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weelittleweasley · 3 years

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sheer brilliance (f.w.)

prompt: being a teacher’s assistant at a local college, you are assigned to a philosophy professor who is notorious for being young, cocky, and undeniably handsome. does his arrogance get in the way of you getting or job done? or is it his looks?

pairing: professor! fred x teacher’s assistant! reader

warnings: typically frowned upon relationships (oopsie i love forbidden romances that are legal and consentual mwah), language, food, drinking, alcohol

word count: 15k (I am so sorry I really couldn’t help myself)

author’s note: there won’t be a direct part two of this, but you can bet ur sweet booty that i will be writing more prof!fred in this universe because he’s just so HNNNGG

taglist: @rosaliepostsstuff @harrysweasleys @gcdricreads @lumos-barnes @whizboingies @lumosandnoxwriting @pxroxide-prinxcesss @c-t-h @lol-idk-oops @another-lonely-heart @kaseyrose96-blog @hufflepuff5972 @amourtentiaa @parseltongueswriting @shilohpug @peachypotter @spacexcowgirl @PaintballKid711 @vogueweasley @freddie-weaselbee @freds-slut @missmulti @gryffindcrghost @wand3ringr0s3 @valwritesx @sweeterthansammy @loonylovegood13 @lostaurorax

“It’s so nice to see another young face here,” a blonde haired girls sighs next to you as you swipe your ID card to enter the university building for your first official day of work. “I thought I was going to be the only new TA here,” she confides in you as your shoes click down the corridor as you make your way through the halls.

You flash her a comforting smile, “Same here. But I think there’s more of us on the way. Besides, we’re relatively early.”

As a last year graduate student, you needed to be a teaching assistant in order to get your degree and finish your course requirements. It wasn’t an opportunity you were thrilled about, but it would give you hands on teaching experience in a university setting that could be very valuable. That was, if you had the right professor.

“I’m Luna, by the way,” the girl next to you chimes as she fixes the strap of her purse, offering you her hand to shake, gladly accepting it. “I’m a TA for Women and Gender Studies,” she adds proudly.

“I’m (Y/N),” you smile, “TA for Philosophy.” Luna looks impressed as you tell her about your area of study, making you laugh. “I promise it’s not as bad as it sounds. I quite like it, actually. Just hoping the professor I’m assisting is a good one,” you nervously speak, turning the corner to walk to the Dean’s office.

Luna shakes her head, “I hear you. It’s definitely nerve wracking, but Hogwarts University has some of the top rated professors in the country, so I really don’t think we’ll have many problems in that department.”

You suck in a deep breath as you nod. The university was quite prestigious, you were shocked when you were informed you would be assisting here, but honored nonetheless. However, there was still a pool of nerves that swam around in your stomach as you thought about the professor you would be assisting. You could have a someone who was so knowledgeable in your field of study or someone who was a complete ass. It was a dice roll. “One can only hope,” you sigh before arriving in front of the Dean’s door, placing three knocks on the wooden door.

The door swings open to reveal a happy looking man, brown hair combed back and a toothy grin on his face. He wore houndstooth pants with a white button down tucked in and a neatly tied bow tie around his neck, matching the color pattern of his pants. His face glowed with excitement as he beamed, “Ms. Lovegood, Miss (Y/L/N), so glad to finally have you with us!” You and Luna offered him a warm smile in return as he opened his office door wider for the two of you to enter. “Welcome to Hogwarts! I’m Dean Longbottom, but you two can just call me Neville,” he smiles as he sits behind his desk adorned with small succulents and stationary. “I’ve been anticipating your arrival along with the other teaching assistants for awhile. It’s so nice that we have such a large pool of you for this semester. The professors are quite lucky to get quite a brilliant bunch like you,” he compliments.

“Speaking on behalf of all the TAs, I think I can confidently say we feel honored to be here,” Luna smiles softly as the dean chuckles and you nod.

Neville nods his head, “We are honored to have you.” You and Luna thank him before he begins again, “So, the two of you have some time before you are reporting to your classrooms for lecture. How about I give you the tour of the campus? A proper Hogwarts welcome?”

You and Luna excitedly agree and Dean Longbottom starts to walk you through the hallways of the beautiful university. The university had once been castle during the Gothic era, still maintaining the same structure. Beautiful hallways, paintings of founders hung in the walls, windows adorned with stained glass as sunlight seeped through. “The dining hall is on the left over here,” Neville gestures, revealing a large room lined with tables, school flags hanging high as students varying in year gather to chat and eat. “And if you look ahead, you’ll find the campus courtyard. It’s beautiful this time of year with the flowers in full bloom,” Neville smiles to himself. “Across the street are the campuses houses. Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Syltherins, and Hufflepuffs,” he points as you see tall houses, coated in paint of their respective colors. “I myself was a Gryffindor when I was a student,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you and Luna. “Other than that, I think that concludes the tour. Here are your staff lanyards and your professor assignments have been forwarded to you in your emails. There’s still some time left before lecture, so feel free to hang around campus or in the staff lounge. If you need anything, please, don’t hesitate. I’ll see you two very soon!” he waves before disappearing down the hall.

In this moment, you take the time to look around the hall to see the bustling student body, smiling and laughing as they make their way down the halls. You softly smile to yourself, reminiscing about when you were an undergraduate. A freshman in the halls, excited for university. Now, you were nearly done with graduate school, soon to be a certified professor. Time had flown by in the blink of an eye.

“You want to take a peak in the staff lounge?” Luna disturbs your thoughts.

Turning to her, you give her a smile and a nod before walking up the stairs three levels to reach the staff lounge. Inside were a few professors scattered here and there, but mostly there were TAs. The room radiated buzzing nervous energy as red lanyards signifying TA status hung around a few necks. One of the boys sitting at the table spotted the red lanyard and spoke cooly, “You’ve found the right place.”

He rose from his chair and walked over to you and Luna with a shocking amount of confidence. His jet black hair was gelled back neatly, a crisp light blue button up and handsome tie clung on his neck as he stuck out a hand for you to shake. “Name’s Harry,” he proudly shook your hand. “I was a TA here two years ago, now in charge of the TA program and coordinator for the math department. You two look new. Not that it’s a bad thing, it��s just I could sense it,” he laughs.

“(Y/N),” you shake his hand firmly as he smiles. Luna does the same with a small smile. “You’re right about the new part. It’s both our first semesters here,” you confirm.

Harry nods and walks back to his chair, leaning back, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Nice. What’s your area of focus?” he asks.

Luna grabs a seat and speaks, “Women and Gender Studies. You by any chance know a Ginevra Weasley? She’ll be the professor I’m assisting this semester.”

Harry lets out a chuckle before an unfamiliar voice speaks up, “Oh, Potter is familiar here with Ms. Ginevra Weasley. That’s his fiancé.” You turn around to face a smirking face as he sips on his piping cup of black coffee. “I’m Seamus Finnegan. Head TA for the chemistry department,” he introduces. “You’ve lucked out,” he tells Luna. “Ginny is the best in the department. She’s a hard ass, but you’ll learn a lot from her.”

Luna smiles to herself, “Very excited to get started then.”

“What about you?” Harry nods to you as Seamus slides into a seat next to Harry. “Area of study?”

“Philosophy,” you reply cooly. Seamus gives you an impressed look as Harry smiles lightly. “Specifically Ethics,” you add on. “I’m assisting another Weasley, actually?” you look at Luna. “Are they by any chance related?” you ask Harry and Seamus.

The two of them just chuckle as Harry sighs, “Yeah, the whole family basically teaches here. You’ll learn fast. They all got jobs at the same time since their father is on the board of directors. All of them deserve to be here though. Brilliant professors, all of them.”

You let out a sigh of relief that you didn’t realize you were holding in. Confirmation that you had a more than capable professor was good news.

Seamus continues on Harry’s tangent. “Basically one in each department,” he shrugs. “Ginny is a women and gender studies professor, Percy is the head of the business department, Charles is in the vet school, Bill is an adjunct professor now, but he’s in the language department with a focus in French, Ron is the European History professor and by the looks of it, he’ll be the head of the department next year, George is the chemistry professor I assist, and then there’s Fred w-”

“That’s the one,” you interrupt. “He’s the one I’m assisting this semester. How’s he? Do you have any intel that could help a new bee out?” you ask hopefully with a glimmer of jest in your voice. But the look on Harry and Seamus’ faces make your stomach do a flip. They look at each other knowingly as Seamus lets out a small chuckle. He mutters a small yikes before sipping on his coffee and excuses himself from the table to go attend his lecture with George. “What was that look about? Is he a lazy professor?” you groan.

Harry lightly laughs and shakes his head, scratching the back of his neck. “Fred Weasley is a great professor, no need to worry about that. He’s just...how do I put this without getting fired?” he whispers the last bit to himself as your eyes widen and you lean in closer with a what?, making Harry shake his head. “It’s not bad, I swear, he’s not like...unstable or anything. He’s just very cocky. Fred is good at his job and he knows it. He doesn’t let anyone forget it. He’s been ranked top professor at the school for the past three years and wears it like a badge of honor.”

Great, a cocky professor. A narcissist. Just what you needed when starting a job that could determine the fate of your career. You sigh and flop back in your chair as Luna gives you a sympathetic look. “Bloody brilliant,” you huff.

“He’s a great professor though!” Harry tries to make light of the conversation. “Fred has been teaching straight out of university, so he knows what he’s doing. Students really admire him and his lectures are some of the best that I’ve seen. He knows how to have fun in the class, but he doesn’t take any bullshit,” Harry reassures you as you give him a weak nod. It was nice to hear that he was at least respected and admired by the students. Maybe you could learn to do the same.

Luna takes a look at her watch and gives you a nudge. “It’s twenty minutes until the new lecture block. Reckon we should introduce ourselves to our professors?” she asks as you sigh with a reluctant nod. After that bit of information you just received, you were less excited to meet your professor. “It was nice meeting you, Harry,” she beams to Harry as you two rise from your seats.

“Lovely meeting you two. I’m sure I’ll catch you around in the halls,” he winks friendly before you both exit the staff lounge.

Nervously, you played with the cuffs of your turtleneck, walking down the halls, parting with Luna, wishing the other good luck in their first lecture. As you strolled the hallway of the fifth floor, searching from room 523 where Philosophical Ethics would take place. You wondered how he would look. Old, no doubt. Harry said he’s been teaching since he graduated which had to mean he was in his late forties. Was he a cranky old white man? Great. Just fantastic. He probably had the traditional way of teaching which meant he sat at the front of the classroom and spoke at the class for three hours. Your worst nightmare. How could someone ruin something you loved?

You stumble upon the wooden door with golden paint etched into it 523. With a confident inhalation, you push the door open and enter the classroom, neatly set up for the next lecture. Three rows of eight, one next to the other. In the front of the classroom was a large chalkboard with the words Welcome to Ethics written in sloppy handwriting. Gently, there was soft jazz music playing from a small speaker, filling the classroom, saxophone and trumpet melodies echoing. Everything looked normal. Except for who sat at the desk.

At the front of the classroom, sitting at a dark brown desk was a tall, lean young man with tuffs of orange hair styled back. He wore a freshly ironed white button down that was tucked neatly into a pair of chestnut corduroys with matching brown chukka boots. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, showing off his muscular biceps and toned arms. A shiny silver Rolex watch was strapped on his left wrist as he tapped a pen against his desk. But you couldn’t get over how young he was. The youth in his face was lively as his dark chocolate eyes scanned over a paper in front of him. Your presence was unknown to him as he continued to flip through papers, dragging his pen across the margins.

Politely, you clear your throat, causing him to look up from his paper, looking up at you. When his eyes landed on yours, you gulped thickly. His whole face was undeniably attractive. His angled jaw, full lips, soft eyes. He gave you a confused look. “Lecture isn’t for another twenty minutes,” he told you before looking back down at his paper, almost dismissing you. “But feel free to have your choice in seat. I hope you don’t mind the music. Let me know if it’s distracting,” he tells you before flipping the pages again.

You inhale deeply. “Actually, Professor Weasley, I’m (Y/N),” you introduce yourself. Professor Weasley looks up at you with confused eyes, trying to put together your identity. “Your TA for the semester?” you speak with a small smile. “I’m very excited to get started with you.”

But before you can ask him what you could do to help set up the classroom, he speaks, “I didn’t ask for a TA.”

His words take you aback for a moment. Instead of an introduction or even a simple hello, he told you he didn’t ask for a TA. “I beg your pardon?” you ask with almost a laugh.

“I didn’t ask for a TA. I don’t need one,” he clarifies to you, rising from his desk as you gulp, taking in how tall he was, standing proudly above you. “I’ve never needed a TA in the past, and I don’t know who decided I needed one this year. After being voted best professor since I got here, I don’t understand why this is the year I need one,” he laughs, making his way around the desk, leaning against it, tucking his hands in his pockets.

You give him a disturbed look. Harry telling you that Fred Weasley was cocky was a damn understatement. The bloody guy was telling you to your face that you weren’t wanted or needed here. That he could do his job perfectly fine without you. “I’m sure you don’t need one, Professor, but this was my assignment. Dean Longbottom assigned me here and I’m just following what I was told to do in order to get my degree,” you tell him, trying to remain cool and polite when you’d rather tell him to suck it up and deal with it.

Fred run his fingers through his hair before placing them on either side of his body, leaning back into his desk, tongue pressed against his cheek. His biceps flexed underneath his tight white shirt, making you gulp, trying not to get distracted at the fact that your professor was not only a dick, but an incredibly handsome one. “Neville assigned you?” he laughed. “Alright. Well, I’ll go down to office and get this sorted away,” he huffed before standing up straight.

But before he could take a step further, you stopped him, now getting frustrated that this guy didn’t even try being nice to you. “Hold on,” you stopped him, fixing the strap of your purse on your shoulder before placing it on the desk next to you. “This job was assigned to me. There are no other TA positions available in the philosophy department this late in the game. I’m not gonna lose this job just because you allegedly don’t need a TA,” you try to keep cool, but the venom leaks out every now and then.

Fred gives you a light chuckle before speaking, “Not allegedly. I don’t need one. There’s a reason why I’m one of the most successful and youngest professors. I can run this class by myself without some grad student’s help.”

Now, you are pissed. “Alright, you know what?” you fold your arms over your chest. “I don’t appreciate being spoken to like this. I’ve worked very hard to get where I am and I will be respected. Regardless if I am a TA, or a student, or a co-worker. I am here to do a job and I will do that job no matter what anyone says,” you tell him as he just stares at you, a cocky smirk on his face that makes your blood boil. It was like he wasn’t listening to a word you were saying. “So how about we save ourselves the dramatics and just be satisfied with the fact that this is the situation?”

Fred just exhales and rubs hand over his face. You could tell he didn’t want you here, and quite frankly, you didn’t want to be here either after his little stunt. You were quite sure he was capable of running his own class, but you weren’t here to take his job. You were here to be an assistant to his teaching, being there to support and help him. This was a requirement for you, not a pastime. “Alright then,” he eventually states, making the way back to his desk. “You can grab a desk from the rows and bring it up to the front, I guess,” he huffs as you remain standing with your arms still folded across your chest.

He looks up and gives you a look. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” you ask with venom pouring from your glossed lips as you give him a sarcastic smile.

Fred gives you a sarcastic smile back as he drops his pen and speaks, “Fred Weasley. MA in Philosophy and Human Ethics. Cambridge Graduate. Cum laude.” The pride dripped from his voice as he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. “And you are?”

You wanted to throw your shoe at his head, your blood was boiling at how arrogant and prideful this man was. “If you were listening before, you would know my name is (Y/N). MA in Philosophy and Human Ethics. University of Oxford. 3.98 GPA,” you mimic him.

Fred gives out a chuckle as you grab your purse and start to settle yourself in the room. “Oxford student? Fitting that our universities are rivals,” he huffs before pulling a desk and chair over for you, placing it near his desk.

“And why would that be?” you ask sarcastically as Fred bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to snap a snarky response back at you. “Listen, Fred, I’m just here to do my job and do it well. I’m not here to step on your toes. I’m here to finish my requirements so I can get certified,” you tell him as you stand beside your desk, smoothing out your plaid skirt that your turtleneck was tucked neatly into.

As you stand there, Fred’s eyes rake up and down your body, taking you in as a whole. The first time he’s done this since you walked in. His eyes are like magnets, scanning every inch of your body and how you carry yourself so confidently in the space. When his eyes reach yours, you inhale deeply, trying to prevent the heat from rising to your cheeks as your handsome superior checks you out. “I’m not worried about you, darling,” his thick accent coos. “You’re the least of my worries.”

Just as the words slip out of his mouth, students start to file into the classroom, greeting Fred with good mornings and how are you’s. You tell yourself to calm down, to remain friendly, and cool. As the students file in, Fred greets them all with a warm smile. “Welcome back everyone. This is Philosophical Ethics with Professor Weasley. You all can call me Professor, Professor Weasley, Fred, Professor Fred. Just not Freddie, that one is reserved for my mum,” he teases, earning a few chuckles from the class. He glances over to you with a small stare and begrudgingly introduces you, “This is (Y/N), my TA for the semester. She will be here with us for...?”

“The whole semester,” you remind him with a sweet smile contrasted by your daggers for eyes. “Looking forward to working with you all,” you tell the class with a warm smile, receiving a few back in return.

Fred sighs, “Right. Well, anyway, let’s take roll and then get right into things, yeah?” The class nods as you sigh. “Alright, who can talk to me about Nietzsche?”

This was going to be a long semester.

Three hours of the class went by at a sluggish pace. Not to mention, Fred didn’t extent an invitation for your opinion or thoughts during the lesson. You didn’t expect him to let you teach the class, but instead, you just sat and listened to him run the class.

Although he didn’t let you say much, you had to admit that his lecture was quite good. He led the class in a really interesting way, almost like a Socratic seminar type. He let his students make observations and create open dialogues about the philosophy you were covering. Fred encouraged student’s thoughts rather than shut them down and he tried to encourage everyone to participate to make sure everyone said what they wanted to say. But you, he didn’t extend that offer.

Instead, you took notes. Notes on Fred Weasley. The way he spoke with his hands, how he sloppily wrote on the board with chalk, underlining words, circling, and drawing small diagrams. How he folded his arms across his chest when someone brought up a provocative thought. How he nibbled on his bottom lip when a student asked him a question. How he glanced over at you every once in awhile, catching your eye and smirking when he caught you looking at him. You would roll your eyes and continue to scribble down his mannerisms, what he focused on in class, and how he conducted it.

The students ate up everything that fell from his lips. It was like magic, the way he could capture 20 students attention about something as niche as existentialism. But you couldn’t lie, Fred Weasley was captivating.

“Okay, for next week’s class read Nicomachean Ethics and start drawing comparisons and differences between Aristotle and Nietzsche,” Fred announces as he closes his book and dismisses his students for the day, a chorus of thank you’s and have a good day’s echo in the classroom.

The final student exits as Fred retires back to his desk, sorting papers and filing away miscellaneous papers. You click your pen as you watch him, waiting for him to break the silence. But instead he sits at his desk and starts scribbling into his planner. With a sigh, you break the silence and speak, “You give a really informative lecture. You engage with the students really well.”

You thought a compliment would be a peace offering. An olive branch of sorts. But Fred took it as an opportunity to dig into you. “I know. That’s why it’s a full class and I’ve got a waitlist 30 kids long,” he speaks without looking up at his desk.

The guy was cocky as all hell and he was letting you soak it all in. The grip on your pen grows tighter as you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth in irritation, trying to maintain a steady facade. “So,” you breathe out as you grab your bag, pulling your notebook from your back. “You want to talk about lesson plans? I see that you’ve assigned Aristotle for the next week and a half. Maybe a smooth transition would be going into Kant and talking about the categorical imperative?” you suggest, sitting on a desk in front of Fred’s.

He peers up at you through his lashes, your legs dangling from the desk. He gives you all of his attention as he pushes his sleeves further up his arms, fiddling with the lock on his Rolex. “I’ve already taken care of the lesson plans for the rest of the semester. It’s all planned out. It has been since last month,” he explains to you as you nod your head, thinking he would offer something else for you to do.

“Okay,” you trail off. “Is there...anything you want me to do? Coordinate office hours? Set up my own as well so I can be a resource to the students. I can give you my phone number and email to put on the syllabus, so the students know they can reach out to me if they have any questions,” you tell him as you start to scribble down your email and number.

But Fred shakes his head, “Won’t be necessary. If a student needs you, they’ll come to you. Besides, they should really come to me if they need anything since I have more knowledge about the course.”

His passive comments were starting to pile up on you as you inhale deeply, your chest heaving. The turtleneck around your body felt very warm as anger started to bubble in your chest. “Maybe if you told me about the course, I could be a valuable resource to students. Remember, I’m just as qualified as you. I just haven’t graduated yet,” you remind Fred as you lean back on the desk, legs swinging back and forth as Fred starts to pack up his briefcase.

“Yet,” he looks up at you with a smirk, pink lips curled upwards as he leans over his desk, gathering his things. Even though the smirk was condescending as all hell, it did something to you. In more than one way. It made anger gather in your chest, frustration tingle in your temples, but butterflies pitter patter away deep in your stomach.

“So what exactly do you want me to do?” you ask, folding your arms across your chest as Fred grabs his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in the other as he does a once over his desk.

Calmly, Fred speaks, “You can start by filing away those papers on my desk and then once that’s done, make a list of the students in grade point average order. I want to know who needs the most help and who is fine on their own.” After he gives you that direction, he starts for the door.

With a scoff, you hop down from the desk. “And you’re just going to leave?” you laugh at him as he place his hand on the door with a shrug. “You know I am a teaching assistant. Not your personal assistant,” you spit at him.

Fred swings the door open and stands there with a smile. “Teaching is more than just standing front of a room as talking out of your ass, dear,” he tells you as the nickname makes you bite your tongue from yelling at him.

“You really are arrogant, you know that?” you sneer at him with your hands on your hips, glaring at him. You stare at him as he stands in front of the open door, jacket laid over his forearm, leather briefcase in hand, his other hand combing through his fire red hair.

Fred smiles lightly to you before sighing, “I’m bloody brilliant, (Y/N). You would be arrogant, too.” His words make you shake your head with a scoff. “Sort those papers for me, won’t you? I’ll see you tomorrow in here. Early. 9am sharp.”

But before you can ask him why, he’s out the door and calling after another professor, leaving you alone to your own devices. You let out a frustrated groan as you cover your face with your hands. Of course, you got stuck with the prick professor who takes advantage of an extra set of hands. You walk over to his desk and see a small stack of papers to be sorted and filed away along with the list he wanted you to organize.

You plop yourself into the desk seat and carefully start going through each file, examining each student’s credentials, organizing them by GPA and last name. You note who could be a tutor and who needs a tutor, who is at exit level, who is at entry level, so on and so forth. The task was interesting, but so time consuming. It was a way you could start to learn more about your students, even if it was through paper.

It had been an hour and a half and you were on your last file when you hear a gentle knock at the door. Slowly, it creaks open to reveal Luna and Harry together. Luna carries two lattes in her hand and smiles, extending her arm out to give it to you. “You are a saint, you know that?” you laugh as you accept the warm, caffeinated beverage.

“You’re still working?” she asks in disbelief as you finalize some last notes in the margins of one student’s file. “But class ended almost two hours ago.”

You look up at the both of them. “Oh, I know. But Fred left after the lecture and insisted I do the filing and note taking whilst he got to leave on time,” you speak through gritted teeth, finishing scribbling your last note and flopping the pen down, leaning back in the desk chair with a huff. “You weren’t lying when you told me he’s a self-righteous fuck,” you talk to Harry.

Harry laughs and digs his hands into his pockets with a huff. “Well, I didn’t use those words,” he laughs as you give him a look through your mascara coated lashes. He gives you a sorry sigh and leans over the desk, “Fred is a great guy one on one, but as a professor...he just likes having reign over his classroom. It’s not just you. His last TA was three years ago and he made the kid miserable. The kid, Dean Thomas, was so sick of philosophy after he switched to psychology. Now he’s a first year professor.” You roll your eyes and push yourself out of the desk, grabbing your purse and notebooks, piling them all in as Harry continues. “What happened today?”

Recounting the moments of the day made you frustrated, but you allowed yourself to vent to your co-workers. “Well, when I walked in, he thought I was a student,” you speak as Harry and Luna give you an apologetic look, Harry muttering an ouch. “Oh, that’s not even the worst part. Then I told him I was a TA and he told me he didn’t need one, because he’s more than capable of running his own classroom,” you mimic his pompous attitude. “He had the gall to threaten me to go to Neville’s office and find me a replacement class! I mean, sure, he’s a great professor, but that doesn’t mean he’s the only good one in this bloody school!” you exclaim, frustrated failing your arms, earning a small chuckle from Harry and Luna. “I’m sorry, I’m just very frustrated that this is how my first day on the job went,” you run your fingers through your hair, shaking your head.

“No need to apologize,” Luna walks over and touches your shoulder gently. “He sounds...unpleasant...” she tries to be as cordial as possible, earning a giggle from you. “But maybe you’ll warm up to each other? It’s only the first day. We have a whole semester ahead of us,” she looks between you and Harry cheerfully. In a weird way, her light, happy tone made you feel a little better.

You sigh, “I guess so. Ugh, a whole semester with Fred Weasley...”

The three of you start out of the classroom and start to make your way down the halls, retiring to the staff parking lot and bus stops. But before you can make your way to the public transportation, Harry suggests, “Hey, a few of us are headed to the bar to grab a drink before headed home. Do you both fancy coming?”

Luna perks up and shakes her head with an eager yes please. The idea of grabbing drinks sounded great and just what you needed after this gruesome day. But the looming thought of having to get up early and meet Fred in the classroom tomorrow at nine sharp hung over you like a storm cloud. With a sigh, you speak, “Wish I could. But Fred is making me meet him at nine to talk about lesson plans or something. Last thing I need is showing up hungover to my second day on the job.”

Harry and Luna groan in protest. “Oh, come on! You can’t let Fred rob you of your autonomy!” Luna stomps her foot and grabs your hand. “One drink won’t hurt! We’ll both have one pint and then I’ll take the bus back with you. We’re only one stop away from each other on the blue line,” she tries to convince you.

Harry starts dancing backwards to his car as he beeps it open. “I’ve got an extra seat,” he sing songs as he opens up the door for you.

A small smile creeps up on your face as you sigh. One drink couldn’t hurt. Just one cheeky little drink and then home away you would go. The night was still young, so you’d still be in bed at a reasonable hour. One drink. “You guys suck,” you laugh as you start walking to Harry’s car as Luna claps her hands in glee and Harry triumphantly punches the air, making you laugh.

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The morning sun creeps through your window, making you groan and roll over. The sunlight hurt your eyes and made your stomach churn as a headache pounds through your cranium, making you feel sick. “Bloody hell,” you whisper as you sit up and rub your eyes.

You slowly start to remember the events of last night and everyone there. It was all the TAs, including some of the younger professors. You met another Weasley, Ron you think. The history professor. Absolutely nothing like Fred. He was charming and goofy in a lovable way as he sat next to his wife, Hermione, a classical literature professor, an arm draped over her shoulders. Seamus was also there along with a few other chemistry TAs as they sat at a high rise table, pointing and whispering about the business professors and TAs who sat all the way in the back, drinking scotch and making mild chatter.

“No bother meeting them,” Seamus told you as you sipped on a gin and tonic. “The business professors and TAs are all little shits. The one with the blonde hair is Draco Malfoy. He thinks he’s better than everyone because he got his PhD, but everyone knows his dad paid off the university to give him the doctorate. His TAs all kiss his ass to get in his good graces. Zabini, Nott, Goyle, all of them,” he groans before taking a long sip of his ale, making you laugh.

You had tried to tell yourself that you would only stay for one drink, but then you started yourself in conversation with the other TAs about undergrad and grad school, realizing the mutual friends you had with each other. And then, you found yourself being convinced by Ron to do a green tea shot with him as he toasted to all of the new TAs of the semester. And with that, one drink became six.

With a groan, you slump yourself up in your small studio apartment and rub your temples. As the sunlight leaked in through your white linen curtains, you check the clock. The hands pointed to 8:25am which made you gasp and rise to your feet. “Motherfucker,” you huff to yourself as you run to the bathroom. You had to meet Fred at 9 and it already took you twenty minutes to get to campus which left you with virtually no time to get ready. “Shit, shit, shit,” you turn on the shower quickly, running to your closet to grab a fresh pair of plaid pants and a jumper. “I’m so dead,” you whisper to yourself as you scramble to get ready.

You frantically rub soap all over your body with one hand and brush your teeth with the other, needing to freshen up after a long night out. The shower was cold and unpleasant as you shivered before hoping out and throwing your clothes on, opting to skip a full face of makeup and just pop on tinted moisturizer and lip balm.

Checking the clock again, it was 8:35 and you groan in frustration. “I am a fucking moron,” you curse at yourself, grabbing your purse and notebooks and pens and papers, trying to get yourself organized before racing out the door to catch the bus. You run to your pantry to grab a granola bar as your phone starts buzzing on your nightstand. “Who the fuck is it?!” you scream as if your phone could hear you.

Stomping over, you grab it and see it was Harry calling you. “I’m kinda rushing to get out the door, Potter, make it quick, what’s up?” you babble as you slip your shoes in your Oxfords, lacing them up quickly.

Harry chuckles over the line. “I figured as much. You were a bit of a mess last night,” he tells you as you groan. “I’m only teasing you. But that being said, I’m passing your street in like two minutes, do you wanna catch a ride instead of betting on the bus?” he offers.

You sigh the biggest sigh of relief as you immediately respond. “Harry, you are a life saver,” you huff as Harry laughs. “I’ll be downstairs in a hot second. I just need to grab my coat and keys,” you tell him before hanging up.

Someone had your back today and sent Harry Potter to you. Rushing over to your coat rack, you grab your trench coat and your keys, doing a once over of your apartment, making sure you had everything, turned off all the lights and faucets. With a confident sigh, you exit your apartment, lock the door, and rush down the stairs.

As expected, Harry sat in his car with a ginger haired woman in the passenger seat. You give him an exhausted smile as you open the back seat and slide in. “Morning,” he chimes as you shut the door and buckle your seatbelt. “How are we feeling?”

You give him a knowing look. “Fuck off,” you grumble as he laughs. “I can’t believe I let myself get carried away like that last night.” You never let yourself loose track of time like that; you felt so irresponsible. “If you didn’t call me, I would surely have my ass handed to me by Fred today.”

“Fred?” the woman in the passenger seat chimes in. “Are you the poor TA who has to deal with my brother this semester?” she asks as you sigh and nod. “Good God, I apologize on his behalf. He can be a dick sometimes. I’m Ginny by the way.”

