#2) it has been a long time since I've written this much smut

[flowersforbucky]

higher than heaven

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.5k - my masterlist

summary: bucky's first time smoking 🍃 since the 40s. bucky finds you smoking alone one night, leading to two of you growing much closer.

warnings/tags: use of marijuana, language, brief use of alcohol, nightmares, ptsd, anxiety, pining and tension, heated kissing, friends to lovers, pretty fucking fluffy, no use of y/n, fem reader, 18+ only

author's note: no smut? gasp! everything else i've written for bucky has contained smut so bare with me, i just wanted to take a break for some fun and fluffy (but still tension-filled) toking.

a/n 2: bucky and reader smoke in this, but i wouldn't say that's the main focus of this fic, just something that brings them closer together. i tried not to focus too much on that aspect, and also tried not to give too vivid of descriptions of being stoned so hopefully readers who don't smoke 🍃 can still enjoy this fic for the fluff and feels. however, if this is a triggering topic for you in any way, please be careful and read at your own discretion 🖤

The Avenger's compound truly has everything you could ever need. A state of the art gymnasium and training center, indoor and outdoor pools, beautifully maintained grounds with walking trails and lake access.

And, one of your favorite things, no shortage of secluded smoking spots.

Tonight's choice? The roof directly above the living quarters. This is likely the spot that you frequent the most, out of sheer convenience.

You keep a couple of extra folding chairs stashed in the stairwell, for the rare occasions that you can convince Natasha or Wanda to relax enough to join you.

Tonight, like most nights, you're by yourself. You don't mind - you enjoy this alone time. You usually come up here after missions to unwind before passing out in your bed.

It’s a chilly night, with temperatures finally dropping down into the low fifties as the early days of fall approach. You're bundled up in an oversized hoodie, sipping on oolong tea to warm you from the inside. In your left hand you clutch the warm mug, and with your right you pinch the tail-end of a burning joint between your thumb and index finger.

You've been up here long enough to have already burnt through one joint, and you now take slow, heady hits of a second as you wait for the meteor shower that's expected to begin over the northeastern United States any minute.

The creaking of the large metal door that leads to the roof startles you, causing you to break your gaze away from the stars littered above you in the New York sky. All the times you've come up here to watch the sunsets over the lake, no one has stumbled upon you. You're surprised by who emerges from the doorway a second later.

Bucky freezes in his tracks when he notices you sitting just a few yards in front of him.

“Oh, sorry,” he pauses, seemingly glancing around the roof to see if there's anyone else here with you. “I didn't expect - I didn't think anyone would be up here right now,” he stutters out.

“You're good,” you smile at him over your shoulder before turning your attention back to the sky. “Trying to get a good view of the meteors?”

“Yes, actually,” he says, surprised. You hear his boots scratching the pavement of the roof as he walks closer to you. You look up at him when he comes to a stop right next to where you're sitting.

“Well, you've come to the right place.” You gesture towards the scenery in front of you - the endless inky sky overlooking the lake next to the compound. “There's some extra chairs stashed in the stairwell, if you'd like one.”

“I didn't know that you smoke,” he says curiously, eyeballing the blazing joint still clutched between your fingers. He visibly sniffs a couple times, as if to confirm that he is indeed smelling what he thinks he is. He doesn't acknowledge your offer of a chair, instead choosing to sit directly on the cement, criss-crossing his legs at the ankles.

“Are you going to tell on me?” You ask as if what you're doing isn't perfectly legal and your friends don't already know.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he smirks up at you, eyes flicking between you and the joint.

“Want a hit?” You offer, extending your hand towards him. He hesitates, uncertainty blooming across his features.

“I haven't smoked since the forties,” he starts with an awkward laugh. He reaches up, carefully taking the joint from you and pinching it between his own two fingers and inspecting it. “I still remember the last joint I smoked before finding out that I had been drafted. If I had known it was going to be my last, I would've appreciated it a lot more.” There's a hint of nostalgia in his words.

