#(how do i politely say ‘thank you for talking to me without sounding like a weirdo asdfgh)
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Hi, sorry if this is a weird message but I just wanted to say how much I appreciate your blog.
I've never been to the appalachia region but I was born in Mississippi and only lived there for like 3 years before we moved. My mom was a travel nurse so we moved every year or two and I really loved living like that and being able to live in tons of different places but part of me is really upset that I never really belonged to a specific place.
When I was younger, I was thankful for not growing up in the south. I always heard other people talk about it, how it was nothing but inbred hillbillies and how everyone talked in a weird drawl and I was glad I never picked up the accent.
But now I'm so, so upset about it. I have a very slight accent sometimes and say y'all and ain't a lot but it's definitely not recognizable as a southern accent.
I want to sound like that, but it feels wrong to try and talk with that accent now, because my family doesn't sound like that and I don't live in the south anymore. Even though I was born there, it still feels like I'm not from there, you know? Like I would be stealing something that's not mine.
It just sucks. Especially when I hear people constantly talk shit about the south and how everyone there is stupid and ugly and racist and evil and it's like, ''Oh. Maybe if I lived there a few more years they would hate me like that too."
A lot of time I see people talking about how much it sucks to grow up in a certain culture, but I never see people talk about how much it sucks to grow up without a specific culture(s).
The worst thing is when people ask where I'm from or where I grew up, and I don't know what I'm supposed to say.
So thank you for your blog. I know the south and appalachia are different, with different cultures and climates and people, but it still makes me feel like I can experience something I never got to.
hi there. this is not weird at ALL.
its a topic very near to my heart really. thanks so much for sharing your story not only because it's yours and i want to know it, but because it resonates with me SO hard, and i don't really talk to anyone who was constantly on the move as a kid and questions their identity because of it.
long post below, as is usually the case with me and this subject.
first i wanna say: i agree that the deep south and appalachia are certainly unique from one another, but to me, they share more similarities than they do differences. your story only cements that in my mind.
we have similar politics, are embarrassed by similar stereotypes, have shameful collective histories. we have similar flavors of self-work and unlearning to do. even the accents overlap.
we also know the same struggle of trying to be louder than our region, how it feels to have our individual voices swallowed up by people who don't want to hear it because they've already decided what they think about us as if we are some monolith.
what i mean is you definitely belong in this community, and i'm so glad you are here!
now for the emotional bits: i hate making these sorts of asks about me, but i sometimes feel at a loss as how else to communicate my empathy in this specific situation.
i just hope my experience can extend a sense of solidarity and understanding to how you're feeling, as mine mirrors your own very closely. i can seriously like feel the pain radiating off of this ask and i just want you to feel seen and heard.
"The worst thing is when people ask where I'm from or where I grew up, and I don't know what I'm supposed to say."
this kicked me in the stomach, because same. it's why being "from appalachia" is so integral to my identity. i'm not from a town or even a state. all i have is the region.
i've talked about this before on here, but my dad was a contractor, and we moved every year or two as well. the longest i stayed in one town was three years, and it happened only once.
i agree that moving around a lot was good in some ways, but, like you, it left me without a sense of belonging.
looking back as an adult, i realize how badly all of that moving fucked me up. i don't have a hometown in the traditional sense. i'm not "from" anywhere.
a lot of my childhood belongings i no longer have because everything seemed to get lost in the moves. i feel like i am scattered across a region, and i am nowhere.
its so bad that, as silly as it is, i get irrationally upset at something as innocent as when i am with someone who has lived in a place most of their life, and they can easily give directions there because they know the place so well. i can't do that with anywhere and so i feel bitter.
i myself moved around consistently in appalachia/the south, though, so i still grew up in the area, as generally as one could. so i also spent most of my late childhood and preteen yearsgetting rid of the accent. i didn't want to sound "stupid" or be lumped in with the racists and the stereotypes of the region.
i thought it made me better than other kids who spoke with the accent, because back then, i hadn't started the self-work i have since undergone and ripped all that hateful internalized bullshit up.
i regret it every day now that i'm learning to love where i'm from--appalachia and the south as a region. i regret ever buying into what i was told about myself and getting rid of all markers of it.
i get it, anon. i really do and i love you and i'm sorry.
THIS IS ALL TO SAY VERY VERY LOUDLY:
you. are. from. there.
you were born in the south. you was raised by a presumably southern family. even if you wasn't, they had to take pieces of mississippi with them. culture is not a static thing--it goes where you go.
you can't steal what's already yours. the accent is yours to use. it feels awkward in your mouth when you try to get it back but that's just because it needs to get comfortable in there again. it doesn't mean you're faking or stealing. it means you are reconnecting, and reunions can sometimes be a little awkward.
don't hold yourself up to rigid standards or fall victim to any gatekeeping, outward or inward. only you get to define who you are, and it seems like you know who that is supposed to be.
i hope you can start to feel a little more at home in your identity. i know what a special hell it is. thank you so so much for being here <3333
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Favorite LU boy and why?
FOUR!!! Four is best boi <3
There’s several reasons why - Minish Cap was my first Zelda game, and still holds a special place in my heart for it.
I really love Four’s LU design, with the vivid colours, detailed embroidery, and the little detail of his earring (MINISH FEATHER!!!). It’s always fun to look at.
I also really enjoy the different ways Four’s character can be handled especially with regard to the Colours - there’s a lot of potential to explore in very different directions, and just because I have a favourite doesn’t mean the others aren’t interesting.
And finally, I strongly relate to being considered ‘the responsible one’, when in fact your brain is in a constant debate between arson, vandalism, and just standing in the middle of a room screaming.
#for much the same reason i’m very fond of legend#i also relate to being tired and grumpy about things other people consider ‘good’ and ‘fun’#hi bre!!!#(how do i politely say ‘thank you for talking to me without sounding like a weirdo asdfgh)#thanks for asking!#lu four#linked universe#skies thinks too much
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Steve's pinning his polaroids up on his wall when his new roommate walks in.
Steve's immediate thought is oh, I'm gonna hate this guy.
Shaggy hair, leather jacket, rings glinting off his fingers, electric guitar slung over his back. Hot as hell, but compared to Steve's polos and perfectly coiffed hair, they could not be more different.
The guy looks like he had the same thought. His shoulders slump as he takes in Steve's appearance.
A man comes in behind his roommate, toting a suitcase full of clothes. "Oh, are you Eddie's roommate?" he says to Steve, who shakes himself out of his thoughts.
"Yes, I am." he says politely. "I'm Steve Harrington."
The man sets down the suitcase. "Wayne Munson." he offers, shaking Steve's hand. "I'm Eddie's uncle."
He nudges Eddie forward, who lets out an almost inaudible groan. "Eddie." he says snippily, shaking Steve's hand.
This'll be a fun year, Steve thinks.
They don't talk. Steve didn't think he was going to be best friends with whoever he got saddled with, but he thought they could at least be civil to each other. Their room is split down the middle. Eddie's half is absolutely covered in posters and music and cutouts of magazines. Steve's is...almost as blank as his room back home.
He misses the shitheads.
No one can ever tell them that. They'll get even more insufferable.
Once or twice, when Steve comes back from a class, he'll catch Eddie peering at Steve's pictures, but he’ll jump away before Steve can call him out on it. It's awful. Steve misses Robin.
It takes him a horribly long amount of time to stop flinching awake at every little sound. He'd stored his nailbat under his bed, out of sight of Eddie, but every time someone yells in the hallway or shouts in the room next door, Steve startles awake, already grabbing his bat. Luckily, Eddie sleeps like the dead, because Steve's not sure he'd be able to explain the weapon without breaking his NDA.
It's three A.M., early November, when there's a knock on their door. Steve isn't asleep yet, so he stands and answers it.
Eight people pile in, talking in hushed whispers. They slam into him, knocking him over.
In the middle of the hug, Steve counts his kids. It's Dustin, nestled against his side, then Lucas, El, and Will under his arm, Max draped over his back, Erica leaning into his shoulder, and Mike on the very outskirts of the group. He pulls them all in tighter, and they all yelp and squawk at him.
"Let us go, Steve!" Erica says, annoyed.
"Nope." Steve says. "You came to find me at three in the morning, you can tolerate a hug."
"Shoo, move." another voice says, and all the kids part like the sea. Robin pushes her way through the group and hugs him tightly. "I don't know how you do it." she says to Steve. "Driving all these nerds around, it's exhausting."
He buries his face in her hair. "Missed you, Robbie." he mumbles.
She leans her head against his. "Missed you too, dingus."
Steve pulls back. "You got your license!"
"I did!" Robin jingles her keys happily.
Eddie sits up, and everyone in the room freezes. "Wha's happenin'?" he slurs sleepily. Then he registers all the people in the room. "Whoa, what the fuck?"
Steve stands up, brushing himself off. "I'm sorry, man, I didn't know they were coming." He shoots a glare at the group, who looks appropriately cowed. Minus Dustin. Steve can now see whose idea this was.
Eddie swings out of bed. "No, it's- wait, are these the kids from your polaroids?"
"Yeah," Steve says. "Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, El, Max, Erica, and this is my best friend Robin."
"Awww, you have polaroids of us?" Max teases over his shoulder. "That's sweet."
Steve reaches behind him and tussles her hair, shoving her gently. "Shut up, shithead."
"Your room is cool." Mike says. "Not Steve's side. But this part is cool!"
Steve glares at Mike, but Eddie grins big. "Thanks! I'm Eddie Munson." He shakes Mike's hand.
"Is that a DnD poster?" Will says. "That's amazing!"
"It certainly is!" Eddie says. "I used to DM back in high school. Played a bit too."
The nerdier section of the group reacts appropriately, oohing and ahhing, while Max and Erica just roll their eyes and nudge each other.
Steve hesitates. “I know these guys don’t really do anything on Saturday afternoons, and I think they’ve been wanting to start another campaign. Would you mind if they come up, maybe every weekend, and you can…” he doesn’t know enough about DnD “…run a game for them?”
Eddie looks amused. “You mean DM a campaign?”
“Yeah, that.” It’s an olive branch that Steve’s offering.
Eddie takes it. “Well, how can I turn that down? Sheepies of the Harrington flock, how would you like to join a new campaign?”
“I’ll keep the rest of you occupied,” Steve mutters as the guys (and El) start talking excitedly. “Max, Rob, you guys wanna find the closest arcade and set some new high scores?”
“Only one person will be setting high scores.” Max says, gesturing to herself, but she looks excited at the prospect.
Steve lets Eddie and the kids talk for a couple more minutes, then claps his hands. “Okay, it is three in the morning and I have a nine A.M. class tomorrow SO! I have enough blankets for all of you to sleep on the floor if Eddie doesn’t mind-“ Eddie shrugs. “Or Rob can drive you back home.”
Steve looks around and Robin is already in his bed, cuddled up like the blanket hog she is. “Okay, well, sleepover here it is then.”
He whisks out his ungodly amount of throw blankets (courtesy of Joyce’s knitting spree) and the kids get together in their usual movie-night-at-Steve’s cuddle position.
Will’s got his head on Mike’s shoulder, Lucas next to Mike, Max leaning on Lucas, El’s head in Max’s lap and her legs thrown over Dustin’s lap, and Erica with her back against Dustin’s shoulder. Sometimes Robin and Steve are wedged into the pile somewhere, but just as often they’re tangled up under six different blankets across the room, which is why Steve whispers “Scoot over, dumbass,” as he climbs into bed next to Robin.
Eddie watches them assume their positions with an expression of what could be awe on his face. “When I saw those pictures,” he whispered, “I thought they were like your siblings? Or maybe old pictures of your friends. I didn’t think you were a soccer mom.”
Steve glares at him, but unlike earlier in the year, there’s no heat behind it. “Hope you like coparenting then, because these guys need to be watched 24/7 or they’ll run off and start the apocalypse.”
Eddie laughs like it’s a joke. To him it is. He hops back into bed. “Goodnight, weird little family.”
The kids murmur a collective sleepy goodnight, and Steve shuts his eyes.
It’s the most relaxed he’s felt since he moved in.
part two!
#based on the running joke between me and my roommate that my robotics kids are gonna break into my dorm room#one of them just got his license and im now even more worried#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#college au#pre relationship
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What if I am too much?
Summary: When Sam's girlfriend calls you clingy, you decide to give Bucky some space. What you don’t know is that he doesn’t want any space. None at all.
Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x female reader
Warnings: 18+, angst, teasing, language, pet names, spanking, daddy kink, metal arm kink, no mention of y/n
Word Count: 2.2K
Bucky Barnes masterlist
A/N: I want to thank @marvelouslizzie for her help!
Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!
“Oh, you’re alone?”
You turn your head in the direction of the voice and smile politely. You don’t recognize this woman, but she looks at you like she does.
“Uh, yes. Hello!”
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
You instantly blush, ashamed, and search for Bucky’s face in the crowd. Nowhere to be found. Damn it!
“No, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says before coming next to you. “I’m Misty.” Brunette, tall and beautiful.
“Where did we meet?”
“Sam’s birthday, but I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. You were too busy clinging to Bucky’s side all night.” She sounds serious, and you freeze, having no idea where this came from. She simply laughs, grabbing your arm with some kind of bionic cold hand for a second before letting it go.
It’s not like Bucky’s. It’s more... robotic.
“Clinging?” You ask confused.
“Yeah, you know, always sitting with him, holding his arm, following him around.”
You puff, already annoyed by this random woman. “Following him around? I’m not a dog!”
“Didn’t say you are a dog, honey. Just pointing out the obvious.”
You try to hold your tongue, pushing aside the impulse to start a fight. This is a night about Bucky. Not you or your discomfort. And she is his ex-co-worker-friend’s girlfriend. Your anger can wait.
“Alright, but how does my clinging affect you, though?”
“Oh, don’t take it so personally! I just meant to be friendly. It’s a girl’s advice. Live a little, being insecure is not gonna save your relationship.”
A piece of advice no one asked for. A take you never even considered. You’re not insecure and you’re definitely not keeping Bucky to your side all the time. You don’t… He is free to do whatever the hell he wants.
“Thank you.”
She has the audacity to laugh. “Don’t be so defensive, honey! Gonna get a cocktail, want some?”
You shake your head, feeling a hole in your stomach after she leaves you alone, and you basically run to the bathroom, trying to calm down. What if she is right, though? What if Sam heard or saw something? Maybe Bucky is extra grumpy or unhappy. Maybe he even complained…
You never thought sitting with Bucky is a sign of clinginess. You thought it’d help... he is not the most comfortable person at events. He gets stared at a lot, he hates small talk, and you really like being close to him. Gosh, you are clingy!
The rest of the night passes like a blur. When you come back, Bucky’s waiting for you, and despite your instinct to wrap your arm around his back and let him hold you, you keep a little distance, giving Sam and his nosy girlfriend a fake smile, while Bucky keeps staring at you strangely.
You even manage to avoid touching him all week somehow, except for a few kisses now and then. Your period came, and as he tried to hold you, you had to fight tears while telling him not to. You’re sick and tired and you miss him, but you want to give him some space. You’ve been suffocating him for so long... You make sure to cry only when he’s out because he might hear you even in the shower. He has super hearing after all.
You thought it would become easier every day, but quite the opposite. Every time you’re close to giving up, you remember Sam’s comment that he made a week after you met him about how Bucky always likes his space and what Misty told you, so you fight against your wish.
Until Sunday afternoon.
You’re in bed, scrolling down on Instagram as Bucky comes out of the shower. You try not to stare at him, but how can you not? He looks absolutely incredible.
What you don’t expect is him trying to get on top of you to tickle you with a huge smile on his face. He’s so adorable.
“B-Bucky, stop!” You laugh as his hands get under your T-shirt. He loves making you laugh no matter how he does it. “N-no.”
“Oh, I will,” he says playfully.
But what he failed to tell you is that stopping means sneaking his head under your T-shirt, which starts to rip a little because of the stretch, and resting it on your boobs.
“Bucky!”
He puffs, annoyed. “Why the fuck are you wearing a bra in the house, bubba?”
“Cause it’s a bra?” You ask back sarcastically, but you know this is weird. You always complain about needing to wear it outside. But inside? It’s even worse.
“Unacceptable.” He quickly rips your bra in half, not bothering to unhook it, and you feel his beard on your breast all of a sudden, making you shiver. Fuck, you really miss this.
“B-Bucky, come on, your hair is a little wet!”
“Bubba, please...”
“Bucky! Why did you do that?” He immediately takes his head out of your T-shirt, and you almost cry. He looks do lost and scared.
“Baby, do you not want me anymore?”
“What the fuck?” You groan. This is the last thing you wanted him to think. All you tried to do was to make him happy and feel less pressured.
“You don’t let me touch you. You don’t want to cuddle with me. You don’t wake me up with kisses. You don’t get on top of me You don’t hug me! What did I do?”
Your heart aches for both of you. “Wasn’t that better?”
“Better for who?” He cries. “This was the worst week of my life since Hydra.”
“Unfortunately, that cannot be true, Bucky.” You sigh, getting closer to him. “I thought you like space...”
“I do, but not with my fucking baby!”
You melt at his words, truth be told. He said it so passionately, but you’re so confused.
“I thought I was being too clingy, touching you too much, you know?”
“What? Where did this come from?”
You close your eyes. How are you supposed to answer this without sounding like a petty bitch?
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it does!” You feel his hands grabbing your face so you can look at him. “It means I did something wrong.”
You frown, upset that he thinks that. He’s been nothing but kind, understanding, and loving to you, and you hate how he feels like he failed you or something.
“Sam’s girlfriend told me I am clingy... always with you, never leaving you alone to breathe basically. And it reminded me of Sam saying how much you love your space, and I just...” You try not to cry, you really do, but you cannot hold back the tears this time, which Bucky immediately reaches to wipe with his flesh fingers.
“Jesus, baby! I don’t give a goddamn shit about what they say, you aren’t allowed to listen to anyone! Just let me touch you.”
You immediately wrap your arms around his neck, and Bucky lifts you a bit so you can sit on his lap. You can hear his heartbeat, and you find that so peaceful.
“I thought you’re gonna break up with me, honey.” He whispers in your ear. “I was terrified when you didn’t let me cuddle with you.”
“I’m so fucking sorry, baby.” You don’t know what else to say. You hurt both of you for days just because you let some woman get inside your head, but you had good intentions. “I just didn’t want to be a burden.”
“I should be the one saying that, not you, bubba.” He leaves a kiss on your shoulder. “God, I missed you so much, it feels surreal to touch you.”
“I love you, I’m sorry.”
“Promise to never do this shit ever again!”
“I’ll try,” you murmur. “I didn’t realize you want me to touch you so much.”
Bucky lifts your head. “You know I have to punish you for that, right?”
“Punish me?” You ask surprised.
“Yeah, for believing some stranger over your man. For pulling away and giving me a heart attack. And for depriving yourself of my cuddling skills.”
You giggle. “What if I let you suck my nipples for a whole week anytime you wanted?”
“I already do that!” Bucky lifts your T-shirt as he speaks, and you gasp.
“You do not!”
“Yes, I do. Remember when I came home from the last mission and I made you come by-” He lowers his head and licks your right breast, avoiding your nipple.
“Fuck you, tease!”
“I am the tease?!” He snorts, continuing to lick.
“You’re always the tease. Now kiss me and gimmie your cock.”
“I won’t give you anything until I punish you.”
“Jamie!” You scream when he turns you around, ripping off your shorts in half, along with your underwear before placing you on his thighs. “What the fuck?”
“What the fuck to you for keeping yourself away from me.” You feel him caressing your ass for a few seconds before slapping your right cheek with his flesh hand. You squirm, gripping into his hip.
“F-fuck!”
“Count.”
You groan. “Jamie...” He spanks you again but harder, and this time you moan. “T-two.”
“Nope, we start over.”
“O-one.”
“Good girl!”
The third and fourth aren’t as hard as you want and you find yourself wiggling your ass in the air.
“Harder.”
“Harder?” He snorts, amused, and before he can bring his flesh hand in the air, you grab his metal arm.
“Please, daddy, use this one!”
Daddy? It didn’t take too long for you to get back in the mood.
“Can’t use it, baby, I’m sorry.”
“No!” You cry. “I need it, pleaseee. I’ll ride your face as many times as you w-want.”
Bucky still doesn’t agree. “Baby, it would hurt.”
“Let it hurt!”
You want it to hurt because this pain is not unbearable, quite the opposite. It pushes you over the edge faster.
He sighs and listens to you, bringing his metal hand to your ass, but you barely even feel it when he slaps. You groan, upset.
“I said slap! Do you want me to hover?”
“I can fucking hurt you.”
“I told you to hurt me!” You beg. “Please, honey! Please, please, please.”
He does it again, not hard enough for you, but you count anyway. Again and again.
“Jesus, you’re making my thighs so wet. You’re such a little whore for me.”
“I’m your whore. Always, daddy, please!”
Bucky’s moan comes somehow from the back of his throat, and the last spanks are perfect. He gently caresses your ass, cooling it off with his metal hand, and you smile. “You’re so dirty sometimes, but also such a good girl taking your punishment perfectly.”
“I am sorry,” you whisper.
“For what exactly?”
You pout, grabbing his face. “For all of it. But you’re you, Bucky. You’re the greatest guy in the world, I just didn’t want to be annoying.”
“You were annoying when you didn’t let me even hug you.”
You know that, but sometimes you can’t help but do dumb things, thinking about him. “I wanted you to be happy.”
“Well, I wasn’t happy, obviously. And neither were you, bubba. Promise me you’ll talk to me first next time.”
“I was just stupid…”
“No.” You feel his thumb all over your lips. “You were worried. I love you and I really need your touch, okay?”
“I noticed,” you laugh.
“Good, now feed me my boobs, and then I wanna see you riding my face as you negotiated.”
You fake sigh and grab your boob. “Open up.”
*
You’re not sure how to react when Bucky drags you straight to Sam and his girlfriend as soon as you get inside the museum.
“Hey, Buck-”
“Who do you think you are?”
Misty gasps while Sam and you freeze.
“Wow, wow, wow, man. Hold on a sec, what is going on?”
“What is going on, Samuel?” Bucky asks rhetorically through his teeth. “Ask your little girlfriend where she got her audacity from to tell my girl she is clingy. That she basically spends too much time with me. Who the fuck gave her the permission to even speak to her? So she either apologizes and keeps her mouth shut, or we’ll have a big problem.” Bucky turns his head to look at Misty. “From one metal arm to another. Wanna try me?”
“You did what? What the hell?”
Misty frowns, staring at you. “You went to complain to him for giving you a friendly, harmless advice?”
Bucky instantly grabs her metal arm wrist before you can answer.
“You got three seconds to beg for her forgiveness before I snap your hand in half. And I am not bluffing.”
Sam doesn’t even try to get between them, simply watching, and Misty immediately gets teary.
“I’m... sorry.”
Bucky shakes his head, squeezing her wrist. Holy shit! You haven’t seen him like this in ages. “Didn’t hear you.”
“I am sorry. I should have minded my own business!”
“Yes, you should’ve,” you say without regret. “But I forgive you.”
Bucky lets go with a grunt before nodding to Sam and bringing his hand to your hips, leading you toward the exit.
As soon as you are outside, you don’t even care if someone can hear you as you speak. “Fuck, I wanna suck your cock so badly!”
Bucky laughs. “I see. In the car… is that okay for you?”
You get on your tiptoes to kiss him. “Perfect.”
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x reader smut#bucky barnes x female reader#sebastian stan#marvel fanfiction#marvel fanfic#my stories#my fanfics
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₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎♡ BAD GIRL, GOOD GIRL !
he couldn't hide the crush he had for the good girl who's a bad girl to him ! ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎
contains: smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, cunnilingus, masturbation (m), e2l, a lot of praise, overstimulation, fluff & angst if you squeeze your eyes, lore mention (really vague), based when gojo was still in school, multiple orgasms, gojo whimpers, nipple play, throat & tummy bump, creampie, oral m!receiving, a lot of the use 'fuck', kinda getting caught, really cute tbh.
A/N: this was supposed to be a request but... idk what happened tbh, i just created this story. 2.6k + felt lonely
You enjoyed this. Really. You know about the power you have over Gojo Satoru. And he’s childish, he won’t admit it. He will continue with his god complex and see you as a ‘pathetic girl without knowing you well.
And it’s fun. His gaze is so funny, the hypocrisy is funny. He would be talking with Suguru, judging you and how fast you’re getting into his and Suguru’s level. Is he afraid of you?
The worst fucking thing is how hard you get him. Maybe he has a degradation kink to bring him back to earth. But each time it gets harder to hide his clear erection inside his pants.
