touchable. Just–very close and touchable. He could just . . . reach right out. And touch him. 

Kon’s just . . . very close right now, is all. Like . . . very, very close. 

Fuck. 

“Hi,” Kon says with a little smile, then steps forward right in-between Tim’s knees still half-dressed in black leather and belts and buckles and straps. Tim almost falls off the bench. 

“Hi?” he tries. He very suddenly feels like he might be cooking in his own skin and maybe needs a couple decades to recover before he actually does die here. Because he definitely feels like he's about to die right now, oh god. Did Ivy pollen the mall? Maybe Ivy pollened the mall. Maybe–

Kon leans down over him and into his personal space, and Tim ends up with his back pressed against the changing room wall. 

Nope, never mind. This is all him. This is exclusively a Tim problem. All Tim all the way. All Tim all the time. 

Fuuuuuck.

“Uh,” he chokes in mortification, feeling his face absolutely burn. Kon braces a hand against the wall and very literally bats his eyes at him, the fucking bastard. He is . . . so attractive. So, so attractive. Like every kind of attractive Tim can currently envision and then some. Why is he so attractive? Why is he this far up in Tim’s space? Why is he–

Oh, fuck, Tim thinks. 

“Oh my god, I in no way meant to make you think this was, like, a condition or–!” he starts to sputter in horror, and Kon cuts him off by putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him up tighter against the wall with a very, very pleased smirk. 

“Shut up and kiss me, you weird little nerd,” he says, and then leans in close enough to be kissed, his eyes soft and half-lidded and mouth still curved into that same pleased smirk. Tim’s brain shorts out entirely. Tim’s brain effectively electrocutes itself, actually. 

Oh god, he thinks feebly. 

He can’t kiss Kon, obviously. That would be a very stupid thing to actually do. Flirting and joking around is one thing, but actually kissing him . . . 

Kon bites his lip, a little flicker of uncertainty reflecting in his eyes. Tim has been in literal death traps that were less upsetting than that little flicker. 

“Okay,” he manages, useless and breathless, and then–like an idiot–kisses him.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young just us #young justice #long post #rinfic #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

[stop-talking]

So I'm stuck on this shithole island, and I can't even have a smoke? (pt. 5)

Derek Danforth x fem reader

Word count: 4k

Tags: 18+, Derek x fem reader, no use of y/n, angst, lots of fluff, enemies, enemies to lovers, fluff, (very) slowburn, sass, banter, misogynistic undertones, (Derek is a prick), suggestive themes, mentions of drug use, withdrawals, rehab, masturbating.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

To celebrate a week of sobriety, you decide to surprise Derek with a cake.

Of course, since there isn't exactly a bakery on a remote island, you had to bake it yourself.

Which you did. Last night. Now you stand in the kitchen, wondering how exactly you should decorate the damn thing.

And what to write on it?

"Congrats, maybe now you'll live past 40!" No, that's morbid.

"Bye-bye blunts and blow!" Too cringy.

"Happy one-week?" Hmm... that sounds like an anniversary thing.

Damnit. Maybe this isn't a situation that calls for cake after all. You sigh and continue to mumble random slogans to yourself as you slather the icing on nice and thick.

It looks a little messy, but you're not exactly a professional baker. Which is unfortunate, because that's probably exactly what he's used to. Oh well. It's the thought that counts, right?

You just want to show him how proud you are. He really has changed a lot over the past week, surprising you every day with how... normal he can be. When he wants to, at least.

Picking up a piping bag of green icing, you start placing decorative dollops around the edge of the cake. Some of them are a little lopsided, but it doesn't look too bad overall.

What now? You mindlessly lick some stray icing off your wrist and stare down at the gaping blank space in the middle of the cake.

Eventually, you settle on three words.

"Proud of you."

It's fitting. He has a lot to be proud of. Not just the sobriety stuff, but everything.

He's been picking up new skills every day. You smile as you tidy up the cake decorating mess strewn about the counter, thinking back to your first time cooking with Derek.

He'd been cocky and overconfident, and so utterly dumbfounded when that pancake met a splatter-y death on the stovetop.

And yet, he still got back up and tried again. After relentless pestering from you, obviously, but it still counted.

You stand back and survey your work. Cream colored icing, green lettering, and... okay, maybe the hearts were a bit much. Hopefully he didn't get the wrong idea. You're just... proud. That's all.

Now the only thing missing is Derek. He went upstairs an hour or so ago for a nap, mumbling something about a headache. Poor thing.

He's been so damn clingy lately, always touching you in some way or another. It seemed almost subconscious for him at times. A hand on your shoulder, his knee against yours, an arm around your waist... no matter what you were doing, he had to have physical contact.

You smile as you make your way upstairs to his room. Maybe today would be the day you finally give him a proper hug.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek is woken from his fitful sleep to the sound of you calling out his name.

Usually, that would be a welcome sound. You're always such a good distraction from his withdrawals.

But right now? He just wants to sleep. No, more than that. He wants to hibernate, to go into a goddamn coma and never have to wake up again.

"Can I have another twenty minutes?" He croaks, lifting his head from the mess of pillows to call out to you.

Apparently he can't, because he hears the door click open, and you peek your head in through the crack.

Derek just groans and buries his face back into the bed. His sheets and blankets are a tangled mess, and he's twisted himself into an awkward angle throughout his nap.

"Come on, It's been over an hour already." Derek can feel the bed shift as you take a seat on the edge.

"Well I'm still fuckin' exhausted." He mumbles into the pillow, not bothering to turn and look at you.

"Derek. You should know by now I'm not gonna let you rot in bed all day."

The almost sarcastic tone in your voice is what finally breaks him. This week has been hell, and you're just mocking him.

He hasn't only given up drugs this week, but all of his servants and staff as well. It was one thing to help you with cooking, but yesterday you'd made him do laundry. LAUNDRY. What the fuck did he look like? A maid?

"Fuck off." He grumbles a little louder, pushing your hand away as you reach to play with his hair.

His sour attitude apparently doesn't deter you any, because he can hear you laughing at him. Derek grits his teeth and finally sits up, glaring at you.

"You're really fucking annoying, you know that? Always pissing me off."

The words leave his mouth before he can really think them through, and when he sees your smile fall he immediately regrets them.

Unfortunately, he's too tired, sick, and stubborn to take it all back. Even while his heart drops into his stomach, he continues to glare daggers at you.

"Alright... twenty more minutes." With that, you slide off his bed and quickly make your way to the door.

Fuck. As soon as the door closes, Derek is left in darkness, in more ways than one.

His stomach twists into knots and he can feel his chest grow heavy. He tries to scramble after you, but gets caught in the tangle of blankets and ends up falling to the floor instead.

God damn it. Why does he always have to be such a fuck up? You aren't annoying. You're the only thing keeping him sane right now, and he goes and pushes you away.

He collapses on the floor, sighing at the feeling of the cold hardwood against his cheek. A few tears roll down his face, and he laughs bitterly as a thought crosses his mind.

Your thighs make a much better pillow than the floor.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Twenty minutes later, you knock at Derek's door once more. He mumbles something incomprehensible, and you take that as permission to enter.

The sight in front of you makes you pause. What the hell is he doing? You flip the lights on just to make sure your eyes aren't playing tricks on you.

They aren't.

Derek Danforth lies on the floor next to his bed, groaning and blinking up at the harsh overhead light.

"Looks real comfortable down there." You tease, setting the glass of water you brought him on his bedside table before joining him on the floor.

He refuses to look at you, throwing his arm over his eyes and groaning.

"You need to eat. And drink. I brought you some water."

Derek stays quiet as you sit next to him and place a hand on his shoulder. His lips are pressed into a tight line, and he's still hiding behind his arm.

"Why are you so goddamn nice?" He finally groans.

"We've already had that talk."

"Okay, then why are you so goddamn nice even when I'm being a prick?"

You move his arm away from his face, and he doesn't fight it. When you finally get a look at him, it's obvious he's been crying.

Derek Danforth. Crying on his bedroom floor. That's a sight.

A sight that really breaks your heart, actually. His watery eyes threaten to make yours overflow as well, so you quickly wipe away his tears with the hem of your shirt.

"You think I expect you to go through three weeks of rehab and not be a prick sometimes?"

Derek actually chuckles at that, and finally meets your gaze. He looks absolutely wrecked.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier."

"I know."

You scoot a little closer, and gently tug at him. He takes the hint, placing his head on your lap with his cheek against your thigh.

Neither of you talk for a few minutes. He just closes his eyes and sighs as you play with his hair. Over the past week, you've learned what he likes. Tug at his curls in just the right way, and he...

Derek lets out a soft whimper and you smile. There it is.

"Wanna make it up to me?" You tease.

He glances up at you, an eager look in his eyes.

"How?"

"Get rid of this." You laugh and trail a finger along his jawline, feeling at his overgrown stubble. He most likely hasn't shaved since arriving here a week ago.

"What? You don't like it?"

"Do you?"

"..."

Derek pouts, pushing your hand away and feeling at it himself. His brow furrows adorably as he considers your words.

"It looks manly."

"There's a difference between manly and cave-man-ly."

He scoffs at that, but when you start poking and prodding at his face where his stubble has grown out, he cracks a smile.

"Fine, fine. You win. I'll shave."

He swats your intrusive hands away, then sits up and stretches.

Now that he's up and moving, you decide it's time to go. On your way out the door, you hesitate, remembering the reason you came to get him in the first place.

"Oh, don't take too long. I have a surprise waiting for you downstairs."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, feeling at his stubble. You're right, he does look better with a trim.

He knows he should head downstairs, but his heart is beating a million times a second, and not even from withdrawals.

That little comment about a surprise? God damnit. You're teasing him. You have to be. How could you say something like that and not expect him to get excited?

Derek sighs and tucks his boner into the waistband of his boxers, then looks at himself in the mirror one more time to make sure it isn't noticeable. It's not... mostly.

Damnit. He could probably take a few minutes and rub one out, but he'd absolutely die of embarrassment if you walked in on him AGAIN.

He groans and turns to leave. Oh well. It's hidden well enough, and you'd already seen worse. Plus... maybe if this surprise is anything like his fantasies, he'd have an opportunity to use it.

"Oh, wait wait wait!" You scramble over to him as he trudges downstairs, keeping him from entering the living room.

"Are you gonna tell me what my surprise is?"

"No! Then it wouldn't be a surprise at all. Close your eyes."

Derek does as instructed, shutting his eyes tight. When feels you grab his hand and start to tug him along, he can't help but sneak a peek.

"I swear... if your Idea of a surprise is to walk me into a wall-"

"Oh, shut it." You scoff and clap your free hand over his eyes.

"Just trust me. And no peeking."

Derek grumbles, but he does trust you. A lot more than he lets on. So, he blindly stumbles along as you lead him into the... kitchen? Yeah, he's pretty sure he's in the kitchen.

"Okay, you can look." You uncover his eyes, but keep a tight hold on his hand as you beam at him.

"What do you think?"

What does he think?

What does he think?

Derek chokes up at the sight before him, and has to turn his head so you don't see the way his eyes are watering again.

A cake. You baked him a fucking cake to say you're proud of him. And he called you annoying.

"It's to celebrate being a week sober." You explain, leaning over to try and catch a glimpse of his face.

He squeezes your hand tightly, but can't get any words out.

"A week." He whispers, blinking back tears. Fuck, has it been a week already? It feels like hardly a day has passed.

"Oh, love. C'mere."

Derek lets himself be pulled into your arms. He groans from your touch, melting into the embrace and burying his face in your neck.

God, this is perfect. He's wanted to be held like this for so long, but now that it's finally happening... he can't help but feel guilty.

"I'm such an ass." He mumbles into your neck, lips pressed to your skin.

"Not always." You laugh softly and pull him a little closer.

Too close. He can feel your breasts pressing against him... fuck. Any closer and you might be able to feel what he has tucked away.

"Not always?" Derek scoffs, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes.

"Is that really the best you've got to make me feel better?"

"What? You want me to lie?"

"Maybe."

He stares into your eyes, heart pounding in his chest as he suddenly realizes just how close you are. It takes everything in him not to lean in and bridge the few inch gap between the two of you.

"You look nice like this."

Derek can feel his face heating up as you cup his face with a hand. Shit, If you don't stop soon he might actually just kiss you.

"Like what?" He asks breathlessly, mesmerized by your touch.

"With a trim." You smile and run your thumb along his his stubble, eyes trailing from his jaw to his lips.

For a second, Derek is sure you're going to kiss him. He tilts his head ever so slightly in anticipation, and his eyes flutter shut.

"So... you want a piece of cake?" You clear your throat, suddenly dropping your arms and breaking the embrace.

Of course you weren't going to kiss him. Derek gives you a half-hearted smile and nods, trying to hide just how crushed he feels.

"Yeah, sure. Cake."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

"No, love, you're supposed to do the edge pieces first."

You chuckle as Derek angrily fumbles with two puzzle pieces. They quite obviously don't match, but he's trying to force them together anyways.

"Sorry, I wasn't aware puzzles had rules." He scoffs, dramatically tossing the little cardboard chunks across the table.

You'd dragged him out to the porch for a little fresh air, since he insisted he was too tired to make the five minute walk down to the beach.