You picture it - baby-faced Bucky, in his early twenties, with glossy blue eyes and a lazy, content smile. The thought makes your cheeks warm, and a small, sad smile spreads across your own face. That was a literal lifetime ago, and you didn't know if he had felt as carefree since then.

“Well,” you begin after a sip of your tea. “You're no longer property of the United States Army, or HYDRA, or any organization. So if you want to smoke, then smoke. And if not, that's okay, too, but give me my joint back because you're burning perfectly good weed right now.”

He chuckles at your scolding before bringing the joint up to his own lips and taking a slow, long puff. There's a sharp inhale before he erupts into a coughing fit, smoke billowing out in a cloud in front of him. You give him a few awkward pats on the back while he works through the burn that he is undoubtedly feeling in his esophagus.

“Damn, I've missed that,” he sighs once he has regained his composure. He holds the dwindling joint back up to you.

You shake your head. “Finish it off,” you insist. “I've already had one tonight. It’s all yours.”

You expect him to argue but to your surprise, he takes a second hit. And a third, and fourth, while you sit next to him in an amicable, comfortable silence. Soon, there's nothing left but a small roach that he stubs out against the cement next to where he sits.

“How're you feeling?” You ask, knowing that his tolerance has to be in the negatives if he hasn't smoked in over seventy years.

“If twenty-two year old Bucky knew that I was this stoned off half a joint, he'd never let me hear the end of it,” he says with an amused smile, propping back on the palms of his hands to stare up at you.

“Well, I think one-hundred and six year old Bucky is doing just fine for himself,” you muse. “Twenty-first century weed has got to be more potent than whatever dirt weed you were smoking in the forties, so cut yourself some sla–”

“I did not smoke dirt–”

“Look!” you exclaim, cutting him off as you point up at the sky. He goes quiet, following your gaze.

You both watch in awed silence as flashes of bright white-blues and purples begin to dash across the sky above you. At first, there's a bolt here and a bolt there - but before you know it, there's dozens - too many meteors to count, here and then gone in the blink of an eye. Where one disappears, another takes its place.

You lose track of how long the two you sit there, on the roof, under the shower of the shooting stars - and it has nothing to do with being stoned. They are just that mesmerizing.

“I think we’re supposed to make a wish,” you murmur after a long while, remembering the old legend about shooting stars. You watch the last few meteors as they burn out, and then the sky goes dark once more. When he doesn't respond, you glance down at where he sits to find that his eyes are closed.

You smile to yourself - you didn't actually plan on making a wish, and you definitely didn't expect him to. You figure that he is just humoring you, but you can't help but think how adorable it is nonetheless. You can't stop yourself from snorting a laugh, causing his eyes to snap open and up at you.

“What? Did you make your wish?” he demands, his tone serious.

You hum. A familiar, glowing warmth grows from your lips and down to your toes despite the chilly night air as you stare at him. You tell yourself it’s a physical effect of the marijuana.

“I think I’m good, actually.”

••••••

Every year, a different member of the Avengers chooses a charity to hold a gala in honor of.

Sam's choice last year, Homes For Our Troops, build specially adapted, custom homes for severely injured veterans. Natasha's choice the year before that, Children of the Night, is a non-profit organization dedicated to rescuing and rehabilitating children who have been victims of prostitution.

Always funded by the Stark Relief Foundation, always held in the most high-profile and illustrious venues that money can buy, and always filled to the brim with every philanthropist and major news reporter in the state of New York.

This year, for the first time, it was your turn to select a charity. You decided on Women For Women International - a noble and worthy cause that you are proud to raise awareness and donations for. However, now that three hours into the gala, you are fucking burnt out. From the moment that you and your teammates arrived at the venue, guests and reporters began forming lines for their chance at interviewing you or getting their picture taken with you. You feel like you’ve talked to every person in the building, except for the one person that you truly wanted to. Add in a ten minute long speech addressing five hundred plus guests, you are drained. Physically, mentally, and socially drained.

“You did incredible with your speech,” a soft voice says from behind you. “All that worrying for nothing.”