But he would never admit the admirations and maybe the tiny crush he has for you. You being the first time he saw a girl like this– and he might be afraid of you. Afraid of losing himself to some silly highschooler crush– When there’s more important things to focus on in this world, like… he could focus on the political and economic state of the world right now….?
“Gojo Satoru! Are you paying attention?” Sensei Yaga brought him back from his own imaginary debate. “Uh- Yeah, sensei. I’m paying attention.”
“Oh.. Is that so Gojo?” Oh well fuck. Here you go. He sighed, saying your name in a whisper like if it’s some bad word full of anger- “Would you mind explaining what Sensei Yaga just said?” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fucking you with your face pressed against his bed and silencing your cries for him, while he pounds his cock from behind you into your poor vulnerable pussy he just ate out some minutes ago.
“Why do you keep acting like some bad girl instead of behaving yourself and learn to be a good girl for me, hm? Learn how to treat your seniors right. How does that sound? Do you have an answer for that?”
Silence.
Sixth fuck. Why did he think it was okay to say that out loud? Does it sound kinky?
“...I– why- uh- Y-You don’t know me Gojo.” Convincible right? His nicknames didn’t affect you. “So shut up boy. Instead of telling me how to behave, why don’t– Ugh. Shut up.”
He would pretend and convince himself that the reddish color covering your face is an act of his imagination, and move his gaze to his best-friend Suguru, which has a mix of confusion and shock adorning his face. “What? Do I have something in my face?” Gojo asked, touching his left cheek with his hand on that side.
“Uh- No. I will… just pay attention to what Yaga is saying.”
He can’t fucking stop thinking about you.
Is this right? His hand sneaking down his abdomen towards the elastic of his sweatpants, just to enter and– FUCK! He shouldn’t be doing this while thinking about ‘someone he hates’ and want to put them in their place. His erect cock was really visible through his sweats, and all he could do was roll in his bed trying to take you off his mind- Being shirtless didn’t help that either, his also erect nipples having fun with the friction he created while rolling on his bed. Great, not only it affected other areas of his body, but it also brought release to the problem he was trying to stop.
So he couldn’t stop himself. And his sinful right hand went down and inside his boxers to jerk off some tension down there (traitor)-- A whimper escaped his mouth once he teased his tip, already full of pre-cum thanks to stupid bed. His left hand traveled searching to cover his mouth to stop soundings coming out– Not trying to out himself, because it looked like this fucking walls were made of paper. But accidentally while doing so he touched his nipple, bringing out a loud and electric shock to his body.
Seventh? Ninth? Fuck.
He quickly bit his lips, surely blood coming out of them because of how hard he was trying to stop himself, but he really needed to cum. Fuck- If you were here, he would ask for permission, he would beg to cum. He would do anything to just fucking cum inside your pussy.
And it’s so embarrassing, because of all the rumors of him in this small space for his kind, that he’s a playboy and gets pussy every weeknd– when he’s basically a virgin if he has never got his cock inside a woman's pussy. Does it still count as sex without it inside?
He didn’t have enough fucks in his vocabulary to count all the misfortunes he has in a week. How could he let his guard down? How the fuck the curse got him? But the worst (actually it’s like the best thing that happened in his life) is that you cared about his well-being and you offered to take care of him as fast as possible.
"You're hurt. Is it bad? Do you need the med-kit? Let me see-" He already treated himself, not wanting to be a bother for you– (he wants to) but thanks to his infinity it wasn’t so hard to, and it’s basically a paper cut, but ever since that happened, everyone’s been cautious. Well, at least the people who know.
"Don't bother, it's not serious. I've already tended to it."
"...Someone was able to get the better of you?"
Oh shit. Congratulations Satoru! You used another word to describe how unlucky you are! But did you have to mention him?
“Uh.. No- I mean- When training… y’know? It happens, even to the best” He sent you a wink, anxious to get over this topic and not get too focused on him, because really. It was just a paper cut for him. He called for you, bringing back your gaze to his eyes, did he always look this beautiful? “Uh.. Yeah?” You didn’t intend your voice to sound like that, but suddenly everything felt so hot, and was he so close to you before?
“Why did you want to take care of me? The last time I got the memo you hated me as much as you hate bugs.”
“I.. I don’t hate you Gojo. I just-” sigh.
“It’s okay, I understand if you want to gain Yaga’s confidence for… whatever reasons you have. I’m just impressed- that’s all. I’m very grateful it was you.”
…
“I like you Satoru. I’m scared I'll lose you- even though I don’t show it, I care about you” Oh nice. You don’t hate him, and he liked the way his name sounded coming out of your mouth. Could easily make him cum. It’s great you also care for him.
“Can’t blame you. I’m pretty awesome.” His quirky smirk showed in his face, earning no reaction from you. Oh.
Oh fuck.
He really fucked it this time, didn’t he?
“Wait, are you fr?”
“There’s no way you just said ‘ef’ ‘ar’ Satoru.”
He didn’t care about your criticism now, not when you just made him the happiest man in the world and he lifted you with no problem, and got you in a position so you’re now above him, caging his legs.
With no words, he kissed you on the lips with a passion he has never shown. Not even while fighting. He loved the way your lips were perfect for him, how small you felt above him in his touch. As an automatic reaction you slowly started to rock your hips, earning a whimper from him. Which somehow turned you on more, your hands roamed his body until they landed on his chest. Index and middle finger keeping his nipples between- an unexpected thrust from him caught you by surprise and pressed your fingers back together, earning a whine from him. You were about to get your hands under his shirt, and discover this new ‘thing’ of Gojo’s, but-
“Oh my fucking god. WhatshappeningrightnowIthoughsomethingbadhappenedtoyouguys.”
Poor Suguru.
Both of you have been into very… ‘pretentious’ situations while interacting through the years. It stresses him out that it’s just.. well- pretentious. Because you never go to the next base, even after forgetting the bickering and rivalry through the years, (and the raging sexual tension from Gojo), he might finally have the courage to put aside his masquerade and open up about his wants and be vulnerable… At the act? After? During?
Taking a deep breath and sighing, waiting for your answer, but all he receives is a stare. Which makes him even more anxious. He would prefer a slap, a cussing, fuck! even you laughing at him. But all he gets is a stare. Was it so stupid to say how much he liked you and that you should have sex with him?
He called out your name, bringing you back from your shock- “I- shit… Wait a second, this isn’t how I wanted things to go.. what the hell?” The last question was barely heard, he was murmuring to himself and planning a hundred ways he could die without bringing down the sorcerer world with him. Is it good he confessed in your room?
“That’s the worst confession I’ve heard in a while y’know?...” He stopped his mental break-down, never believing he would blush for a girl. Not even the girl he has been crushing (and hating) through his teenage years. “I like you too, like- for my whole life. But I didn’t think you would feel the same. I didn’t see it.”
“But I felt it.” His eyes traced your body until they reached the floor. It was weird seeing Gojo like this. Never in his 20 years of life thought he would be feeling weak and vulnerable to anyone. Not until he met you.
“Yeah- I can see it” You lazily pointed at his crotch. “You seriously have a problem… Do you like being humiliated and degraded?... This isn’t the first time this happens, y’know?:..”
A whine escaped his mouth like a little child- “Ugh, it’s just… I really need you.”
You wasted no time when your lips glued to his. It was 10 P.M, everyone was asleep, but at this rate you didn’t care. If they ungratefully hear you and Satoru moaning, it was his fault for giving the first step this time.
He called out your name, making you break the kiss and start marking his neck. “Ah, fuck. Please mark me, I want everyone to know I’m yours.” You pushed him back so he’s now sitting on the sofa. Kneeling down for him while you continue marking him and hearing his beautiful noises. You were in between his legs, in front of his raging cock begging for release from the sweat pants. “Is this okay Satoru?”
A lot of little cute nods were made, his flushed cheeks making him look absolutely precious. “I need words baby, I don’t know what you want me to do…” You said while playing with the hem of his sweats.
“I want you to suck my cock and then fill you up… please.” Oh! He clearly answered his desires, making you form a smile while he bit his lips watching you undress him. “No underwear hm? You were waiting for this?” His cock was standing there tall and angry. The pale base with a pink needy tip leaking pre-cum from it. “I was risking my luck”
“Then you’re such a lucky man right now Satoru.” Your lips wrapped around his cock, and you slowly teased his tip with your tongue, making him whimper at the feeling. And you tried to deepthroat him- which caught him by surprise and his hand immediately went to find a place in your head, making a made-up ponytail with your hair for some support. (He was too lost in the pleasure to even know if he doing it right)
With the rest of his neglected cock, your hands traveled up to find his balls and start massaging them. Making Satoru to fucking loose control over his body once he saw the bump his cock caused in your throath- Moans turned into whines with tears, he had to pull up his shirt and bite on it to stop whining. Silent whimpers accompanying his tears while he looks at the beautiful girl between his legs. The sight made him cum faster than he expected, he swears he saw light and white noise was heard in his ears.
You happily showed your tongue to him before swallowing the salty liquid down your throat which earned a groan from Satoru.
“From outside you’re such a bad girl, but inside you’re a good girl f’me, aren’t ya?” You chuckled at his ‘drunk-dazed’ face, moving yourself so you’re on top of him again, his cock still hard against your core. “You don’t know me at all Satoru…”
You placed your arms around his neck, getting closer to him. “Not the way I wished. But you’re giving me the chance to be your man and get to know you, right?”
“Oh… Gojo... I’m looking for a real man, not for a man who pretends to be a man. Are you a real man, Satoru?”
“I’ll be whatever you want baby.” He says, ghosting your lips, making a brushing action with his nose and yours before finally giving in and kissing you again. This kiss was more needy, remembering every place from it. While your hands went insearch of his chest, the hold of your hips with his hands hardened when you ghostly brushed your finger through his nipples. He thrusted upwards, looking for some friction between your core and his.
He was getting needier each passing second- and you noticed that once he grabbed the hems of your leggings and tore them apart. Murmuring about him buying you new ones continuously tearing apart your panties too.
One of his fingers going through your folds, coming out wet, you shyly looked away when he inserted the finger on his mouth and moaned. “Sweet.” His cocky personality was back when he sent you a wink. He looked being in control, to be honest.
With no warning, you placed yourself so his cock was aligned. And it kinda hurt because of how fucking big he is. But his reaction was priceless.
You were full of him already, cum coming out of you. “I-..I.. shit.” He couldn’t believe he just came from being inside you, overstimulation taking over him thanks to his second orgasm, but it just felt so right, he couldn’t stop himself from rocking your hips back and forth using his cum as lubricant.
His cock touched places your fingers could never reach, each thrust and movement felt so good. He called out your name in a whine, his head falling back and taking this opportunity so you could mark his neck more. “IloveyouIloveyousofuckin’muchprincess” He was the first to say those three words, bringing butterflies to your tummy after some time of confessing your feelings to the others. “You’remakin’mefeels’goodmygod.” His cries were because he couldn’t take it anymore, filling you up for a second time. And you swear you looked down and there was a clear bump in your tummy because of how full you were. Making itself more prominent each thrust Satoru gave you.
“Ohyeahbaby…Use me as your fuck toy- shit-i’m yours baby.” He never stopped praising you, not until you came and rested your slumpy body on top of his. Your breathings synchronizing with the other, his heartbeat was audible. His arms wrapped around you like a bear. “Satoru- I need to clean myself-”
“I will clean you- Just… let’s stay some time more like this, please. I want to feel you.” His head rested on top of yours while he drew figures in your back with his fingers. “You’re so… perfect.” He said before giving a peck on your forehead.
“Satoru…?”
“Yeah baby?”
“Are you hard again?”
Millionth fuck.
#romy's writings#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#gojo jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen gojo#gojo smut#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#jujutsu gojo#jjk fluff#jjk smut#jujustu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk x reader#+ jjk.#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x reader smut#gojo satoru x you smut#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru fic#jjk art#gojo gif#gojo#satoru#jujutsu kaisen geto#jujutsu kaisen manga
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hi suzu! <3 i love your writing so much! 🤍🤍
can i request smut & fluff, general! kunikuzushi x youngest daughter reader of kamisato? they are engaged and often do naughty things during family gatherings :> (maybe a little corrupt and breeding is okay)
Kunikuzushi (Scaramouche) x fem!reader. Smut. Corruption. Breeding kink. Semi public (I guess-ish?). Creampie. Scara peeks through occasionally.
Thank you so much💜
You were the sweetest, most innocent little thing Kunikuzushi had ever laid eyes on. Most especially at family gatherings, you always had a polite smile, and kind greeting. Even lending your ear to listen to guests talk about the smallest things.
It was such a pleasure to corrupt you.
Whenever a guest at the gathering casually asked you if you wanted to have children, it was like a switch flipped in Kunikuzushi. You'd looked at him, gave him the softest smile that made his heart flutter as you nodded.
The only thing he could think about was getting you alone. Right now. And breeding you full of his cum. The insatiable need gripped him like an iron vice. And he knew you would oh so willingly follow him when he "pulled you aside to have a word about dinner".
It was going to be really hard for him not to tear off the outfit he'd picked out for you to wear.
You were letting out a soft shaky pants and moans as Kunikuzushi's nimble fingers danced over your clit outside of your underwear. Your legs were spread, your palms against the wall with your panties clinging wet to your pussy.
"Kuni, please," Your fingernails dug into the wall of the nearby guest room, "Put something inside of me," Your clit throbbed with every stroke and rub, making it harder to stifle your moans. "Your fingers, your cock, a-anything."
You grinded against his fingers, gasping as he pinched your clit. The extra friction created by your panties only fogged your mind more.
Kunikuzushi chuckled behind you. "Aww, does my sweet girl want me that badly?" He taunted playfully, poking his fingers against your entrance. You were absolutely soaking his fingers, and he couldn't get enough of it.
You sounded so cute pleading for him. He felt your hole clench through your panties around the tips of his fingers. He'd spent long and blissful nights pumping his cock inside of you, making you crave him more.
"K-Kuni," You couldn't help the loud moan that escaped you as you stumbled over his name. "I just might cum, and I-I--" He pinched your clit again, cutting you off. Pleasure burst in crackles through your body.
"Use your words, kitten," Kunikuzushi purred, his cock straining in his pants as he drank in the sight of you trying to grind needily on his fingers.
"I might cum, and I don't wanna cum without your cock inside of me," You felt your cheeks heating from how lewd that sounded. You mewled feeling a light smack on your ass.
"So needy," He laughed, groping your ass before giving you a gentle push towards the bed. "Get on your hands and knees. I'll give my needy girl what she wants," An approving smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he watched you crawl onto the bed.
You didn't need to asked twice. Going down on your elbows, you angled your hips up. He groaned seeing how wet you were. Taking out his cock, he stroked it, his eyes following your hand as you reached under you to peel your panties aside.
Kunikuzushi rubbed his cock between your soppy folds, making your toes curl in anticipation as the leaking head glided over your clit. "What would everyone say if they saw the darling daughter of the Kamisato family acting so shamelessly. Begging me to fuck her full of cum?"
You pushed back against his cock. "I don't care, Kuni. Just fuck me, please," You clamped a hand over your mouth, muffling a moan as best you could as you felt his cock start to stretch you apart.
When you sounded that sweet and pathetic how could he deny you?
"Good girl. Good fucking girl," Kunikuzushi moan, quivering in bliss as his cock parted your tight walls. He pulled out half way to bottom out in a swift thrust. "I'll breed this pretty pussy and knock you up. How does that sound?"
His fingers dug into your hips, his cock pounding feverishly inside of you. Not even your hand could quiet your moans as his cock hit consistently into your sweet spot, stretching apart and dragging along your gummy walls.
"Kuni! Kuni! I'll make you a dad, Kuni," Your hand suddenly fell away from your mouth. Kunikuzushi's cock throbbed harder inside of you at your words. He laughed shakily in delight, his soft and husky moans mingling with yours.
You buried your face into the pillow, your body quaking and limp with pleasure. He was fucking you dumb and drooling on his cock. His fingers tightened on your hips as you body twitched from your approaching orgasm.
"Fuck, you are so tight," Kunikuzushi groaned, smacking a hand on your ass again. Your walls clenching tighter around his cock was dizzying to him. "I'm going to cum," He mumbled incoherently.
You yelped in bliss, your skin stinging from the smack. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your milky juices making a white ring around his cock. He swallowed back soft whimpers the closer he got to cumming. Images of your belly swollen with his child served as full to the fire for his need.
Kunikuzushi let out a satisfied moan as his cock ribboned cum inside of you. He left his cock sheathed inside of you as his hips slowed to a stop. It was more than a few long moments before he pulled out of you.
"You are so precious to me," He leaned down to murmur in your ear. His hand caressed your hip in a gentle touch that backed up his words.
#genshin impact#genshin smut#fem!reader#genshin imagines#scaramouche#scaramouche smut#scaramouche x reader#scaramouche x y/n#scaramouche x you#kunikuzushi#kunikuzushi smut#kunikuzushi x you#kunikuzushi x reader#kunikuzushi x y/n
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𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍
body piercer!joel miller x f!reader
genre: explicit smut, minors dni, modern au, no outbreak au
word count: 4.7k
summary: you finally go and get your nipples pierced.
warnings: reader has tattoos & has flat/small nipples which is the only physical description in this fic, nipple play, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, joel miller with a tongue piercing, lots of teasing, sexual tension, tattoo kink??? joel is really into them
a/n: this fic literally wouldn't exist if not for @swiftispunk's fic flesh and metal after reading it and screaming about it (and also reading articles about it) this fic was born, enjoy xx
special thanks to @johnwatsn for the beta! 💞
It’s late. The faint buzz of the neon sign is loud in your ears, taunting, mocking you for just staring inside instead of going in. Your face is illuminated with a red hue, the words BODY PIERCING burning into your irises. And despite the tacky neon sign, the inside looks quite clean. You would know, you’ve been stalking their Instagram page for a while now.
There’s no one inside and you’re contemplating whether or not you should just get on with it. The idea of getting your nipples pierced had been a vague thought until recently. You desperately needed a change, you wanted something new and exciting. You wanted to feel sexy again. Your ex had certainly done a decent amount of damage to your self-esteem and that, plus your already low view of yourself, did not help your brain to see the good of you.
So many things could go wrong, you’ve read multiple articles about it. Your body might reject the piercing, it might leave a scar, irritate it. . .
G Suddenly, a brisk burst of frigid air gently caresses your cheeks, causing you to instinctively step back. Your gaze swiftly shifts from the interior of the shop to the door, where you notice that someone has just opened it, allowing the chilly air from the air conditioning inside to spill out.
Joel Miller, the shop's number one body piercer. Your cheeks burn, your pulse quickens, the sound of it flooding your ears. He’s tall and broad, his brown eyes staring at you with utter amusement. As you continue to just blatantly stare at him, he cocks his head to the side with a crooked smile.
“I’m closin’ in half an hour, sweetheart. If you’re thinkin’ of comin’ in, I’d do it now.”
“O–Oh,” you swallow thickly. “I can come back tomorrow if you’re closing up, sorry to bother you.”
He raises an eyebrow, his smile falling, “Well, I didn’t quite say that, now, did I?” Come on in, darlin’. Tell me what you need.”
Tell him what you need—your heart beats in your throat, the lazy drawl of his words going directly between your legs. You mentally curse at yourself. How touch-starved are you? He’s just being polite. You’re the customer, it would’ve been weird if he just shooed you away.
Joel takes a step to the side, silently granting permission for you to enter. You stroll past him, making your way inside without uttering a word. The air conditioning is a blessing on your sweat-soaked skin. Even though you don’t have to, you briefly look at your surroundings. Just like your research had entailed, the shop was squeaky clean.
“So,” Joel clears his throat. “What can I do you for, sweetheart?”
Some part of you wishes that he could just understand without you having to form the words. You lick the back of your teeth, suddenly it’s very hard to breathe.
“I. . . wanted to get my nipples pierced—if that’s okay?”
“Of course, it is,” he smiles, much softer compared to his crooked smirk from before. “I’m Joel by the way,” he extends his hand and you take it with a sigh of relief, you feel much lighter now—
“I know.”
Your eyes go wide, both your hands stopping mid-shake. Joel’s amused glance is back again, his smile stretching into a grin, “You know?”
“I mean—well, I did research before I came here,” you answer quickly, aggressively almost, and release his hand. His grin only wides, a puff of air escaping his nostrils. “So that’s how I know your name.”
“Aren’t you the cautious one,” he turns on his heel and points towards the back. “If you’re set on what you want we can just head inside, I can explain the rest there.”
“Sure.”
Just as you both take a step you remember what you initially wanted to ask before going through with it and stop. Joel senses your lack of movement, turning around, you notice the furrow between his brow. “I actually wanted to ask something before we went on with it.”
“I’m all ears.”
Oh god, this is embarrassing, “So. . . my nipples are. . .flat—or is it more proper to call it small? I don’t know. Would that be an issue?”
The glimmer in his eyes returns full force, his expression of worry melting away, “I’ve never met a nipple I couldn’t pierce,” he teases. “So no need to worry that pretty head of yours.”
“Do you sweet talk with all your clients?” you ask, your lips twitching into a smile. You don’t know what it is, but you feel comfortable with him. Maybe it’s because you’ve been stalking his shop for so long. Either way, it’s a nice feeling.
“Only with the ones that know my name before I meet them.” His eyes gradually move up and down your body, eating you up. His tongue darts out and swipes over his bottom lip. You notice the faint shimmer that belongs to a silver tongue piercing. “And the ones that’ve been starin’ into my shop for least an hour.”
Joel takes a step closer and you feel your breath dissipating from your lungs. Dark, charcoal eyes sweep across your face. Your heartbeat is like a fearful hummingbird, hitting the bone cage in rapid succession. You swallow. By some miracle, you hold his gaze.
“You ready to go, little rabbit?”
All the tension drains from your bones and you burst out laughing, “Rabbit?” you giggle, your amusement only growing when you see his wide smile. “What the hell?”
“There’s that pretty smile,” he hums, pulling back. Joel stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Now that you’re relaxed we can get to business. We can stop whenever, so don’t feel pressured when you’re in the chair. You can just leave.”
You nod along as you follow him inside. You’re relieved when you see that it’s a spacious room with bright lighting that doesn’t irritate your eyes.
“First things first, let's pick out the piercing.” Joel walks towards one of the small glass cases and pulls out one of the drawers. Your excitement builds as he presents them to you. “Any ticklin’ your fancy?”
The light above gleams against the glass, there are so many and for a split second, you want them all. You never thought you would be labeling piercings as pretty. Looking them over, you decide you definitely want barbells instead of hoops. Now the question is which barbell one do you want?
“So many,” you mutter, eyes scanning over them again and again. You see one that says ‘cum here’ on each heart-shaped barbell. There’s a couple of them that say different things; kiss here, bite me, lick me— a shudder rolls down your spine. Your mind instantly fills with indecent thoughts, most of them staring at the man still patiently holding the glass case. You bite the inside of your cheek.
You bet he has the most skillful tongue—
“Oh, that one!” you exclaim suddenly, pointing at one in the shape of a heart. It’s decorated in shimmering rhinestones, the metal gold. When he inserts it, the heart would be framing your nipple. “It’s so cute.”
“You like shiny things, huh?” he smiles. “You gotta good eye, it’ll look good on you.”
Your breath catches in your throat, “Thanks.”
“Now lay on the bed, darlin’.”
It takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the piercing bed. You’re about to lay on it before he stops you with a raised hand. “Take off your top.”
“Most guys buy me dinner first.”
“Har har very funny,” he rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, which in return makes you lightheaded. The expression is like a drug and you want to see more of it. More and more and more. “Besides, if you have a flat nipple I’m gonna need to stimulate it.”
“Excuse me?”
Joel is unaware of your blundering, he arranges the fresh, disposable drape and sterile forceps, placing it on the small portable workstation, “If you’re uncomfortable with that I can use the suction device too,” he answers nonchalantly. You watch breathlessly as he pulls on his black rubber gloves and finally turns to you. He raises an eyebrow. “Why’s your top still on?”
“I—I just wasn’t aware nipple play was involved.”
“You do realize where you’re gettin’ pierced right?” his lips twitch up. “You’re not drunk, are you sweetheart?”
“Very funny,” you answer, mimicking his tone from before. “But anyway, okay, I guess I’m just a bit nervous.”
“Understandable,” you point towards the endless draws. “Want me to get the suction device?”
“God, no,” you let out a low chuckle. “Your fingers are just fine.”
“Never had any complaints before.”
Your stomach jumps, arousal caressing your skin similar to a summer breeze. The darkness in his eyes is back, his gaze intense and nerve-wracking.
“Will it hurt?” you mumble.
“I ain’t gonna lie so yeah, it will.”
“How much?”
“Depends, really.”
Your shoulders drop.