"Well, they do. The biggest rule is don't throw the puzzle pieces, or you'll lose them." You laugh and continue flipping pieces over so they're facing upwards.

It hasn't been very long since you started the puzzle, and Derek already looks bored.

"Is this supposed to be fun?" He grumbles, helping you flip over pieces with one hand, the other finding it's way to rest on top of yours.

You wonder if he even notices he's doing it again. Touching you like that. You've gotten used to it by now, and usually just let it happen.

"Oh, come on. You gonna let a puzzle get the best of you, Danforth? A child could do this."

Derek makes a face and gestures to the sea of little cardboard scraps scattered across the table.

"A child could do a one thousand piece puzzle?" He scoffs.

"Okay, maybe not..." You laugh and adjust your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

"But I'm sure you can do it."

Derek's face flushes pink, and you aren't sure whether its from the praise or the way you're so casually holding his hand. Probably both. But so what if you're holding his hand? He's the one who started it.

He just mumbles something under his breath and looks back down at the table, suddenly very motivated to help you pick through the pieces.

His hand doesn't leave yours.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek wakes up from a deep sleep to the sound of your voice and the feeling of your nails gently scratching his scalp.

He gasps and tries to sit up, but finds he's stuck.

Er, not stuck, just... underneath you?

"Come on, love. You slept through nearly the whole movie." You laugh softly and start to nudge him off your lap.

Derek finally remembers what's going on, and pulls his arm out from under you. Apparently he'd tucked it beneath your knees while he slept, because he sure didn't remember doing it.

"Told you a chick flick would put me to sleep." He mumbles, fumbling to sit up. He finds his other arm is also stuck, wedged in between your waist and the couch.

"Sure made yourself comfortable, huh?" You tease, scooting forward and freeing him.

"Shut up." Derek reluctantly pulls away from you, sitting up and looking at you with a dazed expression. He wipes the drool from the corner of his mouth and groans. That really was a good nap.

"It's just so easy to fall asleep on you." The words come out before he can really think over them, and he freezes in embarrassment. Thankfully, you seem to take it in a different way than he meant it.

"Oh, am I that boring? I put you to sleep?"

"Exactly. I'm yawning already." He teases, letting out an exaggerated yawn that only earns him an elbow to the ribs.

"Hmph. Next time you can fall asleep somewhere else."

"But you're so damn comfortable." He whines, scrambling after you as you make your way upstairs. You can't leave him yet. You just can't.

"Well, your bed is plenty comfortable as well. Go to sleep."

Derek is suddenly struck with a thought, and takes your hand before you can slip away into your room for the night.

"What if..." He starts, placing his other hand on your hip and pulling you a little closer.

"What if I don't want to sleep in my bed tonight?"

You give him an incredulous look, and Derek can hardly believe the words that just came out of his mouth. Fuck, you're going to reject him. He just knows it.

"My bed?" You ask, raising an eyebrow and looking down at the way his hand is gripping your hip.

Derek can hear his heart pounding in his ears. He's being WAY too forward, and probably seems like a creep. Damnit.

"I... I just won't be able to sleep without you. I know it." He stutters, stumbling over his words. It's the truth, though. The only time he's been able to sleep peacefully lately is when he's touching you.

"Derek, love..." You chuckle and start to brush his hands away, taking a step back.

Fuck. He needs to show you how serious he is about this.

"Please? Just for tonight?" He grabs both of your hands, intertwining your fingers with his as he meets your gaze. You said he has puppy-eyes or something, right? Derek does his best to look pitiful.

It's not hard to do. He really does feel pitiful in this moment, begging you so blatantly. He might as well get on his fucking knees.

"Fine." You finally relent, groaning and gently shoving Derek aside as you head into your bedroom.

"But I hope you know I kick in my sleep."

"I don't mind taking that risk."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

After quickly getting ready for bed, you settle down under the covers while Derek stands awkwardly to the side.

"Well? You gonna join me?" You ask, patting the spot next to you.

God, how did you get roped into this? Him and those damn puppy eyes. He's so hard to say no to.

"Oh, uh, yeah." Derek scrambles to climb into bed beside you. He looks like he's having just as much trouble believing what's happening.

"Sleeping with you wasn't really in my job description, you know. I'm complaining to your mother after this."

"Please don't." He groans, squirming and getting comfortable under the shared blanket. He keeps his distance, seeming content just to be in the same bed as you.

"You gonna sleep in that?" You lift the blanket to peek at his outfit, a simple t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Yeah? What's wrong with it?" He pouts and tugs the blanket back down, acting self-conscious.

"Nothing, just... You aren't going to be hot?"

"Are you trying to get me to take my pants off, sweetheart?"

"God, no. I've seen enough of that."

Your teasing clearly gets to him, because he rolls over to face away from you, grumbling. You swear his ears are a little pink. Is he blushing?

"Oh, love. I'm just messing with you." You scoot a little closer to him, and put a hand on his waist.

"I know." He whispers, breath hitched.

"Is it okay if I do this?"

He groans when you get even closer, spooning him from behind. Your arm wraps around his waist and you press your entire body against his.

"M-maybe I will get hot..." He mumbles, but makes no effort to push you away. Instead, he completely melts under your touch, relaxing against the pillow.

"Keep your pants on, Danforth."

"Yes ma'am."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek has been in bed with you for what feels like hours, (though really only around half of one), and he still can't believe what's happening.

Your arm is around his waist, holding him tight while the rest of your body is pressed up against him. He can feel your breasts pressing into his back, and your lips on his neck.

He almost wishes you'd kiss him, but that would probably send him over the edge.

And God, is he dangerously close to the edge right now.

His heart is pounding, heartbeat in synch with the throbbing in his pants. He's been hard ever since you cuddled up to him, but no way in hell is he going to ask you to stop. Not ever. Even if it kills him.

Scratch that. It is going to kill him. Derek can't help but let out a whimper as his dick twitches in his sweatpants.

Fuck. Your hand is right there, on his stomach. If you'd just slide it down a little...

"What's wrong?" You mumble, giving him a tight squeeze and nuzzling against the back of his neck.

"O-oh. Just... headache... Don't feel good..."

He feels like a total prick for lying to you, but what is he supposed to say? Yeah, totally fine, just horny as fuck? He'd rather die.

"Aww... I've got you, love."

Derek's breath hitches as you throw your leg over him. He can feel your thigh pressed up against his side, and the way you squeeze him feels heavenly.

He whimpers again, and starts to squirm slightly in your grasp. Fuck, if you keep this up he's not going to be able to control himself.

You continue to gently squeeze, rub, and cuddle him, whispering words of comfort with your lips pressed against the back of his neck. He can feel your hot breath on him, your breasts against his back, your hand on his stomach, your leg wrapped around his...

He can feel everything. And it's driving him insane.

Okay, okay, fuck. He can fix this. He just needs a quick release. That's all.

Derek starts to form a plan in his head, fueled by desperation and lust. Once he's mostly sure you're asleep, he slips his hand down into his boxers.

Biting back a moan, he slowly starts to jerk himself off. Painfully slow. He can't risk waking you up.

It's so fucking hard to not go faster, or move, or make a sound. Fuck, it's just so hard. Period.

He didn't really think this through, huh? Asking to sleep in your bed. Next time he'll jerk off first. If there is a next time. Damnit. If you catch him like this, you'll never speak to him again. He's sure.

Trembling, he accidentally lets a small whine slip out. Even with the absolute minimum amount of stimulation, he's close to finishing.

"Hnngh... Derek? You okay?"

Fuck. You're awake.

"Huh? Yeah, just... nightmare..." He chokes the words out, hand still wrapped around his cock as he slowly milks out a steady trickle of precum.

"It's okay." You whisper, holding him even tighter. "I'm right here."

Yeah, and that's the his damn problem. Your words and touch send him spiraling over the edge, and he bites his lip with nearly enough force to draw blood as he comes in his sweatpants.

It's not the most satisfying orgasm, seeing as he could barely touch it... but it still feels so much better than being that fucking horny with no release.

"Thank you..." Derek groans, praying that you don't ever discover the double meaning behind his words.

He had originally planned to sneak away and clean himself up, but with the way you're clinging to him...

Fuck. Guess he's sleeping in wet sweatpants.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

Author's note: Oh my goddd, sorry for such a long wait on this chapter!!! I've been wanting to write this scene FOREVER, but I also wanted to get it right!!

I love putting Derek in uncomfortable situations. Not sorry.

Also its crazy to me that I've written 16 thousand words of fanfic for a character that had 20 minutes of screen time and then fucking DIED 💀

Anyways... expect the next chapter in 2-3 days. Thanks for all the love and support!!!

Part 6

#josh hutcherson #jhutch #jhutch1992 #derek danforth #josh hutcherson x reader #derek danforth x reader #josh hutcherson x you #derek danforth x you #derek danforth smut #josh hutcherson smut #josh hutcherson fanfic #fluff and angst #slowburn fic

[bloatedandalone04]

In The Way I Need You | Part 10

Series Masterlist

➪in which you start your first shift at jess’ after leaving clay’s house in tears, and a confrontation at work leaves you feeling a lot worse than before.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 3.5k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Clay watched you flee his house with tears in your eyes, and he couldn’t even question you on it before you were gone, your body covered back up by your dress from last night instead of his shirt. 

He had no idea what happened in the three minutes he left you alone for, but apparently it was a lot. Only a few seconds passed by the time he made it to the front door to go after you, but when he looked outside, you were long gone. 

You said you weren’t feeling well and that you needed air, but he was still confused as to why you didn’t let him take care of you. If you weren’t feeling up for that second date, then he would’ve happily let you lay in his bed all day until you felt better, but you fled before he could even offer that to you. 

What happened? 

His brows furrowed as he closed the door loudly and made his way back up to his room, planning on calling you, or at least texting you, as soon as he located his phone. 

But as soon as he entered his room, that plan slipped his mind as his gaze narrowed onto the framed picture that was placed on his still unmade bed. Clay felt his heart drop as he neared the photo, a sick feeling creeping up his throat as he realized who it was of. 

Clay picked up the picture of him and Sam that was taken on their wedding day, and he couldn’t even recognize the version of himself in the photo. It felt like so long ago, and he knew he was a very different person now. 

The guy in the picture was a lovesick fool who missed every single warning sign and red flag Sam gave out. His twenty two year old self felt like a stranger now since he had been forced to grow up so quickly after Joey was born and Sam left him.

He wanted to laugh, because the second things had gotten good with you, Sam fucked it up for him without actually being there. 

Where did you even find this picture? He couldn’t remember where he had put it after tearing his room apart of anything that reminded him of her, so what were the odds that you had found it?

Clay looked around and noticed one of the drawers in his dresser was open a bit, and when he pulled it open and saw an unfolded blue shirt thrown in there, he knew that was where you discovered it. 

This was the drawer Clay barely went into as it was full of all his old tees he used to wear when he was in his late teens and early twenties. They were his vintage and graphic shirts, and the ones he didn’t wear often, so he truly didn’t remember putting the picture in there since he hadn’t opened the drawer in quite a while. 

“Fuck,” he muttered as he picked up the shirt and and looked down at the photo. No wonder you suddenly didn’t feel good, Clay was beginning to feel sick, too, as he stared down at the smiles on his and Sam’s faces. 

Young, dumb and naive Clay. How stupid can you be?

With a groan, he tossed the shirt onto his bed before turning the frame over and practically ripping the back of it off. He pulled the photo from the glass and tossed the frame aside, too, and without a second thought, he ripped it into countless pieces. 

He knew he wouldn’t have been able to do that before he met you, but now that he’d had a glimpse of what life looks like with you, he never wanted to go back. He hadn’t even thought about Sam at all since he left her that final voicemail, and he hated the fact that you must think that he still loves her. 

But that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

The only part of her that he loves is the one he shares with her. The one that brought you and him together. His son; someone who he doesn’t even consider hers anymore. 

Joey isn’t Sam’s. He never was. She brought him into the world, and then she abandoned him. No mother does that to their child. 

As far as Clay was concerned, Joey was all his. 

He throws the pieces of the picture into the garbage bin beside the dresser before looking around for his phone. He finds it on his nightstand next to his alarm clock with your sticky note on it, and his heart ached even more. 

Without wasting a second, he picks his phone up and calls you. He sits down on his messy bed and tugs at his equally messy hair as it rings and rings, and he knows you probably won’t answer him for at least a few hours.

You were upset, and rightfully so. 

“Y/n, I’m sorry,” he started when he was met with your voicemail, and he would’ve laughed at the fact that he is leaving someone else another pointless voicemail, but you weren’t just someone, and nothing was pointless when it came to you. “I didn’t realize I still had pictures with her around, and I hate that you found that. I swear, I would’ve never told you to grab some of my clothes if I remembered that it was in there. It wouldn’t even be in there anymore.”

He felt stupid calling you like this, but he needed you to know as soon as possible that he was over Sam and that she was no longer in the picture. 

“Sam doesn’t mean anything to me. All she is…she’s just the person who helped bring my son into the world. That’s it,” he was rambling now and felt his chest tighten. It hurt a bit, and it felt like he was straining his heart, so he knew he needed to end the call and calm himself down. “I’m sorry. Please, call me back.”