You're exhaling a sigh of relief at the familiar voice before you've finished turning around to meet his dimpled grin and deep blue eyes. You think he might just be as ready as you are to get out of here with the way he's already loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his tux. His hair is tousled - though you haven't had a free moment to speak with him since the car ride over here with Sam and Steve, you have no doubt that he's ran his fingers through the short locks a few dozens times throughout the evening - a habit that flares up every time he's out of his element. With this being the first gala he's attended as an Avenger, and possibly the first gala he's ever attended, you're surprised he has any hair left.

“I wouldn't say for nothing,” you turn back to the bar in front of you and wave a singular finger to the bartender, signaling your desire for another drink. “I stuttered at least eight times, and lost my place on the page twice. I felt like I was going to puke shrimp cocktail and espresso martini all over the podium.”

You can see him grimace from your peripheral vision. He pulls out the barstool next to where you stand, and then takes a seat. You're pinned between the chair on the opposite side of you and his thigh, the cool silk of his pants tickling the bare skin of your leg where your dress cuts off just above mid-thigh. Close enough that you can feel warmth radiate from him and smell the essence of his piney aftershave. Subconsciously, you relax for the first time all evening.

“You are your own worst critic,” he reminds you, repeating the sentiment that he’s been saying to you for the last few weeks, anytime the gala or your speech would come up in conversation. “No one else noticed if you stuttered. They’re all too full of liquor, or too concerned with getting their photo op with Iron Man or The Hulk..” he trails off, glancing over his shoulder at where Tony and Bruce are both striking signature poses for some selfies with guests.

“And what about you? Have any of your fangirls begged you to take a picture with them?” You smirk at him as the bartender slides your martini across the countertop. You angle your body so that you’re now turned to face him, leaving practically no space between the two of you.

“More than I can count,” he exhales, and you force a laugh to not roll your eyes - not that you were surprised or that you could blame them for wanting their picture taken with him.

“Well, I’m glad that we were able to raise so much money,” you sigh into your drink. “But I would be lying if I said I’m also not glad that it’s over with. I’m ready to get these shoes off, submerge myself in a hot bath, and then sleep until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Always the introvert,” he murmurs, a sly grin appearing on his face. He carefully tugs the lapel of his jacket to the side and reaches his flesh hand inside, pulling out a tin of wintergreen Altoids. You look at him curiously as he gives the small container a shake. It makes no sound, seemingly empty of mints. You cock an eyebrow at him, about to ask him what the deal is, when a familiar, earthy scent wafts towards you.

“What’s in the tin, Buck?” you ask rhetorically, as if the odor isn’t a dead giveaway.

“Just a little something I’ve been saving for when I could finally get you alone tonight,” he shrugs, slipping the tin back inside the interior pocket of his jacket. Your heart skips a beat at the possibility that maybe he’d been wanting to talk to you, see you, spend time with you as much as you had him.

“I’m just happy to see that you finally have your own weed,” you tease, trying to polish off the remnants of your drink so that you can get the fuck out of here. “Now you can stop smoking all of mine.”

You’re just giving him a hard time, of course. You’d lost count of how many times the two of you have smoked together since the night of the meteor shower just two months ago, and you were more than happy to share your supply with him - he gives you a lopsided grin that tells you he knows you don’t actually mind.

“Hence why I have pre-rolled three joints just for you,” he quips back. “One for how much time and effort you put into this event, one for conquering your fear of public speaking, and one for how much of your weed you have let me smoke.”

Your cheeks warm at the thoughtful gesture. You swallow the last swig of the brown liquid and slide the glass back across the bar.

“What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go get a cab.”

Half an hour later, you and Bucky are in the backseat of the taxi that drives you away from bustling downtown Brooklyn and towards a park that Bucky had instructed the driver to take you to. You didn’t object, trusting that he knows this area of New York better than you do.

The driver comes to a stop next to a nearly desolate sidewalk that appears to lead to a waterfront walkway. Bucky hands the driver a handful of cash, tells him to keep the change, and hops out of the cab before extending a hand to you as you scoot across the seat to follow his exit. You mumble a quick thanks to the driver as he helps you onto the sidewalk and shuts the door behind you.