“Mine didn’t hurt that bad, to be honest, but my pain tolerance is quite high,” he mutters to himself rather than to you. He follows up with another sentence, probably something to soothe your worry but your brain is locked on to something very specific he just said.
“You have nipple piercings?” you ask incredulously. “Really?”
“I do, though it was more of a bet kind of situation. My brother loooves causing me trouble,” he sighs and crosses his arms over the expanse of his chest. “But joke’s on him because I liked how they looked so I kept them.”
“Can. . . Can I see?”
“You gonna be a good girl and keep still when I pierce you?” Joel teases. You nod furiously, lips pressed tightly together. “A’right then.” He curls his fingers into the hem of his shirt and lifts it. Your eyes are glued to his chest—his entire torso. You see the way a soft trail of draw hair starts from his bellybutton and disappears under his jeans, you see the soft swell of his stomach, the muscle—your eyes move up, you finally see his nipples, pierced, just like he said, with silver barbells. You lean closer, your ass at the very edge of the piercing bed.
Joel suddenly drops his shirt, hiding away, he shrugs, “Nothin’ fancy, but still, I like’em,” saying that, he takes a seat on his chair and sways a bit thanks to the wheels underneath.
“Do—” you lick the back of your teeth. “Do they make it more sensitive?”
His smirk makes your heart skip a beat, “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he points to your shirt. “Now off.”
Without a word, you peel off your shirt and unhook your bra. Joel’s eyes widen momentarily, his breath hitching at the sight of your bare torso. You’re confused for a moment. Surely, in his line of work, he’s seen many tits before—
Then you realize he’s staring at your tattoos.
You don’t have many, though you guess compared to others you do have many. Joel’s gaze lingers on your chest piece, two hands reaching towards each other with the sun and moon in between, decorating the dip between your breasts without going too deep. The blood rush of your body fills your ears, and your lips part with a gasp, his eyes instantly snap to your lips. You see the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.
“Didn’t know you were tattooed, darlin’.”
“You like tattoos?” you ask, your voice hoarse and barely there. “I have more on my back.”
You swear his pupils dilate, “I’d love to see them after. If you’ll let me.”
“Sure,” you answer with a weak smile. “I don’t see a reason not to.”
He wheels closer, eyes dropping to your breasts. You look away. Your cheeks feel unreasonably warm despite the air conditioning running. Goosebumps blossom over every patch of skin. His mouth is too close, the warmth of his breath fans your chest, a pleasant tingle echoing over your breasts.
You’ve always felt a bit awkward about your nipples. They always seemed silly compared to your breast size, especially when you started seeing other nipples.
“I’m gonna touch you now,” he says softly, dragging you away from your thoughts. “I’m gonna massage it a bit to work it out, a’right?”
You nod and hold your breath simultaneously. He does your right nipple first. Just like he said, he massages the flesh closest to your nipple, easing it out. It feels good, undeniably so. The pads of his fingers work delicately. Deep down you wish he didn’t have to wear the gloves. Your body aches for his heat, his bare touch on your naked skin. Joel pinches a bit hard and you flinch, he mumbles an apology. You don’t have it in you to tell him that it didn’t actually hurt, rather, it felt good.
Soft whimpers threaten to escape your lips so you bite into the bottom one, hard. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to regulate your breathing with deep inhales. His thumb swipes over your, now hard, nipple. “There we go,” he says.
You don’t open your eyes. Pain blossoms from the flesh of your lips, you feel them starting to swell.
“Hey,” Joel’s hand cups the side of your face, then you feel his thumb easing out your lips from between your teeth. “You’re gonna hurt yourself like that. Are you okay?”
How are you supposed to tell him that you’re just turned on? That this has been the most action you’ve had in months?
“I’m okay,” you answer. His brows furrow in disbelief and you can’t really blame him. You let out a long sigh. “I’m fine, I promise. I just got a little worked up.”
“Worked up?” His smile is back and in response, you want to bury your head in the sand. “What d’you mean?”
His hand slides to your waist, squeezing it gently. You stick your bottom lip out. “You know what I mean.”
“Hmmm, maybe,” his voice drips with cruel teasing, his thumb begins to draw lazy circles around your skin. You think he’s going to say something else but his gaze once again drops to your chest. “Looks like it disappeared, gonna need to work it out again.”
You expect his fingers—maybe for him to pinch a bit harder this time.
What you don’t expect, however, is his burning mouth on your cold skin.
“Oh, fuck—” you gasp, your body instinctively arching towards him. He groans as a response, taking more of you into his mouth. His tongue flicks your peaked nipple. You feel his teeth nipping the tender flesh and you gasp once more, a sharp moan rattling in your throat.
His eyes look up at you, momentarily he parts away, his lips are swollen, spit glistening at his lips, “This okay?”
“Yes.”
And he continues to devour you.
Your fingers bite into the leather bed, he laps at the pebbled flesh, purposefully rubs the tongue piercing into it. The sudden hardness of metal makes you jump and then melt into it, he repeats the movement of his tongue again and again, swirling it until your thighs start to shake. His hands briefly move to your tattoo, thick fingers dancing along the ink.
“So sensitive,” he murmurs, directing his attention to your other nipple. He flicks at it first then closes his lips around it. Your underwear is sticky with slick, your legs in constant motion to relieve some of the tension from your throbbing clit. He cups your mound, presses his fingers into your clothed slit. “Be patient, I’m gettin’ there.” He sucks on your nipple and teases the other with his fingers, pinching and pulling them.
“Won’t be able to do this when we pierce them,” he growls, teeth sinking into your nipple, he flicks his tongue over it. “And you better not let anyone else touch’em too.”
Your head falls back with a groan. He flicks his tongue again when you grind into his palm, the friction not enough to quench your need for him. You grip his shoulder, urging him to move back. He does. You immediately feel guilty at the worry crossing his eyes.
You grip his shirt, slightly sliding it up his stomach, “Can I see how sensitive you are?”
A brush of color spreads from his neck to his cheeks. You smile. Red looks good on him.
He stands up, the chair wheeling away. Joel is quick to discard his shirt and you’re glad that the piercing bed makes it so that you’re in perfect tasting range. You spread your legs wider as he comes closer, taking his place between them. His skin touches your own, his warmth overwhelming yet welcomed.
You kiss his neck first. Then his collar bone, you suck on his skin, teasing the sensitive flesh with your teeth. He shudders. Slowly you make your way down, your thumbs push at the pierced nipples and he moans behind gritted teeth. Smiling sweetly at him, you swirl your tongue around one, playing with the other. Your tongue moves over the bead of the piercing, you tilt it which in return twists the nipple. Another tremble overwhelms him, his body curling around you even further. The outline of his cock is prominent through his jeans, his body impulsively grinding against your stomach. You moan at the hardness, and he moans at the pressure.
“Fuck, that’s nice,” he rasps, hips jerking. “But let’s take care of you now, I bet your panties are soaked, darlin’.”
Fuck, it is.
Joel drags his lips down your cheek, he kisses your neck slowly, the metal on his tongue forcing a shudder up your spine and making you curious about how it’ll feel on your cunt.
“Want to eat you out from behind, sweetheart, wanna see those tattoos.”
His hands are a constant on your skin as you hop off the bed and bend over, he helps you with your jeans, reaching around and unbuttoning it for you. The fabric suddenly feels too tight on your skin and you need to get rid of it—now.
The harsh fabric pools at your ankles and you kick them away. His fingers play with the elastic of your underwear, pulling and twisting. The heft of him rubs between the crease, thick cock straining against his zipper. You expect him to take off his jeans too. Your piercer is full of surprises, though, and instead of doing the predictable thing, he continues to roll his hips whilst tracing the pads of his fingers over tattoos.
“Fuck, they’re beautiful, sweetheart,” he mumbles. His touch is ticklish, yet arousing at the same time. More slick gathers at the fabric. You’re desperate for his touch. By the movement of his fingers you guess which of them he’s stroking. First, it’s the fox that stretches over your spine, beams of sun framing its face. Then it’s the smoke-like lines that are closer to your shoulder and the other one near your hip. Joel can’t seem to get enough of it. His palms are flat against inky skin, trying to feel the thought of you while you got them.
You gasp at the touch of soft lips and soft tongue. He licks a slow line up your spine, tracing over the fox and sunlight. By pure instinct you bend over further, your breasts completely pressed against the leather. You’ve never been more glad to have tattoos in your goddamn life—he’s worshipping them, the figures that adorn your skin.
His velvet tongue is replaced by sharp teeth, your back arches, ass pressing further into his clothed cock. Joel trembles and follows your eager movements with another tender bite.
“I love them,” he mouths over the inky smoke near your shoulder. “I love feeling you, touching you. I could just do this for hours. You feel amazin’ against my skin, my sweet little rabbit.”
This time you don’t laugh at the absurd nickname. His name drips from your damp lips like honey, sweet to say and sticking to your tongue.
His hand dips between your legs and his mouth moves down to your ass, he kisses the plump flesh as two fingers stroke you from over the fabric of your underwear. His groan reverberates on your skin, teeth skimming the flesh, “Fuck, you actually are soaked,” Joel hums and slips them under, gathering you around his fingers. “All this for me?”
“Yes,” you gasp, raising your hips. “P-Please—”
Joel shushes you, “I know, sweetheart, I know,” he gets down to his knees and as he does, a small grunt leaves his lips.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
“Just fine,” he kisses your pussy and you’re instantly melting towards his mouth, a groan ripping from your throat. “A sacrifice I’m willin’ to make.”
Joel doesn’t give you the chance to reply or offer to change positions, he slides your panties to the side, licking into you hungrily. You shudder and your upper body jolts, forming the perfect arch. He presses deeper. Licking and teasing your clit with the tip. He cups both sides of your ass and gives them a gentle smack. Your eyes roll at the mild pain, your slick coating his lips, tongue, and chin. The rough hairs of his beard chafe your skin, only adding to the pleasure.
“Taste so good, beautiful,” Smack. “Gonna fuckin’ ruin you, make you come until there’s a goddamn puddle on the floor.”
“Oh god—” you choke on air, a moan locking in your throat the same time you’re trying to gasp for air. His words and the swirl of his tongue are downright sinful. He flattens his tongue and parts your folds with the soft muscle, teasing your entrance.
Joel pulls you back against him, his lips teaching your clit, your jaw drops, a jolt of pleasure rushing through you and tightening your nipples. It’s filthy, that’s all you can think. If someone walked through those doors right this instant, they would see his face between your cheeks, drinking from you like a man dying of thirst.
Your head drops, mouth flooding with saliva, you roll your hips; begging, asking for more. He gives it to you. Two thick fingers slide into you with ease, his mouth leaving wet open-mouthed kisses on your ass.
“Gonna come for me?” he asks, voice full of gravel. “Come on, give it to me, let me see how your pussy throbs, sweetheart.”
He curls his fingers and you imagine him smirking as he breaks you apart. You cry out his name, your entire body shuddering as if lightning struck it, “That’s it, that’s it, that’s it. . .” He continues to thrust his fingers in and out, you feel yourself dripping, imagine yourself making a puddle just like he asked for. “Give it to me, honey. You’re fuckin’ beautiful, look at you. . .”
Joel spreads you with his fingers and delves back into you, he draws circles around your clit, his jaw constantly moving with every lick. He doesn’t stop until he’s coaxing another orgasm out of you—your head fills with bliss, your body lifeless.
When he’s done feasting, he slowly gets up with his hands sliding to your back. He leans down to pepper more kisses onto your tattoos, your skin tingling and singing at the contact.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, lips sucking at your neck. “Then let’s get those pretty nipples pierced.”
“W—What about you?” you ask breathlessly.
Joel helps you sit back up on the bed, you part your legs so he can come closer, he accepts the invitation with a wide smile, “I have a feelin’ we’ll be seein’ more of each other, sweetheart. You can make it up to me then.”
Your heart skips a beat and your lips part.
You have a strong feeling that he’s right.
With gloved hands, Joel carefully opens a sterile needle package. You watch with rapt attention as he takes out the fresh needle, inspecting it. Your body is still thrumming with pleasure, your head still swimming in a daze. All you can hear is his breathing.
He had already walked you through everything while preparing for the procedure. No touching, no swimming. You had to clean them softly in the shower and that was meant to be the only source of water your nipples touch for a while. If there was any irritation or marks, you were to reach out immediately.
Honestly, you found it cute that he’d gotten so serious all of a sudden. It was nice to see him so professional too, so competent.
He comes closer and your body seizes. You hold your breath. With a sudden need to distract yourself, your eyes linger on to the walls. Your brows furrow in surprise when you notice the tattoo designs. You thought this was only a piercing shop.
“You do tattoos too?” you ask nervously.
“My brother does,” he answers. “He works the tattoo side of the business and I do the piercings.”
“It’s nice that it’s in the family. . .”
“Sweetheart, I know what you’re doin’. You’ll be fine I promise.”
“Okay. I trust you mister man-I-just-met.”
He grins, “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it ten minutes ago.”
“Touché.”
Joel prompts you to lay on the piercing table, he approaches you with a reassuring smile on his face. You can feel your heart racing as you nervously anticipate the pain of getting your nipples pierced, you imagine the worst, your heart beating in tune with your fear.
He carefully cleans the area around your nipples and marks the spot where the piercing will go. He double-checks the placement with you to ensure you're happy with it. You give a slight nod, still feeling a bit apprehensive.
“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs. “It’ll only hurt for a second.”
With steady hands, Joel takes the needle. You feel a sharp pinch as it punctures through your skin, but the pain dissipates quickly. You let out a small whimper, “It’s okay, it’s okay, just a bit more,” he comforts you and you nod with a long exhale.
After the needle is through, he quickly follows it with the jewelry, securing it in place. You watch in awe as he attaches the beautiful barbells to your nipples, the adrenaline and endorphins making the pain feel less than it is.
Once the piercings are in place, Joel gently cleans the blood before you can get a look.
“Aaand done, tell me what you think.”
You’re surprised that he has a mirror in hand when you sit back up. Your gaze finds your reflection and an instant smile spreads across your face.
“You like’em?” he asks, his tone shy.
“Like them?” you gasp. “I love them! Thank you!”
“Oh that’s a relief,” he leans back into the chair, slightly rolling away with a relieved smile. “No matter how many times I do it, I still get nervous.”
“I definitely love them,” you say, you get up to wear your shirt but end up wincing at the sharp pain. You look at Joel between squinted eyes. “When did you say the pain would stop again?”
“It’s gonna take a while,” he answers with a sympathetic smile. “You don’t know how much your nipples touch stuff until you get’em pierced.”
“Well, at least they look good.”
He shoots you a wink, “They sure do, little rabbit.”
“That nickname is still ridiculous.”
“Should I remind you that the last time I used it you came on my tongue?”
“Nope no reminder needed,” you put your shirt back on, smiling. “I’m still going through the aftershocks.”
“Good,” he stands with you, hands on your waist, he pulls you as close as he can without your nipples touching his chest. “So, you wanna go out?” Joel’s gaze drops to your chest and he licks his lips, “Gotta make sure you’re takin’ care of them properly.”
“My hero.”
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller smut#joel miller au#joel miller fanfic#tlou fanfic#the last of us fanfic#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfic#scheduled post
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Quality Time - head canon drabbles
Yandere! Forced Marriage x Fem! Reader
Ft: Scaramouche and Childe
How your yanderes spend time with you
Scaramouche
“Wrong again,” he muttered beneath his breath, and you felt yourself tense at his anger.
“I apologize, my lord,” you responded quickly. It was like second nature for you. He never truly accepted your apologies, but it made your punishments less harsh.
He insisted that once a week he'd spend time with you. Although, the time was never doing what you liked. He wanted you to learn more skills that would make you seem sophisticated, things he said were skills he learned himself. Tea ceremonies, kimono dressing, and his personal favorite, calligraphy.
Scaramouche would sit you in his lap, with a low table in front of you. You thought it was some sort of perverted ploy to touch you more, but he genuinely seemed more interested in the writing. Or interested in you learning to do it.
“Don't apologize, just do better,” he lifted your wrist that had the brush in it and pulled the sleeve of your kimono back, there was a little black ink on the expensive fabric. His fingers were cold, his grip not tight, but threatening, “I've told you, you must use your other hand to hold the sleeve, or it'll drag through the ink.” his eyebrows were furrowed together in frustration as he looked over the garment you'd practically ruined.
“Be glad I love you so much, or I'd keep you in solitary confinement for your repeated mistakes,”
“Thank you, my lord.”
He motioned for you to do it again and you mimicked his motions with your own hand and drew out a character on the parchment. It was borderline ineligible, but it was better than anything you'd done before. He hummed in agreement at your work, wrapping one his arms tighter around your waist.
His other hand reached up to gently pat your head. He called it praise, but you considered it condescending. Despite the fact that you hated it, he did it regardless, your opinions didn't seem to matter to him.
“You did good,” the brush was taken from your hand and he repeated the action, only this time it was more graceful and elegant, “it should look more like this though.”
He kept his hold on you as you continued to write characters for him deep into the night.
Childe
“My my, do those clothes truly suit you,” he could barely keep his hands off of you as the two of you trudged through the snow together.
You rarely went outside when staying in Snezhnaya, you rarely wanted to. But when you did, you were bundled up in thick, heavy garments to combat the cold. More than six layers at that. You wondered what part of you he thought looked good? There wasn't much of you to see anymore, the clothes had eaten you whole.
Childe insisted on taking you hunting with him. You politely declined, but once again, he insisted, and that was just him being polite. What he was really saying was, “Put your boots on, you're coming out with me.”
You were handed your gun, nearly dropping it from the surprise that he was just handing it to you. Amongst all the talking about how to spy tracks and what to do when you had an animal in your sights, the fact that he'd given you a gun never came up. You'd never held one before and also, Childe was your captor. Was he crazy? Stupid? Bulletproof? All of those things sounded plausible.
He walked in front of you as you fell behind. He was more used to this type of thing, snow up to your knees, but you were struggling. Where you were from, it didn't even get cold.
The gun felt heavy in your hands. You wanted to hold it away from your body, but you also wanted to keep it close to you. Childe was just there, walking and talking without a care in the world. And you were behind him. His guard was down, his guard always seemed to be down around you. You could just do it, couldn't you.
You raised the rifle up and held your breath. One thing he actually said and you listened to, was that you needed to be stable when you were shooting. You needed to be firm. Your heart was pumping in your chest, but you didn't let your hands shake. You didn't want to mess this up.
“There are pellets in your gun,” he'd stopped in his tracks, not even trying to look at you while he spoke, “and those definitely do not work on me.”
#genshin#genshin x reader#yandere genshin#yandere genshin x reader#yandere x reader#yandere genshin impact#yandere x you#yandere childe#yandere childe x reader#yandere scaramouche x reader#yandere scaramouche#scaramouche x you
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underneath kitchen lights — james potter x reader
summary — james has a crush on you, lily’s shy and unbelievably sweet coworker. you nurse a crush of your own. (based on all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine!)
or .. you got a slurpee for free, I caught you looking at me, in the 7/11 under fluorescent lights. I spilled mac and cheese on my pants, and thought about kissing you underneath kitchen lights!
contains — shy!fem!reader, florist!reader, strangers-ish to friends to lovers, rugby player!james, modern au, flirting, mutual pining, fluff, james being a total sweetheart, sirius being a twat and a good friend, wolfstar because I couldn’t resist, kissing, lovesick!james, idiots in love tbh, and ummm lots of references to all my ghosts!!
notes — um I am very nervous to post this. but also please don’t let it flop.
fem!reader 8k words
James has an embarrassingly big crush on you. For someone he’s only met twice now, you’re very good at getting stuck in his head. It’s hardly his fault — you’re lovely. You always smell like flowers (which is kind of a given, he supposes. You work with Lily at Harriet’s, the florist’s down the road). You’re very pretty. You’re quiet and a bit shy but you’ve spoken enough that James at least knows you’re polite and friendly.
He’s talked to you a grand total of one time. You’d exchanged a few words and James had been very very quick to fall in love with everything about you. Your hands as you wrung them in front of you — a shy tell, he’d guessed. Your voice, pretty and soft, and how it’d sounded when you said his name. The way you dressed, your hair, the quirk in your mouth when he’d made a joke, the hitch in your breath when he’d shook your hand. He was a goner the second he’d met you.
“Prongs,” drawls Sirius, followed by a hard punch in the bicep. “You know you’re not as subtle as you think.”
James scowls in the general direction of Sirius’ voice. He’d been staring at you, he’s sorry to admit. You’re talking to Lily and you’re smiling about something she’s said and you just look so pretty.
He badly wants to talk to you properly, he has ever since the first time Lily bought you around to a party like this one, but he’s scared of embarrassing himself. He’s not exactly the best flirter when it comes to girls he actually likes. His tongue gets all tied and he can’t say two words without ultimately embarrassing himself. He’s not as much of a charmer as everyone thinks he is. He’s also scared you won’t like him, but he won’t get into that.
“Shut up,” he advises Sirius, rubbing his sore arm. “I don’t even know what you’re on about.”
Sirius, sprawled on the couch next to James, rolls his eyes and snorts. “Yeah, okay,” he says, all sarcasm. “S’not like you’re burning holes into Y/N’s face or anything.”
For a split second James panics. He whirls around to look at you so fast he almost snaps his neck in half. Have you heard Sirius? Do you think James is a total creep now? No — you’re still engrossed in your conversation with Lily. James breathes a sigh of relief but it’s cut short when he realises Sirius is laughing at him.
“Mate,” he guffaws. “You’re hopeless.”
It’s James’ turn to roll his eyes. “Thanks a lot,” he says dryly.
Sirius grins with all his stupidly perfect teeth. “Y’welcome.”
James sighs and scrubs a heavy hand down his face. Maybe he is as hopeless as Sirius thinks. He’s certainly feeling quite hopeless right now. With you across the room and him sitting here unable to make himself get up and talk to you. As subtle as he can he twists to look over the back of the couch again to see what you’re doing. He’s just in time to see you disappearing into the kitchen by yourself, Lily now talking with the other girls by the ranch slider.
His heart rate spikes. This is his chance.
James is getting to his feet before he knows what he’s doing. He dodges another hearty punch from Sirius, pretends not to hear Lily when she asks him where he’s going, and follows you into the kitchen on clumsy feet like a puppy on a leash.
He stumbles into Lily’s kitchen and there you are. Standing with your head in the fridge, the bright white lights cast over your skin. And there’s a lot of skin to look at. Your shoulders, your upper back. There’s a beauty spot on your back, just next to your shoulder blade. Your dress floats just above the halfway point of your thighs. You’ve got really nice legs. James snaps his eyes back up to your head before he can feel too guilty and clears his throat.
You start and then whirl around, eyes wide as saucers, one hand curled around the fridge door.
“Oh,” you say, breathless. “James. You scared me.”
James is so busy melting over the way you say his name that he almost forgets to speak. “Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to.”
You shake your head and your big dangly earrings jingle like bells. “No, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry.”
You smile all soft and pretty and James really thinks he might pass out. He steps forward and leans against the kitchen island as casually as he can, when really he’s using it for support lest he keel over.
You’re looking at him like you’re expecting him to say something. He clears his throat again.
“Um,” he starts lamely. He braves through. “I, um— you look really nice tonight. I wanted to tell you earlier but Lily’s been stuck to you like a leech since you got here.”
You blink at him and James worries he’s said the wrong thing. Maybe this was the worst idea he’s ever had. And he’s had a lot of bad ideas. But then you beam.
“Oh,” you say, shocked like you can’t quite believe it. Which should be impossible, really, James thinks. You’re beautiful. It’s hard not to believe it. “Thank you, James.”
James smiles back. Your shyness at being complimented only fuels him. “You’re welcome. Just don’t tell Lily I called her a leech.” At this, you giggle, and James stammers through his next words, dazed from your laugh. “So, uh— are you looking for a drink?”
He gestures to the fridge, which you seem to have forgotten about, the door hanging wide open under your grip.
“What? Oh,” you say sheepishly, and suddenly you’re embarrassed and staring at your shoes. “No, I’m…” You lift your head and blink at him under your lashes. “Promise you won’t laugh at me?”
James is perplexed, but he’s not gonna laugh at you if you don’t want him to. He licks his dry lips. “Yeah, I promise.”
You smile, then dip your head towards him like you’re sharing secrets. “I was cooling off,” you admit, sheepish. “It got too hot in the living room and Lily’s patio has mosquitos.” You hardly give him time to reply before you’re cringing, saying, “It’s weird, right?” Like you know he’s gonna think it’s strange.
He doesn’t think it’s strange. Well, maybe a little. But he’s been found in worse positions at parties. You look so embarrassed about it James is almost sorry he asked. Almost, because embarrassed you is adorable. You lean back and scrub your neck awkwardly, bracelets clanking on your wrist.