He hung up after that and tossed his phone onto the bed before sitting down and running his hands through his hair. 

How did he always manage to fuck things up? It was going great, you trusted him enough to let him pick you up after a night out, and your second date was a mere few minutes away from happening when you left in tears. Ones that he caused, more or less. 

-

You were embarrassed as you turned off your phone, declining Clay’s second call to you since you left his house crying.

Sam was stunning, and now that you knew what she looked like, you could see the similarities her and Joey share. 

You felt like an idiot and you were humiliated and feeling so insecure right now. A million doubts ran through your head and left it hurting, and your unrelenting tears definitely didn’t help. 

Once you were home, you completely shut yourself off from everything and tried to focus on preparing for your first shift at Jess’ cafe. You wanted to check your phone and even wanted to see what Clay had said in his texts, but you also needed some time away from all that.

So you didn’t turn your phone on for the rest of the night, and by the time you entered Jess’ the next day, you still hadn’t powered it on. You didn’t have much time to use your phone as Jess would be starting your training any minute now, but you still didn’t want to completely cut Clay off. You decided that much after a whole day had passed. 

You turn your phone on and click on his contact, but before you could read one of the four texts he sent you, Jess calls your name, and you have to put your phone away and begin training. 

Around an hour passes before Jess allows you to continue your shift without her hovering over your shoulder. You had just taken your first order when your new coworker moved to get started on it. “Oh, you don’t have to do it for me,” you wave him off. “How am I supposed to learn if I don’t actually make the drinks?”

He just shakes his head with a grin, “The guy you took the order from is a regular,” he says. “Trust me; it’s best if I make his drink. If you mess it up even a little bit, he’ll ruin your whole day.”

“Okay,” you laugh and decide to let him take this one as you begin to wipe away the messy counter. “Good looking out.”

He smiled over at you as he made the drink and gave it to the guy you took the order from, his glare turning into a content smile as he sipped on it. “See? Told you,” he mumbled and you just shook your head, setting the cloth aside and beginning to change the coffee filters. “I’m Miles, by the way.”

You look over and see that he held his hand out to you. “Y/n,” you say and shake his hand. “I’m new, clearly.”

“I can see that,” he nodded and braced his elbows against the counter. “You new to the city, too?”

“Um, kind of,” you answer and wipe your hands on your brown apron. “I’ve been here for about a month now. Still getting used to all of it.”

Miles nods in understanding, giving you a boyish smile afterwards. He was cute, but not nearly cute enough to get your mind off Clay. Miles looked to be around your age, or maybe a bit older, and he had dark brown hair that covered his forehead, and from what you could tell, his eyes were a deep green. “Yeah, the city isn’t for everyone,”

You furrow your brows then laugh. “Oh, no, I’m not…I love it here so far,” you further explain. “It is a lot to take in, though.”

“Ah,” he nodded again and gestured to the customer on his side of the counter, politely pausing your conversation as he began taking the girl’s order.

You smile at him and turn to your side, and your breath gets caught in your throat when you meet Clay’s pretty blue eyes as he enters the shop. He briefly smiles but it falters as he nears the counter, guilt swimming in his gaze as he places his hands against the marble. “Hi,”

“Hi,” you whisper back and try to distract yourself by cleaning a nearby mug. An awkward silence fell over the two of you, and you hated every second of it. It was never awkward with Clay, and the sudden change had your face heating up as you avoided eye contact with him. “Um, do you want a coffee? Or a pastry?”

Clay sucked in a breath and shook his head. “No, I just,” he trailed off and you hesitantly met his eyes again. “I wanted to see you. Wish you luck, you know, on your first shift.” 

He was dressed in what you think is his work attire - though it looked just as formal as his usual clothing - and your heart swelled a bit at the fact that he stopped by before work so he could talk to you, even though it was a bit out of the way from what you knew about where his job location is. 

“Oh,” you say quietly and want nothing more than to throw your arms around him and kiss him right then and there. He was so sweet, you hated how tense things were between you right now. “That’s…nice, Clay. Thank you.” 

Clay smiled at you but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. You wondered if he felt as miserable as you did, then you remembered you hadn’t actually read his texts, so you really had no idea on how he was feeling right now. “Yeah,” he murmured and his eyes held so much longing, you felt your own burn a bit. It looked like he wanted to ask you something, but he didn’t and instead said, “I don’t know if you read my messages or listened to my voicemail, but…I’m sorry about yesterday. If I had known…”

You tear your eyes away from his and bite down on your lip. “Yeah, I um…haven’t gotten around to checking my phone,” you confess and grip onto the edge of the counter as you feel your face begin to heat up. Glancing to your right, you can see Miles eyeing the two of you with a poorly hidden look of judgment on his face, and you could only hope he didn’t bring this up later.

Clay stayed silent and nodded. “Oh,” he said quietly and it somehow made you feel even worse. “That’s okay. Just, whenever you get the chance…I miss you.” 

You bite down harder until you were sure you were about to make your lip bleed before looking up at him. You wanted to say it back, but you were still hurt and a bit stubborn and your emotions were a mess right now. “Do you need me to watch Joey later?” 

His face falls a bit and he steps away from the counter. “Yeah, if you’re able to. If not I can call my-”

“No, I can,” you say quickly and give him a tight smile. “I’ll see you later then.”

Clay swallows hard and nods, giving you a so clearly forced smile and making your heart ache even more. “See you later,” he rasped and turned around, leaving the shop without another glance at you.

As soon as he was gone, you blew out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and turned your back to the rest of the shop as you pulled out your phone. It was nearly dead as you didn’t bother plugging it in last night, and you were seriously regretting that now as you finally allowed yourself to read Clay’s messages. 

8:09 AM

Clay Beresford: I’m so sorry you found that, I swear I didn’t know I still had pictures of her and I around.

8:43 AM

Clay Beresford: Sam is not in our lives anymore, I promise. I care about you so much, and so does Joey. Please call me back.

1:19 PM

Clay Beresford: I understand that you need time, and I’ll give you as much as you need. Just know that she means nothing to me anymore, and she hasn’t for a long time now. 

9:21 PM

Clay Beresford: Joey missed you today, we both did. I know you have your first shift as Jess’ tomorrow, but are you still able to pick him up from school after? I’m sorry again, Y/n. I never wanted to hurt you. 

He’d been trying to apologize and explain ever since you left. 

You felt your eyes sting again, and you brought your phone up to your ear after clicking on the voicemail. “Everything okay?” Miles asks as he hands a freshly made drink to a girl. His voice sounded a bit humorous, and you furrowed your brows at it but couldn’t call him out on it before Clay’s frantic voice met your ear.

Your lip was hurting now as you had gone back to biting it while you listened to his voicemail, and by the time it was over, you were sure you could taste a hint of metal on your tongue. “Fuck,” you whispered as you typed out a text to him with shaky fingers. 

Miles coughed loudly next to you, and you lifted your gaze and glared at him. “I take it you and that rich guy are close?” He laughed and leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. “Or maybe you were but not anymore. He looked like a kicked puppy walking out of here, poor guy. But he’s not poor, right? He looks like he probably owns his own business or something.”

“Shut up,” you say before you could think it through. Your eyes widened and you opened your mouth to quickly apologize, but Miles just scoffs. 

“Oh, come on. A guy like that has no business coming into a place like this. I bet he could buy this whole street if he wanted to, then he’d own us,” Miles continued and you forget your task of texting Clay back in order to defend him from your coworkers petty assumptions. 

“And what if he could? What if he did? What would you do about it, Miles?” You ask with annoyance lacing your tone. You weren’t sure why he felt the need to assume all this stuff about Clay when he had no idea what he was actually like. 

“I’d quit,” Miles answered with a shrug. “I don’t need some rich prick holding anything above my head.”

You drop your phone onto the counter loudly and move towards him. “Shut the hell up,” 

Miles laughs again and it only irritates you further. “Make me,” he muttered. “Christ, Y/n, you don’t believe guys like that actually care about people like us, do you?”

“People like us?” 

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Poor people. We don’t need the rich pitying us when they have it all at their-”

“Shut up,” you nearly yell and then realize you were literally in the middle of your first shift and getting into a heated argument with your new coworker you only shared one brief conversation with before this. The patrons looked over at you with wide eyes and quiet laughs, and you felt embarrassed for the second time this week. 

You couldn’t say anything else, and neither could Miles, as Jess came in from the back room and glared at the two of you. “What is going on?” 

Miles just raised his hands and turned back to another customer. “You hired a spaz, Jess,” 

You opened your mouth to give him a witty remark, but Jess reached out and grabbed your wrist. “Hey,” she said and pulled you with her into the storage room. “What’s going on? You were doing great when I left you, and now I find you yelling at my best worker?”

You let out a surprised laugh, “He’s your best?” Jess raises a brow at you and you sigh before looking down at the floor. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, slightly frustrated as she crossed her arms. “Just tell me what happened. Why were you and Miles arguing?” 

You huff and meet her gaze. “You know that boyfriend I told you about at that bar? Well, him and I got into a fight or…something, and he came into the shop today and apologized and I stupidly pushed him away and I guess Miles decided he should assume all these things about him and I couldn’t just stand there and take it,” you explained as plainly as you could, not wanting your boss to completely know what’s been going on in your personal life. “I know it’s a dumb reason, but I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry, Jess, I promise I’m not like that all the time. I just got mad.”

Jess pursed her lips and nodded, her hard gaze dropping a bit. “So I missed seeing just how cute your boyfriend supposedly is?” She teased, lightening the mood and making you huff out a quiet laugh. 

“He’s very cute,” you repeated your words from a couple nights ago, and you were reminded of the way Clay came out and picked you up before taking you back to his house and taking care of you. “Things are messy right now, and I’m sorry I allowed it to be brought into my work life. What happened with Miles won’t happen again.” 

You shifted the conversation back to a more serious one, and you could tell Jess appreciated it by the way she smiled and nodded at you. “You better not,” she said sternly. “Because I like you, Y/n, and I want you to have a real chance here. Okay?”

Nodding quickly, straighten yourself out. “Okay,”

“Good, now get back out there,”

A few hours later, you successfully made it through your first shift and were currently listening to Joey ramble on about what he did at school in the backseat of Rick’s car. 

You were nearly back to Clay’s place when Joey shifted and tugged at his backpack from its place on the floor. You reach over and help him, and once he grabs a piece of paper from it, you let it gently drop back down as Joey leans against the seat again. “I made this today,” he said and held the paper out to you. 

Taking it from him, you’re once again almost in tears as you look at the drawing. Joey was getting better at drawing and coloring with each passing day, and his attention to detail at his young age was extremely impressive. This drawing was of you, Clay and Joey, with you being in the middle this time and the Beresford boys on either side of you. “Wow,” you say quietly, meeting Rick’s gaze in the rear view mirror. “You’re quite the little artist, huh, babe?”

Rick gave you a knowing look as Joey said, “Daddy and I like it when you’re at our house. You make things better,”

And then you were on the verge of tears for the second time today.

-

@evilnight07 @espinathena-17

#hayden christensen #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen edit #hayden christensen gif #anakin skywalker #hayden christensen icons #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x reader #clayton beresford imagines #clay beresford imagines #clay beresford x reader #clayton beresford x reader #clayton beresford #awake 2007 #awake #clay beresford #in the way i need you #in the way i need you series

[regretmedaisy]

i can see you - tom riddle x fmc/reader

part II

loosely inspired by "i can see you" by taylor swift.

“I've been watchin' you for ages

And I spend my time tryin' not to feel it”

summary: She had always fancied Tom Riddle. It was an infatuation that bordered on love and obsession, that she had secretly grown and cared for, content with indulging in her fantasies and never bold enough to try and make them become reality.

When she meets him again in her adulthood, dormant longings resurface together with a newfound desire to be the object of his own devotion.

As their paths keep crossing, she starts to think he feels the same.

tags: afab mc, use of female pronouns and no descriptors (i tagged it as x reader because i guess it could be read as such if you use the same pronouns), somewhat period-accurate clothing, courtship (just a little because it's still tom riddle), fmc has a crush on tom, she's a bit anxious, a bit of fluff, explicit sexual desire, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, woman is on top.

please note that mc has a crush on tom, therefore the way she refers to him could sound a bit cheesy and exaggerated. i edited this last night and didn't read it again before posting. i'm sorry for any typos or grammar mistakes i missed.

bear with her in this one, she's a little anxious.

words: 6.7K

you can find part I here, I strongly recommend you read that one first.

this is me crawling out of my hole of shame to post this chapter.

i'm really sorry for this very late update, but the smut chapter is finally here after many days of writing (but still in time for smutober lol).

it's not crazy smut, but i hope it was worth the wait.

Part II: And I could see you up against the wall with me

She tapped her foot, pursing her red lips as she jotted a few numbers down on a parchment. She sighed, taking another folder from the pile on her side and checking if the reports corresponded. 

When Serena, her boss, had showed up that morning with two delivery men in tow, she already knew her day was going to take a detestable turn.

Serena had dropped three boxes full of last year's reports in the office and sprinted out of the door before they could say anything and try to stop her.