You pull your coat tighter around you, attempting to shield yourself from the chill of the November air. Fall is now in full swing in New York, and the short cocktail dress that you wore to the gala does little to protect you from the night air.

“Me and Steve used to come to this park all the time,” he tells you as he pulls the Altoids tin and a BIC lighter from his jacket. “I vividly remember having to break up a fight he got into just past that fountain when we were teenagers,” he motions towards a large granite fountain ahead of you, “when some asshole stole a kid's frisbee.”

You laugh as he passes you a joint and the lighter, able to picture the memory he describes clear as day. It's far from the first time he's told you about a time that he had to get pre-serum Steve out of trouble.

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” you mumble as you pinch the tail of the joint between your lips, inhaling as you hold the flame up to the opposite end. A wave of smoke instantly fills your esophagus and lungs with a familiar, comforting burn and you pass the blazing joint back to him. “He’d still do the exact same thing, too,” you add as you exhale the thick cloud of smoke that mixes with the cold air. “Only difference now is that he can handle any fight that he gets himself into.”

“Some things never change,” he says before bringing the paper up to his own lips. You follow as he guides you across a small grassy area and to the walkway that runs alongside the river. Truthfully, it’s too chilly to be on a park stroll at this hour in your current attire, but with Bucky’s body heat radiating from directly beside you and the buzz you feel from the weed, you’re surprisingly comfortable.

“One thing that has changed however,” he continues as you’re inhaling a second hit, “is how well I’ve started sleeping on the nights that we smoke together. On those nights, I don't wake up over a dozen times. Hardly ever even have nightmares anymore.”

Your skin tingles at his admission - a whole flight of butterflies erupting in the pit of your stomach that you push down. You know that he means this because of the weed, not because of you, but for some reason - maybe it's the way his arm keeps bumping against yours or the way the moonlight reflects in the pools of his blue eyes as he glances over at you - you let yourself believe, even for just a split second, that you're aiding in bringing him peace on those evenings spent together. On the roof above the living quarters right before bed, or at the edge of the lake's water when you stop after a late run to watch the sunset, or -

“I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm grateful that I found you up on the roof the night of the meteor shower,” he continues when you don't respond, his voice now possessing a nervous edge. Your mouth suddenly feels dry - the worst cotton-mouth you've ever had times ten. “For more reasons than one.”

You both gradually slow until you've come to a complete stop in front of a boat dock. Between the martini you had before leaving the gala, the effects of the marijuana, and the way he's looking at you while standing so close, you think it's a miracle that you haven't tripped in these ridiculous chunky heels and fallen into the East River. You clear your throat, hoping that you don't sound like a lovestruck teenager when you speak.

“I'm really glad too, Bucky.”

••••••

You stare down at the picture displayed on your phone screen as you and Natasha take the elevator up to the compound's living quarters.

Rolled and ready for you to be home reads the text attached to the picture of the joint pinched between the thumb and index finger of his flesh hand that Bucky had sent you ten hours ago, before your flight from Arizona to New York was supposed to depart.

Our flight has been delayed due to a thunderstorm. No current ETA your reply reads with a frowny face emoji at the end.

Now, at 2:16 in the morning, you are finally back home hours later than originally expected.

You were sure that Bucky was asleep by this point, and you didn't blame him. You wished you were asleep right now, too. Natasha slept the entire plane ride back to New York.

You, on the other hand, may or may not have spent the plane ride reading back over recent text messages between you and Bucky and zooming in on the picture he had sent you because for some reason you really like his hands. Both of them.

You were acting like a goddamn fifteen year old.

“What are you grinning at?” Natasha's voice snaps you out of your trance. You quickly shove your phone into the pocket of your duffel bag.

“I'm not grinning,” you lie, but it's Natasha - of course she sees right through you.

“You were grinning,” she shrugs with a knowing smirk. “But it's okay. We'll chalk it up to sleep deprivation.”