She turns to you, offering her hand to shake as you gladly accept it. “The women and gender studies professor, right?” you ask as she proudly nods. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m (Y/N), philosophy,” you tell her with a smile. “You and Harry are engaged, if I remember correctly?”

Ginny smiles happily and flashes you her engagement ring. “Just recently, yeah,” she confirms with an admiring look to Harry as he drives down the road, a small smile on his lips. “We met when we were both TAs and have been together since,” she recounts with a smile. “Enough of that though, how are you finding Hogwarts so far? With exception of my bothersome older brother,” she reframes the question.

“So far, so good,” you tell her honestly. The staff at the university was class. Everyone was so warm and welcoming and made you feel at home instantly. “I think last night I also met your brother, Ron. He kept handing out shots to the new TAs,” you recall as the pang in your head agrees.

Ginny rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s him. Ron likes to mess with the new bees every year,” she speaks. “Here, take this,” she hands you a piece of spearmint gum and a tube of mascara. “It’ll make you feel better, trust me,” she winks as you thank her. “Harry should have given you a heads up on that one,” she elbows him.

Harry shakes his head, “Ron has been my best mate since grad school, I’m not revealing his tricks to anyone no matter how good of a friend they are.” And with that, Harry pulls into the staff parking lot of Hogwarts as the time reads on the dashboard 8:55am. 5 minutes to spare.

As Harry puts the car in park, you unbuckle yourself and say, “I hate to rush out like this, but I quite literally have to dash to get to this meeting with Fred on time. Ginny, it was lovely meeting you. Harry, I owe you one. Thanks so much for the ride,” you slide out of the car as you dash towards the school.

“You can buy me a round of drinks!” he teases after you as you shake your head, dashing through the halls of Hogwarts to get to classroom 523.

You dart in between students as you run up the stairs, purse in hand, hair flowing as you make a mad dash. Finally, you reach the classroom and push the door open to reveal no one in the room. “Seriously?” you huff out of breath. You just ran here for no reason. Fred was no where to be found. But after closer inspection, there was a small sticky note on the chalkboard that read be back in ten. You huff and throw your bag down, walking around the classroom, trying to distract yourself from your throbbing headache.

The classroom is neatly decorated, plants here and there, the windows open to draw in fresh air as you inhale deeply. Then you remember from yesterday. There was a small speaker by Fred’s desk, connected to the desktop on his desk. You walk over and press the power button, making the speak bleep on with a blue flashing light. You press play and see what was on the queue. Soft jazz music starts playing, specifically Frank Sinatra’s I’ve Got You Under My Skin. You smile to yourself, how fitting.

As the jazz music echos lightly, you allow yourself to sway gently to the music, smiling to yourself. The song reminds you of working late in the library when you were in school, listening to music to maintain your focus. You hum the melody to yourself, dancing around the classroom, looking at the bookshelves, letting your fingers trace down their backbones. You allow yourself to start softly singing the lyrics as the tempo picks up, swaying back and forth as you pluck a book from the shelf, scanning it’s contents.

The song picks up, the brass section wailing as you dance around, reading the first few pages of a random book from Fred’s collection. You continue to sing out loud, a little off key as you smile to yourself. In this moment, you were content, regardless of how gross you felt. “’Cause I’ve got you under my skin,” you sang gently as you continued to dance back and forth, cradling the book in your arms.

But you are pulled from your day dream when a voice speaks, “You’re a fan of old blue eyes?” You let out a light squeal as you see Fred standing there, watching you with a small smirk on his mouth, holding two coffees in his hand.

You place a hand over your heart, monitoring how it thuds against your chest from being startled. You looked at Fred and sighed. He stood there, in a light tan khakis, crispy white shirt with a maroon tie hanging from his neck. A pair of square glasses sat on the bridge of his nose as his chocolate brown eyes peered at yours through them. “Sorry you had to see that,” you chuckle. “Sinatra is one of my favorites.”

Fred chuckles, “No need to apologize. Frank is one of the greats.” He walks over to you and hands you a coffee as you tuck the book in your hands under one of your arms. “Figured you’d need one of these,” he refers to the coffee. “TAs usually have quite the night out of the first day of work,” he recalls with a small smile. Was he...being friendly? But before you could ask how he knew you went out, he answered, “Ron is my brother. I know his ways. Because he learned them from me.” You laugh and shake your head. “I don’t know how you take your coffee, but I assumed a latte with an extra shot would suffice?”

You give him a soft smile, “Yeah, that’s perfect. Thanks so much. I appreciate it.” Fred nods and sits as his desk with a huff, pulling himself close to the desk. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Fred pulls his glasses off of his face and twirls them in between his fingers as you watch the glasses spin around and around. “I wanted to talk about expectations for the class and for you,” he speaks as you nod and take a sip of your warm latte that almost instantly helps with your headache. “I...I realize that we may have not gotten off to the best start yesterday...and I apologize for my behavior,” he speak as you nod.

An apology was a good start. “You’re forgiven,” you simply state.

“Thank you,” he adds before rubbing a hand over his lips. “As for the class, I just want to make sure we’re on the same page. This class is a prestigious course. One of the harder ones in the department. That being said, I think it’s best for me to have the reigns on the class and lead class lectures. You are free to observe and aid in answering questions about assignments or papers,” he tells you as he leans back in his chair, thinking he made a reasonable bargain. But it was quite the opposite.

You weren’t here to sit around and listen to another philosophy professor spew a scripted lecture. You did that for four years in undergraduate school. You were here to learn how to teach a classroom, how to run a lesson plan, how to gain hands on experience. Being a puppet in the corner was not going to accomplish any of those things. “Fred, I appreciate the apology. But this offer is not acceptable,” you state calmly. “I’m your teaching assistant. I’m here to help in any way I can, of course, but I’m also here to help teach and instruct the class. You are suppose to help me learn how to teach the class.”

Fred nods, “And you can do that by matters of observation.”

His way of brushing you off made you infuriated again, just like yesterday. Did he do this to everyone? “But don’t you think it would be more helpful for me to have some actual hands on experience? Like actually teaching the class?” you tell him more than ask him.

He rises from his chair and sighs, “I don’t need you creating a new lesson plan. I’ve been using this one since I got here and it works. If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it.” Fred walks over to the board and writes in bold letters, Aristotle, preparing for today’s lecture. The way that he so nonchalantly stated that to you and started writing on the board as if he didn’t insult your intelligence made you infuriated.

“You’re a fucking prick,” you flat out spew. You wish you could take it back, you really did. As soon as the words left your lips, you regretted what you had said to him. Insulting your superior was surefire to get you fired and released from your job, making you ineligible to graduate. But damn did it feel good to say.

Fred turns around to look at you, eyebrows furrows as if you just spoke in a foreign language to him. “I’m a fucking prick?” he repeats, folding his arms across his chest, leaning back on the chalkboard, crossing his legs as you stand in front of him, completely enraged, fists tight next to your sides. “Wouldn’t be the first time I heard that,” he laughs, combing his fingers through his hair, as if what you said was a compliment.

“Well the people who said it before were right! You’re cocky and arrogant and self-righteous and pompous and self-absorbed. You clearly have no intention of helping anyone but yourself! That’s probably why you like being a professor! So everyone listens to every last bit you say,” you start to ramble. Now that you had said what was on your mind, it was almost impossible to stop. The words flew off your tongue like a jet.

Boldly, Fred pushes himself off the chalkboard, hands dug into his pant’s pockets as he walks closer to you. A small smirk dances along his lips as his tongue darts out and drags across his lower lip. The action makes your breath hitch in your throat as you mentally curse yourself, wanting to be annoyed with him, but yet you found yourself aroused. “Keep going,” he urges. “Go on. Tell me how unbearable I am. You’ve only known me twenty four hours, but it seems like you have me all figured out,” he speaks, just a foot away from your body.

Adrenaline is coursing through your veins, your lips slightly parted as you take heaving breaths, making your chest rise and fall quickly. Fred’s eyes scan your face, soaking in your annoyed and confused expression. You suddenly become very aware of how close he is to you and you shake your head, taking a step back. “I only need a day to know an asshole when I see one,” you simply state, folding your arms over your chest. Your expression reads as if it were Fred’s turn to take a dig at you.

Fred chuckles lowly before speaking, “Here’s your problem, darling.” The endearing terms makes your stomach curdle. “You don’t get the hands on experience your second day on the job. You’ve gotta prove to me that you can run a class and keep their attention for three hours. You think it’s easy keeping the attention of a bunch of twenty year olds when you’re talking about philosophy? It’s not as easy as you may think it is,” Fred explain as you roll your eyes. “I was in your shoes once before, so I know what you’re experiencing.”

You laugh, “Oh, don’t pull that card. You’re a professor now. You did your time in my shoes. Don’t pretend like you’d give anything to go back.”

“Oh, honey, you couldn’t pay me enough to go back!” Fred retorts, now with an edge. “You know what. I could let you run today’s class,” he chuckles at the thought. “I could let you run it and watch you crash and fucking burn,” he emphasizes with a shrug. “I could watch those students trample all over you, you know why?” he asks looking at you intently as you gulp. “Because they don’t respect you! They don’t know who you are. In fact, they see you as one of them! If I mistook you as one of them on the first day, then what made you think they wouldn’t?” he asks as you inhale deeply. “Respect is earned when you are in a position of authority. Even if you’re just a professor. And you, (Y/N), haven’t earned that yet from the students. And I honestly don’t know if you have it from me.”

And with that last dig, the first student enters the classroom signaling that the first lecture of the day was ready to begin. Fred and you don’t acknowledge the student, just staring at each other. Fred’s words stung. Like a fresh wound, you were bleeding out. His words were sad, but true. You were a TA, but you were still a grad student. Fred worked to get to the position he was at. You just needed to prove to him that you were capable of handling yourself in a classroom setting as a teaching assistant.

You retreat back to your desk at the front of the room and sit down with a small huff, pulling out the attendance sheet, marking students as present as they enter the classroom.

Fred rubbed his hands over his face, feeling guilty for his out burst. He knew you were brilliant. To be quite honest, Fred knew he was going to get a TA. He had checked out your academic profile, seeing that you graduated undergrad with a nearly perfect grade point average and extra circulars that were sure to blow any one away. Your thesis statement made Fred laugh to himself, it was similar to his own when he was in university; the effect of utilitarianism on free will in our post-modern society. In a weird way, you reminded Fred of himself. Confident, smart, and ballsy. But where you differentiated with Fred is your adaptability. How you could adjust and go with the flow, that was Fred’s downfall.

Soon the classroom was full of students again and Fred took a deep breath, trying to regain his focus and composure to teach the class. He didn’t dare look at you, it would just make him upset. And you didn’t want to look at him. Fred sat on his desk, his long legs almost hitting the floor even when he sat. “Hello everyone,” he addressed the class, some students chiming back. “Let’s get started for the day. Shall we?” he claps his hands together. “Who can talk to me about eudaemonia?” he asks the class.

You looked out at the classroom along with Fred, anticipating a slew of hands but instead you got nothing. Students sat in their chairs in silence, some twiddling their pens, others scribbling in a notebook, some still groggy this during the ten o’clock lecture. “Someone’s gotta know about it. Come on then,” Fred probes the class as they remain silence, only sound is some kid yawning in the back. Fred allows the class to remain silent for a moment. “Alright,” he huffs. “Rough morning for a lot of us,” he speaks, hoping to catch your attention with that line, but you scribble nonsense into the margins of your notebook. “Maybe (Y/N) could give us a definition?” he suggests.

Your head shoots up like a rocket from your paper as you look at Fred with panic in your eyes. He looks at you with a small smile and encouragement, almost as if this were his way of making amends. A twisted way. You look towards the class and see twenty sets of eyes on you as you gulp before shaking away your nerves. “Um, yeah,” you clear your throat. “Eudaemonia is the greatest good, the aim for all human thinking and rational. Another word for eudaemonia is happiness,” you simply state, making the students start scribbling in their notebooks. Pride swells in your chest as you realize what you was valuable to the students. “Eudaemonia is achieve through action in tandem with the human soul and psyche. When eudaemonia is at its highest form, it is known as virtue,” you explain further as the class continues to scribble down what you were saying.

Slowly, you look towards Fred who gives you a small smile and a nod as you just give him a curt nod and turn back to your desk. But when you look away, it’s hard to cover up the small smile on your lips as you fiddle with the pen in your hands. Fred notices your grin as smiles to himself before speaking, “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Maybe today would be better than yesterday.

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Another two weeks had gone by and the work relationship you had with Fred improved significantly. He let you interject at certain points in his lectures, let you pose questions to the class, and even assigned you students for office hours. Finally, you started to feel like you were doing what you came here for and you were loving every moment of it.

Fred was a great professor and an even better mentor. He commanded a classroom unlike any other professor you have ever seen. He spoke with confidence and coolness and the students ate him up. It must be rewarding for him, watching students love his work as much as he did. You would watch him with a small smile as you jotted down notes here and there. Fred would catch your eye every now and then in class and gave you a small smile or cheeky wink that made your heart stop every now and then as you turned away from him, biting the inside of your cheek to make you stop smiling.

“Remember to finish Kant’s Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals for tomorrow’s class! If you haven’t turned in your paper on Nicomachean Ethics yet, do it by 4pm or else I will personally send (Y/N) to find you and hunt you down,” he teases the class as you roll your eyes, making the class laugh. “Happy Friday. Now scram,” Fred dismisses class as students file out.

When the majority of them have dispersed, you walk over to Fred’s desk and huff, “Good lecture today. Katie brought up some good questions about the differences between hypothetical imperatives and categorical imperatives.” Fred leans back in his desk chair, flopping his notebook down on his desk.

“Yeah, she did. But god, I wanted to punch Brian in the face. He kept talking over her while she was saying something poignant. I get it, Brian, there are different formulations, but damn, shut the fuck up,” Fred groans, making you laugh as you grab your bag and get ready to pack up for the day. “So, I hate to be the bearer of bad news...” he trails off as he rises from his seat.

You groan and throw your head back as you spin on your heels to face him. “Please, don’t tell me...” you start as Fred nods his head sadly. “Come on, Fred. It’s Friday night! Beginning of the weekend! All of the TAs are getting drinks at the pub tonight and quite honestly, I’d rather be doing that than grading philosophy papers,” you whine to him.

Fred mockingly places and hand over his heart and speaks, “First off, I am offended that you don’t want to spend time with me grading papers on the brilliance of Aristotle through a twenty year olds eyes.” The comment makes you chuckle, but he pushes on, “But I want to grade this papers tonight and finish them tonight so I, well we, can have the weekend free. You can get drinks any other night with the TAs. But we’ve got to do this tonight.”

You stomp your foot in frustration like a toddler, making Fred chuckle as he places his glasses on his face. “But tonight it’s dollar drafts! Dollar drafts happen once a week!” you beg him. “Why can’t we grade tomorrow?”

“Because I need to put these grades into my grade book before the students start wondering if they’ll ever be graded for something in this class,” he explains. “How about this?” he proposes. “We meet back here at 4:30pm. I’ll get take out for the both of us and we can drink coffee and energy drinks like we’re back in undergrad cramming for an exam. It’ll be fun,” he shimmies his shoulder making you giggle.

With a huff, you say, “Fine. But if we’re here past midnight, I’ll never forgive you.”

You start out of the classroom as Fred calls after you, “It’ll be fun!”

Shaking your head down, you start down the hall and see Harry and Luna talking as they leave their respective classrooms. “Heyo,” Harry calls out to you before slinging an arm around your shoulder. “So, for dollar drafts tonight we were just gonna take a cab there at around 5:00. Ron is going to be late because he’s going to wait for Hermione to get out of her night class and they’ll come together. But Seamus, Luna, Cho, and I will all be there and I think Dean said he’s coming and bringing some friends from grad school. It should be a great time,” Harry explains with a big grin.

Your ‘fomo’ was kicking in hard core as you sigh and speak, “About that...I can’t make it tonight.” Luna gives you a sad look as Harry groans and throws his head back. “Fred and I need to grade papers tonight to make the first quarter grades. If I get out early though, I’ll call and see if you guys are still there,” you offer as Harry slumps over.

“At least it sounds like things are going better with you and Fred,” Luna tells you and you nod with a smile. “Are you learning from him?”

“Absolutely,” you tell her. “Fred is actually a great professor and the class adores him. I’ve been enjoying it a lot recently.”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows, “Yeah, I’m sure you have.”

You slap Harry’s shoulder at his cheeky suggestion that something was going on. “Oh, quit it, Harry,” you say through gritted teeth. “Fred and I have a strictly working relationship. He and I are co-workers and are professional. All of my relationships are here. That’s more that some people can say,” you tease him about his engagement to Ginny as he rolls his eyes and mimics you. “Besides, there is nothing romantic or sexy about grading papers about ethics. In fact, it’s the opposite thing.”

Harry laughs, “You never know. Maybe you two will get so caught up in talking about morals that you just start to...” he mimics the sounds of sloppy snogging and moaning as you slap his arm again, Luna giggling. “Okay, okay, I’m just teasing you! But if you can meet us at the pub, give one of us a call and we can hail you a cab,” he tells you as you hug Luna goodbye and then Harry.

“Will do. Have a drink for me. Lord knows I’ll need one,” you huff, watching them walk off to catch up to Dean and Seamus.

Instead of getting drunk at a bar after a long week of work, you would be grading papers all night with Fred. Which honestly, maybe, didn’t sound so awful.

A few hours past and you and Fred were at on opposite sides of his desk, empty Chinese take out boxes scattered around you along with empty coffee cups and cans of energy drinks. It was ten o’clock at night and you had hardly made a dent in the papers. You throw your head on the desk with a thud, making Fred chuckle. “This is hell,” you groan. “Do they even proof read their sentences?” you ask Fred who shakes his head. “Seriously. Some of these papers are just bad. Weak thesis and an even weaker argument,” you slap the paper in front of you.

Fred scribbles in red ink on one paper and circle the letter grade on it before shifting it to the done pile. “Honestly, if it’s horrid and you struggle to make it past the third page, just skip to the end, read the conclusion and if it reads fine, give them a C minus. If they have a problem, they can come to office hours and talk about it with me,” he tells you as you laugh. “I’ve done that with two of them already.”

You place a C minus in red ink at the end of the paper and shift yours into the done pile. “How many more do we have left? We’ve been here for nearly six hours,” you tell him.

Fred examines the pile and huffs, “About four more. So two more each and then we’ll be done. The papers are ten pages long, so only twenty more pages of absolute garbage to read before we are done.”

Eh, that wasn’t so bad. You sigh and examine the room around you. Your eyes land on Fred whose eyes scan over the page as he nibbles away at his lower lip, glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose, red pen tucked behind his ear. He made markings on the paper here and there, adding comments as he sees fit. He’d mumble a bloody hell here and there if something was really bad, making you giggle. He’d catch your eye and a proud smile would form on his lips when he saw that he’d made you giggle.

After another hour and a half of grading, you were finally finished with the thick stack of papers on Fred’s desk. The two of you let out a sigh of relief as you leaned back in your chairs. “Freedom!” Fred cried out as you laughed, running your fingers through your hair. “And before midnight!” he points to his watch, the hands pointing to 11:37pm. “I think I know what this calls for,” he speaks wiggling his brows as you watch him stand up and pulls out a drawer to reveal a small handle of whiskey.

You laugh and shake your head. “Ohhhh, no,” you laugh and wave your hands.

“Really, (Y/N)? Eight hours of grading papers and you don’t want one drink?” he pours one glass, waiting to pour yours.

You think for a moment. You were supposed to call Harry and Luna and tell them that you would meet them at the bar. But quite honestly, you didn’t feel like leaving the classroom and the pleasant company of Fred. Maybe some one on one time could strengthen your relationship...as co-workers, of course.

In defeat, you sigh, “Fine.”

Fred smiles and pours you a nice, hefty glass of the brown liquor before handing it to you and sitting in his chair. “To a job well done,” he toasts as you clink your glasses together, sipping from the glass. The whiskey is smooth and warms your chest up delightfully as you relax further into the chair. The two of you rest in comfortable silence before Fred starts, “So...after you’ve finished your job here, where do you hope to go?”

You think for a moment and lean on your elbows on his desk, letting your hair flop forward. “Not too sure really,” you admit. “I know I want to teach at a university level, but it’s just a matter of where positions are available. Maybe I’ll go back to Oxford and see if there’s any availability in their department,” you toss around as Fred boos you, knowing the rivalry between Cambridge and Oxford is still fierce. “But I’m trying to go with the flow and see where the demand is.”

Fred nods his head and huffs, “Well...what if I told you that there is going to be an opening in position here at Hogwarts for next fall?” You give him a confused look as you sip from your whiskey. He says, “Professor McGonagall? She’s been here for ages and she’s retiring after nearly sixty years of teaching.” You widen your eyes and nod your head. Impressive. “The department is looking to hire a new, fresh face and I think you might be right for the job...” he takes a sneaky sip from his glass.

“It’s a really kind offer, Fred, really thoughtful of you,” you tell him. “But I want to know that where I apply for a job I’ve earned it. I didn’t get the job because someone pulled the strings behind the scenes,” you tell him. This was true. Anyone would kill for a job at Hogwarts University, but you wanted to know that you earned your title here and not because a friend handed it to you.

He leans forward and speaks, “This wouldn’t be me pulling any strings. (Y/N), you are a brilliant person and the students adore you. Just last week four students asked for your contact information to reach out about private tutoring. Neville loves you and the department sees the work that you’ve been doing and is throughly impressed. You’ve earned this position and the respect that comes along with it,” he tells you, honestly shining in his eyes, making you melt in your chair at his gaze. You feel heat rising to your cheeks as you look away from him, sipping from your glass. The sight makes Fred’s heart skip a beat.

“Are you saying I’ve earned your respect?” you ask him with a teasing smile as he chuckles.

“Yes. You earned it awhile ago. You’re an incredible woman,” he tells you as you smile, looking down at the glass in your hands, too meek to meet Fred’s gaze now.

It’s quiet for a moment before Fred clears his throat and stands up, turning on the speaker as Frank Sinatra softly starts playing again as you laugh to yourself. It Happened In Monterey starts to echo in the classroom as you smile at Fred. “One of my favorites,” you tell him.

Fred nods, “One of his best hits,” he says as if it were a fact. “Give me your top three. Go.”

You think for a moment before speaking, “It Happened In Monterey, The Way You Look Tonight, and Girl From Ipanema. I think those are his best.”

Fred smiles, “Agreed. His version of The Way You Look Tonight I prefer much over Tony Bennett’s.”

“Oh, easily! Don’t get me wrong, Tony Bennett has some great hits, but he doesn’t hold a candle to Frankie,” you tell Fred, making him chuckle. The two of you chat about music for a little while longer before Come Fly With Me comes on and Fred claps his hands. “My mom loves this song,” you smile, fondly remembering her singing in the kitchen to this song.

Fred rises to his feet and immediately grabs your hands and brings you to his feet. He places your drinks down on the desk as he spins you around, making you laugh. “You can’t not dance to this song,” he tells you, placing his hand on your waist, the other holding your other hand in his larger one. The contact makes your heart flutter in your chest as you giggle as he spins you around again, this time into his chest.

Your back is pressed against him as he sway with you in his arms before spin you back out, dancing around and around the classroom, the two of you laughing messes as you dance to Frank Sinatra, still in your work clothes from this morning. As you dance, you steal glances of Fred. How his hair was messy from running his fingers through it, his tie loose around his neck, impressions of his glasses in the bridge of his nose. He was so effortlessly handsome and it made your stomach sway at the sight of him. How he could be so handsome without even realizing it. Without even realizing how he made you feel. All warm and fuzzy inside, giggling like a child as he spun you around in his arms, making this moment feel like something out of a movie.

The song slowly fades away before Autumn in New York starts play, changing the tone of the room. You two catch your breaths before looking at each other in the eyes, Fred’s hands on your waist as your hands rest on his chest. The two of you look at each other, and slowly start to sway as the orchestra of the song starts to swell. Frank’s clear voice echos in the empty classroom as you slowly wrap your arms around Fred’s neck, him pulling you close to his body as you start to slow dance in the middle of the classroom, neither of you registering what is happening. You two were purely acting on instinct. But god, it felt so right.

The two of you dance gently to the music as Fred’s hands rest on your lower back, his thumbs tracing small circles into your jumper as you lace your fingers around his neck. No words are spoken. You just listen to the music and stare at the other, taking each other in during the dance. How could something that started off so innocent turn so beautiful?

Your mind was reeling, watching Fred look at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. You wanted to tell him everything that’s ever happened to you in this moment. Everything that you’ve gone through that brought you to this moment. Something about Fred made you feel safe. Something you hadn’t felt in years.

As the music starts to come to a close, you can feel Fred lean down gently and press his forehead to yours as you inhale a shaky breath. So desperately you wished to close the gap between you two, pushing your lips together, giving into him. But before anything can happen, the horns blare over the speaker, Brazil blasting over the speakers, making the two of you jump, startled at the change in pace.

You place a hand over your heart as Fred races over to the speaker to lower the volume. “That scared the living hell out of me,” you breathe out as Fred laughs and nods. The two of you stand there, wondering what to say, knowing that you were both thinking the same thing. But no one says anything. “Um,” you clear your throat. “It’s quite late. I should probably get going...” you trail off as you walk over to grab your purse and notebooks.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he tells you with a nod, cleaning up the mess of take away boxes on his desk. “You need me to call you a cab?” he asks.

“No, no, it’s fine, I got it,” you tell him with a smile as he nods, throwing out the garbage and sorting away miscellaneous papers. “Um, I, um...”

“I had fun with you,” Fred finishes your sentence for you as you exhale and smile gently with a nod. “I’ll see you on Monday then?”

You nod your head, “Absolutely, yeah.” He grins and digs his hands into his pockets.

You start to make your way towards the door, but Fred stops you and says, “Hey, (Y/N)? On Monday, I’d like you to run the lecture. For both classes.” Your eyes widen as you look at him in disbelief. You try to protest, but Fred speaks, “I think that the class would benefit from your perspective. And your sheer brilliance.”

A small smile forms on your lips as you let out a breathy laugh. “Wow. Okay. Yeah. For sure,” you tell him with a nod as Fred smiles. “Thank you, Fred. This is...wow. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” he tells you. “You’ve earned it. You’ve earned it all. Now, get going and get a goodnight’s rest. That you surely deserve.”

And with one small wave, you exit the classroom and start down the hall, feeling like you were on cloud nine. Nothing felt as good as this.

------

Monday rolls around as quickly as Friday left and you enter campus with a pep in your step. Today you were teaching the class and you were beyond prepared. You had your lesson plan in your bag, a coffee in your hand, and your favorite jumper on. You felt invincible.

As you walked into the staff lounge, Harry sat with Seamus, sipping on coffees and munching on provided breakfast. “Morning, you lot,” you chime merrily as you place your bag on the table and walk towards the breakfast tray and grab a crossiant.

“You’re too cheery for a Monday morning,” Seamus says with a look on his face. “What’s got you so bright eyes and bushy tailed?”

You smile to yourself as you walk back to the table, tearing open the croissant to slab some jam on it. “Fred is letting me run lecture today,” you reply happily.

Seamus looks over to Harry with wide eyes, the two of them in complete shock. “Wow,” Seamus says. “That’s...incredible. Good on you, (Y/N),” he tells you as you thank him with a smile. “I didn’t know Fred let his TA run a class. The most he let Dean do was take roll,” he told Harry.

Harry took a sip from his coffee and wiggled his brows, “I didn’t think so either. I guess our very own (Y/N) has made him have a change of heart.”

You roll your eyes and speak, “I earned this, Harry. I’ve been working my ass off and after a long night of grading papers, Fred offered me the opportunity which I gladly took.” Harry nods his head with a mhm as you throw as piece of croissant at him. “I’m serious!”

“I’m not saying you don’t deserve it, (Y/N)! You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met; you deserve this like humans needs to breathe!” Harry exclaims. “I’m just...shocked that Fred let you make a lesson plan, nevertheless teach a whole class,” he speaks as you shrug. “Guess you bring out the best in Fred Weasley.”

You smile, “Is that such a bad thing?” Harry chuckles as Seamus shakes his head with a huff. “Well, if you excuse me, I have to get ready for my lecture,” you joke as Harry rolls his eyes.

“Don’t let this thing get to your head!” he calls after you as you flip him the bird, making Seamus laugh.

As you walk to 523, your heart patter against your chest with excitement, but also lots of nerves. What if they preferred Fred over you? What if Fred was more engaging with them? What if someone fell asleep? What if someone asked you a question you couldn’t answer?

Soon your confidence began to waver as you entered the classroom, Fred clearing the chalkboard, getting the room ready for you. “There she is. Professor for the day,” Fred claps his hands. “You excited?” he asks. But you don’t answer him. You nervously place your purse on the desk and start gnawing at your nails. This makes Fred worried as he walks over to you and places his hands on your shoulders. “You alright?” he asks, concern washing over his face.

You relax into his touch as you sigh, “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just...nervous.” Fred gives you a sympathetic smile. “What if they like you better than me? What if I say something stupid and they all laugh at me? What if I forget everything? I mean, how much do I really know about Mill? Probably nothing,” you ramble.

Fred laughs and gives you arms a squeeze, forcing your eyes up to him. “Hey, look at me,” he speaks as you huff and look into his comforting gaze. “Everything is going to be just fine. You are brilliant and the students love you. You’re gonna get up there and smash it. I know it,” he tells you with a confident smile, making your heart flutter and your stomach flip. “I was nervous for my first lecture too, but once you start, the adrenaline gets pumping and you feel on top of the world.”

You give him a shaky nod, “Yeah. Okay. I can do this, yeah?”

“Absolutely,” he laughs. “You’re more than capable,” he reassures you. “I believe in you. I always have,” he speaks, tilting your chin up with his fore finger as you gulp thickly. Fred’s eyes dart to your lips back up to your eyes as he smiles softly. “You’ll be brilliant.”

“Thank you,” you speak just above a whisper as Fred nods.

Slowly, he pulls away from you and sits at his desk which prompts the first student to enter the classroom as you gather your notebook and a piece of chalk, writing on the board in bold letters, Mill and Utilitarianism. You wipe your hands on your pants and look over to Fred who gives you a thumbs up.