Apparently she had hired a cheap accountant to save money and now she had to review everything before the Ministry noticed and demanded an audit. Or rather, Serena had asked her to do it.

She was now holed up in the backroom while Will had taken her place in the main office, since Serena didn’t pay her enough to care about customers and save her from bankruptcy at the same time.

She glanced at the clock, noting that it was almost time for her usual break. She chewed the inside of her cheek and returned to the reports.

She wasn’t in the right mindset to meet Tom.

The day she had gone to see him had been like the calm before the literal storm. In the past week it had rained so heavily that she had had to give up on going out and he hadn’t come to post his letters. What had happened between them had been left unresolved.

She had replayed it so many times in her mind, at night and during idle moments in the office, picturing different ways in which it could have ended, desperately wishing she could indulge in his warm lips again.

The first few days she had fretted about it, but as the week had gone by without a word from him, she had just started to accept it as the normal course of things. Perhaps it had just been an extraordinary event, a moment that wasn’t going to repeat itself and that she needed to find contentment in. Perhaps it was supposed to be one of those memories she was going to return to in twenty years, thinking about everything she could have had, or it will sour in her mind, turning into regret while her lamenting soul grieved the possibilities of youth, the chances she had been too scared to take.

It didn’t matter that she was conscious of the anxious butterflies leading her decisions, she still didn’t want to find out if what she saw in him was just a product of her infatuated imagination.

She immersed herself in numbers, refusing to go down that rabbit hole again.

Fifteen minutes after the end of her break, a customer walked in. A beat of silence followed and then Will said, “She’s in the back.”

She almost jumped out of her seat, her heart rate picking up. She quickly smoothed her hair and sat straighter, crossing her legs.

Tom appeared in the doorway, his arm half raised as if he had wanted to knock. She pretended she had just noticed him.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Hello, Tom.” She gave him a mellow smile.

He was so good-looking, with his perfectly styled curls and black coat in the muted light of the cloudy morning. Her heart fluttered painfully.

He looked hesitant as he made his way to her and handed her a folded magazine. It was the weekly crossword.

“Thank you,” she said, taking it as her gaze met his. The way he was looking at her was so compelling it was impossible for her to divert her eyes.

He had been thinking of her, she realised, he had noticed her absence, perhaps even missed her.

“I hope I’m not disrupting your work.” His gaze trailed to the numerous papers scattered on the table.

“Not at all, a distraction is more than welcome.” The distraction of his presence was most desirable.

He drew closer, reading through them as he casually rested his hand on the back of her chair.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Maths mostly,” she replied, fiddling with the parchments to hide her nervousness.

He reached out over her shoulder to grab a folder but she placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

“I’d rather you didn’t. It’s still work.”

He dropped his arm. “You’re right, I apologise. I don’t wish to put you in an uncomfortable position.”

“It’s fine.”

He stepped to the side, tickling her neck.

“I’ll see you later?” he asked.

She had to stop herself from grinning.

“Of course.” 

She watched him with desirous parted lips as he left. He said goodbye to Will and she heard the door closing. It was only a matter of minutes before Will came to pry.

She grabbed the crossword, flipping through the pages. He had bought her her favourite one.

As she got up to put it next to her bag, a small note fell to the ground. It was a plain piece of parchment. But as she picked it up, ready to throw it on the table with the rest of the documents, words started to appear.

Her breath caught in her throat. She knew to whom that elegant and neat handwriting belonged.

She read the note. Then read it again to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. 

“I hope to see you more often in the future.

You look stunning with that lip colour.

T.R.”

She brought her fingers to her mouth, staring at the words until each swirl of ink etched into her mind, terrified they might disappear.

Instead his message remained there, visible, tangible, real. He had taken time to write her a note, to think about something he knew she’d appreciate.

Something warm diffused in her chest, a new version of a familiar feeling, and a giggle escaped her as she realised the ridiculous effect he had on her. 

She was so engrossed in her reverie that she didn’t notice Will standing in the door until he cleared his throat. 

She quickly hid the message in her purse and  he was so considerate not to comment on it.

“How is it going?” he asked.

“Awfully slowly, these numbers are all over the place,” she huffed, returning to her chair.

He dragged a chair and sat across from her. He started bouncing his knee. “I know you’d prefer not to talk about this, but how are things between you two?”

She stopped twirling her quill. “What do you mean?”

Will shuffled awkwardly in his seat. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you but I’d hate to see you hurt.”

She tilted her head to the side, disliking the territory the conversation was heading towards.

He was struggling with his words. “He never- I never saw him interested in a girl. I just want to be sure you know what you can expect from him.”

She averted her eyes. “I have considered all the options.”

“And?”

“And I don’t know, Will!” she bursted out. 

Her flare of annoyance suddenly deflated, making room for embarrassment for what he probably saw as naivety.

“I know I’m probably getting ahead of myself.”

“You are smart, I just can’t stand watching you smile at the things he writes to you.”

She feigned offence and threw a balled up paper at him. 

“When you find someone, you’ll be just as ridiculous.”

He laughed and steepled his fingers in front of him. “I’m curious to know, when did it start?”

She scrunched her eyebrows, thinking about how much she wanted to reveal. “I don’t remember exactly. It was more like a sequence of events, until one day I was anxiously waiting for him to sit at his usual spot at breakfast,” she replied with a smile. Will was smiling too.

“You and half of Hogwarts,” he said.

She chuckled. “I miss those years sometimes. Everything was simpler.”

“I used to worry about everything,” he admitted. “But fears always seem so big.”

They really did.

“What do you like about him?” he asked after a beat of silence.

It was her turn to be at a loss of words. “He’s handsome…and always so mysterious. I think I always liked him because it was easy to imagine him being exactly what I wanted.” She looked at him hesitantly, fearing judgement, but he was just listening. “But I think it’s impossible for me to dislike the real him.”

They shared a small moment of closure. She had always wished for someone she could confide in, someone that could help her see beyond the fabrications of her wary heart, and perhaps she had finally found them.

The bell chimed and Will got up. 

“Do you want to come for lunch on Sunday?” she asked.

“I’d love to. I’m sorry for earlier, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

His gaze shifted between the door and her. “Just make sure you both want the same thing.”

He went back, leaving her at the mercy of her insidious brain and foolish heart.

Throughout the afternoon she had opened the note at least three times, giggling like a schoolgirl everytime she read his words.

Her mind kept straying to what he had said.

“I’ll see you later.”

She wasn’t sure what he had actually meant. Was he just going to stop by or was he going to wait for the office to close? She wasn’t even sure she could see him today, since she expected to stay late to solve Serena’s mess. 

Will popped in. “I have to check something at the owlery. I’ll be back in a while.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later.”

The door opened and closed and then she was submerged by stillness. It was soothing almost.

She had found out long ago that she enjoyed being alone, it freed her of any kind of expectation.

She turned up the heating with her wand and took off her jacket. Since they couldn’t light a fireplace in a room full of paper, they had refined a spell that kept the room warm and the humidity away.

It was a few minutes after the usual closing hour that the door opened again. She knew who it was.

He walked in, his cheeks slightly flushed from the cold and his lips reddened. 

“Are you still working?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’m afraid it’ll take a while before I’m free to go.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said, grabbing her crossword and a quill and sitting down on a chair, bending one leg so that his ankle rested on his other knee.

Her face heated as she watched him but she didn’t say anything.

As she returned to her work, she realised that silence was a strange assistant. It felt like every sound was heightened and she was becoming keenly aware of everything that was happening. The scratching of their quill on parchment, paper being flipped as she checked the numbers or he looked for a crossword he liked, his soft breath threatening to pull her close like a magnet, her absentmindedly chipping her nail polish.

She kept throwing glances in his direction and she could feel his eyes on her from time to time.

An unspoken craving was growing between them again. She had waited long enough.

She slowly got up, gathering her reports and stacking them in a neat pile. She then took them and walked over to the shelves, conveniently passing by Riddle in doing so. 

As she stored them, his chair scraped on the ground and she felt him draw closer. She deliberately turned around, meeting his eyes.

His gaze was deep, like he was trying to read every thought that crossed her mind just by looking at her. She wasn’t going to lay them bare for him. 

He raised his hand, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you get my message?”

“I did,” she replied, stepping forward and trailing her fingers down his suit jacket, feeling the fabric. “You keep mentioning it but this is the first time I’ve seen you all week.”

“It was storming all week,” he pointed out.

She tilted her head, finding his eyes again. His eagerness was palpable. “Still,” she said.

He grabbed her waist, pressing her body flush against his. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

She had thought about that moment since then.

“Tell me what you desire the most.”

What could she tell him? That she had been pining for him for so long she couldn’t imagine herself with anyone else? That she was jealous of even thinking about him with someone else? Will’s words played in her mind.

She leaned closer, murmuring against his ear. “Not until I know why you’re here, Tom.”

She left a kiss on his jaw, phantom lips brushing against his flawless skin.

“It’s a really uncomplicated answer,” he said, caressing her back.

“Explain it to me, then.”

Tender amusement tugged at the corners of his lips. “Do you really think I came here because I don’t own an owl?”

His words pulled at her heartstrings with raw delight and her mind went blank. Adrenaline was rushing through her as she listened to her impulses. It was enough, at least for now it was enough.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled her hand in his hair, involuntarily tugging at the strands as she leaned closer. She could feel his warm breath as he pulled her in, gripping the silky fabric of her blouse.

She met his lips halfway, the burning touch consuming her as he pressed her against the shelves, one hand lost in her hair, the other splayed around her ribcage. 

She bit his lower lip, smiling as it elicited a groan from him and the kiss became more demanding.

It was a moment frozen in time, where she wanted to stay forever, like the scenery in a snowglobe.

“Hello?”

A man’s voice abruptly pulled them apart. She was breathless as she realised she had forgotten to lock the door. Was this a conspiracy? 

Tom was slightly panting and she left a small kiss on his neck.

“Don’t leave,” she whispered.

She used a finger to fix her smudged lipstick and went to see who had just dared to interrupt them.

There was a man standing in the office.

“We’re closed,” she said.

“But I saw the light on.”

There was a twitch in her jaw. “We are closed to the public. I must ask you to come tomorrow morning.”

He rolled his eyes and she ignored his grumbling as he left, locking the door behind him. When she went back, Tom was leaning against the table.

He turned his head towards her as she languidly got closer. She forgot pleasantries, immediately grabbing his face to kiss him again. He was quick to react, wrapping his arms around her.

His mouth trailed down, kissing her cheek, her jaw and then pressing against her neck, soft lips and the occasional scrape of his teeth. 

He grabbed her waist and spun her around, flattening her back against his chest and brushing her hair away from her neck to bite and lick her skin. His hands travelled down and he started gathering the fabric of her skirt. 

Merlin, it was finally happening. 

He caressed her inner thigh, tracing patterns and snapping the nylon of her stockings as his fingers moved excruciatingly slow.

Finally he pulled her underwear to the side, feeling the wetness between her folds with his fingers as his other hand cupped her breast.

She threw her head back against his shoulder as he stroked her clit, eliciting a sigh out of her, and she grabbed his thigh for support.

“I won’t drop you,” he murmured, amused, against her ear. He rubbed his palm over her clothed breast, the friction causing sparks to jolt through her body.

None of her fantasies came even close to what she was feeling right now.

“Should I trust you?” she asked, biting her lip to suppress a moan as he sunk one finger inside of her, his thumb still applying pressure on her clit.

“Such a great timing to ask me that,” he replied. She felt him smile on her skin.

“We don’t really know each other, Tom.” She dug her fingers into his flesh as he slipped in a second finger and started fingering her, stretching her as pleasure morphed her features. 

“And yet you are letting me do this.” He squeezed her breast, lewd wet sounds filling the room as he kept moving his fingers inside of her. 

She leaned her body weight completely on him, her legs unsteady as it was precarious the beating of her heart. 

He let out a low moan as she yanked his hair to catch his mouth, biting his lip hard to gain better access, their tongues tangling together.

He curled his fingers inside of her, an unrelenting wave of pleasure washing over her.

She stopped to imagine what it would be like if he dropped to his knees again, if he started kissing and licking her, if she could watch him at her mercy between her legs.

She realised in that moment that the fall down the precipice was inevitable. Tom had threatened to push her but she had allowed him to succeed, jumping into an abyss that felt unending but that could only allow two conclusions to her story.

What she had told Will was true. She loved the fantasy, all the glances, conversations, gestures that had never happened, that she had delighted herself with when the reality was harsher, but as she kissed him she knew that falling for the real Tom was unavoidable. Not if he kept touching her like that.

It was bound to happen, it was part of her story, the decision she was brave enough to take.

She focused on him, on the circles his thumb was drawing on her clit, on the indecent sounds falling from her lips, on his groans on her reddened skin, on him growing harder against her back. 

He pulled her hair back, tilting her head to meet her gaze. His eyes glimmered with rapture while hers were heavy-lidded, tension building inside of her. 

He didn’t take his eyes off of her, as if he wanted to memorise each detail of her, the way she looked at him, the way her lips parted slightly and the way she panted as she was nearing her orgasm.

“Just like that, darling,” he murmured, a pleased smile on his lips as he noticed she was still blushing.