“No, I know,” he groans sympathetically, nodding vehemently. “Lily really needs a mosquito net or something, so we can open the damn door without getting eaten alive. Can I join you?”
You look baffled for a moment, and then shy all over again.
“You want to join me while I stick my head in the fridge?” You ask, an amusement to your tone that James adores.
James shrugs. “Why not?”
You smile outright then. “Okay,” you say, stepping aside so there’s more room in front of the fridge for him. “C’mon, then.”
James practically skips over to you. The moment he steps into your space he can smell your lovely scent. Flowery and sweet, something floral like hyacinth mixed with something sweet like honey. It’s intoxicating. He feels like he could drown in it. But there’s no time for drowning, not when your hand wraps around his elbow and pulls him into your side, your feet shuffling to accommodate him.
“Move closer,” you urge shyly. “You gotta get the full experience.”
James moves closer. So close his arm brushes yours and he could hold your hand if he wanted to. He very much wants to. He imagines your skin is as soft as it looks.
The coldness of the refrigerator washes over him and it’s actually really nice. Even though he can be a total party animal sometimes, he understands why you would be here instead of in there. It’s quiet in here. Nice and cool. No lingering scent of heavy wine. No Sirius to tease him and no Marlene to badger him with questions about his love life.
“This is nice,” he says quietly, over the gentle buzz of the fridge.
You giggle softly. James thinks he’d like to make you laugh a million times over. “Isn’t it?”
“Mm,” James hums. “I should do this at parties more often.”
You laugh again, delighted at his joking. “You should. Then I wouldn’t be so lonely when I escape to the kitchen.”
James laughs too. He can’t quite believe his luck right now, squished in front of Lily’s refrigerator with you, elbow to elbow, the rest of his friends and the party long forgotten.
“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” he says, smiling big.
The next time James sees you, it doesn’t go quite as well as previously. To put it simply, it’s a disaster.
First of all, he’s late. Remus and Sirius are having a housewarming party at their new place and he’s had training all day so he’d forgotten all about it. It’s not until 9:30, an hour after the party was supposed to start, that he’s climbing in his car after training and his phone buzzes.
He picks it up, exhausted, expecting one of his teammates. Instead it’s a string of messages from Remus.
You’re late James!!!!
We started without u. Where r u????
Sirius is gonna wring ur neck
James scrolls through the messages with a mixture of confusion and dread. Confusion because at first he has absolutely no idea what Remus is talking about. Dread when he realises.
He speeds all the way home, showers at lightning speed, pulls on a rumpled shirt and a pair of jeans that he’s sure aren’t clean, and he’s out the door within ten minutes of getting home. Still, by the time he gets to Sirius and Remus’ place it’s almost 10. His hair looks a mess but it’ll have to do. He doesn’t even think about the fact that you could possibly be there. That is, until he’s finished apologising profusely to his friends and Sirius mentions you. James perks up from where he’d been slumping on the couch, feeling exhausted and sorry for himself.
“What?” He asks, too loud. He tries to tamp it down but honestly, it doesn’t really work. He’s still buzzing with nervous energy when he asks, “Is she here?”
Sirius grins, looking uncharacteristically cat-like. “Uh— yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. His stupid grin only grows and James thinks he’d quite like to punch his teeth out. “She came with Lily. Moons thought we should invite her. She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she?”
James knows he’s teasing but can’t quite bring himself to care — the prospect of seeing you has demolished all other feelings of pathetic-ness. He leaps off the couch and makes his way to the kitchen, guessing that’s where you’ll be, a barely touched drink in his hand and Sirius’ teasing following him all the way. He’s so busy fixing his shirt before he sees you that he doesn’t see you. He walks right into you on the threshold of the kitchen.
“James!” You gasp, stopping short.
James’ drink, to his horror, has spilt all down your front. His glass, previously full, is now half empty, the rest of it splattered all over your white top.
You barely have time to be surprised before he’s apologising.
“Shit,” he curses, mind blanking. His hands go to fix the damage before he realises he probably shouldn’t touch your chest, where his drink is now seeping into your top and showing no signs of stopping. He pulls his hands back lamely. “Shit, I’m so sorry, Y/N. Oh gosh. I’m so dumb, I—“
Your rush to forgive him is almost as quick as his apology. “No!” You shake your head and it’s awfully cute despite the situation. “No, it’s okay, James. I should’ve been watching where I was going.”
James grimaces. He tries not to look at the dark red stain that looks like blood on your white blouse. It is quite possibly the worst thing he could’ve spilt on you.
“It’s okay,” you say again, softer, reassuring, probably clocking the pathetic look on his face.
“Don’t, angel,” James says, shaking his head. “S’my fault.” He grabs your elbow gently and starts to pull you out to the living room, seeking Remus, who he knows will have a spare t-shirt that’s at least clean. “C’mon, I’ll find you something else to wear.”
“Wait, James. Wait.” You plant your feet in the doorway of the kitchen and James stops walking. He looks back at you, feeling guilty, hopeless, confused, and a bit endeared by you still, all at once.
“What?” He asks as gently as he can when he’s feeling like such a loser.
“I don’t wanna cause any trouble,” you say, biting down on your bottom lip so hard James is sure it hurts. You’re shy, he remembers. Quiet and polite. You probably don’t like people making a fuss over you, even though you should really. You’re pretty enough that people should be making a fuss over you all the time. “I think I’ll just go home, s’only a ten minute walk. I was going to leave soon, anyway.”
James frowns. “I can’t let you do that,” he says, shaking his head. He also can’t let you feel uncomfortable. He conjures a compromise. “Look, how about you wait here while I go ask Remus for a spare shirt? And then I’ll walk you home to make it up to you.”
He knows walking you home isn’t near enough to make up for ruining your top. But it’s the best he can do right now.
“But you just got here, didn’t you?” you say, frowning yourself.
James shrugs. That’s hardly a problem for him. “Don’t worry. I see those two asshats every day of my life, sweetheart.”
You still look unsure but James isn’t changing his mind. He’s going to walk you home if it’s the last thing he does. But first, something for you to change into. He leaves you in the kitchen and finds Remus, whom he asks for a shirt, to which Remus says, “What’s that for?” too loudly.
James explains what happened dejectedly. He’s not exactly surprised when Sirius laughs at him for it.
It’s a quiet walk to your place. You live close, which is both good and bad. Good because it means every time James is at Remus and Sirius’s, he’ll know you’re only ten minutes away. Bad … well, for the same reason.
James tries his best to fill the silence with easy conversation. It’s not hard, especially when you’re so sweet and kind and answer his questions so pleasantly. You’re easy to talk to. You don’t laugh at him when he slips on his words. You don’t make him wait for answers. You ask him questions, too, timid as you are about it.
James finds he enjoys your company even more than he was expecting. You’re like a breath of fresh air. You’ve got the radiance of an early spring morning and the softness to go with it.
It’s safe to say he’s disappointed when you come to a stop in front of your place.
“This is me,” you say, fishing your keys out of your purse. You’re in one of Remus’ band tees and James thinks you look much better than Remus does in it. As much as he loves Remus. He realises he’s staring too late, his eyes following you as you walk up your front steps.
You unlock your door and then look back at him, timid.
“Did you want to come in?” You ask, sweet in your shyness.
James would very much like to come in. He also thinks he might fall on his face if he spends much more time with you. He’s already dizzy on his feet and he’s been with you all of fifteen minutes.
“No, no, that’s okay,” he says as kindly as he can. “I should probably get back, or Sirius’ll have my head.” At least he knows where you live now. In a totally not creepy way.
He steps forward to take your wrist in his hand, his thumb pressing into your pulse point. He can feel your heartbeat. It’s not quite as fast as his feels but pretty close.
“I’m really really sorry about your top,” he tells you. He spreads his fingers over your forearm, your skin warm as late summer under his touch. “Can I do anything to make up for it? Buy you a new one?”
He wasn’t joking, but you giggle, your face lighting up, your eyes crinkling at the corners. James feels something akin to a mad swarm of butterflies in his ribcage.
“No, James,” you laugh, breathless and lilting. Your free hand lands on his forearm and his skin burns under your touch. “It’s okay, really.”
“Okay,” James breathes. His head spins as you squeeze his arm. Your skin is impossibly soft. You smell so nice. “But, seriously, let me know if there’s anything I can do. It was such a nice top, it looked lovely on you.”
You flush like James knew you would. He’s slowly discovering he likes making you flustered more than he’ll admit.
“Thanks, James,” you say, and James imagines if he touched your face you’d be burning. “But, really, it’s okay. I’ll see you around?”
“Yeah. See you around, angel.”
It’s only after you close the door and James is at the bottom of the steps that he realises he should’ve asked for your number. He really is as hopeless as Sirius says.
-
James Potter is on your mind most of the time. You can’t help it. You’re not above admitting you have a crush on him. You are above admitting how big said crush is.
He’s really one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. Sure, you don’t meet a lot of people. But you’re sure if you did he’d still be one of the best. He’s kind, he’s funny, he’s unbelievably charming. He’s a bit awkward sometimes and you like that, it makes you feel better about your own social ineptitude.
It also helps that he’s very very handsome. You would look at him all day if you could. He’s all dark, velvety skin, inky curls that you’ve imagined weaving your fingers through more times than you can count. Deep brown eyes turned bright with his ever-present smile. Thick eyelashes, a lovely sloping nose, a quirk to his mouth that you think you could get drunk on. He dresses well, too, though you’re sure he’d look just as good in a hoodie and sweatpants. Or nothing at all. You’d squashed that thought before it could go any further.
You don’t even mind that he spilled wine all over your nicest top. Sure, the stain is never gonna come out. It’s sitting in your closet, ruined. Embarrassing as it is, you smile every time you see it. James had made up for it tenfold anyway, walking you home and telling you he was sorry about a hundred times. It would be hard to not forgive him.
“Y/N?”
There’s a call of your name from the office door. You’re in here on your lunch break, not really eating more than you are thinking about James. Margaret, the older lady who owns Harriet’s but only comes in Thursdays and Tuesdays, is poking her head through the door.
“Hi, dear,” she says. “Sorry to disturb you, but there’s a customer out here asking for you? I can tell him to come back later, if you’d like, but he seems quite insistent.”
He. Of course, your mind flies straight to James. Which is ridiculous, you know, but it was already parked and idle at James, anyway.
“He’s asking for me?” You ask, perplexed. You don’t usually get personally requested by customers. And if it is James, you’re sure he’d ask for Lily instead.
“Yes, dear,” Margaret smiles, and she looks amused.
You get up because it’s your job, not because you’re hoping like hell it’s James. You put down your barely-eaten sandwich, brush past Margaret with a small ‘thank you’ and emerge into the shop.
There, standing at the counter, is James Potter.
“Y/N!” He says as soon as you emerge. He’s bouncy. Frazzled. You would even say excited. “Hi, lovely. I’m really sorry to barge in on you like this, were you on your break?”
“Oh, um, no. It just ended,” you lie. You still had a good ten minutes left. Not that you’re gonna tell him that.
James’ smile makes the lie worth it. “Perfect. ‘Cos I need your help.”
You think you physically perk up. Like a cat when it smells food is near. You hope he doesn’t notice.
“Okay,” you smile. You’re happy to help if it’s James you’re helping. “With that?”
James explains that he needs a bouquet, your best work, better than a boring one you can get at the grocery store because he really really needs this person he’s giving it to to like it. Your smile fades at this. At the fact that he’s getting flowers for someone else. He won’t tell you who this someone else is. He also won’t tell you why he’s giving it to them. You’re sorry to assume it’s a girl he likes. Possibly Lily? Maybe that’s why he asked for you and not her. You wouldn’t be surprised, they’re close and she’s gorgeous.
Of course, you help him anyway. You recommend flowers that last the longest, colours that go together, which ones smell the best. He’s asks you what your favourites are and ends up going with those, saying he trusts your judgment.
You have to admit it’s all very endearing. And you have so much fun helping him that by the time he leaves, arms full of a huge bouquet made up of all your picks of flowers, you’re beaming. Despite the daunting fact that he’s walking out of your shop with a bouquet for someone else.
Margaret appears once he’s gone. She’s got this big smile on her face that you can’t quite make sense of.
“He’s a handsome one,” she muses. “Is he your boyfriend?”
Your cheeks go redder than the roses on the shelf behind you.
Much later, you’re in the comfort of your small home, a bowl of steaming hot mac and cheese in your lap while the TV drones on. It’s some sort of romantic comedy that you can’t say you’re very interested in. Despite the lead male being very attractive. You’re about to change programmes when there’s a knock on your door.
You start. Nobody ever comes over. You don’t have many friends, and the ones that you do have, you tend to go over to their places, rather than the other way around. You’re so busy worrying about who it is that you haven’t even stood up before there’s another knock.
You get up off the couch, mac and cheese forgotten on the coffee table. You give your outfit a once over. You’re in sleep shorts and a hoodie that’s too big for you. Not your best work, but it’ll have to do. You fix your hair with little to no care and then open the door.
It’s James. You gape. You definitely should’ve paid more attention to your hair.
“James,” you say.
He beams right back, seemingly unaware of your sleepy appearance. “Hi, sweetheart.”
You stare at him. He looks pretty as ever. It’s only just going on sunset, and the colourful sky casts streaks of orange and golden yellow over his pretty face. The last bits of sun tangle themselves into his curls and drown themselves in his eyes. He’s dressed casual, but he still manages to pull it off, like you’d thought. A hoodie and jeans, a pair of beat up converse. He’s hiding something behind his back and you think you hear cellophane crinkle when he moves.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he’s saying. He doesn’t have your number. But Lily does. Is it crazy to think he’s maybe asked her for it? “Is this a bad time?”
His kindness reminds you how to speak. “Uh— um, no. S’not a bad time, I just wasn’t expecting anyone. Are you— um, did you want to come in?”
You’re rambling, you know. He hasn’t even told you why he’s here and you’re asking him to come in.
James smiles kindly and it makes it all better. He’s good at that. At making you feel okay for being a bit of an awkward loser (your own words, not his, of course.)
“I’d love to come in,” he says, all smiles. “But first, I have something for you.” He pulls whatever he’s been hiding out from behind his back and offers it to you between your chest and his. “To say I’m sorry about your top.”
You blink. It’s a bouquet. It’s the bouquet. The one you’d helped him put together. The one that has all your favourite flowers and colours and smells because despite you thinking it was for someone else, you’d still wanted the best for James. You blink again.
“James,” you say, a little breathless, a lot speechless. “They’re for me?”
James laughs and you feel dizzy for a moment. He’s got a really nice laugh. “F’course there for you, sweetheart. Who else?”
He makes you take them from him, one of his hands guiding yours around the stalks. His skin is warm and sets yours on fire. You’re surprised the bouquet doesn’t go up in flames when you take it from him.
“I-I don’t know,” you stutter. “I thought …” you don’t finish your sentence. You’d thought they were for some other girl who’d caught his eye. You change tactics mid sentence, “They’re lovely, James.”
“I know they are, dove. You picked ‘em out.”
You giggle then. He’s the sweetest boy on the planet, you decide. He let you pick out your own flowers, and you didn’t even know it. You’ve never properly been given flowers before, despite working at a florist’s. It’s a new feeling. Like a star burning in your chest that doesn’t seem to want to go out. It hovers in you ribcage and stays there, buzzing madly.
“Thank you,” you say, lifting your eyes to his. You find he’s already gazing right back at you. There’s a rogue curl falling over his forehead that you’d love to push out of the way. “Really. I love them.”
James flashes you a boyish grin. “Good, ‘cos if you didn’t, I’d have to have a word with the girl who chose them.”
You’re still beaming when he comes inside. He follows you into the kitchen, where you find a vase for the flowers. You set about taking them out of their packaging, cutting the stalks and putting them gently in the glass vase filled with water.
James watches you and you can tell he’s trying to be nonchalant about it all, about being in your space, but his eyes scan your kitchen like it’s a map he’s trying to figure out. Your mismatched mugs on the counter. Your magnets and Polaroids and receipts on the fridge. Your overgrown plants on the windowsill.
You carry your flowers to your small living room and put them in the dead center of your coffee table. The bouquet is so big it would block most of your view of the TV if you sat on the couch. You hardly care. You’d rather look at them than the TV, anyway.
Setting the flowers down, you spot your half eaten mac and cheese and hope James doesn’t take you for a slob. You’re lucky he didn’t catch you on a Friday night. You’d be drowning in ice cream, probably.
“Are you hungry?” You ask him, half hoping he’ll say no, because who in their right mind asks their crush if they want macaroni and cheese? It’s so lame, but you can’t take it back now. “I have mac and cheese, but that’s about it, sorry.”
You cringe and wish you’d held your tongue, but James beams.
“I’d love some mac n’ cheese,” he says. “Unless it’s boxed, that shit tastes like cardboard.”
You get him some mac and cheese, glad you made it yourself, gladder you haven’t resorted to boxed food just yet. The two of you sit in the kitchen on your tall kitchen stools under your golden lights and eat. James is easier to be around than anyone you’ve ever met. He makes you feel special but not to the point where it’s too overwhelming. He’s kind and he’s golden, he acts like you’re the only person he ever wants to talk to.
Watching him eat in your home is more of a pleasure for you than you’d like to admit. He compliments your cooking. He says he likes the bowl he’s got, which is a white one with pink flowers all over it that you bought at a market ages ago. He gets a string of cheese dangling from his lip and makes a dorky face trying to get it into his mouth without using his fingers. You think you’d like to kiss him. His lips all puckered and eyes crossed as he attempts to scoop the cheese into his waiting mouth.
You’re so busy laughing at him that you don’t notice your own bowl balancing precariously on the edge of the counter. When you go back to take another spoonful, your hand knocks the bowl and it goes tumbling. Right into your lap.
“Shit,” you curse, gasping when a dollop of hot pasta lands half on your thigh and half on your shorts. The sauce spreads like wildfire over the fabric of your sleep shorts. Why do things keep spilling on your clothes when James is around? It’s becoming a theme. Your horror grows when the bowl clatters to the floor and while it doesn’t smash, it spills mac & cheese everywhere. “Oh, shit, that’s embarrassing. Um.”
You bend to clean up your mess but James beats you to it.
“Here, let me,” he says. He slides off his chair and is quick to start scooping up the ruined pasta.
“Sorry,” you stutter, standing helplessly as James cleans up your mess for you.
“Don’t be,” James shrugs and looks up at you, his cheeks dimpling as he smiles kindly. “Go change, I’ll sort this out.”
You feel an overwhelming rush of gratitude and affection for him that makes you want to kiss him stupid. You don’t. Instead you go down to your room and find something to change into. Seeing as he’s already seen you in your sleep shorts, you suppose your checkered flannel pyjama pants aren’t really much worse. Nothing can be more embarrassing than what’s just happened, you decide.
By the time you’ve changed (plus spent a lot of extra time staring at yourself in the mirror, practicing your smile), James has cleaned up the spill and is washing your bowls in the sink. You decide then and there that you like him a lot more than you’d initially thought.
You emerge into the kitchen on light footing. You feel like a magnet being drawn to him like this. It’s bizzare, how much you want to be around him, no matter how shy he makes you. It’s something you’ve never experienced before. A rip in the ocean calling your name. You know of the danger but you don’t really care. You ignore the signs because he’s James and you don’t think he has a mean bone in his body. The warning signs basically don’t exist.
“Thank you, James,” you say, standing on the threshold of the kitchen.
James flashes you a big smile, up to his arms in soap and suds, scrubbing away at a bowl. He looks like a house husband. It’s almost more than your heart can take. “That’s okay. Hey, nice pyjamas. Y’look good.”
You can tell by his tone he’s not teasing. He’s being genuine, which is somehow worse than if he’d been teasing. Your smile is so big it hurts.
-
James is gonna kiss you tonight. He’s sure of it.
So far, all of his advances have gone well. Perfect, even. Unless you count the drink-spilling incident, but if it hadn’t been for that he’d probably never have found the courage to get you alone again.
He’s taken you out to lunch once. He’s been into your work twice, not including the first time. He’s invited you to his rugby game tonight, to which you’d said yes more enthusiastically than he’d expected. It’s not exactly a date, per say. But he’d wanted to see you today and he had a game and his coach would blow his head off if he’d missed it for a girl. No matter how lovely said girl is.
He’s waxed poetic about you to Sirius and Remus more times than he can count. He’s yet to kiss you. Sirius thinks this is beyond absurd.
“So you haven’t even kissed her yet?” He asks, incredulous. He’s in his rugby kit, hair up in braids, chugging a Gatorade though the game hasn’t even started yet. “What’s the hold up, mate?”
James groans. Sirius is yet to understand that some people don’t like to jump into the deep end before they’re ready. “I don’t want to scare her off,” he explains, straightening up from where he’d been tying his laces.
“Oh yeah, you’re reaaally scary, Prongsie,” Sirius drawls, dripping in sarcasm. He rolls his eyes and then clasps James’ shoulder. He’s surprisingly and uncharacteristically genuine when he says, “Look, I think she likes you enough that kissing her won’t scare her off.”
James blinks and looks up at his friend. “You think she likes me?”
Sirius makes a face. “Are you kidding? What other girl would want to watch you eat shit in a field with a dozen other sweaty guys?”
And he’s back, James thinks. Trust Sirius to be a sweetheart one second and as asshole the next.
Soon enough James is out on the field and he wants to say his mind is on the game and not you but he’d be lying.
For the first five minutes he’s distracted trying to spot you in the stands. Then the next ten minutes are spent trying not to stare at you. You’re with Remus, whom James is hoping isn’t relaying anything he’s ever said to him about you.
You look as though, to James’ extreme delight, that you’ve dressed up for this. In a pretty dress and a jacket that borders on being so big on you it swallows you up. Sure, you’d still looked pretty drop-dead in your pyjamas the other night. But this is another level of gorgeous.
The first chance he gets he bounds over to you, ignoring his coaches instructions to ‘stay with the team’. Most of the team has scattered for half time, anyway. James makes a beeline for you.
“You came!” He shouts as soon as you’re in shouting distance.
You grin and wave at him, brilliant and dazzling and so damn pretty in the early evening sun. You’re not far up the stadium and James is grateful he doesn’t have to climb too many steps — though he’d definitely climb all the way to the top row to see you if he had to.
“Hi, James,” you say, looking happy as a clam to see him.
James beams back. He wonders vaguely if he looks as lovesick as he’s feeling. He can’t even bring himself to care if he does. He’s lucky Remus is nowhere to be seen — probably loving on Sirius somewhere.
“Hi, angel,” James says, smiling around his words, which come out all sticky-sounding and fond. “I’m so glad you came.”
You beam and rock on your heels, looking one part shy and two parts delighted, your hands clasped in front of you like you’re not sure what to do now.
“Can I give you a hug?” James asks. “I’m so happy to see you, I might explode if you say no.”
He’s joking, of course. Or maybe not so much. You nod, a tad vehement, James notices smugly.
“Yes, please,” you say, breathless.
James steps into your space, heartbeat a mile a minute. You smell like flowers again. Lavender, he thinks. He definitely doesn’t smell anywhere near as good. “You’re sure I’m not too sweaty and gross?”
You shrug. “I don’t care, James.”
“You should. You look lovely.”
You make a noise that sounds half pained and half pleased and it makes James’ heart skyrocket.
“Can you just hug me?” You ask, a hint of desperation in your tone that’s actually much more than a hint but James is trying to be a gentleman. “Please?”
James thinks if you keep this up (by this, he means, acting as though maybe you like him as much as he likes you), he’ll die on the spot. He hugs you. For his own and your sake. Wraps you up in a big strong hug that’s so passionate he accidentally lifts you off the ground slightly. You don’t seem to mind. Your arms weave around his neck like they were meant to and you hook your chin over his shoulder and go all melty.
James almost moans. He can’t believe how perfectly you fit in his arms. How your body melds into his so nicely. He’s big and firm and loud and you’re quiet and small in your own way. But it works, and James is so glad it does.
“How was work, lovely?” He says into your hair. Your hair, which smells like coconut and something sweeter.
“It was okay.” Your voice is quiet but you sound just as pleased as he does to be wrapped in each other’s arms. “Lily says good luck.”
“Hey!” This is Sirius, jogging towards the stands and the, for want of a better word, lovefest. “Why don’t I ever get hugs like that?”
James releases you but keeps a good hold on your waist, twisting to meet Sirius. “What? You want one too, Pads?”
He lets go of you and holds his arms out for a hug, half joking but also half serious.
“Not from you!” Sirius scoffs, backing away from James like his hug will give him an incurable disease. “From your pretty cheerleader over there.”
Sirius plants his hands in his hips and nods his head towards you where you’re standing behind James. James doesn’t need to look to know Sirius has probably made you embarrassed.