Soon enough, the classroom fills up with students as you try to keep yourself calm and not let the class see your nerves. “Happy Monday, everyone,” Fred speaks from his desk. “I hope you all had a great weekend. Your papers on Aristotle have been graded and the grades are posted online. Some of you did great, some of you did shit. If you have any complaints, you can see me or (Y/N) after class to discuss,” he speaks, earning a few laughs from the class. Fred speaks, “Brian, I wouldn’t laugh if I were you. (Y/N) couldn’t make it past page three of yours before handing it off to me.” This earns a loud roar of laughter from the class which eased your nerves. God, Fred knew exactly what you needed. “Speaking of (Y/N), she will be running lecture today. I’ll be playing the role of TA and you’ll give her the same amount of respect like you give me. Understood?” The class nods. “Brilliant. (Y/N), you have the floor.”

You smile at him, “Thank you, Fred, for the introduction.” Fred nods. You turn to the class. “Alright. Let’s talk about Mill’s Utilitarianism. After reading it, what are our thoughts? How do we feel about Mill in comparison to Kant or Aristotle?” you ask generally trying to ease into the lecture.

The class is motionless for a moment before Jessica raises her hand and you nod. “I found it interesting how he acknowledges the objections in his work,” she tells you as you nod. “Not many philosopher’s explicitly do that in their works.”

“Great,” you smile at her. “Let’s take a look at that. Everyone open up your copies and turn to page seven. Mill writes, ‘Life has no higher purpose than pleasure? What are we, swine?’ What do you think this means?” you ask the class. The stare blankly at you as you inhale deeply, this being a fear of yours. But before you can allow yourself to freak out, you think about what Fred would do. You repeat the quote again and add this time, “Are we swines? I mean, I don’t know about Brian, but I know that I’m not a swine.”

This causes the class to erupt with laughter, Fred included, and Brian blushes a deep shade of red before he raises his hand to answer the question. Ah, victory.

The class continues on and the discussion was incredible with both classes you taught. The students had such provoking conversations with fruitful discussions on the topic. It made your heart swell that they were so good for you and you felt like you were in your element the whole time.

Fred couldn’t help but smile to himself as he watched you give the lecture, bouncing off points, connecting ideas, and posing new questions that he couldn’t even think of. You were electric and the students were infatuated with you, even more so than they were with him. He couldn’t help but feel proud of you. He loved watching you smile and laugh as you talked to the students.

“Okay, well unfortunately we are at time, but next week bring in your annotated books along with your first drafts of your papers!” you tell the class as they thank you as they leave the class one by one.

After each student has left the classroom and the door shuts, you turn to Fred who springs from his chair and runs over to you, scooping you up in a hug and spinning you around as you laugh. “Sheer brilliance,” he places you down with a beaming smile. “I’ve never seen students so excited to talk about moral philosophy,” he shakes his head as you grin widely, holding your hands behind your back. “That was great, (Y/N).”

“I feel great,” you tell him with a smile. “Seriously. It blows my mind how smart they are sometimes. Bloody Brian had such great talking points today!” you beam as Fred laughs. “But really, I learned everything that I did today from you. You are the great teacher,” you tell him, nudging his shoulder playfully.

Fred rolls his eyes, “Oh, don’t give me all the credit. I mean...give me some, but not all.” You laugh and shake your head. “Kidding, kidding,” he tells you as you smile at him, taking in the way his face looked as the sun started to set behind him, signaling the end of your day. “Um, I’ll walk with you to the lot?”

You nod your head as the two of you pack your things and make your way to the parking lot with Fred, the both of you making light chatter about the class discussions and how thought provoking they all were. As you walk in the halls, you pass Harry who calls out, “I’m guessing it went well!”

“Shut it, Potter!” you call back as Fred chuckles.

Soon enough, you reach the staff parking lot and Fred digs around in his pockets for the key to his car. “Well,” Fred huffs. “You did a great job today, (Y/N). I would say I’m impressed, but I knew you would do brilliantly.”

You beam, “Thank you, Fred. Really. I know how much this class means to you and I thank you for trusting me with it.”

He smiles and leans against the hood of his black Audi, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows before leaning on his hands. “It’s my pleasure. I know how much teaching a class meant to you and I’m happy I could help,” he tells you as you nod.

The two of you stand there, watching each other as the sun sets behind the castle. Fred’s eyes glossed over your body and how pants hugged your curves and how the jumper clung onto your figure. He took a deep breath in before smiling to himself as you gulped and cleared your throat, trying to diffuse some of the tension between the two of you. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow, Professor,” you tease Fred as he chuckles.

You start to walk away and towards the bus stop, but Fred’s voice stops you. “(Y/N)?” he speaks as you turn back to him, walking back to him. “I’ve got a quick question for you.”

“What’s up?”

“So, Mill said ‘There's no time for all this calculating when we're faced with an actual moral decision.’ And I’m afraid that I have a moral decision of my own,” he speaks with a smirk as you heart races at the sight of the smile you’ve grown so fond of over the past few weeks.

You smile at your feet before looking up at him. “And what would that moral decision be, Professor Weasley?” you tease him as he chuckles.

“That night, we spent grading papers,” he starts as you tuck your hands into your back pockets. “I wanted to kiss you.” His confession makes your heart race as face heat up. “And ever since then, I’ve been trying to find a moment where I can finally suck it up and kiss you,” he smirks. “So, what I guess what I’m trying to say is, is it alright if I kiss my teaching assistant in the parking lot of this bloody school?”

You lightly laugh and speak, taking a step closer to him as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you close as you place your hands on his chest, “Well, if we are talking about this in the terms of Mill, would kissing your teaching assistant bring you pleasure?”

Fred smiles, “Without a doubt.”

“Then I think you’re morally obligated to,” you tell him as he chuckles.

He hesitates no longer and dips his head down to connect your lips together as you inhale deeply, wrapping your arms around his neck. His lips are soft, but passionate against you as they gently move against yours. His hands squeeze your hips gently as you press yourself against his body, making Fred lightly moan into your mouth. His tongue slips past your parted lips, caressing his tongue with yours as you let out a soft moan, making Fred inhale deeply. Your heart is pounding against your chest as you gently pull at the roots of his hair, relishing in the way his lips feel against yours. His mouth moves slowly and lazily against yours, making your head spin and desire grow. It’s everything you imagined it would be as cliche as it sounded.

Gently, you pull away as Fred smiles lightly. “Thank you, John Stuart Mill,” he breathes out, making you laugh. “I’ve been dying to do that.”

“I’m glad you did,” you confess to him, arms still wrapped around him as Fred squeezes your hips, placing another soft kiss to your lips. “Now that you’ve accomplish that moral dilemma, do you have any idea what your next one is?” you tease him, wiggling your brows.

Fred shakes his head, “Oh, we’ve got the rest of the semester to figure that one out.”

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nightowlfandom · 3 years

Text

Rich! Bad Boy!Min Yoongi- Try Me

Just wanna say if you see your name used here, I don’t have beef with you okay? I had a random name generator in another tab and just used the first name I saw.

Once again someone doesn’t want me to be great so....this might be the only post today because I....dunno I can’t post when I’m not in a good mood and its been real shitty.

CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!!

X RATED PROMPT LIST| NON X RATED PROMPT LIST

RUN IN HERE AND COME GET Y’ALL JUICE

Leggo!

...

You were practically glued to his side. His arm was tightly wrapped around your waist as he led you across the room. You had perched your designer sunglasses on top of your head to get a clearer look at your surroundings. Why were you wearing sunglasses at night? Because you could, of course.

Your wore a backless floor length gown in one of his favorite colors. He had insisted you wear your fur coat, but you convinced him to let you leave it in the car. You were on full display, not only for him but for anyone else who thought that they had bought the most gorgeous date for the night. That title was forever and always reserved for Min Yoongi’s girl and tonight only proved it more and more.

He walked with his held held high as if everyone around him was beneath him. His attired screamed ‘try me, bitch’ From his black suit and tie to crisp white dress shirt and shoes that were worth more than someone’s rent for five months. His hair was slicked back and while he didn’t bother to raise his own pair of shades, everyone could see the glare very evident on his face.

You two were the epitome of a power couple, in the most literal sense and everyone respected that.

“Mr. Min! Welcome!” a nervous and frantic looking man rushed up to you. “This must be your beautiful companion for the night.” he bowed repeatedly. So many times that you lost count. He held his hand out for you to take, but you were left to stare awkwardly. You had no idea what to do in that moment. After a second or two you held your hand out, which he shook a bit too aggressively.

Yoongi calmly used his free hand to raise his sunglasses up. “You gettin’ paid to rip my girl’s arm out its socket?”

“Oh! my apologies Mr. Min!” he instantly let your hand go. “I wasn’t aware.”

“You never are.” he scoffed, allowing his shades sit on the top of his head. “Is our table ready or did they send you here to waste our time?”

“You’re fashionably early! Your comrades haven’t arrived yet.” the host stammered. “Follow me!” he practically disappeared through the sea of people.

“What a tool.” you spoke for the first time since you left the car. “I’ve never seen a bigger kiss-ass in my life.”

“Hm, trust me I’ve met worse. He’s just a dick-rider for the men who really own this place.” He leaned down and spoke into your ear. “Those guys will literally shit on someone else’s table if I tell them to.”

“How riveting.” you rolled your eyes playfully as he led you through the crowd. It was easy for people to get out of your way. One look from your boyfriend and they were hugged the nearest wall or throwing themselves against the various tables set up all over the place. “Remind me again why we’re here?”

“Don’t make that face.” He smirked. “I told you, official business.”

“And we couldn’t do that somewhere less...sleazy?” you scoffed at the old man with five different women on his arm. “Yoongi-”

“It’s only for a few hours.” he assured. “Then after that, we can do whatever you want, okay?”

“You said that last time.” you hid the pout forming on your face.

“You have my word.”

“Or so you say.” you slipped out of his grip. “Until you have more trash take out.” you shook your head as you walked ahead. Yoongi watched you from behind as you walked ahead. Of course you didn’t need him by your side to be considered intimidating. He bit his lip at the idea of ripping that dress off your body when you got back to the hotel. Shit, he might not even manage to keep his hands to himself in the car.

Yoongi joined you at the table. “ You feel like Soju tonight?”

“Depends on if you want me to start fighting or not.” you raised an eyebrow at Yoongi.

“Hm, on second thought how about imported beer.”

“This isn’t date night at your place, dear.” you replied jokingly.

“Hm, you’re right. It’s been a while since we’ve splurged. We can do wine tonight!” he chuckled in reply as you both sat down. Just as you both got settled, you were met by a small crowd. Yoongi’s friends, of course.

“Oi! Watch how you handle my fucking jacket! It’s worth more than your life.” Namjoon snapped at that host.

“My apologies sir!”

“Yoongi, Y/N. Good to see you.” Seokjin shook Yoongi’s hand firmly. “Sorry we’re late.”

“We just arrived ourselves.” you replied, relaxing as Yoongi wrapped his arm around your waist again. “Yoongi insisted.”

“Of course he did.” Jungkook sat down. “I saw the other women glaring at you.” he laughed. “You sure know how to make an entrance.” he raised your hand to his lips for a short kiss to your knuckles.

“Of course she does. She’s the best looking woman here.” he huffed as if it was obvious. The host quietly bought the selection for the night.

“Wine for the lady, the usual for the rest of us.” Yoongi spoke for the table.

“Yes sir!”

Before anyone else could speak, a woman in a red dress and white fur coat strode up. “Yoongi? Is that you?”

“Meredith....fancy seeing you here.” Yoongi looked less than thrilled.

“Very!” she seemed a little too happy to see him. It was funny because you had never seen nor heard of this woman in your life. “So...I tried to call you.”

She was completely oblivious of you sitting right there and you didn’t like it.

“What are you doing here?” Seokjin annoyedly spoke up as his drink was poured. “If you couldn’t tell, we’re all trying to enjoy ourselves.”

“I just wanted to catch up with an old friend!” she put her hands up in defense. Her eyes suddenly landed on you. “Whose this?” she fixed her face in disgust

“Y/N L/N, who the fuck are you?” you raised an eyebrow. Your posture straightened up as she glared at you. You threw your sunglasses on the table, crossing your arms as you perked up.

“Are you Yoongi’s pet or something?” she put a hand on her hip. “ Guess they’ll let anyone in!”

“Pet? Oh Honey...Even if that were true it would still mean I’m sitting here and your standing there looking stupid....”

“Oh yeah. He’s probably waiting for the perfect moment to get rid of you!”

You held up a single hand to up Yoongi to signify that you didn’t want him to speak. He looked livid, however you didn’t see the point in him wasting his time or energy on this woman. You slowly stood up. The host held your glass of wine with shaky hands, unsure of what to do.

“Thank you.” you grabbed the glass from him. “Run along now.”

“Yes mam!” the scared host scurried off, obviously not wanting any confrontation.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Yoongi asked, watching you with weary eyes. You weren’t confrontational so this was a huge surprise.

“Meredith. That is your name, right?” you smiled sweetly. You took a sip from your glass. “Hm...What a darling coat! I bet it goes with anything.”

“Of course it does! It pairs best with red. I bought it in Paris...” she put a hand on her hip as if she was a model. “As you can see.”

“Too bad beautiful gowns and expensive fur doesn’t make the wearer any less cheap than the next bitch.” you instantly shut down the false sense of security you built for the disrespectful woman.

“EXCUSE ME?!?”

“Not done yet....” you cleared your throat before speaking again. “ Whore, Pet, Wife ,Girlfriend, whatever you want to call me, go ahead but best believe my place in Yoongi’s life will always hold rank over you, my dear. You weren’t even important enough for him to tell me about you and we’ve been together for four years going on five as of two months from now.” You put your free hand on your hip. “That’s number one.” you laughed gleefully.

“Damn Yoongi, your girl has guts.” Namjoon whispered.

“That’s my babe.” Yoongi sat back and watched you drag Meredith for filth.

“Number Two! Before you try to feed me shit and call it sugar, make sure you take off the tags on your clothes.” You pointed to the obvious department store tag. “Clearance...nice. I also know fake diamonds when I see them, don’t play yourself.”

Nothing was wrong with fake gems, or clearance items...but pretending you were better than everyone else while lying...that wasn’t gonna go down.

The girl had went completely quiet now.

“Three. Last but not least. Get over this whole convoluted ‘I’m better than you’ ideals you follow because the same people you turn your nose up at are the same people who you rely on on a day to day basis. Shiny hair, expensive clothes, and a posse of fake friends who tell you everything you want to hear does not guarantee happiness. Insulting me because it gives you short lived joy does not guarantee happiness. Pretending you actually have any sense of class when it’s obvious you faked your way to the top of social stardom does not guarantee happiness.” you put your wine glass on the table. “So before I proceed to tell you to go fuck yourself and to stay away from me and my BOYFRIEND...any questions?”

Not even five seconds passed and this woman walked off without another word. You didn’t feel bad, not by a long shot. Respect is something that’s earned any ANYONE who didn’t understand that could get a piece of you.

You sat back down next to Yoongi, grabbing your wine again. “Gentlemen, forgive me for that outburst.”

“Damn babe.” Yoongi wrapped his arm around you again. “That was hot.”

“Good because I’m highly fucking livid right now.” you calmly took a sip of your wine. “Who was that woman?” you turned to glare at Yoongi.

“She was an actress who was paid to portray my wife for a business thing I was forced to do.” he shook his head. “Y/N I promise she means nothing to me. It was before we even met.”

“Good. Let another girl talk crazy to me, I’ll kill you both.” you said with a straight face. “Her for thinking she can talk to me any way she wants, and you for keeping things from me. I will cut you deep, sir.”

“Damn I love you.” he bit his lip. He turned your head towards himself to give you a deep kiss.

...

As he had promised, he could barely keep his hands off you in the car. The minute the doors had shut, Yoongi had the hem of your dress bunched up in his fist. His lips feverishly laid open mouth kisses along your exposed neck.

“Yoongi, we shouldn’t do this here.” you whimpered, even though your actions said the completely opposite.

“Why? No one is gonna stop me. They damn sure won’t say shit about it.” Yoongi stopped for a split second to turn a glare to the limo driver, who was trying very hard not to look in the rear view mirror. “PUT THE FUCKING DIVIDER UP.” he barked.

“Yes sir!!”

Yoongi pushed you down onto the seats, causing you to let out a laugh. The divider was put up and you could hear the sound of fabric ripping.

He had tore a rip up your dress.

“Goodbye $3,000 dress.” you huffed.

“More where that came from.” he laughed, which was quickly replaced with a sadistic smile. “Spread your legs, baby.” he pouted. “Daddy wants to finger you”

“In the car-"

“When we get back to the hotel, I want you naked on that bed.” he growled. “If not, I’ll fucking rip whatever you have left off.”

... (The Hotel)

He couldn’t even keep his hands to himself in the elevator, any part of you he could get his hands on, he touched. By the time you two had gotten back to the room, you were thrown on the bed. Your dress had a huge tear up the leg and the straps were holding up either. Yoongi had discarded every article of clothing except his pants which were hanging low on his hips at this point.

“How do you want me?” he flicked his tongue against his bottom lip, looking you up and down. “I’ll do whatever you want, babe.” He watched as your shy wall was quickly put up and he couldn’t help but laugh. “Baby doesn’t know?”

“Nuh uh.” you hid behind your hands with a shy smile.

“Hm...my hands?”

“hm....nuh uh.” you shook your head again.

“Hm...my mouth then?” he bit his lips, standing right in front of you. “Where was that fire, honey? Come on.” he grabbed your hands. “Want me to eat that pretty pussy, baby?” He gathered the rest of your dress in his fist. “Come here.”

He began kissing up your bare thighs. You shook your legs, biting your lip. You felt him pull your panties down.

“You were so brave for me, sexy girl. Where’s that fighting spirit? Do you want me to eat this sweet little- hmm.” he dragged his tongue up your slit, laying opened mouthed kisses along your pussy. “You’re brave for the outside world but you still need daddy to take care of you, huh?”

“Mhm!” you nodded desperately.

“Baby you taste so fucking good.” he laughed, lashing his tongue against your hot flesh. “You’re moving so much.” he cackled. “Hmm” he dug his nails into your thighs. “You like it when I eat this pussy?”

“This is mine.” he mumbled against your heat. “This is all mine. Don’t think I’m done with you yet...”

146 notes · View notes

sunshineseung · 3 years

Text

Where You Belong // Minho

🍄 | genre: smut (and angst if you squint) ☁️ | pairing: Lee Minho x female!reader 🌿 | wc: 2.9k 🌸 | includes: hard dom!minho, sub!reader, religious themes, slapping, spanking (with bible 😳 omg im filthy), hair pulling, spitting, finger sucking, minho’s big, face fucking, crying, begging, praise/degradation, unprotected sex, bulge kink/distension, breeding, no aftercare :(, [spoiler] demon/succubus!minho

☀️ | synopsis: You go to your church to worship God, but you soon find out who you should really be on your knees for.

🌊 | requested: “I have a request! 😶 Could you maybe do something like Sinner but for Minho?” your wish is my command sweet annonie~

You’re kneeled down and bowing your head, mentally repenting to the Lord above. It’s late at night, but not late enough for the Church to be locked. The soft light from distant old lamps illuminate your figure, the red carpet beneath you softly separating your knees from the hard oak floor.

“Hey, is this seat taken?” You widen your eyes and look up, being disrupted mid-prayer by a man you’ve never seen at the congregation before. He’s average height with shaggy brown hair, wearing a black leather jacket with a white tee shirt underneath and black skinny jeans to contrast. Needless to say, he looks far from the usual churchgoer.

“Yes, but please be quiet. This is a place of worship.” Your tongue sounds sharp as you vaguely scold the stranger, him kneeling next to you, staring at you as you go back to prayer. You can feel his eyes on you, tracing your body. “Sir, if you’re not going to pray, can you please move somewhere else?”

“Pray? Why would I do that?” He laughs and stands up, his eyes never leaving yours. You roll your eyes and stand up with him, but he quickly puts his hand on your shoulder and forces you back down. “Hey, stay on your knees. You look better like that.”

“I don’t know who you are, but that is disgusting!” With your arms folded, you turn your head away from him, refusing to look at him. “Perverts like you shouldn’t be allowed in the house of God.”

“If it’s so disgusting, then why did you listen to me?” He leans down, his face right next to yours. You can feel his breath on the side of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His body heat is so much warmer than yours, and you feel yourself cower from his presence. “Looks like you like being on your knees for more than God.”

“That’s why I’m praying, and I suggest you do the same, sir.” While you speak, he takes off his jacket and throws it onto a pew, stretching his arms out, showing off his muscles. He puts his hand on the top of your head, scratching you as if you’re a puppy. “Sir-“

“Keep calling me sir like that and I might have to make you worship me instead.” You feel your body freeze, feeling far out of your comfort zone. Your body is shaking, and you need to stand up, but you can’t. There’s something inside you that refuses to allow you to get off of your knees. As much as your brain is telling you to run away, your body wants you to stay. “You’re praying because you’re a whore, huh? You like sleeping around, letting any cock that comes your way use your little cunt like a toy?”

You swallow the spit collecting in your mouth, your lungs feeling empty as you try to respond. Nothing can come out of your mouth, head going empty, only forcing out a whine. What has come over you?

“God doesn’t forgive just anyone, ya know? They have to prove that they’re worthy of forgiveness.” He pets your hair more, making all your thoughts leave your head as he grips your scalp. You finally look at him in the eyes, his brown eyes turning black as he looks down at you like you’re his prey. “What have you done to be forgiven other than be a little cumslut?”

“N-nothing I suppose.” Your mouth feels dryer than a desert, your eyes trying to focus on something, anything, just to bring you back to reality.

“Then maybe you should just do what you’re best at, hm?” He pulled you head back by your hair, forced your mouth open with his fingers, and dove his digits to the back of your throat to test your reflexes. “Slutty little angel takes my fingers so well. I wonder how well you’ll take my cock.” He pries your mouth open with his drool-coated fingers and spits down your throat, closing your mouth with his hand on your chin to make you swallow. “You’re such a fucking pervert. Don’t you know the Lord is watching?”

“What’s your name?” You look up at him, feeling your senses slowly return to you. “I don’t want to go any further if I don’t know your name.”

“Oh, so you’re willing to go further?” He raises his eyebrow, a wicked smirk growing across his face. “My name is Minho, but you call me sir. Master works too, love.”

“We shouldn’t do this in a church.” You finally stand up, but Minho grabs your body just as you get on your feet and pulls you towards him, his hands roaming across your body, feeling every dip and rise. He hums in your ear, his large hands cupping your tits and squeezing them, making you groan. “Th-this isn’t appropriate.”

“No bra?” He slaps your chest, your body violently arching as he inflicts pain. His teeth harshly bite into your neck, lips sucking bruises onto the skin. “How much you wanna bet that you’re not wearing panties either?”

You go silent, one of his hands leaving your breast and sliding down your body between your legs, feeling your pussy directly under your jeans. You whimper quietly as his finger presses against your clit, the rough denim causing an uncomfortable stimulation to your most sensitive area.

“Just as I thought. You come here to repent to your God, and yet your body is begging to be fucked.” He pushes you off of his body, you weakly standing to your feet as you look back at him, his eyes a dark shade of red. “Are you sure we can’t fuck in a church? This place has so many toys for us to play with, baby.”

“T-toys?” You look around the room as you back away from him, scared he’ll snap and pounce on you. “There are no sex toys here.”

“Not conventional ones, but I see something I can easily use to put you in your place.” He walks up to you and turns you around, bending you over one of the pews. He pushes your face down into the musty church seat as he grips your hair, holding it up so he can kiss the back of your neck. “Stay still, angel. This is what you deserve.”

“Huh?” Before you can comprehend what’s going on, you feel a hearty thwack against your ass, still covered by your jeans. It didn’t sound like anything you’ve ever heard before, the impact sounding hollow from whatever he hit you with. “What was that?”

“I think you people call it,” Minho pulls down your pants, fully exposing your bare ass and dripping cunt to the open church, “a Bible?”

You can practically hear the smile in his voice, another hit falling against your ass, this time feeling much more intense from the lack of protection between you and the works of the Lord.

“People like you always walk around with their nose in the air, feeling above everyone around them.” Minho spanks you again, harder than before. “You’re just as much of a sinner as the rest of your kind, slut. Know your fuckin’ place.”

“W-what do you mean my kind?” He doesn’t answer your question of course, another slap from the Bible making your ass a bright red. Your skin is burning with pain. You’ve never felt like this before: used and abused, yet mentally begging for more.

“Dumb whore hasn’t caught on yet?” Minho laughs at your quivering body, running his hands up your back from under your shirt. With one pull, your shirt is over your head, tossed to the dusty floor of the old building. He bends himself over you, his bulge pressing directly against your aching pussy. “You were right, sweetheart. Perverts like me shouldn’t be allowed here, but not for the reasons you’re thinking.”

Your raise can only be raised from the seat so much, turned to the side so you can breath. You feel out of it even though he hasn’t properly fucked you. Nothing has ever made you feel like this before, and you writhe inside imagining what this man was about to do to you, and how eagerly you’d take whatever he gave you.

“We have more in common than you think, you know?” His mouth is right next to your hear, lightly sucking on the shell. “Sex is our vice. You can’t deny that.”

“Please fuck me, sir,” you whine, pressing your ass back against his crotch. He hisses, feeling his raging cock strangle itself against his tight pants. “Don’t care where we are. Need your cock.”

“Bitches like you are overpowered so easily.” He rustles his cock out of his pants, pulling his tight jeans down his thighs so his cock can press between your ass, thrusting through your folds, but not slipping in. You’re absolutely soaked, lubing his cock with your juices. He feels so big, you’re not sure if you can take it all. “Back on your knees. Master wants to see how well your mouth can take a real cock.”

You obediently hop up, moving away from him to get on your knees and kneel before him, looking up to him like he was your one true God. Being naked in a church was already sending you to hell, so much more trouble with your savior could you possible get into?

He quickly grabs your head, your mouth falling open as his tip enters your mouth. He pulls your head back down his shaft, forcing his cock down your mouth in one swift movement. You choke on his length, the size of him causing your jaw to ache after seconds. His cock is so big and veiny, but you love the weight of it pressing against your tongue.

Minho ruthlessly fucks your mouth, your lips turning red as he abuses your throat. Spit drips down your chin as you continuously take him down your throat, tongue loose against the bottom of his length. Minho’s groaning loudly, and surely anyone else in this church would have heard him. He throws his head back, his thrusts into your mouth getting sloppy as his hands roughly make a mess of your hair.

“Such a good mouth, baby.” You hum on his cock, the vocal vibrations causing him to shiver. He’s leaking precum down your throat, his cock twitching as his orgasm grows near. Your mouth begins to grow sore, painful-induced tears rolling down your cheeks, mixing with the drool around your mouth. “So messy for your master, hm?”

Minho harshly pulls out of your mouth, leaving your jaw hung open from the abuse. He’s breathing heavily, looking down at you as his hands slip from your head to your shoulders. You look up at him with water eyes, trying to decipher is expression. His eyebrows were furrowed, but he had a crooked smile. He looked like Lucifer himself had climbed out of hell to drag you back down with him.

“Beg for it, angel. Beg for my cock.” He taps your bottom lip with his tip, not allowing you to taste another drip of him. You whine and squint your eyes, desperately looking for any words while your mind was elsewhere. “What’s got you so shy? You want my cock to stuff your pussy, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, sir.” Your legs shake as he pulls you up by your arms, grabbing onto your ass as your legs wrap around his hips, his cock presses against your heat. “P-please!”

“You can do better than that.” He drops you onto the seat you had found yourself bent over only minutes prior, legs spread, pussy ready to be used by your master. Minho climbs on top of you, pressing the tip of his cock against your hole without plunging in. “What do you want, slut?”

“I want master to fuck my cunt like he owns me. Please fuck me, master! Need your cum inside me~” you trail off at the end, staring down at where his cock teases your greedy hole. He pushes the tip in, stretching you out just enough to make you wince for a moment before whining for more. “Fill me with your cock, please!”

“My angel wants to be bred now?” His transition between praise and degradation made your head spin, but you loved every name he called you. “You want to be bred by a demon, sweetheart? Feel my hot cum inside you? Drip out of you after I’m done with you?”

“D-demon?” Your heart starts beating. If you weren’t sinning enough already by fucking in a church, all the subtle hints Minho had been dropping up ‘til then suddenly made sense. “You’re a-”

“Don’t dwell on it too much. Just let your master show you how much fun it is to be bad, alright?” You nod as he pushes himself in, his length feeling like a stab to your abdomen. His body on your was so hot, and not just metaphorically, but also literally. You were sweating bullets by the time his cock was fully buried inside you, your walls hugging his fat cock like he was made for you. He groaned deep, falling into your shoulder, biting at your collarbone as he began to pull out and thrust back in. “You’re tight for someone who gets her body exploited so often.”

His hands find your wrists, pinning your hands to the sides of your head while he fucks into you, the drag of your walls making him moan in your ear. You were trying your damndest not to scream his name in the echoey church hall, but it was becoming difficult the more his presence overwhelmed you. He watched your face struggle between pain and pleasure, feeling himself get to the edge just from looking at you. To pause his impending orgasm, he looks down at where he was connected with you, but that proved to make his job even harder.

“I’m fucking you so good, my little whore. You can see my cock make your stomach bulge.” Just saying that made him hiccup, holding himself back from letting go and intensely pounding into you. He moves a hand from your wrist and presses it against your lower abdomen, making you feel even tighter on his cock. “Fuck- good girl.”

He rams his cock into your sweet spot effortlessly, hitting it with every stroke. Your back arches, your orgasm nearing it’s edge. All your nerves stand on their end as your legs squirm around Minho, finally wrapping around his hips again and pulling him into you, his cock reaching deeper than before. You moan loudly as you cum around his cock, Minho making the slightest movements of hips to help you reach your peak. You looked like you were glowing, tightening and spasming around his aching cock. Now that you came, it was Minho’s turn. Your legs fell from Minho’s hips, signaling that it was his time.

“I’m gonna cum so deep inside you, angel.” Minho wastes no time waiting to return to his pace, if anything going faster than before. The sound of skin slapping and moaning was so violent. You were overwhelmed by the situation, your pussy becoming a beacon of pain as he mercilessly railed your pussy. “You want master to fill you up with his cum, right slut?”

“Please cum inside me, master.” You were sobbing, both from the pain of the overstimulation and the pleasure from Minho’s raging cock. “Please? For your angel?”

“Anything for my angel.” He groans, nearing a growl, as he cums inside you, completely bottomed out as his seed spills onto your walls. You felt so full, almost too full, as he sits inside you, gently fucking his release back into you. Before he pulls out, he leans down and kisses your soft lips, a soft, sweet kiss. “You took me so well.”