“I am sleep deprived, actually. Someone snored the entire flight back home.”

“For someone who wasn't grinning you sure are being defensive right now,” she retorts with a shit-eating grin as the elevator dings and the door slides open. You roll your eyes as you both step out into the hallway that leads to the living quarters. You turn to the left, towards your bedroom, and she takes a right but then comes to a sudden stop, calling your name. You freeze, turning to look at her with a raised brow.

“For what it's worth, I think you should go for it. It's obvious to everyone around you two.” She looks at you expectantly.

“Get some rest, Nat,” you huff a small laugh under your breath, and try not to smile. She doesn't press the subject any further.

Before reaching your bedroom, you pause at the door to Bucky's room. You don't knock, but wait to see if you hear any movement from inside. All that you hear is a loud static from his white noise machine.

Although you expected him to be asleep at this hour, you couldn't help but feel a small pang of disappointment that you hadn't been able to get back earlier. You knew you would see him tomorrow (well, technically later today), but you hadn't gone this long - a mere three days - without seeing Bucky since the two of you had become close months ago.

You quietly make your way into your bedroom and toss your duffel bag onto the end of the bed before stripping off the dirty, sweaty tactical suit that you'd been wearing since the early hours of the previous morning.

In your bathroom, you turn the faucet handle to the hottest setting and watch as the small room fills with steam before stepping under the showerhead.

You think about what Natasha said as you scrub your body clean and let the harsh but satisfying stream of water relax your aching shoulder muscles.

You wanted to go for it. Goddamn, you wanted to go for it. Every time you are alone with him - whether he's helping you train with target practice, or you're paired up together for re-con, or you're just simply eating breakfast together in the common area - you want to go for it.

All you have to do is stare at his stupid, pretty pink lips for a split-second too long and you're thinking about going for it.

But for so many reasons, you don't.

Though your heart wants more, you love your friendship with him, too. And you would be devastated if you tried for more and it didn't work out and you lost that friendship altogether.

You also don't know if Bucky wants more. Natasha says that everyone around you sees it, but he's never directly said it. You know there's an undeniable chemistry, but what if you're the only one experiencing it?

You watch the last few suds of your body wash go down the drain and turn the shower off, deciding that it's too late and you're far too tired to be thinking about this right now.

You speed through your post-shower routine, desperate to feel the silk of your bedsheets against your clean, freshly moisturized skin as you drift off to sleep.

You're rolling some deodorant under your arms when a deep, loud cry thunders from somewhere outside of your room causing you to let out a shocked gasp. You drop the object in your hand immediately and it falls to the floor as you rush out of your bedroom, wearing only thin cotton shorts and a matching tank top.

As soon as you step into the hallway, you are able to identify where the screams are coming from. Pained, booming yells originate from behind the door directly across from your own.

Bucky’s room.

You don't hesitate to twist the doorknob, letting yourself and shutting the door behind you.

The pale orange glow of a small table lamp in the far corner of his bedroom illuminates the room enough for you to make sense of what is happening. The sight before you makes your heart sink to the floorboards.

He's asleep - his eyes pinched shut and his brows furrowed together in obvious agony. He's shirtless, and his skin looks pale and clammy with thick beads of sweat littered from his forehead to his torso.

There's a meek voice in the back of your mind that tries to remind you that you don't know what you're walking into, as you've never encountered Bucky while he's having a nightmare before but he looks so fucking pitiful that your only concern is alleviating him from whatever prison of torment his mind is currently trapped in.

You rush over to the side of the bed, nearly tripping on the comforter that he's apparently through to the floor in his sleep. Both of his hands form tight fists, his knuckles strained pale. He lets out another guttural yell that causes you to instinctively flinch away.

“Bucky,” you say, attempting to keep your voice from breaking. “Wake up, Bucky. You're having a nightmare.”

He gives no indication that he can hear you, his head thrashing violently and fists slamming down against his mattress as he makes a pitiful whimper.