She threw her head back, losing herself in the motion of his fingers, surrendering herself as blissed moans spilled out shamelessly. She squeezed his soaked fingers, and he kept moving, stroking her throughout her climax.

She panted, coming down from her apex in a flurry of emotions and flustered thoughts. He raised his wet fingers to her lips and she opened her mouth, tasting herself on her tongue as she sucked on them, never breaking eye contact.

“Good girl,” he said, holding her jaw and kissing her.

It was a slow kiss, meant to explore her depths in a different way from the breathless and unrestrained passion from before. She leaned into his palm, her hand closing around his wrist.

His arms snaked around her waist and he turned them around, pushing under her thighs to lift her on the table.

The kiss transformed again.

Teeth and tongues met with vehemence, burning urgency guiding their movements as he brought her legs around his waist and she quickly started to unbutton her blouse.

But at the third button, she stopped. 

Tom noticed the shift in her demeanour and drew back, observing her. Her eyes flew to the clock, as she had just remembered about Will.

She noticed with disappointment that they had no time.

“What is it?” he asked. She didn’t miss the urgent tone of his question.

“Will will be back any time now,” she replied, leaving a peck on his lips. 

He cleared his throat and stepped back, composing himself. She got off the table and

cool hands unexpectedly reached her again, adjusting her clothes and stockings. She shivered at the contact.

He smoothed her skirt and put his coat back on, watching her as she scribbled something on a piece of paper and gave it to him.

“If you want to stop by one of these days.”

“I remember where you live,” he replied, reading the address she had written down.

She shrugged, holding out one finger to wipe away the lipstick at the corner of his mouth.

“Do you have to go back to work?”

“I was supposed to meet with a potential supplier, so yes.”

“I’d stop by the bathroom before,” she advised, gesturing for him to go as she herself needed to compose herself again.

She braced herself against the threshold, leaning her head on the hard wood as she watched him unlock the door and leave. 

Then she was alone, finally finding an answer in the cluster of hypotheses that had tormented her mind.

Two days later, as she was returning from her meeting with Serena, she found Tom waiting for her.

He was talking to Will and they both turned to her as she entered, feeling tremendously self-conscious.

“How is Serena?” Will asked.

“Dim-witted as always,” she replied, earning a laugh from Will.

Her eyes trailed to Riddle, holding an unspoken question. 

Will seemed to notice because he stepped forwards.

“It’s quite late, you can go if you want, I’ll close.”

Tom didn’t wait for him to repeat himself, pushing down the handle and holding the door open for her.

She mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him and followed Tom outside. Once in the street, she huddled herself in her coat and took the arm he was offering her. 

“May I walk you home?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, a little breathy, still not immune to the chivalrous manners he always had with her.

They strolled through the streets, passing by scarcer and scarcer people as the stores emptied and everyone returned home seeking a tranquil evening.

She held his arm tightly, her fingers tracing delicate patterns on the fabric of his coat.

The first time they had walked together it had felt like an accident, a singular mistake in the already waved threads of her life. This time, she yearned for so much more than she wanted for the error to repeat itself; she was willing to cut the strings herself and tie them back together, as messy as it might have looked. 

They crossed the road and he gently put a hand on her waist, pushing her away from the pavement. 

“Would you fancy dinner?” he asked. There was a foreign quality in his voice and when she turned to look at him, he averted his eyes. She blinked bewildered. Was he nervous?

“I’d love to,” she replied and she noticed his chest rising like he had just begun breathing again. “But not tonight.”

An almost imperceptible smile cleared his expression at her answer and she leaned her head on his shoulder, basking in his mere presence.

When they reached her front door, she looked for her keys with embarrassingly clammy hands. 

As she lifted her head to ask Tom if he wanted to stay, she found his eyes impatiently boring into her bag. 

“Would you-”

His gaze snapped to her, serious and scorching. “Don’t even ask.”

Something coiled between her legs at the way he was looking at her. She nodded and walked up the few stairs to her door, unlocking it.

“Second floor,” she said, more to fill the silence than anything else.

They stepped into the building, the sound of her heels and the soles of his shoes hitting the stone ricocheting through the empty hall.

She turned to gesture to him to follow her when he grabbed her face, kissing her as he pushed her against the wall by the foot of the stairs. Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging at it just as she suspected he loved by the way he always pressed himself harder against her. 

He curved his palm around her cheek, better angling her face as their tongues met.

“I have a nosy neighbour,” she said after they pulled apart to catch their breath. “She is probably spying on us through her peephole.”

Tom didn’t think twice about it, taking her hand and leading her up to the second floor. She stifled a laugh as she unlocked the door, Tom’s lips skimming against her neck as she did, and was left breathless when he closed it unceremoniously behind them, resuming from where they had been interrupted.

As she dropped her bag and grabbed his waist, walking backwards into her living room, she remembered there were clothes somewhere - perhaps in the bathroom but she wasn’t sure - that she had forgotten to put away yesterday.

In any case, Tom didn’t look particularly interested in how tidy she was.

They quickly took off each other's coats and discarded them on the floor.

He sat on her sofa, pulling her down with him.

She was straddling him, her knees digging into the plush cushions as his hands appreciatively caressed her back, moving up and down and occasionally squeezing. She lit the fireplace with a wave of her hand.

She rocked her hips, rubbing against him and eliciting a long awaited moan from him. She grabbed the collar of his shirt, their lips collading so hard she was sure she cut him.

She helped him out of his jacket and vest and undid his tie, smoothing her hands on his white button-down.

“I’ve waited too long,” she said, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and grinding against him. Her hands disappeared under his undershirt and ran over his pale chest, lightly scratching his skin.

“Slowly, my dear. We will get there,” he replied between kisses.

His palms kept tracing her thighs and his face buried in her neck, nibbling at the thin skin.

When she was a small girl, before she discovered sex, Tom Riddle was just a boy she liked. During puberty, sharing stories and questions with her friends, she started to understand what was the sensation that passed through her everytime she was close to him, the one that made her cheeks redden and her mind go somewhere she wasn’t yet comfortable with.

As an adult, sexual relations weren’t unfamiliar to her, but this carnal longing, the need of a physicality that went beyond her skin touching his, was.

He opened her blouse, revealing her silk slip and bra underneath.

She wanted to touch his soul, to hold it and comprehend it.

Her eyes fell on the tattoo on his forearm, black tendrils of ink in the shape of a serpent slithering out of a skull.

“Does this have a meaning?” she asked.

He followed her gaze, blinking surprised at her question. “It does.”

“Am I prying too much if I say I’m curious to learn it?”

He bit his lip, opening and closing his fist as if he was scrambling for words. Or perhaps he was just determining if he could trust her.

“It’s a reinterpretation of the ouroboros, the snake eating its own tail,” he finally said. “It symbolises eternity and the renewal of the being after rebirth.”

She traced her fingers on his skin, following the outline of the snake. “And what does your interpretation mean?”

“There is time to talk about it later,” he whispered, his teeth biting her neck and sinking lower, kissing her collarbone and her sternum, moving the fabric covering her breasts to the side.

She let go of the subject. She knew what it meant not being comfortable sharing your life.

He held one breast between his fingers, latching his mouth over the other, sucking her nipple and twirling his tongue around it.

She moaned, rolling her hips faster as he revered her bosom, the cold air hitting her moist skin and making her shiver as he took her other nipple in his mouth, lightly tugging at it until she reached the point where pleasure and discomfort mixed.

“Since we are in the mood for confessions…” she said between moans. He raised his head and looked at her waiting for her to continue. She hesitated, collecting all her courage.

“Why did you pursue me?”

His eyes softened, glimmering with fondness. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

“Because there is something extremely valuable in your devotion.” His voice was an intimate murmur, a confession no one else could hear.

She freezed, turning her head to the side to hide her mortification.

He took her chin, searching for her eyes until she finally gave in.

“Don’t be embarrassed, darling, I respect it, I understand it. Obsession keeps us alive, it’s what drives us.”

She swallowed the lump of embarrassment in her throat. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Being the object of the desire of such a woman? Of a witch? I do,” he replied, and he was so direct and earnest that her heart swelled.

He lifted her to sit on the sofa, sliding down on his knees on the floor and taking off his shirt and vest. She remained silent as he rolled down her tights, his lips gliding down her smooth skin. He unbuttoned her skirt and helped her out of it, tracing patterns on her inner thigh as his other hand felt her damp underwear.

She tensed, something tightening in her lower abdomen and her eyes fell down to his trousers.

He kissed the crease of the thigh, like he had done that one time at Borgin and Burkes, but this time she wasn’t letting anyone interrupt them. 

He took off her underwear, his movements deliberately slow, and kissed her everywhere, except there.

His lips felt hot on her skin, searing her flesh like she had often dreamed about, carving his way into her body the same way he had done with her mind and heart, until her entire soul was consumed by him, until he could finally close that fist and feel her in a way nobody had before. 

Her breath hitched as he delicately kissed her mound, spreading her legs apart. She leaned her head against the backrest, licking her lips with anticipation, and she couldn’t contain a whimper as he felt his tongue dragging down her slit, sweet and cruel.

He took her clit in his mouth, sucking on it as his hand splayed on her abdomen to keep her still.

She squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed.

“Look at me, darling,” he murmured against her folds. His breath was warm and pleasant.

She obliged, meeting his devilish grinning figure between her legs. She was incapable of looking away as he resumed his work, she didn’t want to look away. She wanted to watch him, finally allowing herself to fully indulge in him, in what he wished to do for her.

She observed his curved eyelashes, the way his perceptive eyes followed her reactions, refining his movements to please her better.

He sucked her labia and she moaned loudly, the idea of him enjoying this as much as her being exhilarating.

He threw her leg on his shoulder, resulting in her figure sliding down the cushions and him gaining better access to her. 

His tongue probed her entrance as he coated his fingers in her wetness. He slipped one finger in, working her thoroughly as she gripped his hair, keeping his head in place.

He inserted a second finger, his tongue on her clit moving accordingly to the delighted sounds she emitted.

“Tom,” she cried urgently as she tried to press herself harder against him.

He curled his fingers inside of her and her hips jolted upwards, arching her back to an uncomfortable angle as she reached her orgasm with lascivious bliss, her obscene moans matching the wet sounds he produced by licking her until she came down from her climax.

“Tom,” she said again, so breathless her voice was a raspy whisper.

“I know,” he said, kissing her leg and inhaling deeply, like he was trying to commit the moment to memory.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean as she let her watch.

She gently pushed him onto the carpet, bracing her hands on his shoulder as she sat on top of him. The fire was burning, enveloping their almost naked figures in warm orange light, heating their already scalding skin.

She took off her blouse with quivery hands, his gaze tracing her naked form that was slowly revealing itself. She hooked her fingers into the straps of her slip, pulling it down and then getting rid of it altogether. His hands on her waist tensed as she did the same for her bra.

Her lips parted as he touched her breast with both hands, kneading the soft flesh, tracing her areolae. 

She undid his trousers, pulling down the fabric until they were both completely naked. She took him in her hand, her fingers closing tentatively around him. Her hand started sliding up and down, her pace getting quicker and more confident as moans escaped him. She brushed her thumb on his tip, her eyes admiring what was in front of her. His lips were swollen, residue of her lipstick still on them, his hair was tousled, curls falling disorderly on his forehead, his eyes heavy-lidded as he looked at her. She felt a rush of satisfaction in knowing his current state was her doing, that she had enough power over him to ruin his flawless exterior, to make him want her to do it. 

His lips caught hers and he gently pushed her hand away. 

What happened after felt like rehearsed choreography, something so familiar it was impossible to forget. Their bodies moved together, their movements responsive to each other, doing and touching exactly where it mattered.

She pushed herself up on her knees, slowly lowering herself until she sank down on him completely, shuddering breaths escaping her lips.

His jaw was tense as she placed a hand on his shoulder for support, positioning herself better.

She didn’t break eye contact as she rolled her hips, soaking in the hazy blue of his eyes, in every twitch of his jaw and emotion he was feeling as she increased her pace, in his voice murmuring her name against her ear as his hands squeezed her tights and traced her back.

Skin slapped against skin, his touch inebriating as he felt every part of her, caressing her, massaging her, kissing her until she couldn’t take it anymore. Almost.

His hand dipped between her legs again, stroking her clit as she rocked her hips, eliciting groans from both of them.

Sentiment and pleasure fused together in an exhilarating moment, seared in her mind and flesh forever.

She kissed him again - she could never get tired of that - and bit his lower lip roughly as his other hand went to her breast again, pulling at her nipple. 

She threw her head back, letting his mouth scrape over her neck and chest, leaving behind scorching wet kisses. Or perhaps those were marks reddening her skin, she didn’t particularly care.

He gripped her waist, thrusting upwards as she held onto him tighter. Her nails drew half-moons into his back and she bit his neck, the fibres of the carpet scratching her knees.

The lights in the flat fluttered momentarily.

His fingers increased the pressure on her clit as his thrusts grew in intensity with one purpose in mind. 

She bit her lip, trying to hold back, to prolong this instant of pure bliss before she inevitably plummeted onto the other side.

She arched her back, moving accordingly to his rhythm, her hips bucking erratic as she rubbed against his pelvis. 