We pulls his cock out of you, hissing when his flaccid dick falls out of you, watching his cum drip down your ass to the expensive fabric of the pew. You both hold your position, catching your breath and clearing your minds, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“Ya know, they say humans are tighter... they’re right.” Minho pulls his underwear and pants back up, getting fully dressed and prettied up before walking away from your fucked out form. “See you around, babe?”

“Minho, wait!” You hold your hand out, but he’s out the front door before you can catch his attention. You’re not entirely sure that you will ‘see him around,’ but even if you do, that doesn’t distract you from the fact that you’re now naked in a church. The place you came to worship and repent. The place you came to escape the vice of lust. “Guess I’ll be going home now.”

You look up at the clock over the back door and notice it hasn’t changed since you walked it. After you’re fully dressed, the second hand starts ticking. Time itself seemed to have stopped. You were deeply disturbed, but you just had to go home. Maybe it was all a dream.

You lay in bed that night, sleeping peacefully, having a real dream, and Minho’s shadowy figure stands next to you, staring at your body, wishing it was him sharing that space next to you. A chill runs down your spine, forcing you awake in a cold sweat as Minho leaves through the window, unknown to you. You just thought you were having a nightmare.

I know I can’t be with her, but a demon can dream, right?

#stray kids smut #skz smut #kpop smut #lee know smut #lee minho smut #minho smut

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universalistotalis · 3 years

Text

Stiff That You Love

Ushijima Wakatoshi (Timeskip!) x Female reader

Masterlist!!!

You never thought you'd see him again. You almost choked on the truffle pasta that you ordered in this café when a certain beautiful giant waved and made his way to you.

"Holy damn." You whispered underneath your breath as his strides made their way towards your table. You knew he was already a show stopper back then, but now???!

You were so sure everyone would drop dead at the sight of him.

"Hi." He greeted with his deep voice. "Do you still remember me?"

Surprise filled your expression at his question but you smiled politely and nodded your head. "How could I forget? How are you Ushijima?"

You swore you saw a glint of relief and excitement in his eyes but it immediately wavered as he motioned to the chair in front of you.

"May I?" He asked again, holding the back of the chair.

Is he really going to sit here with me?!

"Sure, of course." Your voice squeaked at the feeling of your heart bursting out of your chest. His greeting was enough to kick the air out of your lungs but a whole conversation?! You didn't know how long you would last in his ever- intimidating presence.

It was already the last year in college and you were so determined to graduate with latin honors. Every single minute of your life, you dedicated it to studies, friends and family. They were all that mattered. And so you stayed until the wee hours at certain café spots around the university or at the library inside the campus. You went to meet up with friends during the weekends only for a simple dinner or lunch. You called your family members every chance you get during free time. That was your life. And you were content.

But then this boy came in to the picture.

"You will be partnered together and I shall assign the pair. Make sure you finish the written output, video presentation, and oral defense at the end of the semester." Those were the words of your professor during one of your classes before yours and his name were called out together.

You swore it was fate. Romance was really not in the forefront of your mind but as they say, "You'll find it best when you're not looking".

AND MY GOD WERE YOU SO WRONG!

This man named Ushijima Wakatoshi who came out from nowhere, looking as good they come, had no ounce of romance nor funny bone in his muscular body. He was the most dense, most serious, most infuriating man you've ever met in your whole life!!! He was a whole perfectionist, always so blunt at his comments about the outputs that you showed him. He was also so strict with the deadlines, not considering that you had other classes than this that had much more weight and importance.

You were so close to giving up but...

"Y/n?" You knew that voice only belonged to the certain antagonist in your story right now.

Your hands trembled as you wiped the tears streaming down your face after your meeting together at the library.

"Ushijima, hey!" You pretended to be your usual chirpy self as you turned around to face him.

It was already late so the lights surrounding the university casted an unworldly glow on his face. He was always so breathtaking no matter where you put him but damn those looks! He was just as heartless.

"Are you alright?" He asked with a worried tone.

"I'm fine. I'll be going home now. See you next week." You excused yourself.

"Wait." His cold fingers caught your arm and that made you stop your tracks.

"Is there a problem, Wakatoshi?"

He bowed his head before slowly releasing you in his grip. "I wanted to apologize for my behavior."

"W-what?" You wanted to make sure if what your ears heard was right. He does not seem the type to apologize.

You heard another deep sigh as he looked at you. "I've always been told that I come off too much to others. I didn't realize it until recently when one of my friends told me."

"Oh, well..."

"I'll try to be better though. I'll be more careful from now on. And I'm really sorry if I ever hurt your feelings in the past." He said with all seriousness that you can't help but sigh and just nod.

"You can be really mean sometimes." You agreed and chuckled, letting a tear escape your eyes.

"You've been crying." He stated flatly as if he was reciting a trivia. "I'm still so sorry."

You giggled. "Yeah, I forgive you. Anyway, it's getting late, Wakatoshi. We have to head home."

"I'll walk you home." He said with a finality in his voice. You were again, surprised by his actions but just agreed because this was such a draining day.

And as you were nearing where you stayed, you were again surprised at how comforting his presence was.

You did find his presence after that night relaxing. He became more tactful and he started to insert jokes during your meetings which shocked you so much the first time that he felt a little offended. You became such close friends that his team mates in volleyball were again, shocked that he managed to get a friend outside the team. It was just a matter of getting used to, you thought to yourself. He's just so honest, mechanical, and straightforward to a fault and you got to master how to tell him off when needed. He also developed to trust you so whenever he needed advice, he would always go to you and trust your honest words.

Looking at him now, it made your heart warm at how far he'd come. It's amazing to have known him then. To have seen how he grew as an athlete, a student, and a person. He may still be a little stiff but that's just the Wakatoshi you've come to love.

"Soo..." He started while sitting back down again after claiming his coffee from the counter. "I am not disturbing you, am I?" He pointed at the laptop and papers next to you.

You laughed. "Not at all! I finished them anyway."

"How have you been then?" He asked. His elbows were resting on the table and his hands were holding on to the cup of coffee. The sight was a little funny considering his giant built was leaned onto a very small table.

You smiled gently. "I've been good! I got the job that I dreamed of having and I own some businesses too. Ho--"

"Your eyes sparkle the same way." He cut off.

"What?" You asked, surprised at his random comment.

"Your eyes..." He pointed out. "They sparkle the same way they did in college when you were talking about something you like."

"How did you notice that?" You laughed.

"I'm known to be observant." He smirked slightly, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Okay, Mr. Oh-So-Observant, how are your matches going? I've been tuning in since the first tournament and it looks like you're going to the semi- finals!" You cheered not hiding your pride and excitement for the country's national volleyball team. When you searched on how to watch the live games, you insisted that you were there to cheer for the country and definitely NOT to cheer and simp for a certain brown- haired, serious player. Definitely NOT!

"You've been watching our games?" He asked, eyes slightly widening at the thought of you cheering for him. What he didn't know was that you were always watching his games since college, not missing even one match. You were always there, crying at how proud you were of him. Also, crying at how much he could never be yours.

"Of course, I have, silly!" You chuckled and pointed at your laptop. "I've been watching here and you're just so amazing and strong!"

He suddenly paused at your statement, silently raising a brow at you and smiling softly.

"I- I meant that your whole team is amazing and strong." You clarified, a blush automatically painting the whole of your face and ears.

"Would you like to go tomorrow?" He blinked, setting down his cup on the wooden surface. "To the game, I mean?"

Your eyes widened at his offer. "Are you serious?!"

He chuckled at your reaction. "Of course! We're allowed to bring spectators for the games, I'll just give you the tickets."

"Wow, Ushijima, thank you so much! It's an honor!" You chimed excitedly, jumping a little on your chair.

"The honor's mine." He replied, grinning at you.

He already knew back then that you were one of a kind. No one ever really stayed and tried to understand his demeanor and personality but you did. You were so honest and kind and you always knew what to do or say to keep him at ease. You accepted him for who he was and he's so thankful to have met such a beautiful soul. Even when you were doing nothing, even when you're just sitting across this table from him, without you knowing, you already made up his entire exhausting day. Hell, you made up all those exhausting years of not seeing each other since you two graduated. He suddenly imagined if being with you would always be like this. So peaceful and just pure bliss...

"You've got to be shitting on me! Is that Ushiwaka?" The pair sitting next to the glass walls of the café was oblivious of the red- haired tower and group of men walking past the street. All of them were wearing coats and casual attires as they're planning to go for lunch at their favorite restaurant for a little reunion. The all powerful Shiratorizawa Volleyball Team, headed by Ushijima in high school, cowered like puppies at the name of their captain being mentioned.

"Where?!" Goshiki stopped and shielded himself from an invisible force. "He said he couldn't make it!"

"I guess our baby's growing up, look!" Tendou hummed and pointed at the two of you laughing and looking at each other with heart eyes. "I bet they don't know that they're shooting hearts at each other."

"I never thought he could smile like that." Semi whispered.

"Yeah well, he's been crushing on that girl since college." Tendou filled the silent wonder of the whole group. "That's why she looked familiar! He kept sending me photos of them together studying or something..."

"Studying, my ass!" Shirabu laughed as they continued staring and hiding behind a post at the same time.

They all burst out laughing and again Tendou chuckled. "No seriously, they were studying!"

"Yeah well, they look good together. I hope he'd have the balls to ask her out. Please god!" Goshiki put his hands together as if seriously praying.

"Bet you 10, 000 yen, we'd be attending his wedding two years from now." Semi challenged.

"Nah, I'll go with a year." Tendou offered.

The men casted their bets on how long you and Ushijima would get married. They knew their captain so well to be sure enough that he was serious with you. Safe to say, Semi won the bet.

Reblogs are appreciated! <3

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oleandernodeath · 2 years

Text

💋 Good Girl

So okay, listen- This is incredibly self indulgent, and very nasty. Inspired by an ask @disembowel-me got about forcing Lawrence into prostitution. This fic in the aftermath and result of torturing and conditioning Lawrence for nearly 8 months, Being deprived of drugs for a while now, he’s starting to lose his fight.

CW: forced sex work, mentions of torture & scars, drugs, crossdressing, derogatory f slur, homophobia, minor mind break

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“Two hundred fifty bucks, right? This better be good. Mack did say you had the best cross dressers in town.” The client is fidgety and clearly using substances from the twitch in his eye. He hands over the cash though, and the boss smirks.

“Best and most beautiful, you’ll be orgasming before you even slip in,” they laugh, dragging from their cigarette. “No lube needed, it’s prepped and waiting.”

“Good. Take me to her, I’m sick of waiting,” the client huffs out, twitching in the hands, an ache forming in his stomach as his desire to drain his balls increases.

“Right this way, sir.” The boss leads him to a side room. There are many, many rooms. The client swears he hears groans and cries of pain from other rooms. He wants to make whatever bitch he gets scream louder.

They enter a bedroom, looking similar to a motel in setup with only a well-dressed bed, a table, and a few lounging chairs. There’s a television and several DVDs and VHSs full of snuff and porn. Some of the names scribbled on the DVDs make even the client shudder.

“Here’s your new pet. Its name’s Poppy. Boy name’s Lawrence if you’re in to that. Enjoy.” And the boss is gone with a slamming of the door. The client chuffs and gazes to the bed as a figure stands up.

“G-g… good evening, how… how can I p-please you today?” calls a stuttering, quiet voice in the dim light.

Lawrence is caked in makeup, thick baby pink lipstick and soft fading red eyeshadow, his lashes done prettily so they make his blue eyes even more vivid. His hair is done into a high ponytail, bangs long since grown out enough to be tied back with it. His body is hairless, thin, waxed and shiny, covered head to toe in whip scars, cigarette burns, and floral tattoos. Dressed sultrily for the client, just like he likes his girls, Lawrence is wearing a red and black skintight tankini crop top, a miniskirt that shows off his conditioned erection beginning to form, and his pert ass peaking out from the bottom, as well as a lacy, doll-like collar with dainty bows.

“Can’t wait to rip that off you, faggot~” the client titters. Lawrence visibly puffs his chest and blushes bright red.

“Yeah- I mean yes, sir,” he tries to calm the rush of blood. Just take it. Just take it and your boss will give you your hit. It’s been three weeks. Just behave. “S-s-… So, what are you uh… looking for tonight?”

“First off quit the stutter, whore,” the client mutters. “It’s annoying as fuck, jesus what’s wrong with you. I came looking for freaks but not like that.”

“Sorry. Sorry, sir.” Lawrence shuffles his feet, eyes fixated on his painted toenails, embellished with small flower designs.

“Get on the bed.”

Nodding, Lawrence complies.

“Stick that ass in the air for me.”

Shivering, feeling prickling of tears in his eyes, Lawrence complies. He can’t go another day without his drugs, he can’t handle the beatings anymore, being touched and fondled by the boss til he’s cum so many times he doesn’t know who he is. Just be a good girl, he tells himself.

The client grips his ass roughly, squeezing the flesh enough to bruise. Flipping up the skirt, the client laughs loudly at the heart-print bottom of a long, thick, dildo butt plug.

“Got other men’s cum stuffed in there, fag? How many cocks can you take at once, huh? I bet you’ll suck me riiiight up.”

Lawrence hides his face in the pillows, crying silently from the shame of it all, lipstick coated lips trembling. “Y-yes. Yes sir. I’m- I’m a whore. Take me.” It sounds unnatural, forced. Lawrence can only hope the client didn’t notice, if he mentions it to the boss, Lawrence will be whipped again, more long, thick keloids along his back, more screaming and begging for it to stop, promising to be a good girl if only it would stop-

Lawrence’s spiral is cut off as the plug is roughly tugged from his ass. The client is behind him, grinding his hard cock against Lawrence’s hole. He shivers and puts his face in the pillow, pretty red eyeshadow smearing on his face.

Just be a good girl and you’ll get your hit, he tells himself. He sighs. He stops crying. He braces himself.

Lawrence takes it like the whore he’s become.

#my writing #lawrence oleander #boyfriend to death #btd lawrence #btd lawrence oleander #btd fanfic #boyfriend to death fanfic #btd fanfiction #boyfriend to death fanfiction #'sex work'#nsftumblr #'nsft'#'kink'#'crossdressing'#'sissy'

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littlesniggy · 3 years

Text

Nice Hair

Anon: AAAA i've been meaning to send you a request, but i've just been stuck on interesting scenarios. i think i've got a good one (hopefully). what about f! reader coming back from a mission Law sent her to, it's almost been 2 weeks, but she comes back with longer hair than before which gets different reactions not only from the crew but especially law (he doesn't express it until privately). things get steaming and basically lots of hair pulling from law and h's more dominating in bed.♥ thank you!♥♥

Thank you so much for the request! Hair pulling is just the best and I bet Law (even though he probably wouldn't admit it right away) loves doing it to his partner. I hope you like it and please let me know! Warning: 18+, nsfw, smut, hair pulling Paring: Law x female reader Word count: 2.2k

“There she is!” Bepo exclaimed and waved at you while the submarine was approaching the small island. You were sitting on a tree stub, waving back at him with a smile. “Captain! There she is!” he called Law, not stopping waving. The others hurried to the bow, joining Bepo and calling your name. Law came out, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, watching you from afar as you told the others how your mission went. Law was listening but he was a little bit more occupied by a small but noticeable change in your appearance. “Your hair looks amazing! Are you gonna grow it even longer?” Bepo complimented. You blushed slightly, taking a strand between your fingers. “I don’t know yet but I like this length.” You said with a smile, receiving even more complements. Only Law stayed silent which made you a little nervous about your new look. Did he not like it? “Y/n-ya, once you’re done talking can you come to my office? I want you to tell me how the mission went in detail, especially if you got all the information we need.” Law said and without waiting for an answer he went inside. His crew watched him leave in slight confusion that he didn't welcome you back at all but started babbling again not thinking too much about it. Your eyes lingered on his back a little longer but eventually you joined them, enjoying to finally being able to talk to them again. Law never liked to show affection to you in public so you wouldn't push him.

A hesitant knock on the door notified your presence. “Come in.” he said, watching you enter the room. “Good to see you, Y/n-ya. I’m glad you’re fine.” He said, getting up from his chair and rounding the table, coming to a stop in front of you. You looked up at him, a small smile on your lips. “Good to see you, too, captain.” You got up on your tippy toes, giving him a soft kiss to the lips. It seemed like a huge load fell of his shoulders as he kissed you back. He was worried something might’ve happened to you during this time. He would’ve blamed himself for the rest of his life. “So, you wanted to talk to me about the mission?” Law looked at you with a smirk, his hand coming up to your shoulder and twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers, inspecting the length from up close. “That can wait. I’m way more interested in this new look of yours.” He mused, pulling your hair slightly towards him, capturing your lips in another kiss. You reciprocated the kiss, putting one hand on his neck and pulling him even closer. He pulled you with him to his desk, leaning against it with his back. One hand moved down to you hip the other one was buried in your hair, massaging your scalp with his nails. You felt his hard dick press against your lower stomach and you grinned into the kiss, breaking it for a moment. “Someone seems to be excited to finally get some action again. Have you been lonely without me, captain?” Law grabbed a hank of your hair and yanked your head back, exposing your throat. Instinctively, you pressed your hair on his, trying to pray them away. Law grinned smugly, leaning down to your ear. “It seems like you’ve forgotten your manners on that island. I think I have to teach you again.” He nibbed on your earlobe, biting down and nibbing on it again. You gave a small moan, pressing your lower body against his. The captain’s smile widened a little to your reaction, starting to kiss your neck. Law pulled your head by your hair to the side, giving him even more access to your delicate skin. He kissed, licked and sucked on it, leaving red and wet trails for everyone to see. After the initial surprise of him pulling your hair you let go of his hand and instead grabbed his clothed dick with both hands, one stroking his shaft, the other one grabbing his balls through the thick denim. Law panted against your skin, stopping for a moment to compose himself again. His free hand moved to your stomach, opening the button of your pants with a swift movement. His hand found its way inside right after, passing your panties and sliding against your clit, feeling your wet cunt. You moaned

in response to his touch, grabbing his balls a little bit tighter as a reflex. “Damnit, Y/n-ya.” He hissed, his dick twitching in its restraints. You giggled, moving your hands up and opening his pants as well, pulling them down together with his briefs. A sigh next to your ear told you how relieved he was to finally be free. You grabbed his dick with your hand, tightening your grip a little before you started to move your hand up and down; slowly, to let him feel every inch of your hand. Law grunted dissatisfied and his hips bucked against your hand but you didn’t give in. Slightly annoyed at your teasing he pulled his hand out of your pants, a harsh look on his face. “I’ve just told you that I needed to teach you some manners and here you are trying to tease me? I thought you were cleverer than that, Y/n-ya.” His voice was calm and predicting, not leaving any room to argue. Plus, you wanted him to pay your hot core more attention so you decided that it was better to apologize. “I’m sorry, captain.” You panted, starting to move your hand faster but Law didn’t have any of that. “Nice try, Y/n-ya. But you had your chance. Now, we’re gonna do it my way.” A shiver of excitement ran down your spine and you could just nod at him. With a swift motion he span your around, pressing you against the desk, his warm body pressed against your back. His dick was sandwiched between your bodies but you could feel its heat nevertheless. You tried to move your ass against it but Law was having none. His hand found its way back into your hair, grabbing it almost painfully, his other hand disappeared into your pants once more. He let two fingers slide over your slit, spreading your lips a little before moving up and circling your clit. “L-Law…!” you mewled under his touch; eyes half lidded and mouth open. “What is it, Y/n-ya?” he asked. You could feel his smug grin against your neck. His fingers were always this close entering you but they pulled away just before you could feel them inside of you. “Please what, Y/n-ya? I need you to be specific.” A hot thrill rushed through your body making you coat his fingers even more in your juice. “Put your fingers in me, Law.” You panted, desperate for his touch. “Why? I can feel you throb under my touch just as I speak. You will come in no time so why would I want to waste my time?” He as right. With each circle of his fingers, with each slide of them over your slit you got closer to your orgasm. But this wasn’t what you wanted! “I want to feel you inside of me!” you whined, grabbing his wrist and trying to push his fingers into your dripping cut. A sharp pain pulsed through your head as he had yanked your head to the side painfully, leaving you gasping. “Don’t get too cocky, Y/n-ya. You don’t deserve to cum around my fingers. So, if I say you will come by me playing with your little clit, you will cum, understood?” You could only nod at his words, feeling your orgasm rush closer. “I haven’t said you could cum yet, have I? If you cum now I will fuck you cunt today but stick to your mouth from then on until you’ve learned how to behave, understood?” He knew you wouldn’t be able to hold it in; you were already pushed too far towards the edge, it was just a matter of seconds. Law pinched your clit between his index finger and thumb, twisting it a little bit, making you jolt against his touch. Your nerves were on edge, ready to burst any moment but you were adamant not to climax yet. You tried concentrating on something else, anything else, really but Law was too good with his hands. You were like wax in his hands, melting into his skillful touch just to be formed to his liking. With a sharp push against your clit he sent you over the edge, making you cum in your panties. Panting, you were leaning forward, on both hands on the surface of his desk, supporting your trembling body. Law watched you for a moment before he pulled out his hand, a disappointed frown on his face. “I’ve told you not to cum without my permission, haven’t I?” his tone was flat but something animalistic resonated with his

words. You barely realized him pulling your pants and panties down, leaving your lower body exposed to his eyes. He grabbed your thigh and lifted it up, placing your knee on the desk. You looked at him over your shoulder, your cheeks bright red. “I’m not done yet.” He simply said before he sneaking his arm around your body to the front, touching your clit again. You tried moving away but his hand found its way back into your hair (yet again!) and held you in place. Law pushed his hips forward, his dick moving against your wet folds but not entering you. A long moan rumbled through your body. Out of the corners of your eyes you saw the thick tip of his dick move over your slit and soon, after he pulled his hand away a little, against your clit. God, he felt so good! You started moving your hips against his, trying to feel more of him. The captain pulled away a little, examining his glistering dick and grinned at you. “Take a deep breath, Y/n-ya.” Was the only warning he gave you before pushing himself inside of you. You arched your body to this feeling, a loud moan echoing throughout the room. It hurt slightly due to him not properly preparing you but you enjoyed the feeling nevertheless. His grip in your hair tightened and he pulled your head back, making you look at him as he leaned over you, pressing himself deeper inside of you. “Good girl.” He murmured. His hips started moving against you, loud skin on skin sounds could be heard even outside his office. His free hand found its way to your clit again, rubbing at the swollen nub, making you moan out in pleasure. Law pulled your head back as far as possible then capturing your lips in another hot kiss. Your neck hurt, your back arched but it was all forgotten when he pinched your clit again, clenching hard around his dick. He groaned in pleasure against your lips, picking up his pace. You could feel your juice running down your leg, leaving a hot trail on your skin. The sounds you let out were dirty and lewd, making anyone who might be listening blush in response. You wanted to move against his thrusts, wanted to feel him deeper inside of you but he hold you tight, not giving you any room to move on your own. Law broke the kiss and let his grip a little loose in order not to hurt you too badly. His hand on your clit also let go and was instead placed on your ass, smacking it lightly. With each light smack you clenched around him, bringing the two of you closer and closer to your climax. The captain’s grip tightened in your hair, grabbing it with such a force you feared he might rip them out. You moaned in response, closing your eyes and letting him handle you as he pleased. “You’re close, aren’t you?” he panted, watching his dick disappear inside of you over and over again, making him feel oh so good! “Y-yes!” you sounded breathless but he understood you, picking up his pace again. “This time, you’re gonna cum when I tell you, understood?” He demanded, knowing he was pretty damn close as well. But he wanted to tease you for earlier. “I-I’ll try!” Law was satisfied with you answer, leaving over you again, his mouth right next to your ear. “On the count of three you will cum around my dick, okay?” A nod was your only answer, your brain at the point where it couldn’t produce coherent sentences anymore. “One….” He started, licking over your ear. You pressed your eyes shut, concentrating not to mess up this time as well. “Two….” He continued, smacking your ass again. “Hngh!” you suppressed a moan, wanting to cum so desperately but not wanting to disappoint him. It took forever for him to say ‘three’ but when he did you came with a loud scream, throbbin with him still inside him. But it didn’t take him long to cum as well. With a couple more thrusts he got into an upright position, arching his back and cumming deep inside of you with a low groan.You felt his semen fill you up and his grip in your hair let loose. Tired, your body collapsed on the desk. Law pulled away after a moment, cum dripping out of your cunt as proof of the naughty things you’ve just

done. “I really like you new hair. I bet it’s great for face fucking you as well.”

#one piece #op #one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar d law #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece imagine #op Imagine #x reader #ns.fw #scenario

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lubdubsworld · 3 years

Text

Insatiable ( Jungkook x OC) Chapter 2

Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x OC

Rating 18+

Genre : Vampire Au!!!! , DILF! Jungkook ! Bodyguard AU! Babysitter OC! Age difference!!! [ bet you’ve never seen all of this in one fic before? ]

[ Some notes : Born Vampires stop aging when they turn twenty five. Turned vampires stop aging when they’re turned. ]

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

“You alright?” Somi asked gently, watching me fling my backpack into the corner of the room with enough force to dislodge one of the wooden panels on the wall, the shelf crashing and bringing down the two potted plants on it. The sound of ceramic shattering made me wince, regret churning in my stomach.

“Yeah...yeah. Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Somi.. I broke your pots-”

“Never mind the pots...why do you look so upset? Have you been crying?” She demanded , reaching for me, hands curling around my wrists and drawing me into a hug and I swallowed, my throat dry and eyes swollen from all the tears that I’d wrung out of them.

Outside the room, Namjoon stood guard, at the door and I felt guilty remembering how the past three hours had gone.

After confronting Jungkook, I’d stormed off in righteous indignation and poor Namjoon had been forced to follow.

He had kept a discreet distance as I climbed to the tallest ridge on the roof, scaling the gables with ease and I knew he had been terrified at the prospect of me falling.

Immortal or not a three hundred foot drop to the ground would be something that would hurt.

And it was my bodyguard’s job to make sure I did not get hurt.

When he wasn’t busy fucking other women that is.

I gripped my sister harder, fingers curling into the fir of her coat as I tried to catch my bearing.

“Do you know Helena?” I whispered, pulling away to look at her. Somi’s face fell,eyes filling with sympathy.

“Oh, no. Was she here?” She asked gently, reaching out and cupping my cheeks and my lips wobbled.

“Why didn’t you warn me that he was in a relationship?” my voice shook and Somi shook her head.

“He’s not!! God, Helena doesn’t do relationships. Jungkook and her.... well, I’m not sure but they’re just fuck buddies..... barely that. You know she’s from the Kim clan right? Those bloodsuckers never settle for one partner. “ She muttered.

I stared at her.

“He called me a child and then told me he’ll tell dad if i try to make a move on him.” I whispered.

Somi flinched.

“Sera....”

“It was humiliating and painful and I don’t ever want to think about it, ever again.” I muttered.

She sighed.

“It’s not like you don’t have men dying for a glance from you, Sera. You forget that you’re literally the most beautiful woman in the clan. If he rejects you, you’re definitely not the one missing out in that equation.”

I nodded, misery seeping into me. My sob-fest on the roof hadn’t been wasted. I was angry at first but now, a sort of resigned acceptance had taken the place of my anger.

The look on Jungkook’s face had been too real, the emotion behind his rejection too potent for me to get over. I wasn’t sure I could change his mind.

Wasn’t even sure if I wanted to.

“Was he very hurtful ? You know, if you tell dad, he’ll hire someone else and-”

“No.” I said immediately. “ I won’t do that. It’s not his fault, it’s minge. I acted out like a...well a child to be honest. He doesn’t owe me anything and he’s always been obvious in his disinterest. I was just too blinded my own attraction to consider that it wasn’t reciprocated.” I grimaced.

God, I’d been an idiot and Jungkook’s words had knocked some good sense into my head. But I did care for him and his son and they needed this job. I wouldn’t put his job in jeopardy just because I didn’t get my way.

I was better than that.

“Alright... Dad wanted to meet you for breakfast tomorrow.... He sounded serious. Do you know what that’s about?”

I groaned, when I remembered the reason my dad wanted to see me these days.

“Dad wants me to start meeting men now. He thinks I’m old enough now that i’ve turned 21. He’s been badgering me for a whole entire month but I kept putting him off because of...well, because of Jungkook.” I admitted.

Somi looked worried.

“You want to ? If you don’t we can talk to dad and-”

“No-” I shook my head.” I’m just gonna agree.”

Somi looked surprised.

“Are you sure? Sera you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to-”

I smiled weakly.

“I’m not going to be allowed to stay single forever Somi. Especially not when the entirety of dad’s day is spent trying to chase suitors away from the door. Do you know the Count from Jeju Do...dude’s a whole seven centuries old and he looks like a toad. He apparently tried to ask about me and Dad’s been freaking out. “ I shuddered.

Somi laughed.

“ That’s what you get for being you. But dad’s right. Keeping you away from everyone is only inviting more interest. And we don’t want you to be with someone insufferable.” She ruffled my hair and I hugged her again sighing into her shoulders.

No I didn’t want to be with someone who just saw me as some kind of a possession to be owned. I wanted someone nice and kind. A handsome man who did the right thing . Someone who maybe, worked hard to give his kid a safe and protected life, someone who didn’t shun away from hard work and was a gentleman as well.

Someone like-

“Someone other than Jungkook.” Somi said gently reading my mind.

“I really liked him.” I whispered softly, feeling tears spring again.

God, I thought I was all out of tears for Jeon Jung Kook but apparently I was wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I took extra care with my makeup the next morning, because my father usually had a ton of business meetings during his breakfast. I didn’t usually bother but , I was going to agree to his suggestions today and well, nothing wrong in delighting my father. And nothing made him happier than seeing me prance about with pretty feminine clothes .

My dad, for all his jovial cheerful air, loved his position as the head of the Hwang clan. And as his most prized possession , I was the apple of his eye. And while he didn’t treat me as an object or anything ( my dad loved me deeply and his affection was always evident. ) , there was no mistaking the fact that my dad enjoyed the power that came with being my guardian. Powerful men were willing to bend to his will, just for a chance to be with me.

I sound insufferable, don’t I?

Trust me I’m not.

The vampires that court me are usually assholes. Entitled, brain dead assholes . When I opened the door in the morning, dressed in a short summer dress and ready to meet my dad, I was surprised to see Jungkook standing guard outside. He straightened away from the wall where he was fiddling with his phone, his gaze flitting to me, eyes cold and blank.

I bowed lightly, not smiling.

“Mr. Jeon. I have a breakfast date with my father and then I’ll be heading to the cottage. I’m also meeting a friend of mine at the Art Museum in the evening so i’ll need the Mercedes brought around to pick me up maybe at 5.00PM.” I said briskly, glancing at him.