“Bucky,” you repeat, leaning down to perch on the few inches of free space on the side of the bed. You reach out to place your hand on the flesh of his bicep, about to attempt to gently stir him awake, when he shoots straight up in his bed. You flinch again, but don't move from your position next to him, firming your grasp on his bicep in an effort to ground him. His blue eyes are as wide as saucers and his chest heaves as he takes in his surroundings.

“You're okay,” you assure him in a soft, uncertain voice, rubbing your thumb in circles against the skin of his flesh arm. “It was just a bad dream. Everything is–”

“I could have hurt you,” he interrupts you, his voice faltering on the last word. “I could have–”

“You didn't hurt me,” you interrupt him back. “You're okay, and I'm okay, too.” He nods, and you can tell he's trying to convince himself that the words you say are true.

You quickly glance around his room until you find what you're looking for. Strewn on the floor next to his bedside table, you see a black t-shirt. You reach over, picking it up. You hesitate for a moment before slowly extending the fabric to Bucky's face, where you delicately wipe away the thin layer of sweat that glistens on his forehead. He relaxes into the movement, his eyes closing until you pull away.

“I'm sorry that I woke you up,” he murmurs after a moment of heavy silence.

“You didn't wake me up,” you assure him quickly. He watches you with something akin to guilt across his features. “I had just gotten out of the shower. We didn't get home until half an hour ago.”

He glances down, noticing your attire. You suddenly feel naked in only the thin gray shorts and tank top. You awkwardly clear your throat, reaching to place the t-shirt on his bedside table when something catches your eye. Bucky follows your gaze to the joint laying on his bedside table.

“I tried to wait up for you,” he exhales a soft laugh. “Ended up passing out around midnight.” Your whole body warms at his admission. The idea that he tried to force himself to stay awake just so he could see you when you got home makes you feel dizzy despite the fact that you're sitting down.

“Do you want to now? To help you sleep?” you ask, gesturing towards the joint. You don't even care that it's three in the morning and that you're borderline delirious from lack of sleep.

He takes one of your hands in between his own and brings it closer to him, giving it a tight squeeze as he shakes his head.

“No, I know you're tired. But could you just..” He trails off, bringing your hand clutched between his up to his mouth to rest his lips against the skin of the back of your hand. It's not quite a kiss, but it sends goosebumps across your flesh nonetheless. You're holding your breath without realizing it. “Could you just lay with me for a while?”

You nod your head in agreement without even thinking about it. “Yeah - yeah, of course,” you answer, hoping that you don't sound too eager while simultaneously knowing that your voice has risen several octaves.

You lean over once again, grabbing his comforter off of the floor as Bucky scoots towards the middle of the king sized bed to give you room to crawl in beside him. He extends his flesh arm away from his body, a clear indication that he wants you to lay in the space between his arm and his chest. You lay down, tucking your head under his chin so that your cheek rests against the mildly clammy but soft skin of his chest. He helps you tug the thick blanket across your bodies before bringing his arm around your abdomen, pinning you to him.

Luckily, you’re far too tired, and he’s far too warm for you to overthink it.

“You smell really good,” he murmurs into your hair and you hope that his preternatural abilities don’t pick up on the way your heart skips a beat. “I probably smell like sweat.”

You hum a laugh against his chest, sniffing the skin next to your nose without thinking about it.

“You don’t smell like sweat. You smell just as good as you always do, somehow,” you assure him, reveling in his unique scent of vetiver and something citrusy.

You’re both quiet for a moment, sleep threatening to overtake you at any moment when he brings two metal fingers to the underside of your chin and gently tilts your face to look up at him. Your breath is trapped in your chest at the close proximity of your lips and his.

“Remember the night of the gala, when I told you that I’d started sleeping better and having less nightmares since we’d started smoking together before bed?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to answer verbally. He’s so fucking close, you can smell the spearmint of his toothpaste from when he’d brushed his teeth hours ago.

“That was true,” he continues, looking down at you with an indiscernible expression. “But what I’m now realizing is that I don’t think it has anything to do with the weed,” he pauses, a small smile forming across his face. “It’s just you.”