And then she fell down, unrestrained, her walls closing around him as she moaned uncontrollably. He didn’t stop, drawing circles on her sensitive skin until her breath found a semblance of steadiness again. 

“You did so good,” he whispered against her forehead, brushing a strand of sweaty hair away.

She slumped against him, her hands grabbing onto his biceps as he chased his own pleasure, his movements turning frantic, losing his rhythm.

She found herself murmuring against his skin the same things she had never had the courage to say out loud, not even to herself. She wasn’t sure he was even listening to her, engrossed as he was, but it didn’t matter.

He squeezed her tights once and she understood, rolling to the side as he deftly touched himself, fast strokes that culminated in white spurts all over his hand. She watched him mesmerised

He turned to look at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The fire casted shadows on his gorgeous face. 

They stayed like that for a long moment, gazing into each other, trying to guess what the other was thinking, making sense of what remained of themselves after what had just happened.

Did it have the same momentous effect on both of them? Or was it just her that knew she couldn’t go back to being acquaintances after this?

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” she asked. Her voice sounded faint and husky to her own ears.

“I do,” he replied without a second of hesitation.

They didn’t get up, instead resting against the foot of her sofa. She curled up against him as his hand traced indistinct patterns on her skin, remaining in this haze of indiscernible unspoken feelings they were both still trying to find a name for. 

When she woke up the next morning he was gone. As she took in the cold sheets and missing clothes, her heart threatened to crack.

She got up groggily, conclusions already forming in her mind, building the most pessimistic of pictures.

She felt anxious as she wore her robe and opened the door, heading straight for the bathroom. Halfway down the corridor, the sound of someone flipping through a newspaper halted her in her steps.

She stepped into the kitchen, finding Tom sitting in a chair with his legs crossed.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” she said back, adjusting the belt of her robe. 

She noticed he had made breakfast, a steaming coffee pot, kept warm by magic, and some pastries she had never bought waiting for her on the table. 

She turned to take a mug from a cabinet so that she could hide her smitten smile. When she closed the cabinet, she found him looking at her.

There was no need for words.

“Where did you get that?” she asked as she poured herself some coffee, referring to the newspaper. 

“I stole it from your neighbour, I hope she won’t mind.”

She laughed. “So you know how to make a joke.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She sat next to him, crossing her legs. She perhaps needed to rethink her choice of slippers.

“You were always so serious growing up.”

She put a spoonful of sugar in her coffee. 

“That never seemed to deter you.”

“It doesn’t.”

He took a sip of his own coffee. “Good.”

“Does it deter you, knowing how I feel?”

He blinked. “It never had. It makes it more interesting if I have to be honest.”

She blushed, scared to ask the next question.

“How long have you known?”

He got up, brushing his knuckles on her cheek.

“Long enough to see you for who you truly are.” 

He bent to give her a chaste kiss. “I should go, the shop opens in half an hour.”

He put on his coat and grabbed his leather gloves from his pocket. She turned in her chair, treasuring the last few moments of him in her apartment.

“There’s still a lot you haven’t learned yet.” 

She refused to be an open book to him. There was so much about her that was still incomprehensible even to her and too much she wanted to show him on her own terms. She wanted to be enigmatic, to drive him mad.

“I know.”

Her disappointment was visible on her face as she was met with his silence. She had wanted to continue that conversation, to learn what he had observed.

Instead he opened her front door, throwing her one last glance, heavy with unsaid intention she hoped she wasn’t imagining, before leaving. 

She had almost finished her breakfast when she noticed a small note under the newspaper he had left behind. She grabbed it faster than she was willing to admit, almost knocking over her cup in the process, and unfolded it.

“Dinner tonight?

I’ll pick you up at eight.

T.R.”

the last part is a bonus scene i wanted to write to apologize for my tardiness. tom is a little different, but I hope he isn't too out of character.

i honestly had so much fun writing this short story and exploring a different tom from the one i usually read and write about. i hope you enjoyed this and thank you for reading!

#tom riddle x fmc #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle smut #tom marvolo riddle #harry potter #hp fanfic #tom riddle x oc

[its-time-to-write]

Jamie tartt friends with benefits would be very fun! I love how you write Jamie it’s so so incredibly lovely

I wrote this bc I’m mad about old men trying to tell me how to do my job.

soft hands hit the jagged ground

It starts off as a joke, really. 

You’re both at the same party and arguing about who’s the better kisser, when suddenly your lips are on Jamie’s and neither of you are quite sure who made the first move. 

You don’t talk much, just enough to say that this competition extends to other physical activities and to order a car, so a few hours later you collapse exhausted on the bed in your flat. 

“Fuck,” Jamie gasps. 

“Fuck,” you agree. 

“We’ve got to do this again sometime,” he says, hand on his stomach as he stares up at the ceiling. 

“Give me ten minutes,” you reply. “Can’t let my twenties go to waste now, can I?”

So yeah, it’s like a thing. 

It’s not a romantic thing, that’s for sure.

It’s a “we just won a match” thing, or a “I had a shit day at work” thing, or “I need to blow off steam and can’t be bothered to pick up a stranger at the club” thing. 

No, romance does not factor in. This is strictly a friendship-type deal. 

It’s great, because neither of you actually has time for a relationship, and hookups are so hit or miss. And besides, you’ve never been extremely thrilled at the idea of some random person knowing where you live. And Jamie’s a little worried that someone will try to steal his jerseys. 

(Not worried enough, apparently, because you manage to make off with one from his Man City days.)

You both swore that neither of you would catch feelings and maybe that would have been true except for the evening Jamie called you and said, “Can I come over?” in a voice you’ve never heard before. 

You’ve barely hung up the phone when he’s knocking at your door, dressed in a suit and actual dress shoes, not trainers, hands leaving your body only for a moment to shut the door and turn the lock. 

He kisses you like he’s got all the time in the world, all slow and hungry.

He touches you almost like you’re someone else, and you’d think it’s strange except you can’t think of anything other than the fact that his body is pressed against yours and he’s holding you like it means something. 

You don’t say anything until you’re walking back to your room wrapped in a towel, water bottles in hand. 

“What was that about?” you ask, handing him his water. 

Jamie barely lifts his head. He decides not to play dumb, to be a little bit truthful. He’s not sure why, maybe because he’s still coming down and his brain doesn’t work proper. 

“Me and the lads were at a funeral today. For Ms. Welton’s dad. Made me feel all fuckin’… strange and shit. Dunno.” He takes a sip of his water and you settle in the bed next to him. 

You nod and say, “Makes sense.” It does. Funerals are fucking strange. The last one you went to had you feeling weird for a month so yeah, you get it. 

You’re both silent for a while longer when Jamie blurts out, “I told Keeley I still loved her,” and then you’re silent again, but it’s a different kind of quiet. The kind where you can practically hear the words oh shit hanging in the air. 

A couple things click into place where they probably shouldn’t, and so you take your cues from Jamie and say what’s on your mind as you blurt out, “Is that who you were thinking of?”

Jamie goes completely still, which is also strange because he’s never still. Always tapping or shifting around or something. 

“Right,” you say, far too brightly. It’s fine, after all. “I understand. Yeah, no, makes sense.”

You’re not sure what else to say after that so you kind of just sit there and wait for Jamie to move again. He does, sits up enough to grab his knickers from where he dropped them off the side of your bed, slide them on, and say, “Better get going. It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” you say halfheartedly, suddenly very, very tired. It’s doesn’t escape your notice that Jamie doesn’t meet your eyes the entire time he collects his clothes and heads out the door. 

You manage to get up and fish a new pair of underwear from one drawer and a sleep shirt from another, and it’s not until you’re back in your bed that you realize it’s Jamie’s 51 kit. 

But you’re too tired to get up and change so you just leave it and pass out. 

—

You wake up the next morning with way too many emotions to consider, so you let yourself buy a coffee from the shop instead of making one at home. You get an extra shot of espresso to block out the great big warning bells firing in your head. 

You’re not-so-blissfully unaware of the fact that Jamie’s on the other side of town having a similar morning. One that involves going to Nelson Road early to sneak in some extra cardio so he can work off whatever feelings still linger from last night. 

For a brief moment, he considers going to Dr. Sharon. But no, there’s no need for that because it’s all straightforward, innit? He’s a little fucked from the funeral and telling Keeley he loves her, and all he needs is one more good fuck and then it’s all out of his system. 

Except whenever he thinks about your face of all body parts, his chest gets all squeezy. And worse. 

So maybe it’s not so straightforward. 

He does fucking love Keeley, right? He’d take a bullet for her, and he misses talking to her every day. He scrunches up his face and imagines kissing her, nothing too wild, and it doesn’t make his chest tighten. 

That’s a good thing. 

Right?

—

By the time you get home from work, you’ve decided that it’s fine. It’s weird that he was thinking about someone else, but it doesn’t mean anything. Honestly, you two are just messing around until one of you decides to get into a relationship. So yeah, it’s all good. It’s not like you’d date him anyway. 

You’ve been pushing away thoughts like that for years, you’re not about to let them surface now. 

—

Jamie does not particularly want to talk to Dr. Sharon about this. He wants to talk to Keeley, except last time he tried that she walked him all the way to the therapist’s office and left him there. 

He thinks maybe Ted would be good, except he’s not sure Ted would know how to deal with Jamie’s whole “friends with benefits” situation. 

Beard probably would, except his relationship with Jane is one step away from psychotic, so Jamie thinks that he’ll talk to Sam because Sam is smart and probably won’t judge him. 

It works out, actually, because he’s going over to Sam’s for a sleepover since they have an out-of-town match the next day, and need to be up early. Jamie hates waking up early so Sam promised to make sure he wouldn’t press the snooze button on his alarm. 

So yeah, now he’s in Sam’s car (a fucking Tesla, all eco-friendly and shit) and they’re talking about training and brand deals and Jamie asks if Sam’s got a girl, but Sam just blushes and says I don’t know, not anymore before turning the question on Jamie. 

Jamie sighs and puts his face in his hands. “Let’s wait till we ain’t in your fucking car, yeah? It’s too fucking long to say here.”

Sam obliges and just turns up the radio for next eight minutes it takes to get to his house. 

Jamie hauls his bag into Sam’s flat and down on the guest room floor before taking a deep fucking breath. 

Right. He can do this. 

He makes his way to the kitchen where Sam’s pulling something out of a crock pot and Jamie is a little envious of his ability to cook so well for himself. 

Sam is oblivious to Jamie’s internal monologue as he says, “Alright, this girl. Tell me about her.”’

Jamie takes another breath and then the words just come spilling out. 

“I’ve known her since we were fucking…fifteen or some shit and like, we’ve always been friends. But lately it’s been like, what’s the word, friends with benefits? Where we have sex but aren’t dating. It’s been alright, mostly, except yesterday I told Keeley I loved her and things got all fucked up in me head.”

“How so?” Sam prods encouragingly. 

“It’s like…” Jamie pauses. What is it like? “Thinking about kissing Keeley didn’t make me all tingly or nothing. Dunno, felt- wrong. But I think of her face-” he groans. “Shit, man, me heart started pounding like mad. I’ve seen her naked, and it’s her face that gets me. I mean, what the fuck is that?”

Sam’s face is doing some weird contortionist movement, trying to hide his expression, so Jamie says, “Fucking hell man, spit it out before you break something,” and Sam says, 

“I don’t think you love Keeley.”

That makes Jamie mad. Of course he loves Keeley. He’d do anything for Keeley. 

Sam must see it written in his face because he hurries on. “I don’t mean that you don’t have love for her. I mean that you do not seem to love her romantically. It would seem to me you like this other girl.”

Well shit. That’s exactly what Jamie was afraid of. Leave it to Sam to get to the heart of the problem in five minutes, only this leaves him with another problem:

He’s spent the last nine years pretending like he had only friendly feelings toward you. Innocent, like. 

He can’t let all that pretending go to waste now. 

—

You don’t see each other for a week which is fine, because you had decided way beforehand not to meet up until the next weekend. You were finishing a major project at work and he was wrapping up a killer week at training. Hence, Friday night was the night to blow off all that steam.

You’ve successfully squashed any feelings for Jamie. They’re gone, buried deep down once again and you will not let them come back up.

And yet, you’ve put on a pink set under your shirt and sweat shorts, with a little more makeup than you’d gone to work with. Maybe the whole Keeley thing is lingering in your head a little more than you thought.

Whatever. Doesn’t matter.

You grab your keys and head out the door to Jamie’s house.

—

Jamie’s already texted you to let you know the door’s open, so you slip in and turn the lock behind you. The foyer is lit with a dim glow from upstairs.

“Jamie?” you call softly, “You here?”

There’s no response, so you pad up the stairs, stopping only to drop your keys on top of the table in the hall.

“Jamie?”  you say again, peering into his bedroom. Ah. So that’s where the light’s coming from. 

Jamie jumps from where he’s been bending over a candle. “Shit, you scared me. Didn’t hear you fucking come in.”

You smile tentatively, unsure what to say. Jamie shakes out the match and crosses over to the ensuite to drop it into the sink. He comes back out again and dips you into a kiss.

He says, “Nice shirt,” with his lips still against yours, and it’s only then that you remember you’ve put on his old kit, the one you stole the second time you went home with him.