“She doesn’t want to hug you,” he says dryly, in an attempt to save you from his obnoxious friend. “Where’s your boyfriend? You can hug him instead.”
Sirius scowls but it doesn’t last long. You brush past James and it takes him a second to realise what’s happening.
“I’ll hug you, Sirius,” you’re saying sweetly. “C’mere.”
And to everyone’s surprise, you hug Sirius. James finds it both endearing and highly annoying. Annoying because Sirius is smirking at him over your shoulder, his hands on your lower back. Endearing because it’s apparent you’re trying to make friends with James’ friends and he couldn’t be happier. The hug doesn’t last quite as long as yours and his, though. And Sirius doesn’t quite lift you off the ground like James did.
James watches, reluctantly fond, as Sirius pulls away and smiles at you all kind and un-Sirius-like.
“Thank you, m’lovely,” he says, swooping down to kiss your cheek. James shouldn’t feel jealous, because Sirius kisses everyone on the cheek, but he does anyway.
His jealousy quickly fades when you practically skip back over to him, all smiles.
“Sorry about him,” James says quickly. He’s very used to apologising for his friends.
“No, that’s okay,” you shake your head and then take James’ forearm in your hand unthinkingly. Heat licks all up James’ arm.
“Y/N,” he says, sounding more confident than he feels. “Do you—?”
The shriek of his coach’s whistle cuts him off. Time to get back on the field, it says. James groans, long suffering, throwing his head back like he’s been resigned to the worst fate in the world. You giggle and it makes it all better.
James’ team loses the game. It’s embarrassing and then it’s not, because you bound up to him afterwards and give him a hug even better than the one at half time, gushing about how good he was, telling him it doesn’t matter that he lost because he played amazing, anyway.
He sure feels like a winner as he walks with you to the parking lot, his duffel bag swept to his wrong side so he can walk as close to you as possible.
“I didn’t know you were so good.” You’re still gushing and James thinks he’s never blushed more in his life. “I mean, not that I didn’t expect it. You just never told me.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not Sirius,” James murmurs, feeling overly feverish.
“What? What’s that mean?”
James gestures vaguely with his hands. “I don’t go around bragging, is what it means. And I’m not that good. We’re just a local team, babe.”
It’s your turn to flush. Head to foot you go all shy. He thinks it’s the pet name that did it. And maybe the fact that he’s pointed out your gushing.
“Right,” you say to your shoes. “Well, I think you should play for the country, is all I’m saying.”
James laughs, delighted and a bit startled at your joking, but mostly just sick as a dog in love with you. “Really? Wow, you should tell my coach that, sweetheart. I think he’d totally agree.”
You pick up on his sarcasm and burst into giggles that make James’ chest want to explode. He realizes you’ve almost reached his car and puts his plan into action.
“Hey, did you drive here?” He asks.
You look up at him and James thinks he sees an inkling of hope in your pretty eyes. “No, I caught the bus. Why?”
“Did you want to go get Slurpees with me? I saw a 7/11 near your place the other night.” Then, because he really wants you to say yes, “I’m paying.”
Maybe it’s James’ wishful thinking but he’s pretty sure you light up like a Christmas tree. He really thinks if you keep doing things like this his head is gonna get too big for his body. You beam, looking like an angel on earth in the last fragments of sunlight, skin painted in an array of bleeding golds and pinks and oranges.
“Yeah, okay,” you nod. “Except you don’t have to pay for me, James, I have my card.”
James shakes his head, grinning as he fishes his keys from his bag. “Nah, don’t worry. Pretty girls get slurpees for free.”
He’s ninety-eight percent sure you freeze up like a block of ice as he unlocks his car. He has the generosity to not mention it.
The drive to the 7/11 closest to your place is quiet. But good quiet. James puts on the radio and is delighted when you start humming along like he’s not even there, your fingers tapping along the window where you’ve rolled it down, the wind brushing over your pretty face. He can’t quite get enough of you. Even just driving in silence with you feels like cloud nine. He’s enamored. Totally lovelorn. He’s surprised he can even drive straight.
When you get there he parks the car and then tells you to wait so he can open your door for you. He holds your hand to guide you into the 7/11. It feels like walking on air.
You both greet the guy at the cashier, you much more shyly, but James is learning you’re nothing if not polite. It’s practically empty inside, which James is glad for. How is he supposed to kiss you if there’s a bunch of strangers around? He leads you over to the slurpee machine with the excitement of a kid in a candy store.
“What flavour do you feel like?” He asks, grabbing a cup for you.
“Um,” you lick your lips and James wonders, not for the first time, how it would be to kiss them. “Grape, I think.”
“Grape?” He wrinkles his nose in pretense. “I’m more of a cherry guy, but I’ll let it slide ‘cos I like you.”
You giggle and flush, to James' extreme delight. He lets go of your hand to fill your cup for you, all the way to the top. He pops on a lid and a straw and passes it to you, cold condensation dripping over his fingers like raindrops.
“Thank you,” you say softly, taking the cup from him, your fingers soft as they brush his.
James gives you a big smile in place of a you’re welcome, then preoccupies himself with filling his own cup. He can feel your eyes on him all the while. Practically burning holes into the side of his face. His face, which feels like it’s on fire. He finishes filling his cup and shoves a lid on.
“Have I got something on my face?” He asks without looking at you, definitely teasing but he thinks you can take it.
You groan and punch him in the arm. Punch isn’t really the right word. It’s more of a brush of your knuckles. James hardly feels a thing. “James.”
James laughs, delighted at your reaction. “What?” He chuckles, picking a straw and turning to look at you. “You were—“
But you’re gone, turning into the candy section just in time for James to see the back of your jacket disappear. He follows you, grinning like mad.
“Y/N,” he says, sing-song.
“James,” you copy, with half the enthusiasm but twice the sweetness. He can almost hear you rolling your eyes.
James can’t help it, he snags your jacket in his fingers and pulls. You squeal as he twists you to face him, his hand coming to hook around your waist. Your slurpees get crushed in between your chests. James can feel the coldness of his soaking into his shirt but he hardly cares. You’re so close he could kiss you. He’d like to. It’s what he’s been trying to do all evening.
You’re gasping, breathless from the closeness and his sudden attack. “James,” you say again, panting. “What are you doing?”
James shrugs. “Nuthin’. Did you want some candy?”
You swallow and adjust your grip on your cup where it’s pressed to his chest. You’re staring at his lips. He’s staring at yours, too.
“No,” you say, your pretty eyes flickering from his eyes to his mouth and back again. “I don’t want candy.”
James licks his lips, partly because he thinks he’s about to kiss you, but mostly to tease you. “Then what do you want?”
Your eyes follow the slow movement of his tongue. “Um.”
“Do you want me to kiss you?” He asks, softer now. Less taunting. More sincere.
You stare at him. “We’re in the middle of a 7/11, James,” you chastise. But you don’t turn him down.
“So? There’s no one in here but us.”
He inches closer. His slurpee is probably spilling over with how much he’s squashing it but he can’t bring himself to check. He’s too transfixed by you, the hopeful look on your pretty features, eyes blown wide, lips slightly parted.
“Okay,” you breathe, hardly a word at all.
“Okay, what?” James says back, just as quiet. “I can kiss you?”
“Yes,” you nod once. Your hand ghosts over James’ elbow and he hopes you’ll grab it when he does finally kiss you. “Please.”
It doesn’t take much more convincing than that. He kisses you, and the very first thing he thinks is that he’s bitten off more than he can chew. Thrown himself in the deep end, chum for the sharks. Because it’s glorious. It’s better than he ever imagined, better than anything he could’ve conjured up in his mind. You taste like grape slurpee, sugary and sweet. You’re tentative like you always are, but it doesn’t mean you hold back. You let him kiss you as hard as he pleases, tilting your head up to meet him, gripping his elbow with your free hand like you never want to let go.
He kisses you firm but careful, passionate so you know how much he likes you but soft enough so you know he’s okay to go slow if you need to.
Soon enough the moment is ruined — James shouldn’t have expected anything less. The guy at the cashier is wondering aloud if James is planning on ever paying for the Slurpees now dripping condensation into both of your clothes and hands.
James sighs and goes to pull out his wallet, but not before pressing another kiss to your smiling mouth.
-
feedback and reblogs are very very appreciated! please please lmk if u liked it (but not if u didn’t ahahah) xx
#★ mal writes!#james potter#james potter drabble#james potter one shot#james potter fanfiction#james potter headcanon#james potter imagine#james potter x you#james potter x reader#james potter blurb#james potter oneshot#james potter fic#james potter thoughts#james potter blurbs#james potter fanfic#james potter scenario#james potter x reader fluff#james potter fluff#james potter x y/n#james potter x fem!reader#james potter x fem!reader fluff
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Little Miss Director and Starboy.
Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Reader.
Summary: The timeline of how Hayden gradually fell in love with her until he was madly in love, to the point of no returning.
Word count: 8.457
Warnings: Not much actually, age-gap and a slow burn.
Author’s note: It’s the first time I write something about Hayden so I hope you like it. I have nothing against his private life nor his love ones, this is just for fun. With that been said, I had this idea in my head for a long time and it will have two more parts.
gif credits @haydenchristensengifs
May 2019, first meetings.
When he was offered the role of Anakin again for Obi-Wan’s series, he jumped in without thinking twice and that’s how he met her. He saw her face for the first time on a tiny screen on his phone. The first few things he noticed about her were that she used glasses, her voice was sweet, that she smiled pretty much all the time and that she was young, several years younger than him.
She was very polite and enthusiastic, telling him all about the ideas for the series and explaining everything about the project. Maybe revealing a few things she shouldn’t but he didn’t care. She kept it professional but light, which he thanked because acting formally in the comfort of his house while wearing joggers and slippers was a no can do.
A few weeks after that he hopped in a plane and flew all the way to the studios, where she worked, to meet with her and talk about the project. He was directed to her office, where she was supposed to be expecting him but she wasn’t. “I’m sorry Mr. Christensen, but she will arrive in a few minutes.” The boy behind the desk said with a polite smile. “Please follow me.” He got up and walked towards an office at the end of the hallway. “You can wait for her in her office.” He opened the door. “Feel free to get comfortable.” The boy smiled. “Would you like something to drink?”
Hayden looked around the room, it was big; but not too big, painted white with big windows that let all the light enter and a little sofa with a desk in the middle. “No, thank you.” But the main thing he noticed was the lack of personal things in it. No photos on the desk, instead, little drawings stuck to the computer and an old video camera from the ‘90s on one of the shelves, which he found odd.
He stood watching the window and how the sun illuminated everything around. A couple of minutes passed by when he heard voices outside the office. “Hi, Charlie, how are you?” The same sweet voice reached his ears. Some muffled words and the sound of boots against the floor. "What? He's in there?” She whispered-shouted. “He's early!” It was true, Hayden was early. A trait he picked up from his father. "I know!" The boy at the reception whispered-shouted too. "He’s cute.” Hayden smiled a little at the words. “Charlie! Unprofessional.” It wasn’t as if he was eavesdropping, they just happened to be speaking not so quietly. “I’m not ready.” He heard her say. “Yes, you are.” The boy encouraged her. More muffled sounds reached his ear. “Fake it, till you make it.” He smiled at the phrase and moments later the door was opened.
He turned around and she was there with a nervous smile on her lips, not like the ones he saw on Facetime. “Hi.” She said, blushing a little.
The brunette walked closer to greet her properly. “Hello.”
“Wow, you are tall.” She said rapidly under her breath, but he heard it, making him laugh.
“I got that a lot.” He extended his hand and she shook it. To the list of things he noticed about her, he added that her hands were cold, despite the warm weather outside, and full of small classy silver rings. She apologised about it but he was focused on looking at her. She was small, a little smaller than average, barely reaching his chin. Dressed in black Doc Martens, light colour jeans, a fitted black t-shirt and a red leather coat. Long straight hair and no glasses on.
She hung her bag and coat and smiled at him, a more natural one. “Can I offer you something? Tea? Coffee? Orange Juice?”
“A tea would be nice, thank you.” She nodded and ordered Charlie, the boy behind the desk at the front, a tea and a coffee.
“Shall we?” She gestured to the sofa for them to sit down.
He tilted his head to the side. “By all means, it’s your office.” He let her walk in front of him, as the gentleman he was taught to be.
She looked around with a tiny smile on her lips. “Yeah, I still don’t believe it.”
“You have a beautiful view.” He added.
“Yeah, doesn't it?” She asked happily and looked around. “First of all," he was the object of her gaze again. "thank you for coming all the way here just to chat about this.”
“Not at all, it’s a pleasure. And far easier than talking on the phone.” He sat more comfortably.
She laughed and nodded. “I like this kind of human contact, I feel like there’s nothing left to guess, or misunderstood, and I also believe it is more personal.” He agreed, noticing she moved her leg nervously. Another thing to add to his list about her. “I will try to not occupy much of your time and don’t bore you.” She joked.
But he shook his head “No, nothing of that.” trying to reassure her.
A knock on the door interrupted him. “Sorry.” She got up and opened the door. Charlie entered with the two cups and left them on the desk. “Thank you very much, Charlie.” The boy smiled and walked away. “Sugar? Sweetener?” She offered him.
“Sugar, it's fine.” She passed him the little packets while she poured a little one of sweeteners into her cup. The pleased smile on her lips, when she took the first sip, would always be tattooed on his mind.
Hayden asked the normal things about the project and she told him everything she could about it. Slowly, bit by bit, he saw how she was more nervous-free and how excited she was for all the things she was telling him about. “But it’s still in diapers, we are still figuring things out. I’m still figuring things out.” She played with her hands. “The writers started putting everything on paper and I’m working with the executive producers about the cast.” She ended with a smile.
“It’s your first big project?” He asked, taking a sip of his tea. She laughed a little, moving her head side to side, it wasn’t a yes but neither a no. “How old are you?” That was a question he had in mind for a while and hoped it didn't sound rude.
“Twenty-seven.” He raised his eyebrows, surprised. “I know, too young and very big, immense, shoes to fill.” She said with a bored tone like she got that too much.
Hayden shook his head. “I was 19 when I took the role of Anakin and felt the same way. Everything is going to be fine.” She looked at him a little unsure. “If they choose you to be here, it’s because you are the best. Don’t let them intimidate you, otherwise they will eat you alive.”
She smiled at him, big and brightly. “Thank you, Hayden, truly.” Her eyes accompanied the smile, kind and truthful.
All of a sudden, he turned shy by being under her gaze- What? Shy? Come on man. -so he shrugged and changed the subject. Trying for his life to not blush at how sincere and kind her eyes looked at him moments prior.
October 2019, surprise surprise.
By the second time they met in person, they had been talking a couple more times by the phone, she asked a few things about what he felt about Anakin, what were his thoughts about him and things like that.
Hayden was walking towards her office, for some reason he wanted to see her before going to meet with the writers, executives and a few of the characters for the first reading of the script, which was going to take a few days, to see if everything was going according to plan, smoothly.
He entered the office and Charlie was there, sitting behind the desk, just like all those months before. They made small talk while the boy accompanied him to her office. When he opened the door, she was looking down at some papers on the desk and her hair was up supported by a pen. “Perfect, Charlie, sorry to bother you, but I'' Who apologised to his assistant for asking something? Always so polite.
When she looked up, her eyes opened big in surprise at seeing him. Hayden realised she was wearing the glasses she wore when they first met and that with the light entering the room her eyes shined. Maybe it was my presence? No, it couldn’t be. It was 100% the light, for sure. “Hello.” He said with a kind smile on his lips.
“Hi.” She smiled brightly, just like she usually did. Usually as in the two times he saw her, one in person and the other by a screen. “You are early.” She looked at the watch on her right wrist.
“Again.” He joked earning a laugh from her.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.” She pointed at the sofa where he sat months ago, a vase with white jasmines on the little table there. “Tea?” He nodded and when she was about to ask Charlie the boy nodded and walked away with a tiny smile on his lips.
He, for sure, made himself comfortable and started walking around the office. It didn’t seem empty as it did before, now it had books on the shelves; a few more drawings, it was more cosy, and the same video camera was still there on one of the shelves. He traced it with his finger, slowly, trying to not damage it. “That camera was the thing that started everything, it was my father’s but I made it mine.” Her sweet voice became sweeter.
“It was your first camera?” He turned around to look at her and she nodded with a smile on her lips. Was she always smiling?
“I used to record everything around me with it.” The papers on her desk were long forgotten. “Everything that made me happy, to never forget it.”
He smiled at her way of seeing things. “You still do?”
She hummed. “From time to time, when I’m utterly, incandescently, happy.” He was about to comment on that but she interrupted him. “Besides, vintage makes everything look good.” She laughed and he did too.
Charlie entered right when their laughs were in sync and their eyes shined. “Your tea, Mr. Christensen.” The boy left the drink on the small table there and walked away with a smirk on his lips.
“Are you ready for today?” With a few strikes, he sat on the sofa facing her. She nodded, biting her lips, while arranging the stacks of papers on her desk. He was about to comment on something about her nervous behaviour but chose against it, afraid of making her more nervous. “Did you eat something?” She shook her head. “You want me to grab you a coffee or something?”
She looked up to him. The same kind eyes of all those months back were looking at him “No, thank you.” and shook her head. “If I drink coffee now I’m afraid I will not be able to sit still on the reading table.” A little laugh escaped his lips and the same shyness, and blush, from months ago, appeared again making him clear his throat. Get it together.
With small talk, his attempt to take her mind out of what was about to happen, the time had passed and they had to go to meet the rest to do the first reading table. They exited the office and, as the gentleman he was, he offered to carry all the papers in her hands, but she refused it. Claiming that she was more than capable of doing it herself.
For the first time since he saw her that day, he paid attention to her whole outfit and it was much more formal than the one she used the first day they met. Little heels that made her reach his mouth, black tights, a skirt with a little cut on the side that fitted quite well and a black shirt with the first two buttons undone. And she smelled like jasmine, like the ones in her office.
They reached the room where everything was going to unfold and she stopped a few meters from the door. “You okay?” Hayden asked her and she nodded. “You need a minute?” She nodded again and he gave it to her, even took a step back and let her gather her strength.
The brunette watched her take a few deep breaths and move her head from side to side. “Okay, you got this.” He heard her mumble and a smile appeared on his lips. After a few seconds, she turned around and looked at him. “Ready when you are,” she joked.
He got closer to her laughing, “Ready.” She nodded and he held the door for her to enter first, he walked after her.
Ewan was already there, the executives and the three writers too. The two long-time friends hugged each other and caught up for a few minutes. “Have you already met our amazing, incredible, director?” The Scottish man asked.
“Yes, I had the pleasure,” Hayden said, looking around for her. She was standing by his side moments ago and now she wasn’t.
“She’s amazing, I have been working with her since the beginning and I promise you are going to be blown away by her.” Ewan was more excited by all that was happening than any of them.
“I have not a single doubt,” his eyes found her in the mess of people and a smile appeared on his lips.
Four days of the same routine, Hayden would arrive every day a little earlier than the prior just to sit in her office and talk to her. Some days Charlie would have a tea already in the making for him and others he would carry a coffee with a chocolate muffin in hand for her because she tended to not eat.
And his list of things he noticed about her would keep getting longer. Her favourite colour was red, she had a sweet tooth, and jasmines and yellow daffodils were her favourite flowers, she used normal glasses when her eyes got irritated after using lenses all the time; plus according to her, they added dramatic effect when she was stressed, she was left-handed, that she scrunched her nose, but her brows didn’t frown, when she didn’t like something and that she truly, and naturally, was a smiley person. All the things he noticed weren’t personal stuff, she was pretty reserved and he could resemble her about that.
It was the last day of the reading table and truth be told, the script was garbage. It was the same thing as the series that were already being streamed. All those days, and hours spent were futile, the ones he had to be seated at that table, not the ones he was seated on the sofa in her office. They all tried to bring something to the table for the script to work, but it was useless. Everyone knew it and someone had to rip the bandaid off.
“Well...” the executive producer began, “thoughts?” And they all looked at her.
As if she could feel all the gazes on her, she looked up. “Sincerely?” And they nodded. She looked around the room, Hayden could see her demeanour changed as if she had built a wall inside her and was ready for anything. “It’s the same thing we saw billions of times.” She was straightforward. “If we keep this way, the critic is going to smash us.” She voiced what all of them were thinking.
“Excuse me?” One of the writers said.
She frowned, “we are making a series about an icon of the cinematography universe, whose story is tightly intertwined with one of the biggest villains of history, about a universe that changed lives and the way of seeing cinema and this script-” she picked it up “does not reflect that.” The nervous girl Hayden saw before was left at the door and seated with him was a decisive woman, with her work pants well put on and a clear idea in mind. "This script is too small for a production as big as this one, as awaited as this one."
“And what would you know about making a script for a production this big?” The writer looked at her up and down. “You are just a child, you are too small a director for a production like this.” All the people in the room were surprised at such harsh, disrespectful, words. “Little Miss Director.” He added with a derogatory tone.
Ewan and Hayden were ready to chime in, along with a few other people on the crew, but she beat them to it. “First of all, you are excused.” She raised her chin and sat straight. “Second, I formed myself, I studied and improved after every project I made, it didn't matter how little it was.” Long was gone the sweet tone she carried. “I'm worthy of being here, believe me, I am one of the best out there and I have the skills to direct this project.” She had a cold look in her eyes. “If this is your script, which I guess it is, by how offended you are getting at hearing my honest opinion, maybe it’s you who does not know about big productions.”
The silence that fell upon the room was a sepulchral one, not even a fly flew around. She kept her gaze on the writer until he stormed off the room, followed by a bang from the door. They all looked that way, but Hayden kept his eyes on her and caught the moment when she let go of a shaky breath and played with one of the many rings on her fingers. Their eyes connected and he frowned, asking a silent question, but she just gave him a small smile, reassuring him she was fine.
After apologies from the executive producers and the writers on behalf of the rude partner, they all agreed with her that the script was awful and that she was right. Ideas came and went but nothing seemed to fit and be worthy of, the concept they had in mind. “You worked as a writer too for the projects you were on, didn't you?" Ewan asked, looking at her. "Besides, directing them.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Yes…”
“They were very good, award-worthy.” He added making her open her eyes big, Hayden frowned. But when she was going to answer, the Scottish talked again. “Why don’t you write something?”
She seemed caught off guard, Hayden watched how her lips parted a little and her eyes scanned the room, while Ewan had a kind smile on his lips. After all, he was one of the executive producers and he had that kind of power at the table. “Yeah, we will meet in a couple of months and we will discuss it again.” Another executive producer said.
She looked even more surprised, her brows a little more raised than before. “We can work with you, discuss ideas and build the story together.” One of the writers said while the other nodded eagerly. “We will help each other and it would be an honour for us.”
A smile appeared on her lips, but Hayden realised it was a nervous one; not like the ones he saw her make when she took a sip of her coffee, or when she talked about the video camera in her office. “Yeah, okay.” The confident woman who put the idiot writer in his place was gone and the same nervous girl who was left outside the room appeared again. “We can do that. There are a few ideas in here that we can use as a base and build upon them.” She nodded looking at the script as if it was going grow a mouth and eat her alive
The meeting finished after a few minutes and they talked about schedules for the future, which was uncertain until the scripts were ready. When Hayden got up to talk to her she was already on her way to walk away from the room, like her life depended on it, and was left to talk with Ewan, not that he didn’t like catching up with his friend, but if he was honest, he was a little worried about her.
January 2020, first vestiges of emotions.
The last time the pair saw each other they couldn't even have the chance to say goodbye because when Hayden went to her office to talk to her, Charlie told him she was already gone for the day and he was flying back to Canada in a few hours. He weighed the options of calling her, or sending her a text, to ask if everything was fine but in the end, he desisted, to not come up as dense.
To his surprise, she texted him a few weeks after their last encounter, a simple hello, sorry to bother you, and presenting herself, as if he didn’t know who she was. All that to talk about work, about the script she, and the other writers, were working on.
Finally, it was time to see them, the team, in person. To see her in person. Their routine was picked up where they left it, him taking her a coffee and muffin and a hot tea waiting for him at her desk, and, of course, he arrived early.
“Hello, Charlie,” Hayden said as soon as he passed the door from his office floor.
“Hello, Mr. Christensen,” The boy said, despite the multiple times he told him to call him by his name and not that formal title. “She will arrive shortly, you can come in,” Charlie said with a smile on his lips. “You already know the way.”