My face flamed red when I noticed his gaze, fixed steadily on my ass. I cleared my throat angrily and his eyes met mine, a slow lazy grin playing around his mouth.

“You look different.” He commented , shamelessly giving me another once over.

The nerve.

I swallowed, willing myself not to blush harder.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

He chuckled.

“That dress barely covers your butt, angel. You sure you want to head to daddy dearest, dressed like that?” The way he said daddy made my skin heat up.

I felt my jaw come unhinged.

“That’s...that is none of your damn business.” I said shrilly.

He gave me another once over.

“Okay, then. If that’s what you’re into...fine. Let’s go.”

Gritting my teeth, i tried to keep my face neutral. I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he got to me. I would not.

I walked ahead of him , my fists clenched and my jaw tight and I felt incredibly upset because the day had barely begun and I was already wound tight. I was supposed to be relaxed and clear headed while talking to my father but Jeon Jungkook had muddled my brains as usual.

I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself down.

“Sera, wait.” His voice made me pause and I stopped, turning around to glare at him.

“What?” I snapped.

He sighed, deeply. I watched as he ran his hands through his hair, tongue pressing into his cheek the way it did when he was upset.

“About last night-”

I felt my pulse quicken.

“I don’t wanna talk about it!” I said quickly, turning back around to leave but his fingers came around my arm, gripping hard .

“Well tough luck. Because I do!” He said sharply.

I whimpered, pain blooming up my arm and he swore, loosening his grip.

“I keep forgetting you’re human.” He muttered, “ I’m sorry... I just... I wanted to apologize for how i handled things last night. I was twenty once and I should have been more understanding.”

I closed my eyes. Oh, God no. Please, please for the love of God, let me hate you in peace. Don’t apologize and make me fall in love all over again.

“Its fine.” I choked out. “ You were right. I was out of line.”

“You deserve better.” He said quickly, eyes flitting away from my face and I felt a sharp pang in my heart. God , this was agonizing.

“Jungkook-”

“It’s just that you’re...well you know who you are. You can’t be with ...someone like me and trust me you don’t want to be with someone like me either. I know its appealing, the whole illusion of stability. older man, has a kid, has his life together .....but that’s not all it means .” He gave me a tired smile.

I bit my lips, ot replying and he went on.

“ I have baggage, a shit ton of it and I would have to be especially cruel to unload something like that on a girl barely out of her teens. I’ve done shit I’m not proud of ,....but ruining your life, I’m gonna draw the line there.” He smiled , looking a whole decade younger and I closed my eyes.

I was back to square one, I thought miserably. He had my whole heart.

“ So we’re good right?” He prompted and I exhaled, giving him a smile.

“We’re good.”

“That’s good. Because my son loves you and I would rather we be friends. You’re just like a daughter to me. ” He touched my face gently, pulling away at once, the small contact leaving fire in its wake and I had to clench my fists .

A daughter?!! Is he out of his damned mind?

“Okay.”

“Let’s go then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jungkook, please sit down. You’re like my son and I don’t want you hovering like you’re part of the backdrop. I’ve trusted you with my entire life.” My father beamed, pointing at me and i laughed.

Jungkook bowed respectfully, taking the chair next to me.

“How are you , my buttercup?” My father asked softly, fingers gripping mine and I smiled.

“I’m well, father. Do you like my dress?”

Next to me Jungkook coughed and I shot him a dirty look.

“It looks ravishing on you. The prettiest flower in my estate is my daughter, do you agree Jungkook?” My father prompted and I swallowed the smirk that threatened.

Poor Jungkook was going to learn that being my bodyguard meant singing my praises twenty four seven or at least anytime my father was in hearing distance.

“Uh..” Jungkook’s eyes flitted between the two of us, “ Yes sir. Your daughter is quite lovely.”

I beamed at him and he looked away quickly.

Coward.

Turning back to my dad I held my hand out.

“DAd, you wanted to see me about something?”

“Yes dearest. You know the Kim clan’s matriarch has been after me. Three of her great great great grandsons have come of age recently. And all three of them are set to take over some very lucrative businesses. They are good men and apparently they’re quite smitten with you. They say you know of them from school?”

I sighed.

“Do you know their names?” I prompted.

“Mingyu, Minjae and Yugyeom.” My father said briskly.

Ugh.

“ They’ve asked me out before, yes.”

“Uh..Excuse me.. Could I get a refill?” Jungkook said quietly next to me and i turned, watching him wave to one of the footmen.

“Jungkook, are you thirsty?” My father asked brightly.

An idea formed in my head, wicked and dangerous.

“Perhaps, he should get a taste of the Hwang Elixir?” I said innocently.

My father’s gaze snapped to mine.

A small frown made its way to his face.

“Are you sure? I’m not sure if Jungkook would be comfortable-”

I turned to him, purposely flipping my long hair off my shoulders exposing my throat . Jungkook’s eyes went to the curve of my neck at once and i felt a sick sort of triumph when his eyes flashed red.

“Oh, no no...” I crooned, leaning in closer. “ I’m sure you aren’t uncomfortable , are you Jungkook ssi? After all, I am just like a daughter to you , aren’t I?” I stared right at him, fluttering my lashes and I saw his jaw clench.

“Of course, Ms. Hwang.” He said briskly, glaring at me. I played with the small gold chain around my neck, letting my fingers flutter over my pulse , drawing his gaze there.

“Well, that is true ...” My father looked uncertain, but I gave him a gentle nod and a smile.

“Well, as a special guest, I suppose you can enjoy our hospitality , Jeon. Why don’t you take a drink from -”

I moved closer, pressing up against him and Jungkook sighed, lips closing over my neck, and I felt my eyes flutter shut at the wet warmth of his mouth .

It was intoxicating, the way he used one hand to grip my neck gently, the other on my waist to steady me and when his fangs pierced through, I could sense the warm liquid flood his mouth and Jungkook’s entire body relaxed, a strangled moan escaping him.

“---my daughter’s wrist.” My father finished and I felt Jungkook stiffen next to me.

This time I couldn’t stop the grin that bloomed on my face.

My eyes dropped to his lap and yup, his pants definitely looked a tad tighter.

“Did I do good, Mr Jeon? Or should I call you daddy? ” I whispered quietly , fluttering my lashes at him and his fangs retracted and he pulled away from me, shoving me back into my own chair quickly.

My father was slightly slack jawed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hwang. “ Jungkook muttered and I laughed.

“I do believe it is I whom you should be apologizing to. It is my neck you just mauled. ” I smiled brightly staring at Jungkook and if looks could kill, I would have a thousand wooden stakes through my heart right about now. ‘

Take that Mr. Jeon.

Daughter, my ass.

“My apologies , Sera.” He said stiffly.

My father laughed raucously.

“Ahh, you must be used to the neck, my dear boy. understandable understandable. it is how we used to do it in the old days, after all . These younglings with all their etiquette and feminism and what not....it’s hard to keep up..... But now you must tell me? Is my daughter not the sweetest you’ve ever had?”

I choked, coughing. Oh God, sometimes my 900 year old father had no idea how he sounded.

Jungkook looked like he had swallowed a lemon.

“She’s certainly ...” He stopped, probably realizing that any adjective at the end of that sentence would sound entirely wrong.

“Delicious?” I prompted, blinking innocently and Jungkook shot me another glare.

“Well, nevermind nevermind. .... So, tell me dearest, will you be willing to meet the Kim boys?”

I sighed.

“I like Yugyeom. I cannot stand Minjae. I don’t know enough about Mingyu to make any judgement. How about I meet Mingyu and if I don’t hit it off with him, I will allow Yugyeom to court me....” I said softly.

I glanced at Jungkook but he was studiously looking away.

“Very well my dear. Do you have any plans today?”

“I’m meeting a friend at the museum.”

My father’s eyes widened.

“Well isn’t that a wonderful coincidence. Mingyu's law firm is just a block away if I’m not mistaken. I’ll ask the boy to pick you up afterwards. Have dinner with him and you can tell me tonight of your choice.” My father smiled briskly.

“Yes, father.”

“Jungkook..” My father prompted and the vampire glanced up.

“Yes, sir?”

“Take good care of her. At the restaurant, make sure you stay at hearing distance. “

“Yes sir.” Jungkook bowed and I groaned.

In other words, let my father know if I behaved appropriately.

i pouted and my father waggled his finger at me.

“No, no no.. Missy. I’m going to make sure you keep your end of the bargain . You need to give these men a proper chance before you reject them. “

I nodded.

“And you must ask Either Somi or Seolhyun to dress you. No jeans or one of those ridiculous gowns that make you look like a pastry.”

There was no mistaking the snort that came from my right and i glared at Jungkook before turning to my dad.

“Yes, father.”

“Good, now run along the pair of you. “

I stood up, kissing my father fondly on his forehead.

“I love you.” I whispered.

“You are my whole entire joy, dearest. “ He kissed my hand gently, eyes warm and soft.

As we left the room, Jungkook let out a sigh.

“I am never having a meal with you two again.” He ground out and I laughed.

“Anything you say, daddy.” I grinned.

Jungkook groaned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As luck would have it, my friend cancelled .

So at six the evening, I finished locking up the cottage as the last of the kids left, fumbling with the lock while a tired Joo Won napped in his father’s arms, head resting on Jungkook’s shoulders. I felt myself soften at the picture they made, Jungkook singing softly , fingers brushing his son’s hair back as he rocked him gently.

“I’ll be a while... I needed to get ready. Why don’t you put him to bed? Who’s watching him tonight?”

“Hwasa and Moonbyul offered. I’ll drop you off in your room and head to the north wing. What time are you meeting the jerkwad?” He said casually.

I blinked rapidly, confused.

“I’m sorry... the jerkwad?”

Jungkook shrugged.

“It’ just a fact. Most men are absolute jerks at twenty one.” He shrugged.

i felt myself bristling on behalf of the unknown Mingyu.

“That is absolutely unfair. My brothers were incredibly kind and good.”

“To you perhaps. Because they don’t have to impress you. But men act differently when they’re trying to get between a woman’s thighs. They’re jerks when they want to get laid...” He grinned.

“Is that why you act like a jerk to me? ” I smiled evilly and he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, darling we both know I don’t have to act in any different way to get you into my bed . I just have to do this.” He smirked, curling his finger in a come hither gesture.

I felt my pulse pound and I tried not to let his words get to my head. He was flirting , yes but it was a joke. He was joking with me because the very idea of being with me was a joke to him.

And I couldn’t forget that.

Rolling my eyes, I pulled on the lock a couple more times to make sure the door was well locked.

“Shall we leave?” He prompted watching me wrestle the backpack onto my shoulders. I grunted under the weight.

“Of course. Let’s go.”

We walked in silence for a few seconds.

“So, how’s he doing? With stuff?” Jungkook asked gently and I felt warmth bloom in my chest.

“He’s very advanced for his age Jungkook. You’ve done a wonderful job with him. He’s able to read and he has a beautiful l writing hand. He’s learned his multiplication tables all the way up to seven and he has the voice of an angel. Which I think he gets from you. ” I smiled, reaching out to brush the back of Joowon’s head.

Jungkook smiled softly, the late evening sun painting his perfect features in a soft golden glow.

“Your father was kind enough to support me the first few years when i had him. I didn’t trust anyone enough to leave him with them and well... i needed to put a roof over our head.” He sighed .

I touched his arm, giving it a small squeeze.

“I understand. I’m glad you’re here. He’ll grow up well in our clan. “

“And he has a lot of excellent men to look up to here...He needs a good role model, someone kind and amazing who can inspire him to be hardworking and fair. ” He smiled.

I bit my lips.

“I think he’s had that all along. ” I said quietly.

Jungkook’s breath caught for a second and the air between us changed. I licked my lips.

“Jungkook you’re a good father. You know that right?” I said after a few more seconds of silence.

He laughed.

“Am I really? I wonder.”

“He loves you.” I breathed , “ You’re all he talks about.... Today, one of the other kids tried to say that his father was brave because he helped someone who was stuck in an elevator. you know what Joowon did? He listed some twenty different incidents where you’ve helped people out....And he looked so proud.”

Jungkook’s ear looked red in the brightly lit garden.

“i was just doing my job. Most of those times, I was in danger.” He grunted.

“And yet, you did the right thing. “ I whispered. “ And your son was watching. And he’s learned the importance of doing the right thing even when you’re scared. That’s a life lesson that isn’t easy to learn.”

“Can’t disagree with that.” He chuckled. I grabbed his arm forcing him to stop.

I had to tell him this.

“ Jungkook, when immortality is on the plate, people don’t give much value to morals. They don’t always care about doing the right thing.... . Its how our kind functions. Consequences don’t mean much when you have a whole eternity to fix your mistakes.....So I always admire vampires who value morals. “ I smiled, “ To see a five year old with such a well formed moral compass... it tells me that you’re an amazing father. Possibly the best I’ve ever met. “ I reached out, to hold his hand, wanting to touch him in some way, to make him believe that I was completely honest.

“Sera!!!!!!” My sister’s voice made me jump and Jungkook stepped away as well.

“Dad told me you’re going on a date? I’ve picked out an outfit for you!! But you need to take a shower! You cannot show up smelling like diapers and spit-up.” She called.

I groaned.

“Time for the ugly duckling to transform into a swan, I see?” He said gently.

“Your son’s favorite fairytale.” I whispered.

“He makes me read it every night.”

“I would like to sit in on that someday.” I laughed.

His eyes met mine.

“You’re always welcome, Ms Hwang,” He smiled politely. “ Someday soon maybe your kids and my son would be friends.”

And just like that the wall grew between us.

His kids and my kids.

Not our kids because he wasn’t for me.

He would never be for me.

I felt the sudden inexplicable urge to cry.

Turning away, I began following my sister as she waved to me. .

“I’ll be at your door at seven.” He called out behind me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fics #jungkook #bts fics #jungkook vampire au #jungkook vampire #bts vampire au #bts smut #bts fic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic

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cotccotc · 3 years

Text

genre/s: felix x barista!reader (gender neutral), fluff, angst, coworkers to lovers au, bakery / barista au (feat. baker / bff!minho, (strict) manager!chan, barista!jeongin, and baker!seungmin)

wc: 6.9k 😎

warnings: many mentions of food (specifically sweets such as cupcakes, brownies, cookies, etc.), some swearing, arguing, probably very poor editing oops <3

a/n: this is part of the @districtninewriters “dear skz, with love” event :D THIS IS ALSO THE LONGEST FIC I’VE EVER WRITTEN AHHH i’m really really proud of it !!! i hope u love it besties !!!!!!!!

it was a frostbitten february evening when you met the boy at the bakery.

you were seated upon the counter, back turned to the deep brown door through which you’d first entered months ago, eager to apply for a barista position. minho sat across from you on the cashier stool. he was always better with the baked goods. you were a great team. the two of you were bored; a familiar feeling that accompanied weeknights at the bakery-cafe. people tended to arrive either in the morning time or late in the afternoon, and very seldom later. plus, your manager trusted the two of you enough to lock up on your own. and so, the two of you would be left to your own devices for a few measly hours a night per week.

“i bet you couldn’t make a batch of sugar biscuits without instructions,” he teased with a snarky grin. he was right. that was more his thing than yours.

so, you retaliated. “i bet you can’t do the same with a mocha frappe. or even simpler: an iced americano.”

“please!”

“oh yeah? step right up, biscuit boy,” you retorted with a giggle, gesturing to the coffee maker that sat beside him. there were multiple in the shop, and truth be told, he had no idea which was used for what types of beverages.

confidently, he grabbed a cup from the stack on the table behind him, striding over to one of the machines. he then took a look at all the knobs and buttons, clearing his throat. you chuckled. with his finger ghosting over one of the buttons, he turned back toward you to check for your reaction. “not even close,” you remarked. he clicked his tongue, turning back toward the coffee maker. “just a hint,” you added, “the first step isn’t coffee.”

he simply looked up, bewildered. he turned back toward you, dropping his hands to his sides and parting his lips into a circular expression of disbelief.

suddenly, the sparkling tone of the door chime behind you caught both of your attention. peculiar. nobody was usually around at that hour. as minho put his cup back on the table, you hopped off the counter, turning toward the front of the store.

in walked one of the most strikingly handsome boys you think you’ve ever seen. if not the most handsome. an angular face; fair, slightly pink-tinted skin decorated with the most endearing assortment of freckles. they were almost reminiscent of the chocolate sprinkles minho used to top off the cupcakes situated inside the glass counter case. his hair was a vanilla blond and long enough to delicately cascade over the side edges of his face. cherry red lips that parted upon his arrival, chocolatey brown eyes staring right back at yours. he was astonishing.

“how can we help you?” minho asked him, stepping forward. he couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes seemed to be bugging out of your head. he had to stifle a chuckle or two.

the boy’s eyes lingered on yours for a moment. or maybe you dreamed it that way. regardless, he walked up to the counter, inquisitively placing his hands behind his back and bent over to glance at the contents of the case. “hi! uh…” he seemed sweet, though his voice was much deeper than you’d expected. it was unique. he was unique. and in quite a rush, as well. “...shit,” he cursed under his breath. he seemed to have startled himself with his expression. he looked back up at you, then at minho, a tight-lipped smile and strawberry-pink blush appearing on his face. “sorry,” he said.

minho finally let out a chuckle. “no worries. what’re you looking for?” he was always so good with the customers. smooth yet considerate, witty, yet firm. you always aspired to be a little more like minho when it came to customer service.

“do you have any of the salted caramel cupcakes left? they seem to be gone.”

“ah, we seem to have run out of those. could i interest you in a peanut butter cupcake instead?”

the boy shook his head. “no… she likes caramel.”

she. there was a she.

“may i ask what the occasion is?” minho asked.

“it’s my mom’s birthday, and she’ll be home from work soon... hopefully. i would’ve made my own gift to her but i didn’t have the time…”

“enough said,” your coworker assured him. “does she like chocolate? we have a few salted caramel brownies in the back.”

he almost gasped. “that’s perfect!” he paused. “um… how much is that? i-is it more than the cupcake, or…?”

minho glanced through the glass at the tag beside the brownie tray. “nope. less, actually.”

the boy let out a short sigh of relief. “great. thanks so much.”

“ah, it’s nothing. one sec,” minho said before walking into the kitchen to grab the brownie from the fridge. an awkward silence ensued between you and the boy.

“a name for the order?” you blurted. dumbass, you thought to yourself.

“i’m… the only one in the store…” he replied.

heat rose to your cheeks. “i… um… it’s protocol-”

“felix.” he cut you off before you could embarrass yourself further. he could tell you were nervous.

a unique name as well. of course.

“coming right up, felix,” you murmured, a hint of sarcasm in your voice. both of you chuckled.

minho came back out to the counter holding a small blue box with the cafe logo on top. “you’re all set! that’ll be…” he pressed few buttons into the cash register before continuing. “ten thousand won.”

“perfect.” felix grabbed his wallet out of his coat pocket. he pulled out a few bills from the black leather case, handing them to minho with a small smile. he was excited to surprise his mother, and happy that it wouldn’t cost as much as he’d thought it would. and you found it adorable.

minho took the money, ringing felix up and inserting the bills into the register. he handed felix the box, which made the boy’s face light up even more. it was hard for you to suppress a similar countenance. “i hope she likes it. have a good night!” minho said, closing the register. he crossed his arms and leaned on the counter as felix waved to the both of you and began walking back toward the door.

“thanks so much. you too,” he said, giving minho a small bow.

with his hand on the door, he glanced back at you once more. you smiled. he returned the expression. and just like that, with a brief gust of cold air sweeping through the shop, the boy was gone.

“you, uh… you know we only take names when there’s a line, right?” minho teased as the door shut, the chime letting out what seemed to be a pitied laugh.

you held your hands up to your forehead. “ugh, i know! i’m such an idiot,” you replied, letting your nerves go with a chuckle. he patted you on the shoulder, laughing with you.

in between laughs, he remarked, “he really made you that nervous, huh?”

“you could tell?! oh, great… wonderful!”

the two of you carried on for a moment, making light of the otherwise mortifying exchange. but finally, minho glanced at the clock and asked, “would you mind locking up tonight? i’ve got a date.”

“ooh!” you cooed, taunting him. “a date... who’s the not-so-lucky lady?”

“what joke book did you get that one from, hm? i had no idea you even knew how to read!” you gave him a playful punch in the arm for his sarcastic dig, causing him to giggle. yet, he answered your question, saying, “it’s a girl i met on the train home from school the other night. chaeyoung.” he looked off to the side, seemingly entranced. “she’s really witty and smart… and gorgeous. like... gorgeous.”

“ah, yes… so gorgeous that it causes men to leave their posts… and friends…”

“if i bring you back some takeout, will you quit being an ass?”

you pondered the question for a moment. and, while you’d be bored as hell in his absence, closing up the shop wasn’t much of a hassle on weeknights… and, well, you could always go for a free meal. “...pleasure doing business with you, lee minho.”

“thank you. as with you,” he commented in return. he took off the periwinkle blue, involuntarily worn apron which you’ve both been made to wear, revealing what you hadn’t even noticed was a dressy outfit. well, dressier than usual. he’d opted for a pale blue button-up shirt, tucked into black skinny jeans, all tied together by a chic black belt and a pair of black loafers. not to mention the small silver hoop earrings and matching necklace. you had to admit, he did look dapper.

he quickly strode to the back of the kitchen at which there resided a small storage room where you and the other employees usually dropped off your belongings. he grabbed his backpack and put on his long black coat, quickly making his way back up to the counter and walking around to the front of the store. “catch you tomorrow! thanks again.”

“takeout! don’t forget!”

“i couldn’t even if i tried,” he retorted, opening the door. the two of you waved to each other before he took his leave.

moments later, the door opened once again. you figured minho must’ve forgotten something. looking up, you began to ask, “what’d you forget this ti-”

it wasn’t minho.

it was felix.

he paused in his footing, little blue box still in hand. you jumped just a little. he noticed. “s-sorry… i just, um…” he looked off to the side. “i guess this is a bit of a long shot... considering the two of you seem to be more than enough staff… but…” he paused again, taking a moment to straighten his posture and scratch the back of his head. “is there any chance you might be hiring… any time soon?”

the answer was no. undoubtedly. he was right in thinking that you, minho, and the other employees were perfectly capable of handling the cafe. though some mornings and weekends were a bit tight, the team made it work. if this was anybody else, you could’ve easily said no.

yet, he persisted. “i can bake! i like to think i’ve been getting better at it… and i can clean as well.”

you couldn’t turn him down. you simply couldn’t. not with those kind eyes locking themselves with yours, the enthusiasm in his deep voice, or the hastening beat of your heart. “i’ll talk to my manager!” you affirmed. you smiled, causing a similar reaction out of him. an idea popped into your mind. if only for a moment, you thought it was the best you’d ever had. your eyes averted themselves to the pale yellow note pad and ballpoint pen on the counter, used to take orders from seated customers. “here,” you said, reaching for the pen and paper and handing it to felix. “if you’ll give me your number, i can text you with any updates.”

he walked back up to the counter for the second time that night, taking his number down on the pad. as you watched him intently, eyes fixated on his concentrated face, you silently praised yourself for being so brave. especially after the whole name debacle. your heart was at its wits’ end. “there,” he said, placing the pen down on the counter and sliding the notepad back to you. “i really appreciate it.” he sounded so genuine. he flashed you another smile. he had such a grand, bright, toothy smile. it would stay in your memory for days, weeks, even months to come. you can still recall it now.

“it’s no problem,” you responded. “...i really hope your mom likes the brownie.”

“thanks. i’m sure she will.” he turned to walk toward the door. you almost turned away as well, excited to examine the style with which he’d written on the pad, until he spun back around once more. “oh! one more thing… can i get your name as well?”

the question came as a bit of a surprise. you nodded to him, letting out a short giggle. “y/n.”

he grinned again. it was smaller that time; a bit more subdued. effortfully so. “ah. well…” he began walking backward, eyes connected with yours as he headed toward the door. “goodnight, y/n.”

“goodnight, felix.”

and thus, your pursuit for a job offering began.

your manager, chan, was reluctant to accept your proposal for him to give felix an interview. however, you made note of how eager he’d seemed that night and the skills he’d mentioned having. you also mentioned how he’d been so enthused to find out the price of his order. and so, after a couple days’ worth of mulling it over, chan finally gave in.

you weren’t supposed to be at the cafe when felix was being interviewed. however, your saturday afternoon shift had just ended, and the place was essentially empty. well… apart from you, chan, felix, and then jeongin, who wandered in from the storage room to find you eavesdropping from behind the wall separating the kitchen and the dining area.

“y/n?” he asked. “what are you-”

you inaudibly shushed him, motioning for him to come closer and hide with you. he did so.

“chan’s interviewing someone,” you whispered to the boy.

“ah…” he responded, his tone hushed. “so why are we hiding?”

“because we’re not supposed to be listening.”

“so why are we doing it?”

“because i want to know how it’s going.”

“so why can’t you just-”

you shushed him again. he obliged, covering his mouth with his hand.

from the other side of the wall, chan asked, “so felix, do you have a resume?”

“uh…” felix stammered. you could hear the nerves in his voice.

“let me put it this way,” chan offered instead. “do you have any prior working experience? at another cafe, another store, a completely different place...?”

“oh! yes. i’ve bagged groceries at the supermarket on third street for the last few months. that’s where my mom works. but i’d much rather work here, if i’m honest...”

“ah. okay.” chan nodded, jotting down some notes in his notebook. “so y/n told me you could clean...”

before chan could finish, felix proudly exclaimed, “i can! i do a lot of cleaning at home.”

“perfect.”

the interview went on for a few more minutes. jeongin let out a few silent chuckles every once in a while, mocking your state of concentration. but who could blame you? you just wanted to make sure felix got the position. he seemed to need it.

you totally weren’t in it for his smile… the freckles… the adorable creases that formed at the edges of his eyes when he grinned with that sweet, genuine, toothy grin of his… no, not at all…

nevertheless, he got the job.

“i love this apron,” felix had said to you on his first day. he was quite fond of your uniform. everyone else in the shop hated them; what, with the pale blue color, white pinstripe pattern, and the ‘one-size-fits-all’ design. yet, in every sense of the phrase, it fit felix perfectly.

“i’m glad someone does,” you replied. he laughed.

“when i got the cleaning job, i wasn’t sure i’d get to wear one. but i’m happy i do.” he smiled at you, his pearlescent teeth on full display and face aglow with joy.

after about a week of training, felix became a natural at his job. though it wasn’t much, he took great pride in his work and enjoyed taking any opportunity he saw to do a little extra sweeping, some more dish washing, and even some dusting here and there.

he also fit right into the employee dynamic. every once in a while, you’d find him playing hand games with jeongin. or, sometimes, minho would discuss baking with him, as he often noted his affinity for it.

“have you ever tried using oats in your chocolate chip cookies?” felix asked. it was monday night. and, as per usual, the shop was devoid of customers.

minho looked puzzled. “oats?”

“yeah. it adds a little nuttiness. it’s really, really good.”

“huh… i’ll have to try it out sometime. i like to add a bit of coffee grounds to the flour when i make mine.” then, he leaned in to whisper, “don’t tell chan, though.” felix let out a nervous giggle.

“don’t worry,” you said to him. “minho’s only kidding. i’d never let him touch my coffee grounds.” this made all three of you laugh.

after the laughter died down, felix looked at the clock. it was four in the afternoon. “well, my shift is over,” he said. you were disappointed. hanging out with felix had become a bit of a highlight for you. he always carried himself so kindly. he had a bubbly soul, and a pure twinkle took residence in his eye whenever he smiled. you couldn’t help but feel light and airy while around him.

“hey, i’ve been meaning to ask,” minho started to felix. “do you bike here?”

the other boy was confused. “no. why?”

“oh… then, do you walk?”

“yeah. it’s only a few blocks,” felix responded, shrugging.

“do you need a ride?”

felix paused to think. “don’t you need to stay here? to lock up and everything…”

“i’ll come right back.”

you chimed in, suggesting, “i can close tonight.”

“you sure?” minho asked you. “i don’t have any food to bribe you with this time.” you both chuckled.

“it’s fine by me,” you said.

minho thanked you, stating once again that he owed you. the amount of times you’d done this for him was countless. but you never seemed to mind. and so, off they went. you were glad felix had integrated into the friend group so well. you supposed that he was just that loveable.

when it finally came time for you to close up shop having not received any other customers for the night, you waltzed into the storage room to grab your things. however, you noticed something strange sitting atop one of the shelves that hadn’t been there that morning.

an envelope. with your name on it. and a tupperware container filled with a single slice of what looked like chocolate cake.

your heart flinched. you were shocked. flustered, flushed. confused… but endeared. you hesitated. shakily, you tore open the cream-colored envelope’s seal, careful not to rip too much. you wanted to preserve its crisp smoothness.

“y/n,” the note said...

“a gift to you,

a chocolatey treat,

a token of thanks

for being so sweet.

~ me”

your heart fluttered. you ran to the kitchen, opening the container and grabbing a freshly-cleaned fork from the metal sink. you dried it off on your apron before excitedly digging into the dessert. it was more of a brownie than a cake, you realized, with melted chocolate chunks stuffed inside. it tasted amazing.

you began wondering who this mystery gifter could’ve been. it couldn’t have been minho… it simply couldn’t have. the two of you were much too close. and he was always more confident than anybody you’d met. if he liked you, you would have already known. besides, things seemed to be going well with him and chaeyoung. no… this had to be someone else. jeongin, perhaps. he did always made such high praises about your cappuccino-crafting abilities. you looked to your left and right, peering around the kitchen for signs of life. but alas, you were all alone in the cafe.

then it hit you.

of course...

felix.

you recalled the first time you met. when you had him jot his number down on the piece of paper. you remembered his handwriting; the way some characters curled on the ends, the rounded shape of his letter e, the squiggly line he used before he signed his name… it was felix. it had to be.

and you were ecstatic.

the next day, you entered the shop to find a full house. it was a saturday morning, after all. you enjoyed the breakfast rush, mainly because you got the chance to show off your coffee-making skills. you made your way to the kitchen, greeting jeongin at the counter on your way in. you said hello to minho and seungmin as well, who were busy stand-mixing and hand-folding various types of batter. they were a great team, especially on mornings like those. though they tended to bicker about ingredients and proportions, the sweet treats they’d concoct always turned out excellently.

finally, felix emerged from the storage area, duster in hand. when he saw you, however, he froze. with his eyes wide and cheeks beginning to flush, he greeted you. “h-hi, y/n… good morning!”

you let out a bit of a giggle. does he know that i know? you asked yourself. granted, the mysterious gift giver signed off as ‘me,’ so you couldn’t say you were positive… but this reaction told you otherwise. “morning!”

he nodded, smiling nervously. he gestured to the storage room. “the shelves in there are all dusted now.”