You grin and kiss him again, waiting to be on your own two feet again so you can slide a hand under his sweatshirt. Neither of you have worn anything particularly amazing because it’s what’s underneath that counts, isn’t it?

Jamie’s thinking something similar because he starts backing you up to the bed as you fumble to slip shirts over heads and pants down on the floor. He traces an appreciative palm over a pink flower appliqué, and then you push the last traces of doubt as he hooks a finger under your waistband.

—

“What’s with all the candles?” you ask, when it’s dark enough to be considered nighttime but the clock says it’s technically morning.

“Setting the mood,” Jamie replies, voice gravely and just a little bit raw.

“Hmm,” you say. “Glad you didn’t burn the house down.”

Jamie’s been pressing kisses up your bare arm and you can feel him grin at that. “Psh. I’m an adult now. I’m fuckin’ responsible.”

“Sure,” you chuckle, then shiver as Jamie’s mouth has found its way to a spot behind your ear. “You ready to go again?”

“No,” Jamie replies between kisses, “What makes you think that?”

“Just a hunch,” you say as you roll on top of him. You trace his lower lip with your thumb, and he takes that opportunity to his it. And to run his knuckles up your sides.

“Fucker,” you hiss. “That tickles.”

He smirks, a real one, with his eyes all heavy-lidded and the barest hint of his teeth gleaming in the candlelight. 

“Yeah?” he whispers. “What about this? Does this tickle?”

He actually fucking dances his fingertips up your sides as you gasp and try to get off of him. He’s not having it, because he rolls you over and continues tickling you as if you hadn’t just been fucking fifteen minutes ago. 

You’re laughing and half-heartedly pushing at him and it’s so ridiculous that you stop trying to get him away and instead press as much of your skin against his as you can. 

He’s whispering in your ear, a combination of crude jokes and compliments, the kind that makes a blush bloom from your chest all the way to the tips of your ears.

God fucking damn it, he’s going to be the death of you, but you can’t make yourself stop smiling.

He’s still murmuring in your ear and he’s saying something about how fucking gorgeous you look, how fucking beautiful you’d look on the side of the pitch with his number on or as his date to some event and how everyone would be jealous because you’re so fucking hot, but you belong with him and he’s the one who gets to see you last thing at night and first thing in the morning.

It’s so utterly ridiculous.

He’s only saying it because he’s so far gone.

It’s so. Utterly. Ridiculous.

“Jamie, we can’t date,” you say between giggles.

He pauses to ask “Why not?” and the remnants of your laughter die in your throat. Oh shit. One good look at his face tells you he’s not joking. 

“Jamie,” you say again, this time more seriously, “Jamie, we really can’t date. That’s not how this works. You’re supposed to date a model or an actress or something, and I’m supposed to date, like, an accountant. Or a lawyer.”

“Why?” Jamie asks, accent thick as it’s ever been. 

“Because,” you reply. “I’m not really the trophy-girlfriend type. And… we’ve been friends pretty much forever. It’d mess everything up when we break up.” He’s still on top of you, propping himself up on his elbows so he can see your face. You want to point out that this is a conversation that probably requires clothing, but you don’t actually want that so you stay silent.

“What if we didn’t break up?” he suggests. 

You bark out a short laugh. “It doesn’t work like that. You can’t just choose not to break up.”

“Can,” he responds.

“Can’t,” you counter. 

“Don’t be Roy Kent,” he says.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you reply. “And anyway, I’m way sexier than him. And less scratchy.”

“You fucking like when I tell you what to do,” he says. 

You make a face. “I like it when it’s sexy. This is not sexy. This is sad and stupid, and we promised we wouldn’t have this conversation.”

“You promised,” Jamie reminds you. “I just didn’t disagree.”

He’s not wrong.

“Fine,” you say, pushing him a little so he’ll get off you. 

You sit up and wrap the sheets around your chest, pulling your knees close. “You told me less than a week ago that you were still in love with Keeley, and now you want me to date you? I love you, but you’re just getting your wires crossed because we’re having sex.”

Jamie shoots up, mouth open and you realize what you just said. 

“Shit, not like that, I mean as a friend, not- not as- I don’t know, I didn’t mean to say that,” you stutter out.

“I love Keeley as a friend,” Jamie says. “Talked to Sam about it, and he says I don’t know how to tell the difference between a friend and fucking romance. He said I’m fucking in love with you, not her, and he’s fucking right.”

You’d say that sounds like the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard, except you’ve known Jamie for nine years and yeah, that sounds like something he’d do.

“Right,” you say slowly, “and you just now started feeling this way?”

He hesitates before deciding fuck it. “Nah. I think- I’ve been pretending like I didn’t since we were like, fuckin’ sixteen, probably. Didn’t want to screw it up though, did I?”

You shake your head before saying, “No, I guess not.”

“And anyway, us being together is that different from what we do now,” he continues. “Dating just means we can like, hold hands.”

You laugh and ask, “Is that the only thing that’s going to change?” but you can feel your resolve softening. Jamie can feel it too.

“Nah,” he says, feeling confident to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I can tell you that I love you. And kiss you just because. And get me mum off my back about never making a move on you.”

You say, “Hmm,” as if you’re considering it, but he knows you’ve already made your decision by the way you reach for him with both hands with a smile beginning to bloom across your face.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

[wren-of-the-woods]

Curse Fic Recs

I absolutely love Witcher fics where a character gets cursed so I thought I'd share some of my favorites! All of them are Geraskier except for a few Lambden ones at the end.

If anyone has other fics to reccommend, please feel free to give them a shoutout – I’d love to read them!

~

Cursed Jaskier

A Friend in the Wild by @samstree (Rated T, 1k)

In which Geralt acquires a tiny mouse friend who wouldn't stop following him.

If There's Any Sleep At Night by @smolalienbee (Rated T, 22k)

A mare, also known as a mara or a zmora - a malicious entity, a bringer of nightmares and a demon of the night. An easy enough contract to fulfill, if only frustrating, or at least that’s what Geralt believes when he first sets out to hunt down one such mare. What he doesn’t expect is to be wrapped up in a tale of a wronged soul, of love and of joy.

My Name is Hidden On Your Tongue by @anarchycox (Rated T, 10k)

Jaskier is cursed. Well his whole family line is. Every male born child cannot be named. They can be given a name, but it will never be a true one and people will always have an allergic reaction to saying this false name. Only a soulmate speaking your true name aloud will break the curse. The family though has never cared, they've only cared about the family fortune and marrying well. But Jaskier cares. He is determined to travel the world, find his soulmate and learn what his name is. And the best way to travel the world seems to be with a rather taciturn witcher named Geralt of Rivia. If he started to hope that Geralt would be the one to say his true name, well that was one thing that Jaskier would not say aloud.

The Cursed Jewels of Lettenhove by GoldenDaydreams (Rated T, 8k)

Geralt has no intention of getting involved with breaking a curse and naturally ends up very involved.

Silver and Copper by @heronfem (Rated M, 56k)

Jaskier is kept from becoming a bard. Geralt finds him anyway.

Priceless by @handwrittenhello (Rated M, 38k)

Jaskier was cursed as a child; when spilled, his blood turns to rubies and his tears turn to diamonds. When his secret is discovered, Geralt must save him from those who would take advantage of it. Together they work to break the curse, but the cost might end up being too steep.

Set My Wings on Fire by bilboakenshield27 (Not Rated, 4k)

Jaskier gets turned into a bird and has to warn Geralt about an ambush.

Sleep of the Dead by @dancedelion (Rated T, 20k)

Jaskier thinks he hit rock bottom when Geralt flushed twenty years of friendship down the drain, but then he finds himself suddenly translucent and rudely walked through by a traveller. Apparently he's dead - that's certainly a new low. He needs to find out what happened, and who better to help him than the man who's made more than clear he wants nothing to do with him.

The Sandpiper by @welcomemysentence (Rated T, 2k)

When Jaskier gets cursed into an actual sandpiper, the little coast bird, the only way to save him is with true love's kiss.

What's Engraved Upon My Heart (In Letters Deeply Worn) by @made-of-constellations-blog (Rated T, 6k)

Jaskier gets cursed to be a lark with a strange failsafe to turn him back. Geralt misses this, and realizes too late that he's not ready to lose his bard.

to be held by @wanderlust-t (Rated T, 1k)

The knife dropped on the ground. And Geralt’s thoughts reached to a halt for a moment. He had no rope. Not anything to keep Jaskier still. To hold him back. Oh. That was going to be a really long night.

Catskier by @al-in-my-head (Rated T, 17k)

Due to an unfortunate encounter with a mage while him and Geralt are apart, Jaskier is transformed into a cat. It just so happens that Geralt likes talking to animals.

~

Cursed Geralt

A Marvelous Night for a Moondance by @flowercrown-bard (Rated T, 1k)

There was a warning every child living near Oakwood Valley knew. "Don't go out at night, or you'll disturb the Moonlit Dancer." No one truly knew who the Moonlit Dancer was, but everyone agreed on two things: The Dancer must be dangerous. And he must be oh so lonely.

animal instinct by leodesic (Rated M, 13k)

Despite Jaskier's hard work, there are still plenty of people who hate witchers. They think they're monstrous, inhuman, only held back from violence by a thin veneer of control. One mage has a plan to spread his views by capturing a witcher and bewitching them to remove their control. When the Butcher of Blaviken walks into his hideout, he's convinced he's found the perfect candidate - and a convenient way to get rid of the pesky bard that's been singing his praises. Jaskier is forced to agree witchers are not human, but that doesn't mean they're dangerous. In fact, he's astounded by how many of Geralt's uncontrolled impulses involve touching.

Connecting dots by @dapandapod (Rated G, 3k)

Geralt is hit with a lying curse, and it takes Jaskier an embarrassing amount of time to figure it out. Now, it Jaskier only would stick to the safe questions....

Don't Go Stealing My Heart by @thesilverqueenlady (Rated T, 17k)

When Jaskier is stiffed by a lord on payment, he decides to help himself to proper compensation. Alongside the correct amount of gold and silver, he also steals a beautiful silver wolf's head medallion. It's safe to say that he is not expecting the medallion to be haunted by the spirit of a very grumpy, very handsome, very cursed Witcher.

Cuddles, Curses, and Confusion by me :D (Rated T, 3k)

Geralt becomes oddly affectionate after being cursed by a mage. Jaskier would just like his life to be less complicated, please.

Spectre's Soul also by me :D (Rated T, 31k)

When Jaskier tried to go on a date with a man named Rience, he did not expect to nearly be killed. He certainly did not expect to discover a beautiful valley while running away from him. He very definitely did not expect to find out that the valley was haunted — by an absurdly beautiful man. Or: In which Geralt is cursed to be a ghost and Jaskier is the first person in decades to talk to him.

~

Cursed Aiden

Headache at First Sight by YorkAndDelta (Rated T, 12k)

A story of how Lambert ends up looking after a cursed cat, helping a Witcher from a rival school retrieve his gear from angry mages, and maybe finds love along the way.

~

Cursed Lambert

the mortifying ordeal of being known as a cat by @skaldingrayne Rated M, 10k

Lambert is cursed to be a cat. Fortunately, he finds Jaskier.

~

You can find my other reclists here!

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt #jaskier #wren recs #wren talks #lambden #the witcher fic rec #reclist #twn #i actually made this list a few months ago and then completely forgot it in my google drive until today lol #but i found it today so here you go! #:D

[zilabee]

Living The Beatles Legend:

After a lifetime of self-doubt over body issues and inveterate shyness, he simply couldn’t control himself. “Big Mal was a demon for sex,” Tony wrote. “[...] Like sacrificial virgins, a lot of the girls willingly accepted that they would have to do it with Mal to get to John, Paul, George, or Ringo, and Mal knew it.”

“A couple of newspaper friends put on a private show involving several prostitutes for our entertainment, one of them being very pregnant.” As Mal recalled, “It was a little unnerving to have these ladies performing before our eyes with each other in one room, with Brian, George Martin and Judy, and the rather more staid members of the press in the adjoining living room.”

“I was being entertained by a young lady late one evening,” Mal wrote, “when George rushes into the darkened room, stoned out of his mind, tearing the bedclothes off, shouting, ‘My turn next—come on, give us a bit!’” Mal gave way to the Beatle, concluding that “apart from that, I was the one that got screwed.”

By this point, [Lily] wasn’t just finding “silly groupie letters” in his suitcase, but also the occasional stray pair of knickers and other telltale signs of infidelity. She recognized that Mal was being seduced—and had been for some time—by overwhelming forces, impulses with which she could hardly begin to compete.

After her brother returned from the States, June recalled that “Malcolm came home knackered, absolutely shattered from that tour.” [...] Her brother and the Beatles were living in a “totally unreal world—an extraordinary, horrendous, wonderful, terrible place that they were all existing in during that period. And they were all damaged by it. They suddenly could have anything they wanted.”