Laughing a little, he walked towards her office. There were new drawings on the shelves, still no photos, the video camera was still in place and the smell of jasmine was still there. The sticky posts on the computer were there and despite all his mother's teachings that what he was going to do was impolite, he did it. Slowly he walked to the other side of her desk and readed them. 'Most Ardently’ was writing in one of them with a little heart and clear handwriting, ‘Shine on, you crazy diamond. Love, the kids and I’ that one made him frown. She was married with kids? The kids would explain all the drawings, but she never mentioned anything about kids when he talked about his daughter, and the married thing was hard to guess with all the rings she had on her fingers. She never said anything about being taken, nor had any photos in her office with someone, and she was a very closed person, so he was not going to pray into her private life if she didn’t let anything on.
And like months ago, when they first met, he heard her sweet voice in the hallway talking with Charlie and it went almost the same way it did the first time, him being cute wasn’t said that time.
“Hi, Hayden.” She said as soon as she opened the door. When he looked at her he had to suppress a laugh that was about to escape his lips. “What?” She was frowning at him.
His eyes trailed her up and down. “You are under all that?” She was small, that much was a fact, but she looked so much smaller under the, almost, total black outfit she was wearing. A big ass long coat, loose high dress pants, a fitted t-shirt that covered her up to her neck and white Converse, that looked like they were from his daughter from how small they seemed.
“Well yeah.” She took the sunglasses off her head and a few rebel hairs fell to her face making her blow them away. Her silver rings and silver necklace with her initials contrasted with her clothes. “I’m cold.”
“I can see that,” he laughed while walking to greet her. It came naturally to him to kiss her cheek followed by a little. “Hello.” The smell of jasmine invaded him and his voice sounded deeper for some reason. When he moved away, the brunette took notice of how her cheeks and nose were red from the cold. Was it from the cold though? “Are you that cold?”
“Huh?” She frowned like she didn’t understand. “Ah, yeah.” She nodded, and a nervous laugh escaped her lips.
Charlie interrupted them carrying his tea while she hung her coat and got comfortable. The little interaction was forgotten by the time the boy walked out of the office with a frown on his face, looking at his boss. “I brought you breakfast,” Hayden said pointing at the cup next to her keyboard.
She smiled kindly at him, but that smile changed when she took a sip of the hot drink. It wasn’t a bad change, it was a good one. The way her lips curved gave him flashbacks of the memory tattooed on his brain about the first time he met her in person. He wasn’t afraid of messing up her coffee order, he knew it was the right one because he had picked it up on the few times they had been together.
She seemed less nervous this time around, there weren’t stacks of papers on her desk like the last time, nor she wasn’t running around. She seemed grounded, confident even. He tried to get information out of her about the new scripts but it was impossible, she gave him vague answers with a polite smile on her face, which made him laugh. “You are getting better at this,” he took a sip of his tea, looking at her.
“I know,” she smiled smugly. “I've been taking notes on how not to spill everything about a new project.” The brunette noticed how proud she looked about that. “I wouldn’t want them to fire me for speaking too much,” her tone was a playful one.
He laughed. “They would never,” his eyebrows were frowned and he shook his head. “Not after all the work you’ve done,” he reassured her.
Between sips of hot drinks, Hayden told her about his farm in Canada, about Briar Rose and small things here and there about his life while she listened attentively to all his words. The morning sun entering from the window behind her, seated at his side, added some kind of soft, cosy, effect to the office. Intimate. While they were laughing about something he said, a knock on the door behind him interrupted them. “Come in,” she called, still laughing.
“Hello there,” an accent Hayden recognized very well reached his ears and she started laughing again.
The brunette turned around and standing there was Ewan with a smile on his face. “Obi-Wan,” the pair said, making the Scottish laugh too.
“Good to see you two here.” They all hugged each other. “I was coming to pick our beloved director up but you beat me to it,” he joked looking at him.
Immediately she blushed. “We are having breakfast, would you like something?” She asked in her sweet tone.
“No, no. Nothing darling, thank you.” The trio stood in the middle of the office. “Are you ready?” Ewan asked and Hayden looked at her too.
She nodded, “Yeah, everything’s ready. The scripts are already arranged in the room where we are going to meet, the seats are designated.”
“You are well prepared then,” Ewan said surprised. “Yeah, you seemed more ready than last time when you were running around like crazy until the last minutes,” Hayden added. If his eyes weren’t on her, he would have seen the look in his dear friend's eyes.
“Well, I've had everything ready for like a week or so,” she shrugged but the pair looked at her surprised. “What? I like having things in order,” she defended herself.
It was time for them to meet with the rest of the crew so they walked out of the office, her first, and made their way there. The two men told her about the funny things they remembered while they filmed the first two movies and the technology they had to do it.
Hayden noticed that she seemed much more carefree this time around than the first time they did the table reading, she didn’t stop at the door to take a deep breath, nor to give herself a little pep talk. She just entered the room like she owned it, like she deserved to be there, which she did, and that made him smile.
Just as she said, the table already had the scripts on it and tags in front of the chairs, it was a completely different room than the one they were months ago. There were different people inside, who were supposed to be the cast, the writers, the executive producers and them. “Ready boys?” She asked with a smile on her lips making them look at each other with their eyebrows raised and they laughed, but followed her nonetheless.
They all sat around the big circular table, the writers at her sides, while he Ewan, and the rest of the team, dispersed around the table. The crew was also there, seated surrounding them. The reading started but her sweet voice didn’t chime in at any moment, Hayden watched her make notes here and there on her script and whispered with the writers beside her.
They connected eyes more than a few times, she always caught him looking at her for some reason, only a couple of times it was the other way around like they could feel their gaze on each other. Her reaction was always the same, a sweet smile on her lips. Her hair was held by a pen, again, and at some point, she put her glasses on. This time around she didn’t play much with her rings, but she did it with the silver delicate watch on her wrist.
He looked around the table to watch the crew's reaction and they all had mixed emotions, but they were the exact opposite of what that rubbish script generated. By the time the reading ended, everyone was silent with unreadable looks on their faces. But she was in her world, still making notes. Almost three minutes passed when someone decided to speak. “Well,” Ewan broke the silence, from his tone he could guess, because he had his blue eyes fixed on her, that he was smiling. “Little Miss Director did it again.” She raised her head looking at him.
And looked around the table confused, suspiciously. “Meaning?” Her tone was so unsure, he found it cute.
“It’s brilliant, this is excellent.” One of the producers said.
Everyone chimed in to praise the script, the cast; the crew; and every single person in the room. Hayden watched at how her face broke into a beautiful big grin, eyes shining and cheeks blushed. Her eyes connected with his and he grinned too, that was the effect of her smile.
The session was over and everybody stood up to leave, and this time she didn’t run away instead stood chatting with whoever approached her. “Didn't I tell you she was brilliant?” Ewan said, clapping his shoulder.
“Yeah, you did.” He nodded and his friend looked pleased. “It’s one of the best scripts I have ever read, well written; well articulated; balanced. It's amazing.” Hayden was speechless at how creative she was, at how amazing she was.
Ewan nodded proudly. “I knew from the moment I watched one of her films that she was perfect for the series, that’s why I recommended her for the position.” He raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Plus, her resume is impeccable. She's something else.” The brunette nodded with his eyes fixed on her. “Totally worthy of being showrunner.” Hayden looked at him surprised. “She didn’t tell you?”
He shook his head. “She doesn't talk much when we are together, I do most of it, plus she’s very private.”
“Yeah she is, it took me a while for her to trust me but she would eventually open up,” his friend tried to reassure him. “If she trusts you,” he added, clapping his back laughing.
Hayden shook his head, “thanks man.” Ewan laughed harder.
“She reminds me of you a little bit when we first met,” the Scottish said and he looked at him frowning. “Incredibly passionate young soul, keen and very creative."
Hayden smiled at the kind words of his dear friend and found it more special that he found such touching words related to her. He was about to respond when she walked towards them.
"Good job, Little Miss Director." Ewan joked when he saw her.
She laughed tilting her head back but did a little bow, Hayden smiled. "Thank you, Ewan." He bowed his head. "Truly for your trust and help in this process."
He smiled, "It was my pleasure darling." And they hugged.
When they parted, she looked at Hayden with a big smile too. He felt shy under her gaze but enjoyed it too. "Thank you too, Hayden." He shook his head. "For being patient with me and all my questions, helping me and your encouraging words."
Sweetly, as her voice, she hugged him. Engulfed him with her arms around his neck, she was on her tiptoes and he had to bend down a little to put his arms around her back, not her waist because he was respectful. The jasmine scent, her scent, reached his nose making him dizzy. His mouth was so close to her neck, to her pulse point, that if he moved his head a little to the right he would graced it with his lips and he felt her hot breath in his pulse point, making him weak on the knees.
The hug ended far too quickly for his liking. What? When they pulled apart he had to clear his throat and blinked a couple of times. Fucks sake, Hayden, get a hold of yourself. You are 38 and she’s 11 years younger than you, think straight.
February 2020, special day.
It had been a couple of months since he last saw her, which he was thankful about because the hug she gave him was too much for him. Too much for his brain. Too much for his heart. Too fucking much.
He thought that maybe the peace of his farm would give him the clarity he needed but it didn't happen. Not a single clear thought about whatever he was feeling came his way. About work? Yes. About what he was going to eat for dinner? Lots. About feelings, which were a mess? Not a single one.
Ewan and he were talking on the phone about life, making a habit of staying in contact and not like the last decade and a couple of years. They were talking about projects and life, while all Hayden’s brain was screaming was, Ask him about her. ASK HIM! but he tried to not let that part of him win.
Obviously was futile because he ended up talking about work, which of course ended up with her name being said. “You know anything about her?” He shut his eyes and frowned, with his free hand he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Yeah, I talked on the phone with her a couple of days ago. Something about the script.” His friend said and he nodded.
“How was she?” The words blurted out his mouth before he had the time to process them. He was seconds away from smashing his head through the wall if that made him stop thinking about her. Teenage behaviour, right there Hayden. The laughter on the other side of the phone made him shake his head, regretting asking.
“Fascinated by our Little Miss Director I see.” Ewan teased and he had to hum because if he opened his mouth the teasing would meet no end. “I get it, she’s pretty awesome.”
“Yes, she is.” Well, fuck it, he would embarrass himself for shits and giggles.
The days after his chat with Ewan, where he mentioned her resume, he could have Googled her, to know what his friend meant, but he decided against it. The opportunity, the privilege, of hearing about her life from her mouth would be more rewarding, more special, than reading it on some gossip page.
Ewan laughed again. “It’s her birthday in a couple of days.” His ears perked when his friend told him the exact date when it was. “Did you know it?”
“No, no. I didn’t know it.” Mentally the date was already marked.
The Scottish laughed again. “Well now you know, thank me later.” The brunette thanked God that the teasing stopped because otherwise, he was going to mentally kick himself. They kept talking for twenty minutes and the conversation ended with “Send her something pretty!” from Ewan’s part before he hung up.
The date of her birthday came and Hayden kept looking at the phone on his counter, Briar Rose having breakfast next to him. “Are you okay Daddy?” She asked in her sweet voice.
“Yes, sweetie.” He caressed her face. “Just thinking.”
“ ‘bout?” Her big blue eyes looked at him.
He deliberated on telling her about his doubts or brushing them off. “It’s one of my friend’s-” Friend? Was she a friend? Or a colleague maybe? What was she? “birthday and I don’t know what to get her.” Maybe she would help him decide what to give her.
“What she likes?” She asked, taking a sip from her princess cup.
He racked his brain trying to think about something she told him she liked, but a single thing came up. “Flowers.” Unconsciously he could scent jasmine, even though there wasn't a single one of them in his house. "Jasmine."
“They’re nice and pretty.” That was answer enough for him.
Smiling, he leant and kissed the crown of her head. “You are right, sweetie.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
Giving her a last look, he took his phone and walked to the living room. First tone. You got this. Second tone. Nothing to stress about. Third tone. They're just flowers. Fourth tone and they answered. Too late to back down.
Twenty minutes he was on the phone with the flower shop, twenty minutes where he felt like a teenage boy with a massive crush, a little pathetic if he was honest with himself, and then he went on with his day like normal.
He and Briar were making lunch when his phone rang, whipping his hands on a towel he grabbed his phone and as fast as he picked it up he almost let it fall. Her name appeared on his screen, she was calling. She was calling him.
After coming out of his astonishment, he answered it before she hung up. "Hello."
"Hayden, hi." Her sweet voice reached his ear. "How are you? I hope I'm not interrupting your day." He could hear her walking around her office.
He chuckled. "I'm fine, how are you?" He turned the burner down. "And you are not interrupting, we were making lunch."
"We?" She cleared her throat. "Sorry. What were you making?"
"Briar Rose wanted pasta for lunch, so I'm obliging." The little girl walked past him and he caressed her head.
"Nice, it goes great with the cold." The picture of her with her nose and cheeks red popped up on his brain. "I will not take much of your time with her." He shook his head as if she could see him. "I called you to thank you for the beautiful bouquet, I love it."
He smiled, big and brightly. "I'm glad you liked it." Was she smiling too?
"The note is very beautiful too. My favourite part may I say." The teenage boy with a crush feeling was worthy then.
"I'm pleased to hear, Little Miss Director." He joked, hoping to hear her laugh and he did.
"How did you know?" She asked curiously.
"A little chatty bird called Ewan maybe, possibly, most certainly, slipped that your birthday was coming up while we talked a few weeks ago.” Hayden knew that wasn't the entire truth, not even close, but just this time he was going to throw his friend under the bus for sure.
She laughed, and possibly she was shaking her head. "Who else if not him?" He laughed too and the background noise became louder. "I'm sorry to cut this short, Hayden, but I got to go." Her kind tone reached his ears.
"No no, please. Duty calls." He thought that she would send him a quick message so hearing her voice was a surprise, although it was for a couple of minutes.
"Bye, I hope your lunch is good. See you later, Starboy." And before he could answer, she hung up.
As if his life was taken from a cheesy rom-com, like the ones he acted in, Hayden stood in the middle of his kitchen looking at his phone as her name disappeared from the screen, but not the feelings from the centre of his chest.
April 2020, Unexpected delight.
His birthday was a special day for him, surrounded by the ones he loved the most. Spending the whole day with his daughter, eating with his family and having a fun time with a few friends. As the private person he was, he couldn't ask for more.
Soon he would have to start training for Anakin's role, so he was enjoying the time off. Briar Rose surprised him with breakfast in bed, helped by his mother, who came around to greet him and helped her beloved granddaughter.
They were seated in the living room talking about small things and his plans for the day when the doorbell of his front gate rang. “Did you invite someone?” He asked his mother while walking towards the phone he had by the door, but she shook her head. “Yes?”
“Is Mr. Christensen at home?” A male voice said.
He looked at the little screen there and it was a grown man dressed in a FedEx uniform. “Yes, he is.”
“We have a package for him, we need his signature to confirm that he received it.” The man showed the papers in hand and at the box below his arm.
“Okay, I’m coming.” Grabbing his jacket and keys, “It’s a package, I’ll be right back.” he said over his shoulder.
The walk towards the front gate was chilly, he had his hands in his pockets and nose buried in the neck of his jacked. When he saw the guy at the door, the package he had in his arms was a normal size. “Hello.”
“Hello.” They nodded at each other. “You know what it is?” The brunette asked.
The guy shrugged. “No idea, man. It just says fragile and it’s from the US.” Hayden opened the gate and the guy passed him the pen and paper for him to sign.
He did it, but frowning. It couldn’t be the script, because she would have told him, or Ewan. His friends would have told him if they would be sending him a present, so that wasn’t an option. He tried to think what could possibly be but nothing came to mind. He handed the pen and paper back and the guy gave him the box. “There you go, have a nice day.”
His blue eyes were fixed on the box. “Yeah you too, man.” As quickly as he could he made his way back to the house.
Shaking the box to see what was inside wasn’t an option because it said fragile and whatever it was it could break. His curiosity was getting the best of him when he entered his house. Briar and his mom were still seated on the couch talking but raised their heads to look at him. “What is it, dear?” His mom asked but he shrugged. “From who is it?” He shrugged again. “You know something?” She asked, teasing.
He rolled his eyes. “It’s from the US and it’s fragile.” Her mom frowned. But he walked towards the kitchen and put the box on the counter while he looked for scissors.
“Can I see it, daddy?” Briar Rose asked from the couch.
He opened the top drawer. “As soon as I open it, I’m going to show it to you, sweetie.” His voice raised for her to hear him.
The box had a simple black box inside and nothing on it, he frowned again but kept opening it. When he lifted the lid the inside was colourful and smelled amazing. It smelled like jasmine and he smiled. Large pieces of paper, of all colours, surrounded a black cup and a couple of tea bags next to it. He picked up the box and walked towards the living room. “Look, sweetie.”
The little girl opened her eyes big and made space, even though there was plenty, next to her for him to sit. “What is it?”
“A gift.” He said putting the box on the mini table there. The little girl picked up a few of the papers there and started playing with them.
His mother looked at it and smiled. “It’s nice. Who sent it?”
Hayden knew who sent it by the mere smell that came from it, the tea was another clue for all the times they had breakfast together. “A friend.” Two simple words that had nothing simple, describe nothing simple and meant nothing simple to his feelings. His big hand engulfed the cup and lifted it, a laugh came out of him when he saw what was engraved on the side.
Briar Rose and his mom looked at it and the little girl found it hilarious, even though she didn’t quite understand the reference, while her mom laughed a little too. “Storm Pooper.” The girl said between giggles and Hayden laughed at hearing her giggling.
His mother passed him a white paper folded in half, “there’s a note.”
Quickly he exchanged the cup for the paper with her and stood up. His name was written in clean neat handwriting and inside were a few simple words.
Happy Birthday, Starboy, enjoy your day surrounded by the people who are glad and cherish your presence in this world.
Love, Little Miss Director.
“Someone special?” His mom’s voice brought him back to the real world. He looked at her frowning for a couple of seconds before his eyes fell back to her words. “You are smiling quite big right now.”
Why deny the obvious? “I have to make a phone call, can you keep an eye on Bri?” But he didn’t wait for an answer and walked to the kitchen with his phone.
The last time they talked on the phone was in March for something related to the script, a few questions she had about when he filmed the movies and Ewan was also on the call because the question was directed at him too, so it wasn’t like they talked to each other and it was completely professional. First ring. Keep it simple. Second tone. Casual, relax. Third ring. You are just colleagues, nothing more. Fourth ring. Nothing more because she’s 11 years younger than me. Fifth t- “Hi.” Her sweet voice reached him, a little out of breath as if she was running.
“Hello.” And again, for some reason, his voice went deeper. More than what already was.
Music could be heard in the background. “Did you receive it?” She sounded excited. “Please tell me it arrived whole, please.”
He laughed. “Yes, it did.” She exhaled. “Thank you very much.” He smiled and hoped that she was smiling too. “You didn’t have too.”
“Nonsense.” He could imagine her shaking her head. “Did you like it?” She sounded unsure and he tilted his head to the side. “Because if you don’t it’s okay.” She didn’t let him answer. “I have the sense of humour of a twelve-year-old and I will not apologise for it, but I will understand if you find it hideous.” She used, what he remembered was, her mocking tone and took him back to one of the times he was in her office and they were just chilling.
“I love it.” He said truthfully and heard her make some victorious sound that made him laugh, which made her laugh. “Briar Rose found it hilarious too.”
“She did?” She sounded excited again. “Oh, that’s amazing.” He nodded. “When we saw it, I thought that it was hilarious and had to buy it for your birthday.”
He was touched by the sentiment and the gesture. She saw something and thought about me. But the plural pronoun made him frown, it didn’t sit right with him. “We?”
“Yeah, my niece, nephew and me.” She was sharing something private about her. She trusts me. “They are a little older than Briar Rose.”
“Oh.” So the drawings must be from them. But was she married? “Well, you have great taste and as soon as I use it, I will let you know.”
She laughed. “Thank you and I hope you like the tea too.”
“So, what’s up with the nickname?” Since she started calling him like that after her birthday the question has been on his mind.
She laughed. “It seems only fair since I’m Little Miss Director that you are Starboy.” and said in an obvious tone. “Does it bother you? Cause if it does I will stop calling you that.” She was quick to say.
But he shook his head. “Not at all, I’m okay with it.” He heard her hum and, a little afraid, of the conversation finishing there he scratched the back of his head thinking about what he could say to keep her on the phone. “I called in at a bad time?” Hayden wanted to keep talking to her, keep hearing her voice.
“No no, I was cleaning my house, that’s why I was late to answer.” He nodded even though she couldn't see him.
“On Sunday?” She would notice that you don’t want to hang up, Hayden.
“It’s my only free day.” She laughed. “What about you? Big plans for today?”
They talked for a little while longer, about noncenses, but Briar started calling for him and he didn’t want to take too much of her time, bullshit, so the call was cut short. But the smile he carried for the day was notorious to his mum, to his daughter, to his friends, to everyone who saw him that day, and all because of a phone call with his director.
Next Part →
#Hayden Christensen#Hayden Christensen x reader#Hayden Christensen x you#Hayden Christensen x y/n#anakin skywalker#anakin skywalker x female reader#anakin skywalker x you#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin skywalker imagine#anakin skywalker imagines#director!reader
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⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader
part i here.
summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)
tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.
note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡
word count. 6.3k
The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.
You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.
“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”
You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”
Pot. Kettle. Whatever.
“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”
You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.
You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”
She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”
And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.
“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.
You have, of course, trained for this.
It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.
Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.
His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.
“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same.
You deserve applause for this.
“Tired?”
“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”
His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.
“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.
“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”
“...Hm.”
That’s it. That’s all you get from him.
And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.
“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”
He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.
You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.
Well. Perhaps not, then.
You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.
And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.
You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.
“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”
“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”
“You are such a —”
You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it.
“Just — go then, before I hex you.”
“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”
“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”
You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.
“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.
You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.
Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.
It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.
“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”
You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.
You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.
What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction?
You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.
“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.
Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.
You manage a simple, “And yet.”
“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet.
You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.
“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.
“I think so. Why?”
“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”
Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.
It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.
“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”
Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.
“Pity.”
Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.
You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —
"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"
“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”
God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner.
There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.
“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s hardly charity.”
“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”
You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.
“You look lovely.”
It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”
And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.
He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.
His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”
What?
You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —
“Unbelievable…”
He quirks a brow. “What was that?”
“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”
“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”
He — that was —
“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”
“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”
You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.
Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”
You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.
“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”
Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.
“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”
“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”
“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”
No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.
But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”
Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.
“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”
You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.
“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.
You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.
Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”
You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party.
Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.
If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.
And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.
And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.
And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.
He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.
His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.
You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.
You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.
“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.
The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten.
This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.
“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again."
You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?
You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.
You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.
It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.
His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him.
He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.
You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins.
This is not like that.
You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.
You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.
His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.
How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?
And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.
You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.
His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.
“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks.
At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them.
Tom smiles. “Hm, you did."
And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.
“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"
Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.
His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.
And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.
Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.
You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”
That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”
His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.
But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.
You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.
“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.”
Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)
He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything — is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.
More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.
It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.
“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.
As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.
His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.
Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting.
He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.
His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.
But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.
You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.
He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.
And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.
When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.
A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers.
When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.
Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.
Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.
You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient.
But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.
There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still.
Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”
Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.
And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in.
It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.
Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.
His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him.
“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.
You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.
It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.
You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.
“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”
Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.
He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.
And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.
The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.
You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.
But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.
You did say he was yours.
#tom riddle#tom riddle x reader#tom riddle x you#tom riddle smut#tom riddle x y/n#tom marvolo riddle#voldemort#voldemort x reader#tom riddle imagine#tom riddle fanfiction#tom riddle oneshot#NO LONGER!#but it is only a two-parter sorry. this is it#harry potter fanfiction#wizarding world
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I NEED YOU | j.o
part 1
This is the second part, I hope you like it
I turn the letter in my hands again, biting my lower lip thoughtfully.
I was sitting on the bleachers of the school gym, watching our basketball team, the Tigers, practice. Despite being physically present, my mind was consumed by the words of that letter, slowly gnawing at me with the agony of curiosity. I'm really trying to stay focused, to cheer for the impressive baskets, step-backs, or three-pointers, but my head feels disconnected from my body.
"Come on!" Isaac shouts after making yet another successful shot. "Did you see that shot?" he asks from a distance, giving me a proud smile. I give him a thumbs up, signaling that I witnessed his shot, and the dark-haired boy smiles broadly, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Isaac turns around, and I catch a glimpse of the number 10 on the back of his jersey.
My eyes return to the letter in my hands, my thumb gliding over the paper.
"My brother is a true idiot," a feminine voice exclaims suddenly. I redirect my attention to the sound of the voice and smile when I see Jenna Ortega standing on the steps near me. Her brown eyes scrutinize me with amusement, a small smile painted on her lips.
I raise an eyebrow in confusion, noticing the two bottles of peach tea she holds.