“great! i think i’ll… um…” you pointed to the room, slipping past him to stash away your belongings and put on your apron.

“yep! you… do that…” he muttered as you walked away.

however, when you walked in, you found something peculiar displayed upon the shelf.

another envelope. and another container.

you turned back toward the door to find felix peeking in. you chuckled. “so it was you!”

he stepped to the side, coming into full view. “how’d you know?” he asked.

“i just… had a feeling.” you grinned.

he paused, a tight-lipped smile spread across his face. “well, open it.”

you placed your coat and bag on one of the shelves below. you then opened up the envelope just like you had the previous night: meticulously, yet enthralled. it read,

“another dessert

for a person so sweet

will you honor me kindly,

and go out with me?

YES / NO

~ me”

once you looked back up at him, felix commented, “you were supposed to circle one…” he then began rambling. “i thought you didn’t come in until later. you don’t have to say anything right now, or at all, and-”

though you thought it adorable, you cut off his nervous prattle, stating, “yes.”

his eyes grew even wider, his strawberry tinted lips forming a circular shape. “you mean…”

“i’ll go out with you, felix,” you confirmed.

his face lit up. and yours did, too.

thus, one date became two, two became four…

by the end of february, you were officially a couple.

you were a perfect match. each of you complimented each other so well, rivaling the bittersweetness of a good cappuccino when paired with a light and fluffy slice of cake. like minho, felix’s baking abilities and knowledge never ceased to amaze you. you explained the ins and outs of coffee brewing while he told you all about how he bakes his tasty treats. he even showed you some of the recipes his mom handed down to him from generations past.

his mom sounded so wonderful… yet, a part of you felt so sorry for her. felix’s dad left when he was young, and she’s always had to fend for herself and her son all on her own. however, when she was let go from her office position the previous year, things began to spiral. she took up two jobs: one at the local grocery store and another waitressing at a restaurant in the next town. she was always so busy. but felix understood. he tried helping out, especially by working at the supermarket with her that fall. nothing seemed to get any better.

that is, until he landed his job at the cafe.

felix constantly thanked you for helping him out. chan paid him a considerable amount more than what he’d received at the supermarket, which helped him and his mother out greatly. anything would. aside from telling how lovely, smart, witty, and gorgeous you were, felix’s mission in life was to remind you how you’d saved it.

one monday, you entered the storage room on your break to find a sight all too familiar. a handwritten note and small sliver of baked loveliness, all wrapped up in a metaphorical bow of allure and intrigue. nevertheless, however, you were still just as giddy as the first time you’d received one of felix’s treats. suddenly, you felt a finger graze along your shoulder, moving your hair to the side as an arm wrapped itself around your waist. two warm, pillowy lips made contact with your cheek, gently pecking the skin. felix.

you let out a giggle. “is this for me?” you asked, facetiously.

“of course,” he muttered beside your ear, his tone low, entrancing, and chill-inducing. he kissed your cheek again, holding you close and swaying you from side to side. “it’s another brownie. try it,” he suggested as his chin settled upon your shoulder.

you did as he said, biting into the small slice of fudgy goodness. to your surprise, chunks of melted caramel oozed out of the dessert, cutting through the rich chocolatiness of the brownie with a tangy edge. you hummed in satisfaction. “a salted caramel brownie,” you noted, swallowing your bite.

he chuckled. “i figured i’d finally try it out, maybe give some to my mom… do you like it?”

you placed the sweet back into its container and turned around in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck. you smiled. “i love it, lix. thank you.”

he grinned back at you. pulling you closer by the waist, he sealed the space between his lips and yours with a kiss. his lips were always even softer and more captivating than the texture of his confections. sweeter, too.

after his lips left yours, he gazed into your eyes, holding you close. “open the note, love.”

you excitedly spun back around, doing as instructed. opening the crisp white envelope seal and pulling out the folded sheet of paper, you read its contents.

“a caramel kiss

for you, my love.

i can’t give you the world.

but i hope i’m enough.

~ felix”

you paused. you were puzzled. visibly so, you figured, since when you turned around the look on felix’s face shifted.

he took your hand in his, rubbing small circles into the skin with his thumb. he kept his head down as he spoke. “i wish i could do more. i wish i could take you out to nice places, bake you batches of your favorite sweets, get you real gifts…”

a sharp pain struck your heart. “lix…” you murmured. “i don’t need any of those things. and as far as i’m concerned, these are ‘real gifts.’ they come from your heart. that’s as real as it gets.”

“i know, love, but…”

you placed a hand on his cheek, guiding him to look back up at you. “you don’t even have to do this stuff for me. i know that you care.”

he gave you a forced, shy smile. “okay. i’m glad.” he placed his own hand on top of yours, warm fingertips pressing gently against your skin.

“felix! y/n!” chan called from the kitchen. it was saturday night, and the last of the day’s customers were taking their leave. you were standing by the coffee-makers, in the middle of telling felix about the time you’d bested jeongin in a macchiato-making contest during a breakfast rush.

both of you turned toward the kitchen door, concerned. chan poked his head out. “can you come here a minute?” he looked serious. something was wrong.

nevertheless, the two of you obliged. holding hands, you made your way to the kitchen, led by chan to the cooling racks. “what’s up?” you asked.

chan cleared his throat before shoving his hands into his pockets. “i have reason to believe that one of you, or both, has violated protocol.”

you quickly grew confused. felix’s hand tightened around yours. you glanced at him, noticing how his face flushed pale. “uh…” he stammered.

“early this morning, seungmin pointed out that we’re low on cocoa powder. now, that’s odd, especially considering we had three cans of it yesterday. now we only have two.” you both nodded at him, following along. “...so i took a look at the camera footage.”

felix let go of your hand. “c-cameras?” he stuttered. you were even more confused.

“yeah. the cameras,” chan confirmed, looking felix dead in the eye. “i watched the footage from yesterday. and the day before.”

felix gulped. “you… you did….”

“what the hell is going on?” you asked.

chan let out a bit of a sigh. “y/n. were you aware that felix has been taking ingredients from the kitchen?”

your heart dropped.

you glanced at your boyfriend. he glanced back at you. he then bit his bottom lip, averting his eyes down to the floor. you looked back at chan, calmly answering, “no… i had no idea.”

“is that true?” chan asked.

“yes.” you then turned to felix, face ablaze. “it’s true.”

“then in that case, you can go for the night. i’d like to talk to felix. alone.”

after one last unreciprocated look at your boyfriend, you quickly rummaged through the storage room, collected your things, and left. you stood outside of the cafe, waiting for whatever might happen next. your stomach was doing flips. you couldn’t possibly believe what you’d heard.

minutes elapsed. it felt more like hours. all you could think to do was lean up against a lamp post and watch the gloomy clouds shift overhead. the sun was close to being fully set, casting a deep purple tint over the whole street landscape. and it looked as though it was about to rain.

after what felt like an exorbitantly long time, felix emerged from the shop. the door closed behind him as he bolted down the steps and onto the pavement, that familiar chime sending a chill through you. it sounded almost eerie that night. out of place. taunting.

“lix,” you called. you walked behind him, despite his quickening pace. but he wouldn’t stop or slow down. “lix,” you exclaimed again. no answer. finally, you grabbed his arm, realizing his apron was gone, and shouted, “felix! slow down.”

he scoffed, stopping dead in his tracks. “he fired me.”

you stared at him, blankly. once again, you couldn’t believe it.

“i tried to do something nice, and he fired me.”

“do you think it makes me feel any better?” you asked. “you getting yourself fired so you could make me little brownie experiments?” you paused, taking a deep breath. you were outraged. more so with yourself. you should’ve asked how he was finding the time or the resources to be doing what he was doing. you should’ve known. “i thought you needed this job. when were you gonna tell me you were a thief?”

“a thief?!” felix’s eyes seemed to be bulging out of his head. he was surprised at your verbiage. he’d never seen you upset like this. “y/n, i’m not a thief.” you rolled your eyes. his cheeks flushed crimson. a prickling sensation began around his eyes. a stinging, almost. tears. he looked down at his sneakers. tattered white converse. the same ones he wore every day to work. the same ones on which he’d splattered a few droplets of brownie batter during his latest attempt at making you a gift. now, it just looked like a stain of mud. “i didn’t just take cocoa powder. i took eggs… some milk… a couple cups of flour here and there… my mom got demoted at the restaurant. she works the bar now. she thinks i asked for the stuff. so yeah, i did need this job! i do need it. i just fucked up...” under his breath, trying not to give into the tears that prodded at his eyes, he remarked, “‘little brownie experiments’... that’s all they ever were to you? little brownie experiments...”

you realized what you’d said. of course that’s not all they were to you. they were everything to you. but that isn’t what you’d said. “lix… i-”

“you know what, you’re right,” he muttered, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet, hands clasped behind his back, and eyes rapidly blinking to avoid the inevitable. “they probably weren’t even all that good.”

you took a step closer to him. a drop of water fell onto your shoulder from above. “no.. no, that’s not what i-”

but, as quickly as you approached him, he stepped back. he locked eyes with you once again. his eyes were glossy; tainted with the aftereffects of a broken heart. suddenly, a steady stream of drizzling rain began to fall from the night sky above you. felix’s lip quivered. yet, with a furrowing brow, he continued. “you know what, maybe this was all a mistake.” his voice cracked a bit; frayed at the edges. “maybe i should’ve gotten a different job. at a place that would pay me enough to be able to buy my own shit and pay my mom’s bills.” the rain fell harder now, coating his hair and dragging it down over his face. you didn’t even feel it as it completely drenched you as well.

seeing him like this affected you just as much as your words did him. guilt. the panging, crushing weight of guilt laid heavily upon your heart. “felix…” you whimpered, tears of your own beginning to cloud your line of sight. though, you could still see clear enough to watch him shake his head, turning around and beginning his ascent up the avenue. clear as ever. even despite the pitter-patter of evening gloom.

sopping wet, you marched back into the shop. you ripped off your apron, throwing it down upon the counter. you then walked back behind it to start preparing to close up for the night. all you wanted was to go home.

that is, until you spotted an envelope tucked beside the cappuccino maker.

a creamy white envelope, with your name and a heart inscribed on the back. and a tupperware container. a single teardrop descended from the corner of your eye, resembling the droplets of rain that covered your form. you carefully took hold of the envelope. you gently tore it open, making sure not to rip it, just like you’d done the very first and subsequent times.

“another present

for my love;

my dear y/n,

sent from above.

~ felix”

a drop of rain fell from your hair onto the page, dampening his name. the black ink began to run, the letters seeping into each other.

you could no longer control your tears. you took a seat on the floor, back resting against a leg of the table upon which the coffee makers stood. the metal was cold. but you paid it no mind. with your head on your knees, legs bent and arms wrapped around them, you cried. audibly. you couldn’t believe how you’d spoken to him. you should’ve known that he didn’t have the money to bake you these little presents on his own. you should’ve realized from the moment he confirmed it was him. at least, that’s what you thought to yourself as the tears expelled themselves from your system.

he just wanted to make you something special. yes, he broke the rules. yes, he stole from the cafe. and yes, he knew it was wrong. but he just wanted to make you something special. it was the only way he believed he could. and you wish you’d seen that. not just so you could’ve prevented it, but also so you could’ve appreciated it even more. so you could’ve seen that not only was he working overtime to make you something you might enjoy, but that he was risking his job for you and his mother. it wasn’t a perfect gesture - not by a long shot. but he meant well. he always did. and you didn’t even give him the chance to explain.

you loved him.

after a few moments of solitude, you regained your breath. you sniffled, looking down at the note. you then stood back up, taking hold of the container. its contents looked delicious. but you couldn’t consume it. not even if you’d been hungry. so, you dumped it into the trashcan beside the table. and, with a deep, shaky breath, you ripped up the letter and envelope into tiny pieces. it was a bittersweet feeling, letting go. but you had to do it. and so, home you went.

a week passed. things never really changed at the cafe once felix left. weeknights were still as slow as ever. maybe even slower. you missed him.

minho emerged from the kitchen one evening to find you wiping down the cappuccino maker with a coffee-stained rag. it was the third time you’d done it that day. twice more than you were getting paid for. and of course he noticed. “how’re you holding up?” he asked.

you barely glanced up at him, busy rubbing the same spot on the metal machine over and over. this stupid stain just wouldn’t budge. each time you’d gone over it that day, you couldn’t seem to make it go away. it plagued your mind, infiltrating your subconscious when you least expected it until you finally decided to go back to it for the second time, then the third. it was a real mood killer. though your mood hadn’t been very lively when the day began, either. “‘m fine,” you replied through gritted teeth, brows angled inward as your focus remained on the task at hand.

“are you?” he questioned, playfully. he leaned on the counter behind you, crossing his arms and watching you scrub. “you’ve been going at it with that thing for hours now. what’d it ever do to y-”

“i’m fine!” you interjected. you then paused, both in speech and action. suddenly, you were aware of how fast you’d been rubbing the machine. as well as how loud your voice had raised itself. you turned around. “...sorry.”

he gave a pitied smile, crossing his arms. “it’s ok. i’m fine,” he replied, mimicking you. it made you chuckle. he was glad it did. “is, uh… is this a bad time to ask you to lock up? i’ve got a.. uh…”

“a date?” you supposed, unfeeling.

he cleared his throat, glancing between you, the clock above you, and his shoes. “yeah,” he confirmed. “with chaeyoung. would you mind?”

“not at all.”

“you sure?” you nodded. “alright… i owe you one… or ten...” he joked, untying his apron.

“no you don’t,” you murmured, eyes drifting to the side. you almost turned back around, heart set on getting to that stain, until you felt his hand on your arm. you glanced at each other for a moment. he looked sad. sorry. he pitied you. and you hated it. yet, as he took you in his arms, wrapping you into a tight, benevolent hug, you became a little less tense. a little less angry. you hugged him back, burying your face into his shoulder. this was the first time you’d ever engaged in such a gesture with your coworker. sure, you were friends. and sure, you’d talked about some deep stuff on nights like these with nothing better to do. but this was different. meaningful. sweet.

after a moment, minho remarked, “you know i miss him too, right?” he sounded mockingly peeved. “he was your boyfriend but he was my friend.”

you looked up at him, confused. “you’re not still friends?”

he chuckled. “no! he’s avoiding me the same way he’s avoiding you.”

laughing with him, you responded, “shit… i’m sorry, minho.”

“you have nothing to apologize for.” he let go of you, hands remaining on your sides for a moment. “you both messed up. it’s not all your fault.” you nodded to him, a reluctant, close-lipped smile upon your face. he glanced up at the clock again before pulling his apron off. “i’ve gotta go. thanks again for locking up, y/n.” he walked past the counter to the front of the store. “i’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” he added, pointing at you while striding backwards toward the door.

“see you tomorrow,” you replied, waving to him. “have fun.” you still sounded a bit bitter. you couldn’t help it.

“thanks,” he said. the chimes twinkled as the door closed. it haunted you.

and with that, he was gone. nothing but you, your rag, and that unnerving coffee stain for another half-hour’s time.

you heard the opening and closing of the door behind you once again. with a sigh, not even bothering to turn around, you blurted, “we’re about to lock up for the night.”

no response. odd. maybe they didn’t hear you. you tried again, raising your voice a bit but continuing your attempts to clear up the stain all the while. “i apologize, but we’re closed for the night-”

“one salted caramel brownie, please.”

a familiar voice. a familiar, low-toned, nostalgia-inducing voice. the voice that, at one time, softened for you… close enough to your ear to make your stomach tie itself in knots. the voice that made you giggle, the voice that called you “love”... the voice that cracked when faced with the realization that it was never to be heard by you again. you spun around.

a familiar face, too.

felix.

his eyes gazed into yours. somber, silent.

“y-you...”

“hey.”

tags: @magglesx, @crscendoforsung, @stayndays, @hanniiesuckle17, @leggomylino, @freckledberries, @pixielix, @skzctnightnight, @serenityswords-main, @childofthecosmos, @changbinniee, @kpopscape, @skzwriternet, @hyunsins, @sleepylixie, @ncityluvvs, @vera-liscious (send a 🍓 in my ask box to be added for skz !)

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queenmuzz · 4 years

Text

It’s a Date

@shiranyaaww shared this pic, and said that it would be perfect for a Dante x Reader fic, so who am I to refuse?

You’re not going to cry, you tell yourself. There’s a tonne of reasons you shouldn’t. Your makeup, that you spent a good half hour applying, will get smeared. Your dress, which you had spent days picking out the cutest ensemble, will get ruined by tears.

And you definitely don’t want the patrons and waitstaff of an out of the way cozy restaurant you’d heard rave reviews about to see you blubbering like a beached whale.

“Pardon me miss, would you like to order now?” The waiter asks, the concern on his face now slipping past his professional veneer.

You fake a smile, “Just more water please, he shouldn’t be much longer.” A lie, and he knows it, the patrons giving you pitiful glances know it, and worst of all, you know it.

But, whether out of denial, or a vain attempt to prolong the charade, you make a great show of picking up your phone and checking your texts.

5:32 PM: Hey there, I’m at Figaroni’s now. A bit early, so I’ll just reserve us a table. Can’t wait to see you!😘

5:56 PM: Still waiting! Are you lost? It’s kinda out of the way, if you need directions, I can send them to you.

6:22 PM: Could you please text me? I just want to know if something came up, and you can’t make it. I’m not upset, just worried.

And underneath each text is the cold line: READ.

You scroll through your social media, attempting to see where he might be. You had been so excited for tonight, your first and second dates had gone so well, you thought this one would be the one that would make you two an official couple. But now, posted just a few minutes ago, is a pic of him and a few friends at the bar, taking a group selfie, with the caption.

Bored, so went out to hang out with the buddies, gonna wake up with a horrible hangover for work but... #YOLO

You quickly turn your phone off, trying to pretend you hadn’t seen it. He was just running late, that’s it. It couldn’t be that he had just ghosted you and the date, so he could hang out with his buddies. No, because that would mean you’d dressed up, primped up, and got all excited...for nothing. And if it was for nothing, you had just been made a fool, a goddamn lovesick fool, all in front of everyone. If you broke down now, you’d just confirm what they thought. The best thing to do was to leave the waiter a nice tip for dealing with your behaviour, and run out of the restaurant, and try to not think about the conversations they’ll have about you.

But you’re just frozen on the spot, knowing that the moment you stand up, you’ve accepted to yourself that you’ve been strung along, treated like the fool that you are, and you can’t just handle it. You’re between a rock and a hard place, emotionally. The tears spill out…

“Hey, sorry about being late, babe traffic was absolutely disgusting!”

A man sits down in front of you, and for the briefest moment, your heart leaps out of your chest hoping that you had been wrong, your boyfriend just posted a photo of an old party he went to a week or so ago. But then, your heart falls. It’s not him, in fact, it’s nothing like him. He’s wearing a red leather coat, a casual shirt with what you hope aren’t blood stains on it, and worn finger-less gloves. He looks completely out of place in this restaurant, and yet as you look through his silver white bangs into his blue eyes, he feels like he’s meant to sit in front of you all along.

But still, you’re emotionally guarded. You don’t know this guy, never ever seen him in your life, and for all you know, he could be just out for a free meal, under the guise of pretending to be your absent boyfriend.

He notices your shocked expression, peeks around the nearby tables and then lowers his voice.

“Name’s Dante. I couldn’t see a pretty lil’ thing like you looking so sad and alone, so I decided to fix that. So, let’s just play it by ear.”

You want to say something, but then the waiter comes up, looking rather relieved, and asks you if you’re ready to order. Despite having nearly an hour to peruse the menu, the sudden appearance of this man has thrown you off.

“I’ll have the Pizza Prosciutto e Funghi” he says, his pronunciation perfect, not even looking over the menu.

The waiter nods, “Would you like it cooked your usual way, sir?”

Dante smiles, and winks at you, “Extra crispy? You bet.”

The waiter turns to you, and you barely are able to blurt out what you would like, your voice cracking, your carefully prepared pronunciation mangled. Neither the waiter, with his professionalism, nor your replacement date seems to notice. The man does a bow and turns toward the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about paying,” your mysterious saviour says as he pulls out some bills from his coat pocket. “Got paid today, and I have time to spend it before my brother starts complaining about what I do with it. So,” he says as he reaches out for a piece of bread out of the basket, “Let’s get to know each other.”

So over pizza and pasta, you and him traded your backgrounds. You had told him about your job, your family life, your interests. And unlike the guy he replaced, he listens intently, never interrupting, unless it was to ask for more info about something you said. And as you spoke, the pain, the self consciousness melted off of you. By the time you started asking him, as he wolfed down yet another slice, about his life, you had felt the familiar flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

“I work for myself, it’s actually just become a family business.” He says, as he wipes his face and hands off with the napkin. “My nephew runs a mobile branch, smart kid, runs it better than I run my own business.” His smile deepens as he reminisces, and his eyes seem to sparkle more in the candlelight. “My brother recently joined too, and although he can be a pain in the ass…” for one brief moment, a flash of regret passes over his face, before it's replaced back by his beautiful smile, “but I wouldn’t trade anything in the world for having him back.” In the now dim evening light, you no longer notice his out of place clothes, his face is all that matters, from the whiskers on his chin, to that mane of white hair that you have to resist the urge to reach over and run your hands through. So engrossed in him, you’re actually a bit startled when the waiter comes to take your empty plates away.

“Try the strawberry gelato,” Dante suggests, “They make it right here, and it’s to die for.”

His eyes light up at your expression as you try the delicious concoction, “There, that’s what I like to see, a beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be made to cry.” He grins as he sneaks a spoonful of your dessert, “Don’t know what the douche bag thought was more important than spending time with you, but trust me, it wasn’t worth it by a long shot.” You silently thank the candlelight for hiding your rapidly growing blush.

He pays the bill, leaving a hefty tip, (and compliments the waiter and the chef, you notice) and helps you put on your coat before escorting you outside.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you walk to your car. It’s such a meager word to express what he’s done for you. The dinner was the smallest bit, it was the way he saved you from social embarrassment, and turned a mortifying situation into an experience that you would treasure for a lifetime. Your only regret is that this will be a one time thing. You shouldn’t get your hopes up, he only did it because he pitie-

“Here,” he smiles as he hands you a piece of credit card sized paper. “I know it’s my business card, but it’s also my home phone number. Call, and just ask to speak to Dante and say the password. I’d love to do this again, if you want. I know this place that makes some mouthwatering burgers…”

And with that, he walks off to his bike, hops on, and with a click of his tongue and a dashing smile, he pulls out with a squeal of tires into the night.

Only when he’s out of sight, do you read the card with trembling hands in the dim light of a nearby streetlamp.

Devil May Cry

And written hastily on the bottom, is a messy scrawl of words:

Password: It’s a date.

#Devil May Cry #Dante x Reader #Thank you for this wonderful prompt!#Dante

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phoenixblack89 · 3 years

Text

Fera Ingris

Chapter 1 - Dealing with Dixons

It's finally here people! Eekkk! It'll be up on A03 later when I turned my laptop on. Been teasing this for soooo long.

My wonderful tag list:

@lilythemadqueen @boondoctorwho @darylsgirl @autocon23 @browneyes528 @fandomsaremykryponite @writingdeadangel

"Yer take care of yourself lass, don't worry about us."

Phoenix sighed at the man on the other end of the phone, twisting the silver rosary he had given her for her birthday many years ago. The world had changed dramatically for them all since that day. Their history bloody and violent and God sent.

"Are ye listening lass?"

"Of course, I'm listening! It's you who isn't! I'm on the way to Atlanta now! As in I'm already in Georgia! I can't let you three rot in there when we've got things to do!"

"Lass, we can take care of ourselves. Connor wants to know if ye got our package?" He asked, she stifled a laugh at the noise of the pair fighting over the phone she could hear.

"Yea I got it. Haven't opened it yet though" she replied, the bike's engine growing colder under her. "What's in it? You guys shouldn't be sending anything. You're lucky Duffy and Dolly got it t' me before I left Boston."

"I know lass but ye need t' keep those safe fer us." She smiled hearing her other friend's voice, clearly having won the battle for the phone. "Look things are getting bad here. You're safe now but things are gettin' weird, we'd never forgive ourselves if anything happened to ye. I love ye too much"

"I love ya too, you idiot! I'm gonna get you all out. We have a mission! I've got a bag full of your stuff right here on my bike, your clothes, coats, guns."

"Aye. What?! No? Yea. Let me say goodbye a' least?" Phoenix knitted her eyebrows, hearing the man talking to someone else. A prison guard maybe. "Lass we have t' go. I'll call ye back when things settle aye?"

"Yea. Just tell me where you are at least?"

"Sorry lass I got to -"

The line suddenly died on her and she frowned, shaking the phone and seeing no signal. She ran her hand through her short dark red hair and started the bike up, speeding quickly towards Atlanta and her boys.

**********

The sun shined through the thin, flimsy material of the tent, shining directly down into the sleeping pairs eyes. The short, spiky, dyed haired young woman groaned and threw her arm over her face. She sat slowly and yawned. She'd had that dream for weeks, wondering what had happened to her friends.

Had the prison been overrun by the monsters that lurked in every corner? Were they dead? Or worse... Had they become one of those things?

She'd slept after her watch shift, which surprised the girl as she had been having a bad bout of insomnia for the last two weeks. Ever since...

No, she thought don't think about it.

She glanced at the young boy laid next to her and smiled. When Carl asked if he could sleep in her tent with her the night before she had been hesitant (mainly because Lori rarely let him out her sight) but Lori had said it was okay and she was not going to fight against the long-haired beauty.

Lori had also said it would be good for her, get her to trust others again. And honestly the boy reminded her so much of her old friend with his boundless energy and smiles.

A gentle tap to the roof of her tent set her senses on guard. She grabbed her long calf length boots and her Bowie knife and slowly pulled the zipper up. A sigh released from her throat as she squinted up at the crossbow welding man in front of her.

"We goin' hunting or what?" He snarled at her, obviously still mad at the woman from their disagreement yesterday. It wasn't her fault. He had spooked her...

Merle approached the dark red haired girl sat by the quarry lake silently. Something was up with her and he was determined to find out what. The sight in front of him worried him slightly, she was nervous and kept flicking her head around. Had she been bit? He was thankful the darkness of the twilight hid him somewhat as he watched. She hissed as she pulled the bloody bandage off her left hand, flexing it and hissing through her teeth. The soft sound of something hitting the surface of the water, made his heart thump. It wasn't raining so why did it sound like it was?

He came right behind her and watched as she rubbed at the wound, it oozed blood and yellowish white pus as she gritted her teeth. Infection was setting in. Daryl called out his name from camp and the girl spun and noticed him there.

"Ya shouldn't be down 'ere by herself girlie." He whispered, kneeling and gently taking her hand, examining the injury intently. "Now wha' we gonna do abou' yer hand? Yer can't take what I offered yer."

"Burn it again. Only thing we can do. Not like we can wander to nearest pharmacy, throw my hand on the counter and say fix it, is it?" She hissed as he prodded a sensitive spot, Merle chuckled slightly and helped her to her feet.

"Nah but China is headed t' the city tomorrow. I'ma go too. I know my meds and I'll get yer what yer need t' be right as rain again, Lil sis." He said with a smirk as they climbed back up the slope to the camp. Daryl and Shane spun round at their footsteps and Merle smirked. Officer ass-hat was on one about something.

"Phoenix! Where have you been?! We told you to stay in camp until you could fight!" Shane whisper-yelled in her face.

"Easy there officer. Girl just needed a second by 'erself... Gets a bit loud round here." Merle defended her, placing himself between the well musculared man and the girl who seemed to shrink into herself. "She's fine. I was a watchin' her."

"I bet you were Dixon." Lori said under her breath. Phoenix glanced at the woman with eyes narrowed. The majority of the camp thought the Dixons were rude, brash and shouldn't be there. Only Phoenix, Glenn, Andrea and Shane knew of the incident that had cemented the brothers in the camp's good graces, well in their good graces.

Phoenix sat down at the small fire infront of her tent and sighed, her ears picking up on raised voices coming from the Dixon tent. It sounded like Daryl was majorly pissed about something and Merle was defending himself.

Isn't any of your business she thought ignore them.

She gazed deep into the fire, the heat warming her frozen limbs nicely. She hated the cold, not that it was cold but she felt like she was sat on a box of ice in just her underwear. She had experienced working in much colder situations, hell the Irish rain was colder than this. The sweat on her brow made her eyes ache and she closed them, leaning her head back.

"Ahh!" She shrieked, jumping up and thrusting her knife backwards towards whatever had grabbed her shoulder. A deep grunt sounded and her hand was twisted, causing her to release her grip of the blade's handle.

"Ain't no need t' try t' gut me girl." Daryl growled, his gruff voice instantly calming the nervous woman. She sighed and held her hand out, Daryl raised his chin and regarded whether to return her knife or not for a moment. He relented at her raised eyebrow and dropped it into her left hand. She hissed in pain and clutched at her wrist. Quicker than she could pull away, he'd wrapped his hand around her wrist yanking her closer and pulling the bandage off her injury. He could see how raised and angry it look, grimacing slightly as it oozed at his poking. Tears of pain welled in her eyes as she grit her teeth, he grumbled under his breath and glanced over his shoulder at his older brother. Merle nodded and raised the half empty bottle of whiskey in a salute. "This why Merle is leavin' right?"

"Yea, told him he didn't have to." She whispered as he released her arm, her skin tingled at the lose of contact. Daryl ran his hand over his neck and bit his lip.

"Ye need meds. Ain't happy a' him, riskin' his neck fer someone like ya." He groaned under his breath. Her mood soured and she shoved him away. He stumbled for a second and threw her a glare. "What the hell is ya problem girl?"

"Someone like me Dixon? Huh? What exactly do you mean by that?!" She folded her arms across her chest. Daryl's eyes flickered downwards for a second to how her arms pushed her breasts higher and more together.

God she's gorgeous when she's mad he thought, his cock twitching in his jeans. He ducked his head and scoffed.

"Ya know what I mean, can't even hunt without hurtin' yaself."

"Go away Dixon." She turned on her heel and stormed off up the bank, and climbing up the RV ladder to take watch. Daryl sighed and slopped off back to his brother, who was laughing, finding the whole scene hilarious.

**********

Phoenix nodded up at the hunter and pulled on her boots and grabbed her bow. She followed Daryl over to his tent where his brother was preparing to go into the city. Merle gave her a once over as she approached, his eyes narrowed at the bow across her back and the stains on the bandage around her left hand.