After sharing a convivial dinner with Victoria’s father, who retired early, Mal (31yo) and Victoria (16yo) returned to the hotel and went up to the twenty-seventh floor. [..] “Mal was very sweet,” she recalled, “and we talked and we talked, and we sort of made out.” And while she was unable to meet the Beatles the next morning to do an interview, she exchanged contact information with Mal. And later that year, the letters from her new pen pal began arriving, elegantly adorned with “this beautiful British handwriting.” *

Eventually, Mal would develop a vital relationship of his own with the Scruffs, although he had his detractors—namely, Carol Bedford, a peripheral member of their scrum and a George aficionado who later claimed that Mal tried to put the moves on her. Apparently, Mal had continued to approach women in the Beatles’ universe in the same transactional manner in which he and Neil had “auditioned” willing fans during the band’s touring years. Another Apple Scruff recalled a similar instance when Mal’s attempts to cozy up to the Scruffs went terribly wrong. Apparently, he had crawled under one of the girls’ blankets and “touched something he shouldn’t have.” With that, the offended Scruff came flying out from under the blanket yelling, “Who do you think you are, Paul McCartney?” **

Since leaving the hospital, [Arwen (21yo)] had reared Little Malcolm in her cramped lodgings in West Hampstead. At some point, around the age of six months, he was put up for adoption, leaving her care lock, stock, and barrel, with Mal’s teddy bear as the baby’s only consolation. Mal’s diary would enumerate lunches and telephone calls with the young woman at various points across 1969, but eventually, Arwen chose to move on, putting the whole painful episode behind her. ***

[For his son's birthday] Mal made a cassette recording in which he offered his sincere wishes for the coming year. [...] But any goodwill Mal hoped to deliver was quickly undone that morning as Gary listened to the recording over breakfast with his mother and sister. To his incredible pain and embarrassment, the tape didn’t end with his father’s birthday greeting. Apparently, Mal had recycled the cassette, and as Gary and his sister prepared to go to school, they heard the unmistakable sounds of Fran fellating their dad. The boy’s only solace was the knowledge that his eight-year-old sister didn’t understand the sounds emanating from the tape player.

[..]for the first time, Fran found herself afraid of her boyfriend, whose darkness had never been more acute. It all came to a head one night when Mal, drunk to the gills, began threatening her with his Colt Woodsman pistol, at one point placing the gun against her head before discharging it into the washing machine. When he sobered up, Mal couldn’t have been more apologetic, swearing to mend his ways and be the boyfriend she deserved.

____________________________________

Another quote under the cut, with trigger warning for rape and attempted suicide - and a few notes about some of it.

____________________________________

June 1964 - New Zealand

At the time, the official story involved a twenty-year-old female fan who, having secreted her way into the hotel, chose to slash her wrists in Mal’s room after being unable to talk her way into the Beatles’ suite. Fortunately, police caught sight of the young woman through a window and broke down the locked door with a battering ram. She was subsequently taken to a local hospital and discharged that same day.

[There are then some bits about how Derek tried to ensure it didn't link back to the Beatles in anyway, and the way the press reported it as "Girl Tries To Die For Beatles", and someone else claiming she'd actually had sex with someone and then got 'hysterical' because she realised he wasn't going to get her in to see the Beatles... but eventually it cuts to the quote from Mal's diary below.]

“On arriving back at the hotel at two in the morning,” he wrote, “I was greeted by a crowd of police and detectives as the elevator doors opened at my floor. On verifying that I occupied a particular room number, they very solemnly escorted me there, where to my horror on opening the door, I found the bathroom and bedroom covered in blood. Apparently, what had happened [was] several people had gang-banged her in my bedroom. She was so distraught, she took a razor blade from my razor and slashed her wrists, but was discovered in time and recovered in hospital. Obviously I was a prime suspect, but I had the best alibi in the world—I was drinking tea with her mother.” ****

____________________________________

* Victoria was 16, and Mal was 31. He wrote with her for a few years and met up with her again several times, and there's a quote where she says she "thought she was in love with him", and another where she was surprised to find out he was married. He's a grown man with a family and it's creepy as fuck that he was leading on/grooming a 16 year old girl - although I think according to the book they never had sex.

** I've bolded a lot of the wording which fucks me the fuck off in that passage about apple scruffs, what a fucking weird piece of writing. Apparently apparently apparently - I don't even think he's using it to suggest it might not be true, I think he's just using it to make it sound a bit casual, oh turns out he was just treating them like shit like he used to! Oh he was just 'cozying up' ??????? The last bit also feels like the girl being able to fight her corner and tell him off is being used to suggest it therefore didn't matter - not to suggest that there were probably lots of other girls who didn't want his hands on them but didn't know how to say no. It's also quickly followed by a quote of another apple scruff saying he took care of them like a big brother and they all loved him. Which is fine. But teenage girls feeling as though the creepy guy who is being nice to them in order to take advantage is just being nice to them, doesn't mean much. It's creepy that he was trying to befriend the young vulnerable girls that idolised anyone who worked with Beatles, you've literally just said he was doing it in a 'transactional manner'.

*** The author used a pseudonym for Arwen - a young woman that Mal had an affair and a child with. He wrote in his diary when the child was born, and visited them, "gifting the boy with an oversize teddy bear from Harrods". Personally I think 'chose to move on' covers an awful lot of pain very glibly. Imagine having to give your baby away after six months, imagine what she went through. It is not a small thing that he carelessly got a young woman pregnant and then offered her nothing.

**** I think we all live in Beatles fandom knowing that the people we enjoy did awful terrible things, but sometimes it's good to confront how bad it was, even if we'll never know who was involved in this particular incident. Or how often it happened to other women. Whether Beatles were involved here or not, they were around this, they were inside it. They were influenced by and friends with horrible people. Imagine writing that in your diary like it's a good joke that you were having tea with her mum while she was going through that, and not how awful that would actually feel if you had a heart. The author adds that this incident affected Mal, saying, "His “demon” persona was still alive and well, to be sure, but there would be perceptible shifts in his outlook as the group’s touring days moved forward." I didn't really pick up on these, so I'm not sure how so.

#mal evans #beatles books #the beatles #george harrison

[runningupthatvecna]

the law of seat partners

alrighty so ya gurl had a dream about eddie last night and here i am trying to use that to base the following something off of.

part 2

cw/tw: eddie munson being a slightly touchy precious bean. a slight bit of angst. feeling left out/mentions of feeling unwanted if you squint. otherwise, none that i could think of, just my silly brain fluff. if you find something else, please let me know yaaa. no mentions of y/n.

summary: you're going on a high school field trip with your friends. and thankfully, a long haired metalhead is also there to keep you company and ease the pain of being around obnoxious children.

side note: this is literally the first fic thing i've written in literal YEARS (also in English) and first ever time writing for Eddie, so bare with me here, i've gotten quite rusty i guess so i truly apologise if it's rather bad. don't mind me and please reblog/leave me comments if you did enjoy this pure fluff something!

------

It was the sunniest May morning the town of Hawkins had ever seen. The bluest sky above the forests and fields, downtown, the infamous trailer park and the parking lot of Hawkins High.

You sighed as you placed your car in parking mode before opening the door and sliding out, just so you could grab your belongings - a rather big bag filled with all sorts of items that you were certain you were going to need for surviving the next week - out from the backseat.

A field trip with students with an age range from bloody twelve to the wise years of nineteen, well, twenty to be specific, was on your agenda in the almost last month of your last year of high school, and thankfully you were not gonna be stuck in some forest next to Lake Superior alone by yourself.

Being forced to exist around screaming twelve year olds who were about to enter puberty was your least favourite part of the whole expedition, which made the presence of your group of best friends so much more valuable.

There was one person whose attendance you'd specifically been hoping for. And yes, of course you and your friends had been talking about the trip months ago so it would be clear who would join in the fun, but with Eddie's tendency to be flaky when it came to decisions like this, one could never be fully sure.

I mean yeah, certainly you were looking forward to spending this week by the lakeside with Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan and the younger kids in freshmen year, but nothing could make the thought of being stuck with a group of middle schoolers and teachers more bearable than being stuck there with the one guy who you - to put it frankly - had a thing for.

You couldn't really say that you were as close with him as you were with Steve or Robin, you never really spent time with him outside of the group hangouts. But that didn't mean that there was any weird distance between the two of you when the lucky occasion of hanging out did come around.

Eddie Munson was a metalhead. Through and through. Tough exterior, soft baby cow personality but could turn stone cold when necessary. When people tried to shame him for being different, for example.

You were also very certain that his love language was touch, based on the times he would throw his arm around you when casually walking you to your next class or the way he would playfully wrestle Dustin or Lucas in the cafeteria during lunch break to show he didn't hate them.

"Oh my god, I'm so glad you're here!"

Max had spotted you in line and apparently didn't feel too much guilt for cutting it just so she could hop on the bus together with you.

You mumbled the same thing back to her, wondering if you were the first or last ones of your party to go through Miss Kelley's check-in.

She greeted the both of you with a toothy smile before she turned her focus onto the sheet with students' names. Your eyes wandered over the rows of seat pairs, and since you had arrived at the parking lot, let's say not late but also not early either, most of them were already filled with loudly chatting kids.

"Hopefully the others saved us a seat", you heard Max say from in front of you. Unlike you, she already had a pre-determined seat buddy. "Oh please, it's obvious that Sinclair kept one for you", you quipped back, silently hoping you could potentially be sitting next to Steve or at least Robin.

And even if Eddie was going to join you, he'd probably be sitting with Chrissy. Or Gareth.

"That might be true, but I'm sure you'll be just fine with where you'll end up."

Max stepped further into the bus after she gave you a wink and a slight grin.

Did she know more than you?

Good boy Steve was rather easy for you to spot. With that amount of hair peeking out above the sea of headrests? No wonder. In fact, most of your friends were already seated further in the back of the one-story bus.

A slight hint of disappointment clouded your brain at the sight of Steve and Robin sharing a seat pair, with Nancy and Jonathan right behind them. Your fear of being the one left out and behind was creeping out from the back of your mind, acting up.

People had always been kind enough to endure you, but no one ever really chose you. Or at least made you feel like you belonged.

Lucas indeed had the seat next to him reserved for Max, to where she continued her strut down the aisle to plop down, while Dustin and Will had agreed to share theirs.

Surprising they made it out of bed this early.

You took a few more steps towards the back of the bus. A wide grinned Erica was seated amongst her friends in the center of the very back row, your eyes scanning the seats until they landed on the wild dark mane of a certain metalhead, who was occupying the pair of seats right behind the stairs down to the back door.

He was practically lying in the window seat. Head resting against the glass, staring out to observe the students who hadn't set foot onto the bus yet. Parents who were lecturing their kids one last time before letting them go.

Was he daydreaming? What could possibly be going on in that pretty head of his?

Your heart jumped and your stomach fluttered when he shifted his gaze to the aisle where you were standing. The widest smile spread over his face at the sight of you, and you hated to admit to yourself that it did not leave you unaffected.

The seat next to him was empty.

It took Eddie a few seconds to remember what his initial plan was. As if something in his brain clicked, as if a bolt of lightning had hit him, he straightened himself and got up.

"Uh hi there. I, uh, kept you a seat if, uh, in case you'd like to sit with me."

Eddie the freak Munson. Had thought of and would be willing to sharing seats for a 10 hour bus ride. With you, of all people?

In the light of the sunlight flooded bus, you could see his cheeks adjusting to the colour of your own. Flushed pink.

And you just couldn't help the wide grin that was pulling at the corners of your mouth.

Now both of you were standing in the aisle facing each other.

"I would love to, Munson."

Quickly you took out the essentials for the journey from your bag: headphones and your walkman, your tape collection that you wouldn't leave the house without, a novel, some water and a tote bag with your carefully selected snacks.

Eddie waited patiently for you to get comfortable, standing there in the aisle in his signature leather jacket and denim dio vest, while leaning against the backrest of his own seat, watching your every move.

Once you swung yourself around into your seat, Eddie plopped down next to you with an equally wide grin plastered across his face while pointing his ringed index finger at the snack bag.

"You know, you're gonna have to share those with me."

You turned your head around to face him, eyebrow raised.

His chocolate brown doe eyes were so so softly looking at you. If you didn't know better they'd melt you on the spot.

"Oh really, do I?"

"Yeah, it's the unspoken yet official law of seat partners, sweetheart."

You chuckled at his silliness and the pet name, the nervousness which you had gotten from the thought of him very obviously thinking of you when it came to the decision of who to sit next to, all gone.

He wanted to be physically close to you.

He wanted to spend that time on the bus around you.

He chose you.

After Steve, Robin and all the others from your group had acknowledged your presence as well with genuine smiles, and the last few kids had found their seats, it was time to leave Hawkins.

The bus hit the highway towards Chicago pretty soon after departure.

Eddie let you sit in the window seat, which eventually led to him conveniently using your shoulder as a pillow. And no, you didn't mind the weight. It was Eddie.

Hell, you were having a hard time keeping yourself from wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer.

"Does this also fall under the law of seat partners?", you asked curiously, placing a hand on Eddie's head and slightly scratching his scalp.

The only thing you got in return was a satisfied, sleepy "mhm" and a squeeze and rub of his warm hand over your thigh, but it was enough for your mind to drift off, wondering which other of Eddie's love languages and further details of his ridiculous seat partner law you'd come to discover on this trip.

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tagged: my beloved ellen @josephfakingquinn <3

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