"Isaac can be an idiot... but he's really good at basketball," I remark, stealing a quick glance at the mentioned boy, smiling as he skillfully dribbles the ball. "I understand," Jenna murmurs calmly, walking over to stand in front of me. "Can I sit?" she asks timidly, seeking unnecessary permission.
"Yes, of course," I murmur quickly, watching with the corner of my eye Jenna's movements.
Jenna raises the corners of her lips in a smile, sitting next to me. The scent of her fragrance wafts into my nostrils, making me sigh at how delightful it is.
"Do you want one?" she asks, offering me a peach tea bottle. "Yes, please," I reply with a polite smile, reaching out to take the refreshing drink. Our fingers brush, and instinctively, I lift my gaze to her eyes, seeing Jenna doing the same. Her doe-like brown eyes intensely lock onto mine through her long lashes, almost sending shivers down my spine with the intensity.
I avert my gaze, clearing my throat.
"I didn't ask if you wanted this because I know you don't like lemon," she innocently murmurs, almost stiffening as she realizes what she said. "How do you know?" I ask with genuine interest, taking a sip of the refreshing beverage.
"When you come to our house, you've said it several times to Isaac," Jenna says, and I look at her with a raised eyebrow, noticing her slight nervous movements.
"Oh, right," I reply, realizing. It doesn't seem too strange that Jenna knows such a thing; after all, I have to remind myself that Isaac's house is hers too. "Anyway, thanks anyway... but what are you doing here? I don't want to kick you out, of course, but you've never come to the practices," I ask curiously, and Jenna looks at me carefully while taking a sip of her tea.
My eyes immediately focus on her lips, seeing how the dimple on her cheeks becomes more pronounced as her lips curl to quench her thirst. Her eyes don't stray from mine, as if she wants to imprint me in her mind.
"Oh, I just promised my brother that if he got a B in math, I would come to see him," she says with an indifferent shrug.
I smile shyly.
"Oh, okay... it's also strange for me that he made it," I say jokingly, and Jenna smiles widely, her eyes sparkling.
"Yeah, I made the bet knowing he wouldn't, but here I am," Jenna says, smiling, directing her gaze to my hands.
She absentmindedly bites her lower lip, almost thoughtfully. "Is that a letter?" she asks with curiosity. I look at the letter in my hands that I had completely forgotten I still had, talking with Jenna distracted me. "Oh, yes, nothing important," I say without thinking too much, putting the letter in my pocket.
"Mmmh... if you say so," she says with a small smile on her lips, sparkling eyes... of I don't really know what. "And tell me... why are you here... because..." Jenna starts innocently, playing with the edges of her red and black checkered shirt. "Because you like my brother?" she timidly concludes, looking attentively at a thread of her ripped jeans, twirling her finger around it.
I almost spit out the tea I was drinking.
"What? No, no," I quickly say, blushing with embarrassment. "Misery, no," I quickly conclude, looking at Jenna with flushed cheeks.
"Mmmh..." she says unconvinced.
"Do you know that I like peach tea, and you don't know that I'm a lesbian?" I ask with a amused tone, and Jenna lightly bites her lower lip with amusement. "I don't know," she says shrugging indifferently, looking at me with a small smile.
This girl is really... unique.
(...)
"Sign! Sign against domestic violence!" I exclaim loudly, vehemently displaying the document I had in my hands, trying to get some female signatures.
After showing the letter to my best friend Sierra three weeks ago, we tried to come up with a plan to gather more clues about who might be the mysterious girl who wrote that letter for me. Besides the neat handwriting, we had noticed that she wrote the letter "E" in a very peculiar way, almost doing it backward.
"No, Sierra, it's not working," I mutter exasperatedly, looking at my best friend. "No one is signing... and as worrisome as it may be, we still get no results," I say, nervously biting my lower lip.
Sierra sighs and also puts the document down, looking at me with eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"I've got an idea," she says, smiling widely, showing all 32 teeth. "Unfortunately, teenagers are too stupid to understand their rights... but there must be something that can grab their attention," she says, smiling broadly. "What is it?" I ask with curiosity.
"Votes for the dance," she says innocently.
Sierra opens her backpack and looks for something. Once found, she pulls out a huge stack of papers. "I had thought of a plan B," she says, waving the papers with pride.
I smile at her relatively brilliant idea. "You're a genius," I say sincerely. "You're truly amazing," I conclude with a huge smile on my face.
"I'll take care of the classes over there," she says, pointing to the left corridor. "I'll handle that," I say, smiling slightly and pointing to the right one.
"Girls, I'm here too!" Melissa intervenes with an offended tone. "Right, you take care of the upper floor," I say to my sister, winking, and she sticks her tongue out at me.
Once the tasks are assigned, we start the plan.
I approach the door of the 3A class with my heart pounding in my chest. Tension builds up as I raise my hand to knock, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor, disrupting the tranquil rhythm of the lesson inside.
The wood responds under my knuckles, a dull noise that captures everyone's attention. Curious glances from students focus on me, and the teacher watches me with an inquisitive look.
"Come in," the teacher says with curiosity, placing the pen on the desk.
"Excuse the disturbance," I say nervously, my eyes scanning the faces of the students, and I notice Jenna Ortega at the back of the classroom. The girl doesn't take her eyes off me.
"On behalf of the principal, I've come to collect signatures for the dance," I say, trying to convey sincerity in my voice.
The teacher blinks with surprise. "Oh, yes, proceed," he says, smiling, sitting down at the desk. The tension dissipates slightly, but I still feel the curious stares of the students as I approach to collect the signatures.
I distribute some sheets carefully, watching the students start signing with a smile on their faces. The initial tension gradually dissolves, replaced by a more relaxed atmosphere as students exchange some light comments about the upcoming dance.
Jenna Ortega, from her corner at the back of the classroom, lifts her gaze from the paper to fixate on me again.
"So, who's going to the dance?" I ask with an encouraging smile, trying to engage the students.
A guy raises his hand. "My girlfriend and I will definitely be there!"
Another voice chimes in, "It's always fun, count us in!"
Jenna, still with her eyes on me, nods, "Count me in too, it'll be interesting."
The class seems to positively embrace the idea, and the teacher, observing the general enthusiasm, smiles satisfactorily. The signature collection proceeds smoothly, and as I retrieve the sheet from Jenna's desk, our eyes meet.
I immediately put the signed sheets into a folder, feeling the weight of responsibility decrease slightly. I walk purposefully towards another room, trying to maintain an air of confidence despite my mind still buzzing with the adrenaline from the situation.
(...)
"So, how did it go?" I ask with curiosity, biting my nail nervously.
I was in Isaac's room, pacing back and forth in the swimsuit and bikini top to cover my chest. He had invited me to a quiet day with friends by the pool.
"Sorry, but I found nothing," Sierra says with disappointment, sighing tiredly. "I read every 'E,' looking for that peculiarity, but really, I didn't find anything that matched it," she says with a discouraged tone.
"Me neither," my sister adds on the phone, disappointed.
"Okay, thanks anyway," I say with a sigh, putting two fingers on the bridge of my nose as a sign of concentration. "I'll take a look now," I bite my lower lip nervously, "before going to the pool," I conclude.
"Okay, let me know," Sierra says with curiosity. "We'll talk later, girls," I say, smiling slightly.
I end the call with a sigh, the phone slipping onto Isaac's bed as I sit down with dismay. I pull out the folder with the signatures from my corridor, my nervous fingers gripping the plastic edge.
Each page is a growing anxiety, each signature bringing me closer to the breaking point. Names slip under my fingers, and the sense of urgency pushes me to search more intensively. I delve even deeper into the search, scrutinizing each sheet with almost obsessive precision. The tension reflects on my hands, flipping through documents, notes, and signatures with an almost manic focus.
The feeling of despair grows as possibilities seem to slip through my fingers. I flip through pages and pages, searching for that unmistakable backward "E." With every seemingly promising signature, my heart races, only to be followed by disappointment when it's not the right one. Doubt creeps in, fearing that the answer might elude me once again.
Then, among the pages, I spot that distinctive signature. A closer look, a comparison with other handwriting samples, and suddenly realization strikes like lightning. Jenna Ortega. A mix of dismay and relief washes over me as I understand that the solution was in front of me all along.
I'm not sure how to take this revelation, whether to be happy for solving the mystery or excited that my friend's sister had such intense thoughts about me. Imagining Jenna moaning my name sends a shiver down my spine, a fire igniting in my lower abdomen.
I had always thought Jenna was sexy, but thinking about what hides behind that innocent face...
I bite my lower lip with mischief.
A knock on the door distracts me from my thoughts.
"Come in," I mutter absentmindedly, my voice strangely hoarse. My eyes watch with curiosity as the door opens slowly, revealing Jenna Ortega behind it. "Isaac asked me to come get you," she says, smiling broadly.
My eyes slowly traverse her body, lingering on her toned legs exposed by the terribly short shorts and the white top she's wearing, with the word Anonymous printed on it in bold letters. I smile widely at the detail I can now catch and get up from Isaac's bed.
Jenna lifts her chin and looks at me curiously as I approach her. Her hair is damp, probably from being in the pool in these hours. "Y-yeah... I'm coming. I was just checking something," I say, smiling slightly, looking at Jenna with intensity.
Jenna's eyes sparkle as she notices my gaze on them, and a smile spreads across her lips. She timidly assesses my state, looking at me from head to toe with inquisitive eyes.
"If only you had told me earlier..." I say with a serious tone, my voice dropping terribly. I bite my lower lip with mischief and lift my hand to place it on Jenna's cheek. "Wh-what?" Jenna asks nervously, stammering.
Jenna closes her eyes at the touch of my hand, leaning into my touch.
"What you wanted," I exclaim absentmindedly, my throat dry from nervousness. I timidly run my thumb along Jenna's jaw, brushing against her lips.
Jenna sighs loudly.
"Did you get it?" she asks curiously, raising her hand to place it on mine.
"You had it written on your shirt... took me a while, but I got it," I say playfully, and Jenna genuinely smiles, her brown eyes piercing my soul.
"How?" she asks with curiosity, intertwining her fingers with mine, guiding them down her body, stopping on her buttocks.
"You write the letter 'E' in a strange way," I say playfully, caressing Jenna timidly.
"Mmmh..." she murmurs, probably not hearing what I said. Jenna wraps her arms around my neck, playing with my hair. "You know..." I start, closing my eyes for her gentle touch.
"What?" Jenna looks at me seriously, eyes hooded with excitement.
I lean in and timidly unite my lips with hers, sighing immediately after the contact. Jenna moans into my mouth, moving her lips against mine, increasing the intensity of the kiss. My hands grip her exposed skin more tightly, making her shiver slightly.
I break the kiss and place my lips on her neck, sinking my teeth into her flesh. Jenna moans even more, and I smile at the enchanting sound. With my tongue, I pass over the skin I just bit, trying to alleviate the pain, and then start running it along the line of her neck until I reach her earlobe.
"If you wanted me to fuck you, you just had to ask," I say hoarsely, squeezing her buttocks, causing her to groan. "The idea crossed my mind when I saw you passing by my house half-naked," I say sincerely.
"I thought you hadn't noticed me," Jenna says in a whisper. "No, I did... just that, not having ever talked to you, I didn't want to ruin things. After all, I only knew you by sight," I admit with a stifled laugh, feeling Jenna's fingers resting on my stomach.
"In a way, you're right," Jenna says breathlessly. "You talk too much," she murmurs with a smile on her lips, leaning in and joining our lips in a quick movement.
It seems the atmosphere has become heated in this room.
#jenna ortega x reader#jenna ortega#jenna ortega x you#jenna ortega x y/n#jenna ortega x fem!reader#jenna marie ortega#jenna ortega smut#jenna ortega imagine#open requests#request#reqs open
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Hello! I hope you’re having a good day. I heard you were taking requests so I have an idea!!
How about a Spencer Reid x Fem!shy!reader who is really quiet around the team? And so she doesn’t talk to them much? (Especially Spencer because she likes him!)
So to show her love/affection she does small things for him but doesn’t admit she was the one who did so. (Like making his coffee, secretly organizing his desk, like little kind things)
I want the confession to happen but I don’t know how I want it so you can decide! Have a little fun with it if you will.
I hope you can write this, and I’m so so sorry if it’s something you don’t want to write or feel uncomfortable with it. I just wanted to give you an idea for a story! Let me know if you don’t want to or if you will either way is fine with me!
I’m sorry if I didn’t include enough details and thank you for taking the time to read this!
Have a lovely day. 💕
(ALSO I READ YOUR OTHER SPENCER STORIES THEY WERE SPECTACULAR)
I LOVE YOU SO MUCH STOP IT MOST POLITE ASK EVERRR
this is genius btw and ive been writing so much to avoid things i actually have to do so… THANK YOU FOR FEEDING ME LMAO
acts of service | spencer reid x f!reader
let me know what you think <33
~~~~
The BAU office buzzed with its usual energy as Spencer Reid meticulously poured over case files, his mind racing through complex connections only he could decipher. Among the team, a shy figure often went unnoticed, working hard behind the scenes. Y/N, the quiet and reserved member of the team, kept to herself, her actions speaking volumes that words couldn't describe.
Spencer often found his desk mysteriously tidied up, papers organized, and his favorite pens neatly arranged. Coffee appeared magically beside his laptop, always sickeningly sweet, just how he liked it. At first, he attributed it to the office fairy, a playful term Morgan coined. However, as time passed and the small acts of service continued, Spencer couldn't ignore the pattern.
One evening, as the team gathered after a long day, Derek leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting with mischief. "Hey, pretty boy, you ever notice how Y/N here keeps your world in order without saying a word?"
"What do you mean?" Spencer furrowed his brow, glancing at her, who was discreetly arranging files nearby.
Derek chuckled, nudging Spencer. "Come on, Reid. The coffee, the desk, all those little things. It's like having a secret admirer right under your nose."
Spencer's gaze softened as realization dawned on him. He watched you for a moment, noticing the slight blush that dusted her cheeks as she worked. In that moment, he saw beyond the quiet demeanor, understanding the depth of these silent gestures.
The next morning, Spencer arrived at the office earlier than usual, a determined gleam in his eyes. He set about making coffee, meticulously following Y/N’s routine, ensuring every detail was perfect. As she entered, surprised to see him there, he offered a shy smile, holding out a mug of freshly brewed coffee.
"Morning," he greeted softly, his usually fast-paced words slowed by a newfound nervousness.
Y/N blinked in astonishment, taking the mug from his outstretched hand. "Th-thank you, Spencer.”
He nodded, his cheeks tinged with pink. "I just wanted to say... I appreciate everything you do. Your actions speak louder than words, and they haven't gone unnoticed, I just hope you meant it in the way I interpreted it."
A smile bloomed on her face, warmth spreading through her chest. Finally feeling understood, she replied, "I like you too, Spencer. And not just for the coffee."
From that day forward, Spencer and Y/N shared more than just a quiet understanding. Silent acts of love were now met with drawn out conversation and reciprocated gestures, creating a bond that spoke volumes even when rooted in the absence of sound.
#criminal minds#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x you#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#paisleypens
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— Odd
🧹 — Symopsis. Ominis decides to sit with you as you finish your breakfast. An odd- and flirtatios- conversation ensues.
🧹 — Warnings. Flirting. Weird situations. Someone’s finger ends up in someone’s mouth. Weird scenario. Mention of the One and Only Sebastian Sallow. Mention of crutiatus curse. No mention of reader’s gender or pronouns or house.
“Good morning,” a voice greeted beside you. Turning, you saw Ominis Gaunt’s milky grey eyes. He had a small smile on his face, his head cocked.
“Hello.” You greeted, voice raspy from dissuse.
Ominis busied himself by preparing his plate. It consisted of figgy pudding (ew), toast with perfectly melted butter, and two medium sized waffles. What an odd combination, you thought.
“Why are you sitting next to me? Sebastian normally follows your every movement,” you asked, finishing up the last bite of your breakfast. You admit, Ominis arrived at an unsavory time, but you liked him enough to stay and converse with him.
Ominis stiffened. “He… has been his usual annoying and persistent self. I needed to speak to someone else for once.”
Your eyebrow raised; Sevastian himself had told you that Ominis didn’t really talk to other people. Unless there was a reason. He was perfectly polite, of course, but Ominis just wasn’t the person to strike up conversation with just anyone. Intriguing, you thought. “I see,” you replied casually. “Is there a reason I’m the person you chose to speak to?”
Ominis nodded. “There is, indeed.” Ominis placed his almost finished toast back on the plate. “I understand that you probably don’t have the best perception or impression of me after I… my rather rude outburst to you about lying about the Undercoft. And for me letting Sebastian crucio you without argument.”
You shrugged, knowing Ominis would understand your movement without the ability to see. “I’d… it’s… Someone crucio-ing me is bound to happen at the rate I’m investigating into Ranrok and Rookwood….” The sound of Rookwood’s ‘avada kedavra’ had rung through your mind. Poor Natty had brushed it off, but you felt bad for her: she hadn’t signed up to have grown men try to kill her. “I’m glad the first time was with people that weren’t doing it for malicious intent,” you finished hastily. You didn’t really know what to say. Ominis had set his boundaries and was upset about being in the scriptorium at all- and he had a good reason to be. Sebastian’s response to you volunteering for the curse was a little odd, but you know that’s just how he is. “I know we’ve already been over this, but I am truly sorry about making you go with us.”
Ominis looked incredulous. “We tortured you and you’re the one apologizing? Y/n, darling, you need to get out and meet new people.”
You huffed a laugh. “You’re one to talk,” you shot back, taking a sip from your goblet.
“I guess you’re right about that. Matter of fact, you’re right about almost everything.”
You shrugged. “I’ve been placed in a unique set of sitautions that not many others have experienced. I guess knowledge and a fast reaction time is necessary,” you rambler, hating how you sounded so preachy.
“An admirable trait, I must admit,” Ominis murmured. His face was turned to yours, close enough you could see some of the melted butter gathered by his lip.
“There’s butter on your mouth,” you mumbled carefully, treading carefully.
The blond only hummed. “Help a blind man out?” He asked, voice low.
Had it been anyone else, you would have hit them upside the head and depulso’d them. An odd request, especially considering the fact that you hadn’t spoken to each other that much. But the way he had fretted over you as the pain of the cruciatus curse brought you to the ground was something that lingered in your mind. He had rushed over you after your poorly withheld screams had successfully pierced his eardrums for more than humanly necessary. Despite his blindness, he had slipped his arm under your shoulder and stood up. You shuddered and leaned into his arms, thankful for the feeling of human warmth.
And then there was Ominis’s habit of looking for you in the Great Hall whenever he felt your aura (odd, but he had taken a liking to you, despite your limited encounters). You always felt his presence searching for yours, bit you assumed it aas to make sure you were still alive and kicking: after all, you were Sebastian’s friend.
You reached up and swiped your thumb on Ominis’s bottom lip, gathering the melted butter. “Open,” you whispered.
The dull conversations taking place at tables all around the Great Hall were silenced. Ominis opened hs mouth and you slipped your thumb in his mouth. As bizarre and disgusting it was, Ominis enjoyed the feeling of you so close to him, even in this way. After Ominis’s tongue had swiped the butter off you pulled away and wiped the excess saliva on a napkin.
Ominis’s eyes were a touch darker now. He sighed shakily, thinking of how you had commanded him to open his mouth and how willing he was to follow your order. He cleared his throat. “Well.”
You smiled slightly, seeing the blush painting Ominis’s cheeks. “I’ll be out in the Pitch today. Come find me later and we can work on… spell practice.”
Ominis nodded. “Very well. I will.”
As you got up and walked away, Ominis rested his head in his hands. As he had expected, you flirted back with a talent that rivaled Sebastian Sallow himself. And the tent in his pants proved just how fond he had grown to you.
#ominis gaunt#x female reader#jules writes 📓🖊#female reader#x reader#male reader#x male reader#x male y/n#ominis x reader#ominis x mc#hl mc#hogwarts legacy fanart#hogwarts legacy ominis#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry#wizarding world#hp fandom#hogwarts houses#quidditch#slytherin#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts#oninis gaunt x reader#fluff#ominis x oc#ominis gaunt fanart
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happy new year
Summary: On New Year's Eve, you take a bold step by approaching a stranger, with whom you form a connection.
Pairing: writer!endings beginnings frank x female reader
Warnings: 18+, age gap (r is 23, Frank is 42) teasing, dirty talk, pet names, oral séx, protected séx, language, implied aftercare, no mention of y/n
Word Count: 5.2K
Frank (Endings, Beginnings) masterlist
Bucky Barnes masterlist
A/N: I think this will be a series, so I really hope you’ll enjoy it! Also, I want to thank @lavenderhaze967 for supporting me!
Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!
You’re not a coward... You’ve never been, but as you pat him on the shoulder, you want nothing more than to run away.
What were you thinking? What are you gonna tell him?
You grab the glass from the table and try to turn around quickly, but it’s too late. You see him out of the corner of your eyes how he shifts, and now he’s facing you.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
You stop with a sigh, and you find yourself checking him out shamelessly.
His hair looks perfectly styled, but in that “I don’t give a fuck” way you always admire. Even when you try or not to care, it still ends up messy. And the whites in his beard make you feel a little weaker. He looks even more handsome up close.
“Well, hello there.” He smiles shyly before bursting into giggles.
You freeze for a little bit, taken aback by his smile and the way it makes his eyes glow.
“Hi.”
“Happy new year,” he says, still smiling, with his hands in his pockets. He looks so casual, yet so attractive. It makes you wonder if it comes with time...
You clear your throat. “Happy new year!”
You don’t like how awkward you sound, it’s embarrassing, so you need help. Without noticing he follows your gaze, you turn your head toward your friends, who’ve been watching you all along. You try to show them with your eyebrows that you need some tips, but the only thing they do is to give you a thumb-up.
Sighing, you look at him again and notice how his cute smile turns into a lob-sided smirk.
“Is that for me, darling?” He nods toward the glasses you’re holding, and you mentally slap yourself as you hand him one.
“Oh, shoot! Yeah!”
He snorts, amused. “Well, thank you very much.”
With a playful wink, he brings the glass to his mouth, taking a huge sip. Your eyes remain locked even as he licks his lips, savoring the aftertaste. The corners of his mouth curl into a charming smile again, and you sigh, feeling your cheeks get hotter, as he acknowledges your gesture with a nod of appreciation.
“You’re welcome.”
“Anything I can help you with? What’s the dare?”
You don’t know how to react for a second. What dare?
“I don’t know what you mean,” you murmur.
“Look, darling, I really don’t mind.” He chuckles, waving around with the hand he’s holding the champagne glass with. “Just tell me what’s the dare, and I can help you.”
Still caught off guard by his assumption, you smile politely. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand... Where did this dare idea come from? There’s no such a thing.” You look at him with a mix of curiosity and gentle insistence, wanting to know what it’s running through his mind. You feel so embarrassed.
“I mean...” He brings his free hand to the back of his head to stroke his hair. “I was young once too, you know? I wasn’t always forty-two, I promise.”
He laughs, but you’re still focused on the casual way he dropped his age. You wouldn’t have guessed he is over forty for sure, but that doesn’t change anything. You still want to kiss him. He, on the other hand, seems to care about it. Gosh, how would he react if he knew you’re just twenty-three?
“You don’t look forty at all.”
That is the only thing you find yourself mumblings, and you sigh as soon as you realize how biased that sounds.
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, but he keeps smiling, so it must be a good sign, right?
“Well, don’t let my wrinkles or,” he pauses to stroke his beard. “My whites hear that. They might feel left out from the aging party and all.”
You can’t help but giggle, bringing your free hand to cover your cheeks, trying to hide your redness. He is casually bringing up his age, white hair, and wrinkles. Is he trying to send you a message?
“Sorry if that sounded weird. Your wrinkles are a part of...” You stop mid-sentence, not knowing what you’re going to say. You’re so silly. “I just meant… you look great. Um, yeah, sorry again.”
“So you think men in the forties look-”
“No, no,” you interrupt, panicking, but he laughs.
“I was just teasing, darling, don’t worry. Saw you turning to your friends earlier and I assumed you got dared to offer me champagne or something. I mean, why else would a woman like you talk to a fossil like me?”
Your eyes drop to his lips immediately when he chuckles. They’re wet and chapped, and you wonder how they’d feel against yours. His beard is long enough not to itch, so...
“You’re, uh, really hot,” you say bluntly before taking a huge sip from your champagne glass without taking your eyes off his face.
He frowns for a second, probably taken aback by your words, but he doesn’t get to say something as everyone around you starts to count. Almost midnight.
You take the glass from his hand and place it along with yours on the table.
This is it...
When the counting hits three, you take a deep breath, closing your eyes at the same time you get on your tiptoes, and crush your lips against his in a moment of madness. You didn’t want to have time to think twice, because you know you wouldn’t have done it. You never do something crazy like this. You’re never brave enough.