"Mornin' Firebug." He drawled as the pair stopped. She nodded and heaved her backpack tighter to her shoulder beside her quiver of arrows. "Y'all gonna be alright t' hunt wit' tha' hand?" He questioned, giving his brother a glance. Daryl gave Merle a hooded lidded look and nodded his head up. "Don't wanna waste my time if ya gonna drop down dead on poor Darlena 'ere."

The girl smirked and shoved the older man's shoulder playfully before flipping him off, striding towards the treeline.

"You watch 'er baby brother. She's one of us now."

"Hmm" Daryl said, glancing at the girl as she waited just under the cover of the trees for him. Merle gave a low chuckle and Daryl glared at him. "Stop."

"Come on baby brother, don't be like that." Merle stood and patted him on the shoulder. "Ya been pining after 'er for weeks now. Just give her some of the ol' Dixon charm. If ya even have any!" He barked out a laugh as his brother scoffed and walked away, joining the girl and disappearing into the woods.

**********

A low whistle drew her attention and she glanced in the direction of it. Daryl raised his hand and pointed off towards the copse of trees in front of him. Keeping her body low to the ground and her steps feather light she approached him. Her eyes darting out at the small herd of deer in front of them, they'd finally found them after two days in the woods. She raised her hand and pointed to the smaller of the two bucks. Daryl nodded and gestured he was going to try and get around them so if they darted he could take a shot. She nodded and crouched lower, using the shrubs to hide her. Daryl wandered away silently as she waited for his signal.

A loud shriek pierced the air and the deer scattered. Daryl swore and took off after the smaller buck, Phoenix following him at a distance.

**********

They stopped by a small creak, Phoenix dipping her hand into it and running it over the back of her neck. She felt like she was on fire, yet icy cold at the same time. The infection in her hand had well and truly set in, she needed to be careful or she'd drop and not get back up.

"We go a littl' further then stop fer the night." Daryl mummered beside her, wiping his soaked red rag over the back of his neck and down his face. She nodded, eyes staring off into the stream. He watched her carefully, the way her hair at the back of her neck was slightly curly, the way her ears twitched as if she was a rabbit or a deer hearing a predator. He found her beautiful and mysterious. A riddle he wanted to solve. He couldn't help his attraction to her physique either, the woman was beautiful. Not perhaps every man's wet dream but he found her incredibly sexy.

He admired how she wore gothic, all black, metal studded and chained clothes despite the heat, her short dyed dark red hair, the regrowth hinting at sandy blond, spiked with sweat these days that cried out to be tugged as she was kissed, the slight thicker set of her thighs, buttocks and stomach, he much preferred a girl with a bit of weight than the skinny, almost starved look some of the women up at camp had; the ink he could spy under her clothes was calling out for him to discover exactly how many tattoos she had and why she'd chosen them. He had seen a glimpse of the tattoos on her by accident when he'd stumbled upon her at the lake having a quick swim and also when he'd found her in the woods. She kept herself well covered normally, she said she got sunburn easily. He could spy an interesting shaped scar across her collar bone when she wore lower cut shirts, not that she did very much now.

Not since he'd saved her in the woods a week or so ago.

He loved how well they worked as hunters together. She knew enough to track decently and was surprisingly quiet on her feet, despite the heavy metal covered, thick platform soled boots she chose to wear. They're only issue seemed to be that they butted heads constantly when not hunting, both taking verbal swipes at each other whenever they tried to have a conversation, sometimes she'd slap him on the arm; Merle finding it hilarious and entertaining to join in. Damn Merle, was his fault she got hurt in the first place. If he hadn't egged her on about her lack of hunting abilities, she wouldn't have been out in the woods by herself in the first place.

He sighed quietly as she raised to her feet and moved away, eyes scanning the forest floor for the deer's tracks, finding them and leading the way.

**********

Daryl grunted as he lowered himself down beside the girl, who was turning a stick through the weak fire in front of her. The night was silent except for the light wind. He silently settled down against the log and took out of one of the squirrel for the pair to eat. Daryl made quick work of gutting and skinning the small rodent and shoved it on a stick to slowly roast over the flames. The girl's eyes drifting upwards towards the stars. She looked so peaceful that he didn't want to disturb her.

"We gotta head back in the morning if we don't find the deer." She nodded and pulled her arms around her own shoulders, shivering slightly. "Come 'ere." He said, holding his arms open for her to settle beside him. Daryl usually hated touching others and being touched was a rarity for him but he'd made the exception for her while they hunted. It was simply for survival he told himself. If she got too cold she'd get sick and then the group wouldn't have a hunter when he and Merle left. And he'd feel that guilt all his life, the kids needed fresh meat so he was doing something for the group. Nothing to do with his stupid little crush. Nope, he was doing it for the group. She shuffled closer and wrapped an arm around his waist. Her head found his chest and she sighed, feeling the heat from Daryl seep into her cold bones. Daryl frowned, she felt hot yet she was shivering like crazy.

That damn hand.

He pulled her closer and ran his hand cautiously up and down her arm. She flinched at first then relaxed into his embrace.

"Ya alright?"

"Yea. Just cold." She whispered, her warm breath causing goose bumps across Daryl's chest. She blinked slowly, feeling sleep call her. The smell of Daryl's warm body lulling her, she had missed falling asleep in a man's arms. It was familiar and comforting. She felt safe, warm and protected despite the dead walking.

**********

The sharp whistle drew her attention to the left. She nocked her arrow and let it fly, hitting the deer in the hind leg causing it to run. The two hunters had caught up to the deer earlier and were driving it towards camp. Daryl was in the rear urging it forward, while she made it turn in the right direction when it veered too far to the left.

She spotted the steep banks that marked the outer edges of the quarry and smiled.

Almost home.

Taking another shot to steer the deer towards the lower bank she smiled. The group would eat well tonight. She stumbled and shot at the hind leg again. The deer in one last desperate burst of energy slipped out of her sight but it was very close to camp. Wouldn't take long for them to catch up.

**********

Phoenix paused and braced her arms on her knees, Daryl whistled in question, asking if she was alright as he walked by her. She held up a hand in reply. He grumbled and walked away. She could hear yells and the sounds of stomping as she neared the rocks that hid camp.

Daryl was knelt on the ground and looking over the deer.

"Think we could cut around the chewed up part?" He said looking up at Dale and the others. Phoenix's eyes narrowed as she spotted a new face amongst the men. The group of men didn't seem to notice her as she joined Daryl at his side, subconsciously seeking his protection from the stranger. Fear made her heart pound loudly in her ears as Daryl stood.

"I wouldn't risk that" Shane said quietly, Daryl sighed dejectedly frustrated he hadn't been able to feed the group more.

"That's a damn shame. We got us some squirrels... About a dozen or so. That'll have to do."

"Oh my god!" Amy gasped as the head of the walker suddenly began to gnash its teeth.

"Come on people! What the hell?!" Daryl exclaims as he releases a bolt through its undead head. "It's gotta be the brain! Don't y'all know nothin'?!"

Phoenix smirked, shouldering her bow as she followed Daryl back into camp. She gave a glance over her shoulder at the group behind her, noticing the exchange of looks between them.

"MERLE! MERLE! Get ya ugly ass out here! Got us some squirrel! Let's stew 'em up!" Daryl calls out, Phoenix swivelling her head to see where the elder Dixon was.

"Daryl, just slow up a bit. I need to talk to you." Shane called, his hands on his hips as the group avoids Daryl and Phoenix's eyes.

"About what?" Daryl queries, pausing his march around the camp. Phoenix, instinctively, taking Daryl's back with a bad feeling in her gut.

"DD... Hear him out." She whispers as Daryl narrows his eyes in suspicion. Daryl glances at her briefly before turning back to Shane.

"About Merle... There was a... There was a problem in Atlanta." The former officer sighs, his hand reaching out as if to pacify the man. Phoenix grits her teeth and reaches for the gun hidden behind her shirt slowly, sensing this was not going to end well.

"He dead? "

"We're not sure..."

OH shitttt Phoenix thought, slipping the brace of squirrels and her bow off her shoulder.

"He either is or he ain't!" Daryl stated, his voice raising in anger as his face grew more dark.

"No easy way to say this so I'll just say it." The newcomer said quietly, stepping into the discussion.

"Who are you?!" Daryl asked, confused slightly as to what this stranger had to do with his brother's disappearance.

"Rick Grimes."

"Rick Grimes?!" Daryl spat aggressively, his face a mask to the hurt and anger underneath. "You got summit ya want t' tell me?"

"Your brother was a danger to us all, so I... I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal... He's still there."

"What the fuck!?" Phoenix snarled as her eyes narrowed at the newcomer. Her stance widening, readying herself for a fight. Daryl began pacing, his eyes meeting hers, she gave a barely there nod in agreement with him.

"Hold on... Let me process this. You're sayin' you handcuffed my brother to a roof and you left him there!?" Daryl growled as he paced, the woman edging towards Shane, out of Daryl's path to Rick.

"Yeah."

Daryl growls loudly as he throws his rope of squirrels at Rick, who dodges them easily.

"Hey! Watch the knife!" T-Dog yells as Daryl pulls his knife. Shane dodges Phoenix and gets behind Daryl, quickly putting him into a chokehold. Phoenix steps up behind Shane, her own knife slipping into her grip, her gun giving a low click as she removed the safety and pointed it at the curls of Shane's hair.

"Okay... Okay..." Shane whispers, lowering Daryl and himself to the ground.

"You'd best let me go!" Daryl gasped, struggling to free himself.

"Do as he says!" Phoenix snarls, her Beretta a mere breath away from Shane's skull.

"Chokehold's illegal!" Daryl grunts, thrashing his legs. Phoenix lowers her gun to Shane's shoulder, ready to pull the trigger if needed.

"You can file a complaint!" Shane laughs weakly. "Come on man. We'll keep this up all day."

"Like shite we will. I'll shoot ya first mate!" The red head growled as Rick kneels in front of Daryl and Shane, his head tilting to the side.

"I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic. Do you think we can manage that? Do you think we can manage that?"

Daryl grunts, ceasing to struggle, slapping his hand out to the side of him; silently signalling to the woman to stand down as Shane hums in question.

"Mmm...Yeah." Daryl replies.

Shane releases him quickly and steps away as the younger man raises himself to his feet. Shane's eyebrows raised as Phoenix pulls herself to her full height, him and Rick giving her a worried glance. She smirks and makes a show of putting her knife and gun back into their places. Rick turns to Daryl and rubs the back of his neck slowly.

"What I did was not on a whim. Your brother does not work or play well with others."

"It’s not Rick's fault!" T-Dog interrupted, the large man stepping closer. "I had the key... I dropped it!"

Phoenix scoffed, glaring at the man.

"Ya couldn't pick it up?!" Daryl questioned, his anger disappearing and being replaced by worry and anxiety.

"Well, I dropped it in a drain."

"If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it don't." Daryl snapped as he shook his head, pacing in a small circle. Phoenix joining him at his side and glaring daggers at T-Dog.

"Maybe this will... Look, I chained the door to the roof... So geeks couldn't get at him... With a big ass chain and padlock. Its got to count for something!"

"Hell with all y'all! Just tell me where he is... So that I can go get him." Daryl choked out, his voice cracking with tears as Phoenix gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"So we can go get him." She declared, daring anyone to argue with her. Daryl gave her a tiny up nod at her and squeezed her hand on his shoulder lightly.

"He'll show you. Isn't that right?" Lori spoke up from the door of the RV, she looked to Rick quietly awaiting his reply.

"I'm going back." He stated quietly. Lori sighed and walked into the RV.

*********

Phoenix pulled on her long studded leather jacket and secured her axe into the specialised holster on her back. Daryl stood beside her silently, chewing his lip. The Brit have a slight wobble as she got lighter headed and Daryl's mind came to only one solution to a major issue between the pair.

"Hey."

"Hey DD. You ready to go get Merle?" She asked, bending to tie her boot laces. "Yea... Ya not comin' though."

"What!? You can't be serious DD! You need me with you so those picks don't leave you there as well!" She snapped back as he turned to walk away.

"Daryl!"

"Nah. Ya hurt. Too many geeks in the city fer ya axe. Stay here. Keep safe." He argued back, she growled in her throat and pushed by him. His hand wrapped around her arm in a bruising grip.

"Dixon..."

"Listen... Stay here. I don't... Just... Fuck." He hissed. "Merle will be pissed. Real pissed."

"He'll of been baked in the sun ya mean! He is gonna be stir fried from the heat! He's gonna need someone to calm him down. He ain't gonna hurt me DD... He wouldn't hurt me." She sighed, her head beginning to throb. "I have to Daryl. I owe him one!"

"Nah ya don't!"

"Yes I fucking do!"

"No. Ya stayin' here!"

"I'm going!" She yelled, hands on her hips.

"No!"

"Yes!"

"NO! And that's final!"

The pair continued to argue for several more minutes until Shane interrupted them, the pair literally chest to chest and needing to be pulled apart before fists began to fly. Phoenix huffed and stormed away into the woods as the man agreed with Daryl. Daryl glared after the fiery woman before stomping off to the truck, missing her turning back towards the camp and leaning against a tree with her arm crossed against her chest.

Phoenix glanced at the truck Daryl stood in. She wanted to wish them luck but knew Daryl was still angry with her. He looked in her direction and nodded his head, a small smile gracing the corner of his mouth. She sighed and walked towards him, he knelt down at the open shutter and tilted his head towards her. "Keep safe in the city DD." She whispered, gazing upwards into the man's sky blue eyes. He nodded and chewed his thumb. "Bring Merle back. Wouldn't be the same round here without that dickhead."

"Yea. Be quieter fer sure." He chuckled, smiling fondly at the girl. Phoenix reached up and pulled at Daryl, forcing him to brace himself against the ledge as she hugged him with one arm against her chest. Daryl slowly relaxed enough to enjoy her closeness and leaned his head on top of hers.

"Please come back." She whispered into his ear as he pulled back slightly, his eyes flitting around camp to make sure no one was witnessing the exchange. He nodded lightly into her neck, his arm coming to loosely hold her waist. He breathed in her soothing subtle scent and closed his eyes to help him memorise thee moment, just in case. He cleared his throat and pulled away, feeling a certain part of his anatomy starting to stir. She smiled weakly at him with teary eyes and walked away.

"Hey!"

Phoenix turned slightly, the breeze making her hair wave over her face softly. Thee sun shining behind her making her hair look like flames licking across the crown of her head. The bruises and cuts across her face hidden in the shadows of her face and hair. So beautiful Daryl thought, smiling slightly. His mind locking the sight into his memory as he stood and waved to her.

"Stay safe!" He called to her, she nodded and waved back. Her cheeks tinting pink at his loud show of concern as she smiled softly.

#the walking dead fanfiction #PhoenixBWrites #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x oc #Fera Ingris #DarylDixon #daryl dixon x oc #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon fanfic #twd fanfiction

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redgillan · 4 years

Text

Under Pastel Skies - 1

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 2,183

Warnings: none

A/N: This is brand new and probably one of the softest series I’ve ever written. I hope you enjoy it, these two are going to fall in love so hard!

“I don’t feel good.”

You started rocking back and forth, your breathing coming too fast and too shallow. A drop of sweat rolled down from your armpit, making you hyperaware of the fact that you were looking like a mess. You pressed the back of your hand to your forehead and groaned; your hairline was wet.

Looking at your dress, you felt bile rise up in your throat.

You should have worn the blue dress. Blue was a nice colour, everyone loved blue. Blue made people calm and at ease. No, instead, you had taken Natasha’s advice and put on the tight orange-red dress that clung to your body and made your breasts look incredible.

But now the dress stuck uncomfortably to your body, the space between your breasts was wet and glistening. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think. Red was the colour of passion, of anger and danger, and you just had to deal with your poor life decision.

Although deep down, you knew it wasn’t about the dress, or its colour.

“Relax,” Natasha said, sipping her lemonade. “I’m here, it’s going to be fine.”

“I am not fucking relaxed, Nat,” you repeated with a scoff. “I’m at a bar, about to meet a potential sugar daddy; that’s not what normal people do on a Friday night.”

“You’d be surprised,” she sassed. You gave her an unimpressed look. “Look, you can live with me for as long as you like, and you can work odd shifts at the hotel for the rest of your life if that’s what you want. But I know you, you’re an artist, and artists need freedom and benefactors. Sam is the reason I finished paying my tuition. You can call him my sugar daddy, but I prefer the word scholarship.”

Yeah, it was only a matter of perspective –and vocabulary. Some may call this whole thing brilliant, others stupid. You weren’t quite sure what to think yet.

“And this guy’s legit?” you asked for the nth time.

“Yes, Sam says he’s a great guy; sweet, handsome, thoughtful. He’s the whole package.”

“Mmmh.”

You eyed the pair of napkins the waiter had placed on the table along with your drinks, and wondered if it would be appropriate to stick them under your armpits to sop up the sweat trickling down your sides.

“Oh, fuck it,” you grumbled, reaching for the napkins.

You patted your armpits dry while you anxiously scanned the growing crowd. It was a high end bar, definitely not your usual hang out spot. The patrons were dressed in designer clothes and wore jewellery that cost more than your three years of art classes at the School of Visual Arts.

“Do we really have to stay sober?”

Natasha cocked a brow at you. “You don’t drink.”

You only groaned in response.

“I know how you’re feeling, I’ve been there, too,” she replied. “It’ll be like a normal first date. You’ll get to know each other, see if you guys hit it off, and if everything goes well you’ll talk about the arrangement. You can’t give consent if you’re under the influence of alcohol, so drink your lemonade and stop fussing, yeah?”

Like an obedient child, you brought the bent straw to your lips and took a quick sip of the icy refreshment. You toyed with the straw and watched the ice cubes slowly shrink. It was strangely soothing.

“They’re here.”

And just like that, your panic returned full force. You snapped your head up and tried to smile when you saw Sam approaching your table. You set your drink down on the coffee table and wiped your clammy hands on your dress.

Natasha stood up and gave Sam a kiss. While she wiped off a smudge of lipstick she had left on his upper lip, you glanced at the man behind Sam.

He was tall, muscular, and had a mysterious air about him. He was dressed casually, in black jeans and white t-shirt with a maroon bomber jacket that suited his pale complexion. The left sleeve of his jacket was tucked inside, empty.

Even without being an expert in behaviour analysis, you could tell he felt uncomfortable. He bowed his head to hide his face and kept looking around as if someone was going to attack him or as if he wanted to know where the nearest exit was.

Sam whispered something in the man’s ear and clapped him on the back before he turned to you.

“Okay, we’ll let you guys get to know each other.” Natasha looped her arm through Sam’s, and gave you an encouraging smile. You heard Sam whispering to his friend again. “Buck, seriously, you look like someone shoved a broomstick up your ass. Relax, man.”

“We’ll be over at the bar if you need anything.”

She gave you a thumbs-up as Sam led her across the crowd, toward the bar. With an authoritative look, Sam pointed to the seat across from yours and mouthed ‘sit’ at his friend who rolled his eyes and ground his teeth in response.

“Hi,” you started, trying to sound cheerful but the slight tremble in your voice gave you away.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he cut you off, “you seem like a nice girl but I’m not looking for anyone, least of all a sugar baby. I told Sam it was a stupid idea, but he never listens. This has nothing to do with you, I’m sure you’re great. I’m really sorry, I hope you’re not disappointed.”

He had barely made eye contact with you during his long-winded speech but you did notice that they were blue. Now that you knew this wasn’t going anywhere, your shoulders lowered and you felt yourself smiling.

“Of course, I understand. I wasn’t particularly thrilled, too. No offense.”

He bent his head and ran a hand through his hair, his lips curved up in a soft smile. “Is your friend as meddling as mine?”

You let out a loud laugh, your eyes widening. “More! If meddling were an Olympic sport, Nat would have more medals than Michael Phelps.”

His shoulders shook in a soundless chuckle but he still wasn’t looking at you. “So why’d you agree?”

You took your glass of lemonade and played with the straw while you searched for an answer that wouldn’t sound too desperate or dramatic. You majestically failed.

“I guess I felt like I had nothing to lose.” You shrugged. “It’s like when you’re standing on the edge of a cliff and you only have two options; jumping off the cliff or getting eaten by a pack of wolves,” you said, checking them off on your fingers as you enumerated them. “You have to choose the lesser of two evils.”

He frowned, a curious glint in his eyes and a hint of a smile curved his lips. Your eyes widened when you realized you might have offended him.

“Not that I think you’re evil,” you rushed to add. “What I meant to say is that sometimes you don’t really have a choice. And when you have no other option but to jump, well... your chances are infinite. Anything can happen.”

He slowly raised his eyes to meet yours, a form of understanding in the depth of his icy blue eyes. He was truly handsome; a little older than the men you usually went out with, but he had kind eyes and very, very nice lips. You looked away, feeling a little foolish.

“Wow, I’m fun at parties, uh? Guess you dodged a bullet,” you laughed, cringing a little as you said it.

He returned a tight smile, loaded with something sad. He looked at you a moment longer and you held your breath, suddenly hoping he would stay and chat. A solemn expression crossed his face and he seemed to go through some kind of inner struggle before he reached a decision.

“It was nice meeting you,” he said, shaking your hand before wishing you goodnight. You watched him leave the bar, his shoulders hunched forward, looking as tense as he did when he entered.

That tiny flicker of hope left with him.

“Hey!” Sam called out, a deep frown on his face as he approached you. “Where is he going?”

“It didn’t work out,” you answered with a shrug.

Sam deflated. “I bet he didn’t even try.”

“Does it really matter?” you replied, shrugging into your coat, something way too thin for the changing weather. “He’s not ready, and honestly, you can’t blame him. This sugar daddy-baby thing isn’t for everyone.”

“I know that,” Sam argued, blowing out a frustrated breath. He turned to Natasha, silently pleading with her to understand, but she was as clueless as you were.

There were lots of reasons Sam wanted Bucky to meet you, and none of them included sex. It was difficult to explain his motivations without betraying his friend’s trust; without telling you too much about Bucky.

“I’m not trying to find him a girlfriend,” Sam continued. “He needs more friends, and he has connections to help you in the art world. I thought you two could help each other out.”

You wrapped your scarf around your neck and grabbed the backpack you had shoved under your seat. It contained your work uniform, clean underwear, toiletries, a bottle of water, your wallet, and a couple of granola bars. Your whole life was in that backpack.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” you said, adjusting the trap of your bag. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be.” You turned to Nat. “I’m going to stay at the hotel tonight, my shift starts at 6 so you’ll have the apartment to yourself.”

Without waiting for an answer, you disappeared into the crowd and headed for the door. Outside the wind was blowing, the cold air biting at your face and bare legs. You took a deep breath, watching as the cold air turned your breath into white smoke.

People were milling about, taking pictures of the skyscrapers, walking hand-in-hand and marvelling at pretty much anything. New York was full of contradictions; kind and hard, smooth and rough, poor and rich. It was exciting to live here, it was exciting to see how people lived together despite their differences. For an artist such as yourself, it was a gold mine of infinite inspiration.

In front of you, a taxi drove closer to the curb, then slowed as a man stepped onto the street and opened the door. He looked over his shoulder and saw you standing there. Sam’s friend smiled at you.

He noticed your light coat, your backpack and your scuffed ankle boots. It was hard to believe that under your coat, you were wearing a sexy little number. He imagined that this was more your style, and he liked it. It was fresh, laidback, casual. He could even see a few drops of paint on the toe of your boots, a smattering of orange and blue.

“Hi, again,” he said. “Wanna share a cab?”

You nodded eagerly, your face half buried in your scarf. You were positively freezing, you didn’t even think twice about following him. He let you climb in first and jumped in after you, angling his body to hide his missing arm.

You gave the driver the address of a Holiday Inn in the Flatiron District and sank into the seat. It dawned on you that you didn’t even know his name. Sam had called him Buck, but you were pretty sure it was one of those nicknames only long-time friends are allowed to use.

“Bucky,” he said with a genuine smile after you told him your name. “I’m sorry I ruined your evening. How long are you going to stay in town?”

“No worries, you didn’t ruin anything. And I live in New York. I live with Natasha.”

“Aren’t we going to a hotel?” Bucky asked, looking out the window with a frown.

“Yup, I work there. Breakfast attendant. I figured Sam and Nat would like some privacy and sometimes my co-worker at the front desk let me borrow a room for the night.”

The car pulled to a stop at the curb and you reached into the front pocket of your backpack to retrieve your wallet. Bucky stopped you.

“Please, let me pay,” he said. “As a sorry for dragging you to a bar and leaving without even telling you my name.”

“Ouch, yes, when you put it like that it wasn’t a great night,” you said with a crooked smile. He responded with an exaggerated cringe. It made you laugh. “Hey, it wasn’t you who dragged me to a bar, it was Sam. You can always tell him to pay you back.”

His eyes brightened. “I definitely will.”

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you giggled, closing the door behind you. You walked up to the big automatic doors and waved goodbye one last time.

“’Night, angel.”

Bucky asked the driver to wait until you were safe inside before driving away. As he watched you, he thought back to what you had said earlier.

Your chances are infinite. Anything can happen.

This time, it made him smile.

part 2

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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himbodjarin · 3 years

Text

LUNAR; CH10

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. Chapter Word Count: 7373 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use of y/n

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER TEN: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

The Mandalorian’s calves have never felt so tender nor his feet so sizzling, but the Girl’s life is at stake and he can’t afford to slow down. He’s succeeding in not succumbing to his body’s desire for rest, but it won’t last long—there’s a sharp stabbing pain running along the back of his thigh and he administers his weight to the opposite leg to avoid stopping. Bookoo is faster than him with his legs at least a foot longer than his. It’s a good thing he spared his life, Mando decides, for if he hadn’t there’d be no hope in saving the Girl—he can’t carry both the Child and her back to the hangar, especially not from this distance.

He battles against the unwavering urge to sink to his knees and lay face first in the grit, let it bury his aching limbs where they’ll retire. The Child in his arms feels almost as heavy as the beskar on his shoulders but he ensures his clutch, his blood-stained leathers cupping his little body against his chest securely; both of his crewmates were in unfortunate conditions and there’s an unshakable concerned feeling creeping up on Mando. What’s he to do if he loses them?

Pushing it aside, he focuses on his footing; dodging jagged rocks and uneven surfaces of sandy terrain but it’s not enough, his muscles can’t maintain this pace and exertion. Bookoo notices his decreasing pace and slows to match it, eliciting a growl of a question Mando doesn’t understand.

The Girl is limp in the Wookiee’s paws with her head pulled to the side and her abdomen pooling with red liquid that drops to the sand before them, staining the grit in a clashing hue just like he had with the snow only a day or two ago. No more than two days had passed and there’d been another injury—only so much worse than what he’d dealt with.

“Go. Go,” Mando puffs out, gesturing towards the structure. “Hangar 3-5.”

The Wookiee growls once more and continues his approach leaving the Mandalorian to catch up on his own terms. Mando permits a steadier pace to let his muscles recuperate and to examine the Child’s wellbeing. Still asleep, still unresponsive to his touches, but breathing and squirming every few minutes. He’ll wake, eventually, it’s just a matter of how long it’ll take. He’s not injured—not physically—the only positive consequence from this whole event.

Vermillion plasma clings to him like a pest and he raises a hand to rub at the smear on his heart plate with the base of his palm, the leather harsh enough to shave the blood off in dried flakes. Some of it is still wet and it only smudges with his fury, tinting the beskar in with a relentless red. The tempo of his strokes increases rapidly, desperate to rid himself of the reminder of what’s happened to her, but it’s unproductive and a complete waste of effort.

Mando sighs and inclines his helmet so he doesn’t have to see the colour contrasting against the silver that is wholly him—he’s bland and dull, a mix of blacks, whites, and greys, while the Girl is brimming with colour; she’s as vibrant as the krill ponds on Sorgan and as eye-catching as the sunset on Nevarro, but that vermillion...it’s a colour he never wants to see on her ever again.

“Oh, Thank the Force!” Peli exclaims upon Mando’s return, her arms outstretched for the Child and he happily delivers him to her, cringing at the throbbing in his biceps. “Thought you mighta-”

He interrupts, “Where? Where is...is she...she’s not…”

“She’s stable. The droids took care of her.”

Mando pauses with his eyebrows scrunched together. “Droids? No, I said no droids. Especially not with her!”

Peli shrugs, “Easy there. They’re repair droids.”

“She isn’t a vessel!”

The mechanic places an encouraging hand on his pauldron. “I taught them basic medical skills—comes in handy when you’re working a craft all on your own. Go have a look yourself.”

With a blend of scepticism of the droid’s abilities and apprehension for the Girl’s condition, he navigates through the Hangar’s halls and into the room she occupied, tracking grit in his wake. It’s dark inside, her features lit by a single candle beside the bed she’s situated on. She’s breathing, chest rising and collapsing laboriously underneath a thin scratchy blanket draped across her body, but her brow is wrinkled and her mouth taut in an agonised frown. She looks depleted of energy—drained from the inside out—it makes his heart lurch and lungs sensitive against the crisp air.

Slashes that riddle her arms had been tended to, protected from Tatooine’s harsh desert landscape with familiar ivory-coloured bindings. She’d hardly been touched by the moon’s glow before being sealed away again, so close yet so distant from his reach—Mando wishes he’d never had grabbed her with such authority back on that ship. The Girl reshapes underneath the blanket and his eyes lift to her shoulders, bare and unbound by the sizable poncho she usually dons, and the soft of her skin travels lower until the edge of the blanket meets his eyes, covering her chest.

If this had been any other time—essentially any other circumstance—he’d be struggling to control himself right about now, the appearance of such soft skin stirring something deep in his core, but those thoughts are far from his mind. Rather, he’s preoccupying himself as to not let the image of the Girl lying unconscious get to him, by reflecting on the information he’d been given back on the craft; the forced confession of the Girl’s intentions. It angers him, and it angers him that it angers him; confusing. Mando doesn’t want to be a part of it; wishes he’d never entered that cantina then perhaps he’d remain blissfully unaware—happy.

“She’ll need some medicine when she wakes,” Peli says, startling him out of his self-loathing. “Spice could be helpful too.”

“That’s addictive.”

Peli hums. “It can be if you’re not careful. Hell of an anaesthetic though. She’ll be in pain for a while without it.”

Mando inclines his visor back to the Girl. “Where can I find it?”

“Cantina’s best bet. Smugglers pass through ‘ere all day and night.”

“There weren’t many people there earlier.”

“Doesn’t get its fill until late in the night,” she explains. “They’ll be there.”

And they were—six smugglers gathered around a single cantina table in the darkest of the corners. They’re not shy about their illegal activities, placing the narcotics onto the surface displaying for all to see. It’s their business strategy, Mando believes, rope in unsuspecting victims with the alluring spice and scam them of their credits for a small dose of pleasure.

“How much for one?”

They turn at the filtered voice, sizing up the Mandalorian and noting the remarkable steel encasing his body. One of them grasps a bag of narcotics, tauntingly fiddling with it ahead of Mando. The leader of the group—a burly older gentleman with a bush for a face—leans further into his chair and responds, “With that armour of yours why not indulge a little, aye?”

“One is plenty.”

“Come now, it’s not every day you’ll get it for these prices. Stock up while you can.”

Mando sighs to himself and places either hand on the table, tilting his helmet to match the eyes of the leader. “One.” He’s distributing his lack of patience in waves that ripple against the smugglers; they shift uncomfortably and bow their heads to sip from a glass of spotchka.

Dull and sullen eyes tip to the Mandalorian’s hands on their table, examining the dried blood coating his leathers suspiciously. They’re unaware of the fact it’s not his enemy’s and he’s grateful for that—it benefits him, gives him the upper hand in regards to coercion. “Okay, all right,” the leader sighs. “A thousand is all it’ll cost ya.”

“That’s too much,” Mando rumbles. “I’ll do two hundred.”

The crew laughs at his claim and he scowls underneath the helmet. Mando doesn’t have the privilege of time to waste it away on a bunch of no-good narcotic smugglers. He suspends a hand over the hilt of his blaster in hopes of compliance and it, at the very least, gets them to shut their mouths. “We’re out here risking our asses for this! Do you know how difficult it is to press these into pills? It’s worth more than two hundred.”

Mando sighs aggressively. “Five.”

“Five?”

“You have two options. Take the credits and leave here richer than you came, or we take this outside.” Mando glances over their panicked faces. “It seems you’re already fixed on your supply. I’m sure you’re not capable with a blaster.”

Sunken eyes leer at the Mandalorian with resentment and defeat. He slides a satchel across the table, the narcotics rustling inside, and Mando slips the bag into his belt pouch and retrieves a few dozen credits to toss at the group.

“Pleasure doing business,” Mando retorts as he steps away, listening to the lackeys scowling—we need those credits!—at their leader in frustration. It’s a small win, one not worth celebrating and he doesn’t, just continues trudging through the gathering crowd of drunk patrons to the exit.

A familiar soft-spoken voice stops him from leaving, “Excuse me, sir! Please do not eat the display!” Mando twists on his feet and watches the same waiter from earlier fight against a customer attempting to shovel a cluster of flower arrangements into his mouth. “Sir, I’ll make you something. Please just-”

Slurring his words and attempting to frighten the waiter off with flailing arms in her general direction, though his coordination is all off, the man groans something neither of them can register. She’s becoming just agitated at the man and Mando huffs a sigh through his dry lips, wanting a drink of his own, and walks up to the duo to prevent any conflicts, yet again. Mando’s becoming soft—running around and assisting any damsel in distress—he’s sensed it for a while now, and he doesn’t know whether to blame it on the Girl, the kid, or his age. It doesn’t really matter, he realises, as it all seems to just blend together anyways.

Mando’s gloves come down on the patron’s shoulder and he clasps the flesh underneath, tugging backwards until he’s stumbling on his feet and disappears within the crowd. It’ll take him a while to work his way out of that mess; Mando turns to leave.

“Mandalorian! Sir, thank you.” She smiles brightly at him and he responds with a faint nod. “Please allow me to make you something on the house.”

“That’s not-”

“Please! It’s the least I can do. What about those pancakes you ordered earlier? I can make a batch up as quick as a flash.”

The pancakes.

The sweetness of the syrup, the softness of the cake, the excitement of his tongue exploring the Girl’s fingers—it’s all toying with his mind, tormenting it. It feels like a lifetime ago with the chain of events having followed after it. It was a moment of pure euphoria for the Mandalorian and he anxiously wishes to recreate it, wants to proceed with exploring the Girl’s body, but not like this.

“No,” he nods again as a substitute for a friendly smile. “Thank you.”

Mando files through the small of his pouch, recovering the tub of bacta gel and alongside the spice pellets and places them on the edge of the Girl’s cot. Peli advised him it’d be best if he were to administer it to her—she trusts you the most—he finds it ironic. If that were true, wouldn’t she have admitted the truth before all of this - would she have ever confessed if not for the abduction?

Despite that, he’s willing to do it - he wants to do it, he realises once he’d unravelled the first limb of its bindings.

It’s an excuse to touch her - an excuse to avoid thinking about the hurt in his heart.

He slips his hands from their confines and retires the leather to the nightstand. Frigid air assaults his flesh immediately—the wind gusting through the ajar window sharply—and he curls his fingers into themselves, tucking the vulnerable tips into the warmth of his palms.

The Girl’s moaning ahead of him is enough to summon the primal instinct to tend to her wounds. Mando dips two fingers into the gel and gathers a load of it on the tips, the bright blue glistening from the candlelight. It’s healing properties are strong, much more so than the cheap knock-off he usually purchases and he can feel the soothing bursts in the peaks of his digits, it was fortunate timing he’d stumbled across the vendor low in stock - and it’s well worth the credits, though the funds are beginning to run dry with all the recent payments.

Peli’s droids had done a decent job on the Girl, though he wouldn’t vocalise it, and her slashes already looked to be healing from the cauterisation, but they’re still inflamed and sensitive. Regardless of the deception aching his heart and the suppressed clump of words in his throat, her actions don’t merit insufferable torment. So, Mando gets to work; slathering thick coatings of blue on each gash, using less pressure on the newest of the bunch, particularly the one that’d been in such bad shape back on the spacecraft. His forefinger streaks along with the bumpiness of the cauterisation scarring - it’s rough and so different to her. She’s so soft - pillowy, and he’s all shattered transparisteel - sharp and risky.

She stirs beneath his hands and strains to open her eyes. “Man-do?” she croaks and grabs hold of his wrist, pausing his momentum.

“Does it hurt?”

She groans a strangled reply, “No, it’s - it doesn’t mat-ter. I need… I want… I-”

Mando carefully pries his wrist from her clutch and continues lathering gel onto the irritable lines blanketing her arm. The faintest, timid touches establish goosebumps that reach up to her shoulders, and he adopts them - brands them as his; cares for them, feeds them with additional strokes from his tips as a reward.

“Just rest - heal.”

“I can’t. I-I won’t,” she chokes out and the rawness in her voice causes him to stop on his own accord, his visor finally lifting to look at her and he wishes he hadn’t - wishes he didn’t see the Girl in so much pain; physical and emotional. There’s not a single tear in sight—she wouldn’t allow herself to shed one—but her eyes are glassy and red, her bottom lip sucked in between her teeth where it’s being relentlessly chewed on. “Why are you still here?”

“The Crest isn’t fixed,” he lies and it pains him to do so, not because the Crest was repaired—Peli had informed him of this earlier—but because he knows why he’s here. Mando knows exactly why he hasn’t just upped and left - why he hasn’t just continued his life on the run with the kid.

It hurts, even more, to hear the Girl utter, “Oh.”

He succumbs to his pitiful emotions, “I won’t abandon you. I can’t.”

She places a shaky hand on his vambrace and shifts to sit up some, cringing at the discomfort in her limbs and abdomen at the change of position. “I’m so sorry, Mando. I-I wanted to tell you—so many times—but then- I didn’t want to - to ruin all of...this.”

He listens intently, silent but listening.

She reaches higher, her hand looming in the intimates of his neck but she pulls away sharply, clasping her adjacent hand over a pulsing and cracked cauterised mark. It causes the gel to smear across her forearm messily, coating the palm of her hands and dropping clumps onto the cot below. Mando delicately peels her hand away and wipes the caked-on clots away with her tattered poncho which lays draped over his knee. It feels so private—personal—tending to the Girl in her times of need just like she had with him, as though he was returning a favour - only hers came with an additional payoff; his cheeks redden at the thought of reimbursing her here and now.

“Mando.” She slips her hand into his mid-scrubbing and interlocks their fingers together. Residual gel transfers to his palms, squelching between each other’s grip, but he can only focus on the pounding against his ribs and the pressure on the back of his hand as her fingernails dig into the flesh - testing the boundaries she can push. There aren’t any. The Girl could push and push until he’s stumbling over his own feet and there’d be no boundaries; there will never be enough of her - never enough.

“Please, ask me anything,” she whispers, glancing up at the visor. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I don’t - don’t know what else I have to offer. I-I don’t know how to...to show you I’m sorry. Please,” she more or less huffs out the sentence, the pain starting to catch up with her.

Mando observes the small satchel on the edge of the cot and rolls it around in his free palm, feeling the individual pellets through the thin material. “I’ll make you a deal,” he complies. “I’ll fix up your other arm and ask anything I need to, but you need to take one of these.”

The Girl’s eyes dart to the sack and Mando opens it, retrieving a tablet and holding it up to show her. It’s small, almost too small to look like it’d be a mild pain relief let alone enough for one to get high off; no bigger than a third of his fingernails and a deep maroon colour that just screams narcotics.

“Spice,” he answers her unexpressed question. “It’ll help with the pain but it could be addicting. I won’t force you to take one if that’s what you wish.”

The decision is in her hands - it’s her life, after all.

“You’ll ask me anything?” she asks and he nods. “Pass it over.”

Mando should be appreciative of her unsuspected complying—it’s not often she’s so easily won over like this—and it’s for her benefit, but he can’t help but wish she had rejected the pill. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to see her in that disoriented state, plagued with feral hallucinations vandalising the inside of her head and grinding her basic cognitive functions into tiny particles. Or maybe it’s because he’s scared of what he may discover without her possessing the ability to stop herself from oversharing. Mando’s had his run-ins with spice before and while he’s not entirely fluent with the substance, he’s aware of its susceptible capabilities.

The Girl places a hand on his and he stiffens underneath it. She’s so cold, so desensitised, it’s so unlike her. She’s usually warm; intense flames constructed with passion and tenderheartedness. It’s as though it’s evaporated from her flesh entirely. She strokes his knuckles with her thumb, committing the peaks and ridges to memory and he wallows in the sensation of the pads of her fingers on his skin. It’s the most physical contact he’s been granted ever since he’d swore to the Creed. Even when he allowed himself moments of weakness with others, it's always been rushed—never about anything more than a hasty relief—and under no circumstances would he withdraw from his armour; it’s one of many unspoken promises to himself he’s broken for the Girl.

She twists his hand around and slides the pill from out between his thumb and forefinger, plopping it in her mouth and swallowing harshly. It goes down without a struggle, the pill being so minuscule it didn’t require water for a smooth entrance, and she eases back into the pillow with a weak smile in his direction.

“What do you want to know?” she asks.

Mando sighs softly - where does he begin? His tongue darts out to lick a slow stripe across his cracked lips and collects a drop of blood from the slit he’d bit earlier, leaving a stale metallic taste on the tip of his tongue.

“How much did you see back on Arvala-7?”

“Everything from when you took down the encampment with that droid. We followed you back to your ship and watched you get electrocuted by the Jawas—that didn’t look pleasant—Kur wanted to head down there after that, figured you’d be out of it from the impact. I told them to wait, let you get your supplies back for us to loot, and it convinced them.”

Mando tilts his head. “They didn’t seem like the negotiating type.”

She nods. “They didn’t have much of a choice with me in command.”

That shocks him. “You were their leader?”

“No!” she scoffs as though he’d said the funniest joke. “No, no, but I was the only one who could use long-range rifles. I told you, I thought you were the bounty; they informed me it didn’t matter whether you were brought in dead or alive—they opted for a long-range advantage. They’d heard stories of Mandalorians and didn’t want to test their luck.”

Makes sense, he figures, that the group would prefer to deal with their targets swiftly—leaving no room for errors or loopholes, except one of their own violated their ruling, possibly the biggest error they’ve ever made - now they lay dead on their dormant spacecraft on the outskirts of the town. Nevertheless, the information surprises Mando. There was no underlying notion that somebody—no less five people—were stalking him on the ridges of Arvala-7’s desert. Perhaps he should retouch some of his stealthing capabilities.

The Girl waits for his next question, her hands fiddling among themselves in her lap uncertain if she should—could—reach out for him, and he doesn’t trust himself not to soothe her nerves; choosing to settle on the opposite side of the cot to care for her other arm. Stripping the bandages away, he asks, “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“I already told you that.”

Mando’s brow crinkles in thought, his hands operating on their own accord now that he’s trying to remember; it dawns on him. “Because ‘you didn’t want to’?” he mimics her words back on the ridge—so, so long ago.

“Mmhmm,” she hums. “I’m not sure what else it could be. I saw you, Mando, with the kid. He’d only known you for, what, like half a day and he was protecting you—used his abilities to prevent that mudhorn from killing you. And you...you were so gentle with him - so cautious around him. It was mesmerising watching a Mandalorian—a legend—covered in sharp edges and cold steel be so meek towards a bounty. I didn’t want to rip that away from the galaxy; it requires your compassion.”

She’d been watching him closely. Even Mando hadn’t noticed his change of demeanour at that point—it wasn’t until Nevarro that it crossed his mind that, perhaps, he’d fallen soft for that little womp rat.

Mando tips his helmet down to tear away from her eyes, feeling too seen - too examined. “What happened to you?” She gives him a confused eyebrow twitch and he elaborates by running a fingertip across a scar.

She sharply inhales and shakes her head. “I don’t want you to pity me, Mando, you’re entitled to be mad at me. You should hate me, should want me dead. You haven’t had time to reflect on everything you’ve been told back there.”

She isn’t entirely wrong. He hadn’t been granted the luxury of time to consider the circumstances, but he’s not certain whether he wants to. If he takes all of this into account, there’s no telling how he’ll react—he’s never had to deal with a situation where the Girl who makes him so hot and bothered had deceived him. Mando dips his fingers back into the container of gel and collects a small load, rubbing it into the tips of his digits with his thumb. He sighs. “I’m reflecting in my own way.”

The Girl scoffs mockingly. “By tending to my wounds?”

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No,” she answers quickly, too quickly, and nibbles on her lip anxiously. “I just… It’s - it’s nice—you touching me.”

Mando freezes, his fingers suspended above a mound of scar tissue below her collarbone. What’s he supposed to make of that confession? He drags his forefinger across the scar to transfer the remaining bacta on the padding and retracts, quietly complaining when the softness of her skin is replaced with a breeze of frigid air. “Seems like the spice is working,” he deflects.

“It’s not the spice,” she claims. “I mean - it’s helping say it, but…”

She lays her hand on his vambrace and he’s thankful for the reinforced steel suppressing the tension that travels the muscles underneath, but his uncovered hand is a traitor to himself as he grabs a fistful of bedsheets to stop climbing on the bed here and now—stopping him from pursuing something he sought like a medication to a chronic illness. Her fingers run down his beskar and rest atop his tendons, calming the flex in his hand until the fingers splay out underneath hers. This confession overrules her previous one by a longshot and swallows sternly, the saliva in his mouth increasingly by the second—if the tension persists he’ll be drowning in his drool.

The Girl fiddles with his fingers by twisting and forming them around her own; she’s exploring unveiled land, he ascertains. Mando inclines his helmet to watch them at work, eyes following the slender digits as they test the indentations of lines etched into his palm. She sighs and finally answers his question, “Tika did most of it; retribution for letting their bounty escape. The group came to an agreement to banish me to Arvala-7 since it receives low traffic. They hoped I’d die there.”

Mando’s visor returns to her face and, underneath the slab of transparisteel, his eyes lessen in stiffness. He can’t envision how she must see him—a leering, emotionless vessel of beskar wholly fixated on her features whilst she recounts her trauma and he hardly returns a nod in her direction. When her eyes meet him, he can’t see his own in the reflection. It’s only what he doesn’t want to see; a perfectly sculpted Mandalorian helmet made of the finest Beskar. He hates it, despises it. He aspires to rid himself of the obstructing constraint to gaze into her eyes; search for his reflection in them.

“I’m-”

She stops him, placing a finger on his helmet where his lips should be. “Don’t. Don’t pity me.”

Pity isn’t the word he would use—it doesn’t seem genuine enough.

Perhaps there is no word to describe what he’s feeling. Magma is filling his veins yet again, thick and suffocating, but it’s not hot; rather icy cold that makes the tips of his fingers numb. The Girl’s eyes are interchangeable to the Child’s—big, soft, pure. Mando finds himself wanting to protect her from any potential threats—not that she needs his protection, she’s more than capable—to just seal her within the confines of his arms where she’ll be safe - where he won’t let anybody within a klicks distance of her.

She sinks her finger to the edge of his helm and drags him in close, disregarding the rumble his vocoder produces and snakes her other hand through the loop of his belt. “Come here,” she whispers.

Mando inches closer until her breath bounces off his steel and it’s not until he’s at such an intimate distance—where she’s warm and soft against his beskar, but also fuzzy and cloudy—that he recalls the narcotics in her system and that's plenty motivation for him to pull away. She whines and attempts to keep him steady but he’s too solid in contrast to her. “You’re intoxicated.”

“Didn’t take you as one to complain,” she jests lightheartedly.

Mando’s really starting to regret buying that spice. She’s initiating something she’s probably not even aware of and, if he hadn’t supplied her with those blasted pills he’d be under those sheets alongside her right about now—or maybe he wouldn’t; maybe it’s the spice making her confused and forcing her hand on him.

Mando needs to know - needs to hear her say those words.

Nerves wrack his muscles, twitching and shaking violently that he’s forced to rest his hands on the cot to ground himself. Mouth dry like the desert outside, Mando clears his throat awkwardly and curses at himself upon hearing the tremble in his voice, “It’s not how I want it to happen.”

The Girl is rendered like a malfunctioning droid, her eyes flickering to-and-fro from his visor to his hands—hunting his stance for any implication that he’s just screwing with her and her cheeks deepen with crimson when she finds none. One wouldn’t know she was intoxicated by her swiftness as she slings her legs out from beneath the blankets, leaning over the edge of the cot to place either of her hands on the curve of his helmet. “I want you, Mando.”

There it is—what he’s been waiting for all this time and he can’t act on his desires; it’s pure fucking torture. Mando places his hands atop of hers and leans into her touch, his eyes falling shut behind the helmet. Tardily, he withdraws from her clutch. “Get some rest.”

She pouts at him. “You can’t just tell me that and not-”

“Not now, not yet.”

The Girl hums as if contemplating his words and Lord it’s a beautiful tune—her pondering about him in more than just platonic. She remains still, half-on-half-off the cot with the blanket draped across her lap, her torso bare besides the undergarment protecting the privates of her chest. Mando rakes in the scars surfacing her body, ranging from little lacerations no smaller than a third of his fingers length to corked holes of a blaster’s laser. This wasn’t her first rodeo, the fresh wound simply another trophy of survival, but can’t tear his eyes away from the blemishes; they’re nearly identical to his own, in all of the same places and sizes but different contributors - she’s all slashes and lines of bumpy tissue and he’s drillings, his body simply a burrow for his foe’s lasers to retire.

He resists to reach out and touch them - feel the scarred trauma that mirrors his own. He can’t; won’t. Mando abruptly raises to his feet and fragilely strides across the room, collects his gloves, and murmurs, “Get some rest. Sleep off the spice.”

The Girl watches as he slips on his gloves before her, her eyes catching the flaky dried blood—her blood—on the tips of the fingers. “Don’t you have more questions?”

“They can wait,” he says matter-of-factly and manoeuvres his way to the exit, stopping with his hand on the doorknob. One couldn’t; no matter how terrified he is of the answer, he needs to ask it and if it’s not now he’ll never muster up the courage to ask. “Did you feel guilty?”

“Guilty?”

“Back when I was shot—you took...care of me. Was it because you felt guilty?”

The Girl wants to say something snarky—tell him he’s an idiot for thinking that way, but his voice is quiet, soft; filled with uncertainty and anxiety. He’s concerned with the thought of that act—the one he let himself be so vulnerable during—was nothing more than a simple chip for her to cash in for self-redemption; to lift the weight on her shoulders for her intentions back on Arvala-7.

“No,” she answers, her voice tranquil to match his. “No, it wasn’t guilt.”

The Mandalorian faintly nods, glances at her one last time, and exits the room with his shoulders light but his head heavy; the dreaded question finally put to rest but when one dies another rises from its ashes. If not guilt, what was it? She had confessed that she ‘wants him’ but could that have actually been true—could she genuinely want him the way he wants her? Mando tells himself that’s absurd—it’s just the spice suffocating her thought process like a sticky pool of uj’ayl. It had to be.

Mando makes an attempt to preoccupy his mind with the Crest, testing the durability of Peli’s maintenance with pointless button pressing and readying the craft for launch the moment the Child and the Girl are back on their feet, but his mind doesn’t stay busy for long before he’s thinking unwanted thoughts; the cockpit is where it all began and he can’t deal sitting in the pilot’s chair without the cooing of a child in his lap and the snarky remarks of a girl behind him. It’s a foreign concept to him—funny how time works; it wasn’t so long ago that he did everything on his lonesome from sleeping to fighting, he was his only companion, but not anymore. He’d spent nights rocking a ball of green to sleep in his hammock and battling alongside a reliable partner.

A partner—that’s what she is to him and so much more—he’s never had a partner before. Sure, a group here and there but never an individual he’s willing to put his faith into; his trust. Trust that the Girl had severed; or had she? If she had, surely he wouldn’t think of her this way—he’d just up and ditch her without a moment’s notice. So why does his heart ache and his lungs struggle to expand?

When he’s with the Girl it’s like he completely forgets about the deceitfulness, the lies, but when he’s distanced himself from her they return—unrelenting waves of anguish and frustration that leaves his head heavy and sore—until all he can think about is the threads connecting the two of them, knotted, frayed, tearing.

Peli makes her presence known with a gentle knock on the durasteel besides the cockpit door. “I dunno what’s gotten between you two but I’m here if ya want to talk. I ain’t practised but I’ve been told I’m good for this.”

He doesn’t want to talk.

But he does, nonetheless, “She’s been lying to me.”

Peli tilts her head and examines the sulking Mandalorian with a cocked eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

“She was going to kill me.” Mando swivels in his chair and crosses his arms.

Peli shrugs and gestures to him. “Obviously she didn’t, did she? Listen, I’ve seen how you act ‘round her—you’re soft for her, just like your kid. She might’ve been at ya, but she’s certainly not anymore. In your line of work, is that really a dealbreaker?”

Mando’s rendered silent, staring at empty space above Peli’s head in hopes he can wrap his own around this. It’s so fucking tiring thinking about it—it’s all that’s on his mind and he wishes for nothing more than to crush it between his hands, free him of the burden.

“Do you forgive her?”

Yes, of course, Mando will always forgive her - will always be there for her, but no; he doesn’t, can’t...can’t he?

“I don’t know.”

“Well,” Peli clicks her tongue and shifts on her feet. “The two of you should figure that out. It’s only when you’ve forgiven her that you’ll truly move forward - or something like that, I read it somewhere. I ain’t saying you gotta forget about all that, but just think about it this way: you never woulda met her if she hadn’t been there to shoot ya.”

That’s definitely a unique way to look at it. It’s true though if the Girl’s group hadn’t taken the same commission as he had and hadn’t abandoned it halfway through he never would have met her; never would have the pleasure of being around such a winsome girl.

Mando wants to forgive her and pretend this never occurred so they can continue where they left off but he’s unsure if that’s possible with the kid comatose; injured because Mando let his guard down, let them be captured by the enemy. The enemy he swore to protect him against but she’s not one of them—not a threat. The Child’s life is in his hands and it’s hot and heavy, identical to the volcanic rocks of Mustafar, but it’s tethered to his palms, scorching permanent burns as a reminder of his undertaking.

Peli notices his silence and changes the subject, “Kid really did a number on those wires, ya know, took longer to repair than expected.”

He pivots on the chair again, returning to face the viewport. “How is he doing?”

“Still sleepin’.” Mando doesn’t reply and Peli continues, “He stirred for a bit there, but ended up falling asleep again. Don’t get your gears clogged, I’m sure he’ll wake the moment he’s hungry.”

Mando scoffs. “Kid is always hungry.”

“Well, he’s up in my cabin. I can bring him down to you and the Girl if ya like.”

“No, let him rest. I’ll check in on him in the morning.”

Peli hums and nods behind him, turning her attention to the Wookiee communicating with her droids below the Crest. “What’s his deal?”

Mando sighs. “Not sure—another lifeform I’m stuck with I suppose. I’ll ask her about him and let you know.”

“If he destroys my droids, you’re paying for ‘em!” Peli grumbles as she descends the ladder, leaving him to watch the Wookiee alone. Bookoo hadn’t approached Mando since his arrival to the Hangar, which was fortunate as he’s not proficient in Shyriiwook and he didn’t want to test the waters with a being he had in a chokehold.

Mando deposits one of his spare sleeping shirts at the foot on the Girl’s cot, running a—freshly cleaned—gloved finger across her cheek and the curve of her jaw greedily. She doesn’t wake from his touches but he tears away nonetheless, allowing her space to rest, and saunters to the agape window overlooking the emptiness of the street outside and the glowing silver sphere above him—mocking him with it’s glowing. It’s so bright, so shiny, and it reflects off his beskar only amplifying it; Mando’s so dull, bleak, in contrast.

It’s a competition between him and the moon. There’s always been a rivalry—always something there to fight against, something to strive to defeat, to become bolder and brighter. It hangs above him out of his reach - always out of his reach.

Behind him, the Girl stirs and the cot squeaks beneath her movements. “What’re you doing?” she croaks, slurred with sleep.

“It’s back.”

She cranes her neck to look over his shoulder from the bed. “The moon? Yeah, it does that. Comes and goes every night actually.”

He sighs and tilts his helmet down to watch the sand blow along with the gusts of wind. “Why did you shoot at me?” he asks. “When I returned.”

The Girl groans and clasps a hand to her head, attempting to rub the brewing headache away. “I was trying to scare you off. I hoped getting shot at would keep you astray, should’ve figured a Mandalorian wouldn’t’ve taken it too kindly. I just -- didn’t want them coming back and finding you there. It was better if you were far away from that planet.”

She was looking out for him - she’s always looking out for him.

Mando’s shoulder stiffens underneath the weight of her hand on his pauldron, but he daren’t turn to look at her. Instead, he crosses his arms against his chest and inclines his helmet upwards, isolating his vision to the reflective sphere on his visor. There’s three in fact, but the largest one is the one he focuses on; eyes boring holes into the undetectable craters on the surface. It’s nonsensical how luring it is, like a magnet dragging him in from his steel platings—no, it’s stronger and straining. Almost as though he was submerged in a tidal wave, incapable of fighting against the onslaught, and all he’s to do is frantically struggle while he gradually sinks to the bottom of the riverbed. Because he would sink. There’s no denying that.

“Waxing Gibbous,” she drags him out of his grim thoughts.

“What?”

She points to the moons. “That’s the phase they’re in. Waxing Gibbous. Don’t ask me what that means, I have no idea.” He twists his helmet to her and cocks an eyebrow underneath the visor. She seems to acknowledge his confusion and explains, “You look at the moon a lot. It reminds me of you in a way, you know.”

He scoffs. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you’re the same colour as it for starters.” He mockingly rolls his eyes. “But… the moon is the greatest companion there is. In times of light it waits behind the clouds, but when we need it the most—in our darkest moments—it distributes its glow to keep us in the light; safe and alive. It’s loyal,” She places a hand on the curve of his helmet where his cheek belongs, “selfless.”

Mando’s breathing slows when she looks at him with those eyes—those eyes that could bend him over backwards with a simple blink. Subconsciously, he leans into the weight of her hand and relishes as best he can with a helmet. She’s wearing his shirt and it’s a few sizes too big on her but fuck if she doesn’t make it look good; the hem brushing against her thighs—where he belongs—and the sleeves rolled up to unmask her hands.

“I prefer the sun,” Mando hums.

“Sun, huh? I hate the sun. Arvala-7’s fucked up my hands.”

A hand inches underneath the material of his shirt to situate on the curve of her bare hip, harsh leather stroking circles into the smooth skin but she doesn’t stop him - doesn’t seem to care that the leather isn’t as pleasant as his hands. “It’s not all bad. Even the strongest flora cannot bloom without it.” He tugs her closer until her chest is against his, erupting her into a hazy cluster of blushes. “It keeps me warm—so fucking warm.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting burnt?”

“It’s stubborn and strong-willed but no. I’m not afraid.” Mando swipes a thumb across her lips, noting how her tongue pokes out to catch a taste of stale leather but she pulls away before he can reciprocate.

She twists the sleeves of his shirt around her wrists and sighs softly. “I’m not a good person, Mando. It’s not the lying—not that that’s not important. It is. It’s just- I’ve broken the Guild’s code multiple times and I-”

Mando shushes her once more by providing a calming hand on the back of her neck, tilting her head to look into his visor. “You’re rambling,” he informs.

“I’m sorry.” She bites her cheek and tears her eyes away. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I never should have persisted about the stupid rifle—never should have stepped foot on the Crest.”

He’s doubtful on what to say but he knows he doesn’t want that; doesn’t want the Girl to wish she’d never come along with him and the kid. “Do you regret staying?”

“No. I don’t regret staying but-”

“Cin vhetin,” he whispers.

“Ci-what?”

“Cin vhetin. A fresh start.” Mando tilts his helmet in question. “Would you like that?”

The Girl stops breathing, he can feel it in her neck muscles and he strokes a finger into the base until she continues, her eyes flickering side-to-side along the top of the T-shaped visor and she sucks in a shallow breath. “You’re willing to - to - yes. Yes.”

Concealed behind the helmet and armour, Mando’s lips curl into a smile and his heart leaps over a crack in the surface. He nods in agreement and sweeps his fingers across her neck to cup her jaw, his thumbs stroking across her cheekbones. This feels right—finally correcting something that’s been pressing at the back of his brain non-stop. The Child is still the priority, he knows this, but he’s allowing himself a weakness; an indulgence that’s been taunting him for far too long. “Mesh’la.”

She leans into the touch, placing one of her hands atop his. “What’s that?”

“I think I’ll hold onto that one.”

She pouts. “Come on, what’s it mean?”

Mando chuckles and responds by pressing the bottom of his helmet to her forehead in a mock kiss and murmurs, “Ner mesh’la. Ner.”

_____________

“uj’ayl” - a sticky scented syrup “cin vhetin” - a fresh start or clean slate “mesh’la” - beautiful “ver” - my/mine

taglist: @ohhersheybars, @greatcircle79, @northernpunk

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