But it’s like you’re kissing a statue. He doesn’t respond at all, keeping his mouth and his arms completely still.
You step back; a mix of shock and embarrassment washing over you. “I’m so sorry,” you blurt out as you feel your cheeks reddening even more. You want to look into his eyes as you apologize… You really do, but you find it too hard. You don’t want to see the rejection or, even worse, the disgust. “I shouldn’t have done that, I am so sorry! I was completely out of line. You obviously didn’t want me, and I just crossed…” You fumble for words, mortified, and you realize it would be better if you just left. So you turn around, not even taking your glass. You just want to run away and cry yourself to sleep. You’ll have to leave this place earlier, since there is no way you could face him ever again. You shouldn’t have even approached him, you ruined his New Year’s Eve. God, you didn’t even ask him if he had someone! You simply assumed he is single because he didn’t have a wedding band, and you didn’t see him with anyone.
You take a few steps into your friends’ direction, crushed, but you feel his hand wrapping around your forearm, stopping you and, at the same time, turning you around.
You wonder if he’s going to scold you as you stare back at him, but he surprises you too when he moves his hand from your forearm to the back of your head, tilting your head enough so he can lean in and kiss you.
You gasp when you feel his lips, and he doesn’t hesitate even for a second to deepen the kiss. You feel his tongue everywhere in your mouth, and you moan, feeling your knees weakening. You don’t think you’ve ever been kissed like this, let alone in public. It makes your attempt from earlier look ridiculous. You try to kiss him back with just as much passion, bringing your hands to his neck so you can feel him better. His beard doesn’t tickle your face, and his tongue is amazing.
You’re gonna remember this forever, without a doubt.
He breaks the kiss with a pop when you can’t breathe anymore, letting your foreheads touch gently.
“Now this is, indeed, a happy new year.”
“Thought you didn’t want it... me,” you whisper, still looking at his now red lips. You just want to kiss him again and cover his whole face with lipstick.
“The question is do you really want me like this? I’m an old man with a very messy fuck boy past. You know, I even used to do drugs,” he says seriously, but not moving away. It’s like he’s waiting for you to take the step back, and when you don’t, he continues. “You seem like a good girl, and I assume you’re pretty sober.” He pauses, waiting for you to confirm, so you just nod. “Good! But I don’t want you to make decisions in the heat of the moment. Even if it’s just for a night.”
Even though you understand being a good girl is not an insult, you’re still offended. He basically offers one night, so his past doesn’t matter. Fuck boy... you guess this is also his way of telling you he is single and doesn’t look for something serious. And you appreciate he’s warning you about everything. No man who’s still in that mindset would warn you. He means well, so you grab him by the collar of his shirt. “Do good girls kiss you without even knowing your name?” Your tone takes him by surprise. His eyes widen, and a giggle escapes his mouth.
“Still a good... and younger girl. Too young for me for sure.”
You sigh, getting on your tiptoes again.
“What if this good, younger girl takes you to her room and lets you fuck her?”
You don’t know where this comes from. You’re always straightforward, but not like this. And definitely not to a man in his early forties you don’t even know. But you really want him, and you deserve to enjoy yourself for a minute.
His eyes are big, but his smirk tells a whole different story.
“If you’re sure,” he waves around, signaling you that you can leave and that he’s in. Your heart is racing as you take his hand. “I guess you want to be my good girl.”
*
His hands are everywhere: from your hair to your hips as soon as you close the door, surprising you. You drop the keys and your purse on the table and let him guide you to the mini-couch. If you thought the kiss from earlier was intense, the way he kisses you now makes you completely breathless. He’s really, really good at it, and the way he’s grabbing your ass is actually perfect. Even though his tongue explores your mouth with almost desperation, you don’t feel like he rushes anything at all.
“It’s Frank, by the way,” he whispers against your cheek before he starts unzipping your dress.
“What?”
You nervously let the sleeves fall and then step out of your dress. Your underwear doesn’t match and you are not prepared for sex, but he doesn’t seem to mind, staring straight at your bra as if it’s his worst enemy.
“My name, darling.”
“Frank...” You repeat. It fits him, it sounds straightforward.
He smiles widely, bringing his hand to your back to unhook your bra.
“I hope you’ll keep saying my name tonight. You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.”
You can’t even be mad at him for his lie.
“I somehow doubt that, Frank,” you snort, throwing the bra on the floor yourself. You keep your eyes there for a few seconds, not knowing what to do, but you feel his hands on your breasts before you can even say something, squeezing and teasing your nipples.
“You have the most beautiful tits ever. Wanna bury my face in them as I fuck you. Would you let me do that too?”
You can’t help but sigh, bringing your hand to his chin. “You don’t have to lie to me, okay? I actually ask you not to.”
He stops fondling your breasts, and you make eye contact. He seems a little confused and maybe even mad.
“I mean every word I say. I don’t need to lie, do I? You said you’re gonna be my good girl. So I do feel like licking your tits as I fuck you till you scream my name, okay?”
“I never said I wanna be your good girl, did I?” You ask, changing the subject, and bring your hands to his flannel shirt-jacket to remove it.
“No, you’re right. You wanna be my brat.” He bites his bottom lip as you start to unbutton his shirt as quickly as you can, noticing how your fingers tremble. “Have you ever been called a brat before? Did they even notice you are one?”
“Do you always talk about others during sex? That’s a total turn off for me, just so you know.” You pull off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. God, please have mercy! You finally meet his eyes. “And no, I haven’t been called that before. You’re the first one. Does that stroke your ego or,” you pause so you can unzip his jeans. “Should I stroke something else?”
“No need to stroke anything. How about being a good princess and lying on your back so I can get a taste of your pretty pussy, hmm?”
You probably made a face since he brings his lips between your brows, stopping you from frowning with a kiss.
“Princess, really? Did that really get you laid?”
“I thought it turns you off to talk about other people,” he whispers as you lower his jeans and briefs at the same time, trying not to frown again at the thought of what you brought up. You know it’s silly and unfair to wish to be seen as unique, especially in the eyes of a man with experience like Frank, but you can’t control your thoughts.
You shake your head, wanting to snap out of it. One night. You have to stop overthinking for only one night... or, well, until you two finish. “You’re right. Let’s just…”
He steps out of the pool of clothes but doesn’t let you go to the bed or even look down, holding your face so you can meet his eyes.
“I haven’t called anyone princess until now, I swear. And I’ve never been with someone this younger, either.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Frank.” You smile. “I promised to let you fuck me, so...”
“Sweetheart, hey!” His voice is not just soft, but also comforting. You immediately notice his bottom lip between his teeth, though. “Tell me if you changed your mind. Tell me to stop any time. I know you can’t fully believe that, but I promise I’m not lying about anything. I can charm you better with my tongue than with some words I wouldn’t believe in. I found you incredibly hot when I saw you tonight. Checked you out before you came to me, but I realized you’re way too young and you don’t need this shit. I assumed you’re with someone.” His thumb touches your bottom lip, and you whimper.
“Frank...”
“I could come just by looking at your face. Won’t even talk about your tits. Whoever made you feel otherwise is a fucking jackass.”
You don’t know if you should laugh or simply kiss the hell out of him, fighting the urge to apologize, so instead you look down, straight at his cock and gasp. It’s thick and so, so hard. The precome on the head makes you wonder how it’d taste. The slight curve and the visible veins make it look even hotter.
You’re nervous since you did this only two times, so you certainly can’t say you’re an expert.
You gently grab the head of his dick with your right hand, stroking a bit with your thumb. It steals a moan from him instantly, making you feel proud.
After that, you drop to your knees without hesitation, not taking off your hands until you make sure you are close enough. You look up at him just in time to see him pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, shocked.
“I wanna suck your cock so much, but I need some... guidance. I’m not,” you stop shyly for a second to rephrase it. “I want to know how you like it.”
“Jesus, sweetheart, are you trying to kill an old man?”
“Why, do you see one with us in the room?” You take one hand off so you can bring your tongue to the head and get a proper taste.
You feel his fingers flying to your hair instantly, almost pulling, and you keep looking into his eyes.
“S-stop, I told you I want to eat you, now be a good-” he hisses when you take his tip into your mouth, playfully letting your teeth just graze him. You don’t know where this came from, but you just had the urge to do it. “Fucking brat!”
This time he actually pulls your hair a little, making you actually whimper when you lose contact with his cock.
“If you don’t like it, you can, uh, fuck my mouth. I never... But I-”
“Fucking hell,” he groans, leaning it enough so he can grab you by your waist and lift you until he can properly take you in his arms to carry you.
“Just shut up for a sec and listen, okay?”
You roll your eyes, licking your lips. “Or what? Gonna punish me?” You mock him before telling him your name as he drops you on the bed.
“Yes, I’m gonna punish you. Is that your real name?”
You move, supporting yourself on your elbows as he spreads your legs.
“Yes, why? Did you give me a fake name?” You get goosebumps when you feel his hands on the sides of your underwear. And before you can continue to question him, you hear the tearing sound at the same time as you feel the underwear fall on the bed.
What the fuck?
“No, but I never know with a bratty little girl.”
“Little girl? You’ve just ripped my underwear, Frank!”
“You almost bit my cock!”
You roll your eyes. He’s so dramatic.
“If I’d really wanted to bite it, you’d have no cock right now to fuck me with, so...”
He shakes his head, and you almost reach for those strands that fall recklessly on his forehead. He has such pretty hair, you’re jealous.
“God, look at this.” He sounds so fascinated as his fingers find your slit. Your body jolts in surprise when you feel his touch. “So wet.”
He smiles cheekily before bringing his finger to your mouth and pressing it against your bottom lip so you can feel the wetness. Then he kisses you with hunger, licking and biting until you open.
He doesn’t just deepen the kiss, he also moves and drags you with him until you’re on the edge of the bed.
“Thank you for trusting me,” he says suddenly, making you freeze for a couple of seconds. Unexpected.
He starts leaving a trail of kisses on his way down to your pussy: from your chin, to your neck, the valley between your tits, your navel, then right above your entrance.
“I want you not to hold back, okay? If you feel the need to ride my face, please do. If you want me to use my hands or tongue in any way, tell me. Guide me... use me, I’m all yours.”
The way he says the last part makes you whimper. He wants you to use him for your pleasure… and there is something about this that drives you absolutely crazy.
“Yes, Frank.”
He smiles, breathing out right against your entrance, making you shiver before licking. Fuck.
“Good girl.”
Your hips start moving before you realize what you’re doing, and Frank’s nose is brushing your clit, making you whimper. It was only for a second, but he immediately catches the sound.
He stops, and you open your eyes in panic. He told you to do whatever you felt like. There is no way he is mad about this, right?
He looks far from mad or bothered. He looks somehow more turned on than before, and the sound of him licking his fingers makes you shiver in anticipation.
You feel his mouth kissing your clit at the same time he curls a finger inside you. The moan escapes you before you can bite your lip, and you feel his smile between your legs.
You can’t help but rock your hips again, searching for his tongue, wanting to make him fasten the way he fucks you with his finger, but he is no hurry. He wraps his lips around your clit again and sucks slowly while his index finger stays unmoved inside you.
He’s a fucking tease!
Remembering his words from earlier but still hesitatingly, you let your back hit the bed and bring your right hand into his hair, pulling gently to get his attention.
He looks up, not changing anything, and you start stroking his hair. “Gimmie more. And... faster, please.”
You sound shyer than you wanted, but it’s the first time you have any kind of intimacy with this man. And it’s not like you have a lot of experience.
And thankfully, he doesn’t tease you more, getting another finger inside you, and he starts to pump them much faster. The way he sucks on your clit now is a bit different too, and it’s so good. You don’t even realize you’re pulling his hair until you feel his hand over yours, encouraging you to grab it harder.
“Don’t wanna h-hurt you.” It’s so hard to focus. “You have pretty... hair.”
The truth is that he has the prettiest hair you’ve ever seen, but you also never pulled your ex’s hair during sex. Ethan hated his hair being played with when he grew it out, and most of the time you wouldn’t even be able to pull it anyway since it was way too short.
You snap out of your thoughts when you feel Frank’s teeth teasing your clit. You’re extra sensitive.
“F-Frank!”
And it seems like he knows and he’s just messing with you.
This time, you don’t hesitate to move your hips, just not with too much force because you don’t want to suffocate him. But he seems like he does since he moans into your clit and starts basically suckling. You’re losing it. You’re losing it and you can’t even warn him. You’re coming all over his face with a hand in his hair and another grabbing the sheet under you.
He doesn’t stop any of his movements until you open your eyes and let go of his hair. You didn’t even realize how hard you’ve been pulling it, but you don’t feel bad, he seems to enjoy this a lot.
“You taste fucking fantastic.” These are the first words he manages to say between breaths, and in a second he is back on top of you, his lips shining with your wetness. You immediately bring your hand weakly to his chin and stroke his beard, which is also wet.
You shake your head a little, trying not to blush. He wouldn’t say that just for the sake of it... you can’t question it again, and you don’t know how to answer. What can you say? That he has a lovely tongue? So you choose to change the subject.
“Can I return the favor now, Frank?”
He frowns, closing the gap between your faces. “It is not a favor, princess.” And then he kisses you, giving you a taste of your own pussy. He’s not even trying to deepen the kiss, so you open your mouth, letting your tongue taste more of your wetness. His whimper makes you feel victorious, and you use it as an opportunity to explore inside his mouth. You can’t say you taste in a certain way, but at least it is not bad. Frank, on the other hand, has a taste you don’t think you’d ever get tired of.
“See?” He breaks the kiss. “Gonna get me addicted.”
You roll your eyes. “I highly doubt that, now please tell me you have a condom.”
He freezes for a bit, and you almost groan in disappointment, but then he smiles. “Yeah, I think I have one or two. Old habit.”
You don’t say anything about his last remark as you watch him get off the bed and grab his jeans from the floor. You try not to think once again about how this will end soon and you’ll be remembering this night for a long time. And thankfully, he is back with two condoms, smiling as he opens one. He lets the other on the floor and before you can offer to help, he’s already ready.
“How do you want me?”
He looks at you surprised, probably not expecting this question, but you don’t know what he likes.
“Wanna ask you one more time... are you sure you wanna do this? We can stop-”
“I told you I want your cock, Frank. That I want you to fuck me.” You giggle nervously, spreading your legs. He didn’t decide after all. “Now please...”
“Need to fuck this doubt out of you.” He shakes his head as he positions himself between your legs, and before you can answer, he leans in, grabbing a pillow and placing it under your head. “Let’s see how much it takes for you to cry out my name.”
You’re not sure why you feel so nervous. He ate you out, you played a bit with his cock, yet somehow this makes you agitated.
You’re proud of yourself for not closing your eyes even after he enters you. Your body is trapped between his elbows, and you whimper, grabbing his arm to keep some kind of sense of your surroundings.
He’s much thicker than Ethan, and you find yourself trying to spread your legs even further apart, wanting to feel more of him. It’s something thrilling about this discomfort because it makes you crave more.
“You okay?”
“Ihm,” you gasp, trying to find your breath.
“Should I stop?”
“What? Why?”
You realize shortly after he giggles what he actually means, and you look away embarrassed.
“I meant inside you, darling. You’re, uh-”
He forgets what he was gonna say when you raise your hips to get him deeper inside you, and without asking him for permission, you wrap your legs around his ass. You need him all the way in even if it’ll hurt. You want to enjoy this to the fullest... every second of it.
And it’s absolutely a joy to see a man like Frank lose his focus.
“S-so good.”
“God, are you-” He moans when you rock your hips a bit more, trying to get used to the sensation of being so full. “You’re perfect, fuck!”
“I n-need you to move, Frank. Fuck me, okay?” The more you try to fuck him the louder the impact of your bodies gets... from your slickness to his balls hitting your ass.
God, you never wanted to be fucked so hard more than now!
“Please, give it to me, I can... I can handle it.”
It’s like something snaps inside him because in no time you’re getting what you wanted. He’s fucking you and smiling in a way that you can only describe as devlish. It’s sexy, and mocking, and warm at the same time. It makes you lose your mind.
“Look at you, begging to take my cock, beg- fuck! Begging for me to fill this pretty pussy. So wet for me!”
You wrap your legs around his ass even harder, digging your heels a little into his cheeks when he starts pounding you into the bed. You can’t keep down your moans even though you try to. So you bring your palm to your mouth so you can bite it. But Frank doesn’t seem to like it. Not at all... He stops mid-thrust, making you cry, needing more, just to move your hand away from your lips and pin it to the bed.
“Under no circumstances, you’re allowed to do this again.” His tone might be authoritative, but his eyes are soft and warm. You can’t help but bring your other hand to his face to stroke his beard.
“Why not?”
“Be a good girl and don’t play.” He’s not waiting for you to respond, though. He lowers his face a bit more and kisses you, making it impossible for you to breathe as he starts thrusting again as well. The pace is faster, more brutal somehow than before. He swallows a few of your moans as you desperately cling to his shoulders, trying to gain some strength to roll your hips back to meet his. When you do it, he hisses, breaking the kiss just to murmur how wet and tight you are. How good you feel and how he’s never gonna be the same. You can’t focus on anything, especially not on his words. Your eyes are blurry from the tears, and you can’t stop moaning. It’s like you have no control over your body, and for once, it’s not scary.
You lose it, though, when he lowers his hand to your clit and circles it over and over again. It’s like something short-circuits your body. You’re no longer just holding onto his shoulders, either, you’re scratching them without realizing as you come still crying. The way you scream his name, on the other hand, is enough for Frank to come too, thrusting a few more times before falling on top of you; his head right on your breasts as the pleasure takes over his body. You don’t care how heavy he is as you watch him through the fogginess looking so content.
“Was it okay?” You whisper, caressing his scratched shoulder with one hand while stroking the back of his head with the other one. “Sorry for hurting you.”
“Did you just use the word okay to describe what’s just happened?” He raises his head before rolling over so he’d stop crushing you. “This is the best sex I’ve had in my life, Jesus! And hurting me? Please, princess, it was so hot.”
You snort, suddenly more relaxed. He enjoyed it. Probably exaggerating with the best part, but still...
“I guess you have a pain kink, Frank.”
A huge smile spreads on his face as he pulls you to his chest. You don’t care that you’re both sweaty, you want to cuddle with him. You only have a condom left, then you’ll be alone again. And you might never have this crazy sex ever in your life. The thought makes you wanna cry, but you need to focus on the present. He’s still here.
“Should I bring you some water?” You feel his lips on your forehead. “Gonna get you a towel. Want a snack? You’ll need your strength for round two.”
It looks like he’s in no hurry, so you take a deep breath and smile.
“Some water sounds great. I can clean myself though, no need to bother yourself.”
But he’s on his feet before you can even finish speaking.
“You better not move!”
#frank endings beginnings#endings beginnings#endings beginnings frank#frank endings beginnings smut#bucky barnes smut#sebastian stan#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes one shot#marvel#mcu#bucky barnes x reader#frank endings beginnings x reader#endings beginnings frank x reader#fanfic#my stories#my fanfics#frank
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you're writing for bradley!! i am so so excited!! could i request just some domestic fluff with shy!reader and bradley? maybe her coming home from a long day and he's just the perfect boyfriend with a glass of wine and a hug ready for her? love u gorgeous 💗
thank you for requesting, babe, I absolutely adored writing this and him, let me known if you have any more!! —bradley helps you feel better after a bad, long day with wine and a multitude of hugs. fem!reader 1k
You push into your apartment, a ground floor slotting of sandblown terracotta tiles and wooden shutters weakened by termites, and pause. There's something wrong, a humming sound.
You take a step back toward the door and slide your phone from your pocket.
Hi Bradley, where are you? I think somebody has been in my apartment. Should I worry? you text him. You've continued a streak of politeness with him even now, too shy to dip into the familiarity you feel when he's holding you close over the phone. You follow it up quickly. Don't worry, I'm sure it's okay. Do you know what time you'll be coming over? Any time is OK.
"It's me!" Bradley calls with an easy chuckle. Couch springs creak as he jumps up, and a second later he appears in the living room doorway with a frankly breathtaking grin, shoving his cell into his pocket. "I'm coming over right now. Holy shit, would you look at you?"
You hold your bag closer to your side, hair not nearly as neat as it started that morning, the day's chaos etched into the small wrinkles either side of your eyes. "Me?"
When he smiles, it's all white top teeth and joy. For someone who's been through so much, and who works so hard, he's a shaken bottle of fizzy happiness whenever the moment allows —you barely have time to put your bag next to the rack of shoes (and there, his shoes you must've missed toed off and perfectly aligned with your sandy flip flops) when he's crossing the hall in quick strides and pulling you into an ecstatic embrace.
"Hey," he says, kissing your cheek, moustache not scratchy but far from soft. It rubs a wonky trail as he kisses without goal. Kiss on your nose, your cheek, close enough to your eye to make you cringe and back away.
"Hi, Brad," you say breathlessly.
You need time to prepare yourself for seeing him usually, his sudden closeness catching you off guard. You struggle to make any sense of how much he likes you, but you've given up denying his attention. You want it too badly.
He doesn't stall at your obvious (embarrassing) flustering; he doubles down. His arms like steel cords behind your shoulders, Bradley noses at the side of your face, his breath warm on your cheek as he says, "Sorry, I thought surprising you might be nice, but I didn't think about your nerves."
"My nerves," you say.
"Your bad nerves. You're flighty." He gives it another press, the straight line of his nose digging into your cheek before he pulls away.
Bradley doesn't give you time to miss his arms around you. He makes for the kitchen, notices you aren't following, and grabs your hand. Tugging, he takes you into the kitchen and elbows open your refrigerator, revealing a better sight than what you'd seen this morning.
"I had to go out again when I saw your fridge," he says, ducking down to push aside what looks like the makings of your favourite meal to unearth a pretty bottle of red. "Sweetheart, when you said you had a shitty breakfast, I was picturing, like, half a grapefruit. Did you eat anything?"
He only knows what you'd texted him, shitty breakfast code for the found half of a cereal bar in your jacket.
You don't like to text Bradley too much in case you put him off, but today was bad, and you know he doesn't mind. He'd told you so only a few days ago. His hand full of your stomach, hot under the collar, you can't remember what you'd been talking about initially, your memory intricately busy remembering the planes of his tightly muscled torso and the feeling of his weight atop you, but suddenly he'd been leaning down, brown eyes pleading. "You can talk to me," he'd said. "About anything. I want to hear it. You know that, right?"
So you texted him somewhere around lunch time and had been delighted to find him puttering around doing a whole lot of nothing. He's been keeping himself busy on leave, staying fit, helping your elderly upstairs neighbour put together her new chest of drawers between half marathons and surfing, regular dreamboat stuff.
I think I'm having a bad day, you'd said. What are you up to, Brad? Can I still see you tonight?
Why do you act like I'm not obsessed with you? he'd text back immediately. Kidding. Kind of. What's wrong? Can I bring you lunch?
Raincheck on lunch? I don't think I'll have time. I'll explain later if that's OK. Miss you.
Miss you too, baby. I wanna hear all about it tonight.
You blink up from his hands to find him staring at you worriedly. You're in your own head, exhausted and a little muddled after such a long day, and he clearly doesn't like it.
"Is wine gonna make you feel worse?" he asks, tapping your thigh with his knuckles.
"Definitely not," you say.
"Before dinner?"
Your smile turns sheepish. You want the wine much more than the dinner, but if you get both, you won't complain.
He leans back against the fridge, arms crossed, the neck of the wine bottle held precariously in a confident hand. "Sure you're okay?" he asks.
"I will be." You take a brave step forward and look up into his face. It's difficult to grasp what it is he sees in you when he's like something out of a movie, all brains, brawn, and bleeding heart. You don't get it, but he wants you, and he's here. "Thanks for coming over, Bradley."
"This shtick again?" he asks, raising his brows.
"This shtick again," you repeat, grinning at the implication.
He hooks your ankle with his. "Thanking me for coming over is like thanking a fish for swimming. Couldn't stop myself if I wanted to."
Your laugh is a wheeze. Brad does you the generosity of pretending you've made a more intelligible sound and pulls you in for a one-armed hug, rubbing a rough up and down into your side. It's such a nice feeling to be tucked up under his arm that you can almost forget how badly you want a glass of wine.
"Want the big glasses from the top shelf?" Bradley asks knowingly.
"Yes. Please."
#bradley bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw x y/n#bradley bradshaw x fem!reader#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley bradshaw fluff#bradley bradshaw fanfic#bradley bradshaw oneshot#bradley bradshaw scenario#bradley bradshaw drabble#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfiction#top gun maverick#top gun maverick fic#top gun maverick x reader#rooster x reader#top gun rooster
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