You can’t stop the smile that blooms in return, just as you can’t stop what you do next.

Closing the distance between your lips and his own, you kiss him as you’ve thought about doing for months now. You’re hesitant at first, worrying that you’ve crossed that line that you can never go back over - but then he’s moving his mouth with your own in a synchronicity sweeter than you could have dreamed.

His arms dart under the comforter, wrapping around your body and pulling you even tighter against him. You bring one of your hands to cup his face as he sweeps his tongue along the swell of your bottom lip. You open up for him, letting him inside your mouth as you move your hand from his jaw to his hair - lacing your fingers through the short brown locks as he explores your mouth. Your thigh hooks around his, and it takes everything in you to hold back - to not swing yourself over him and lay the full weight of your body flush against his.

He’s just had a nightmare, and it’s late, and you’re tired, and you don’t want to move this sweet, special thing that you have too quickly.

He pulls away, and you fight against whimpering at the loss of the sensation of his soft lips.

“The night of the meteor shower,” he starts, his voice strained and his pupils dilated. “You told me to make a wish, and I did. Now that it’s come true, I can tell you what it was I wished for,” he pauses, running his metal thumb across your kiss-swollen bottom lip as you look at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on. “I wished for as many moments like that as I could possibly get with you.”

Your heart swells in your chest. You're convinced that you're asleep because this is something straight out of your dreams. You remove your hand from his hair, placing it directly above his heart to make yourself believe this is real.

“Speaking of meteor showers,” you start as you trail the tips of your fingers over the defined planes of his chest. “There's supposed to be a cool show at the planetarium in Manhattan this weekend. Do you want to go with me?”

His answer is a soft smile before attaching his lips to yours once more.

thanks so much for reading! as always reblogs and comments are extremely appreciated. i hope you enjoyed 🩷

other recent works by me: love language • delirium • it's nice to have a friend

[inkedells]

look at me a little more | dbf!joel miller x f!reader

A/N: first of all, SMUTTT so much smut up ahead. holy crap this is the longest thing i've ever written (pathetic, i know, blame the commitment issues) enjoy lovies!! also lmk if you want a part 2 maybe possibly!?

m!dni | requests open.

summary: dbf!neighbor!joel accidentally drenches you (virgin!reader) while washing his car and you can’t help but notice the way he eyes you up. it’s only once he’s in your bedroom, fixing your closet door as an apology, that you realize the best person to rid you of your virginity and teach you precisely how to please yourself and others had been right in front of you the whole time; it's getting joel on board with the whole idea that's the hard part.

word count: 5.5k

tags/warnings: SMUTTTT, virgin!reader, dbf!neighbor!joel faces moral conflicts (to fuck or not to fuck!?!?), porn with plot, sooo much tension, dirty talk, use of pet names, blowjobs, handjobs, cumplay, reader eats joel's cum, grinding, making out, oral sex, no!outbreak au, reader's innocent in the sense that she doesn't really know how to do a lot of things when it comes to sex but still has a ton of desires

masterlist

There was a certain shame that came with being infatuated with your dad’s best friend.

You were sitting around on the porch on a hot summer afternoon, wearing your shortest cotton shorts as you sipped the juice box brand you had loved since you were a little girl. Legs crossed, foot tapping the air, and most importantly, eyes absolutely trained on the ripple of Joel Miller’s biceps as he washed his car.

You didn’t know why you liked to stare at him so much. But you did know it was wrong. Immoral. Eyeing up someone in their forties? What was wrong with you? That was your dad’s best f—

“Hey, Mr. Miller!” You called over, shutting down every ounce of doubt in your mind.

He turned around without hesitation, and when he did, you waved. The first time you’d done that, he had to work a little harder to figure out the source of the voice, eyes searching in random directions before finally settling on you. But now, it was like he knew exactly where to look—And, well, that was all it took for you to decide you would be spending the next hour washing a car if it meant spending time with Joel.

So you settled your juice box down on the wooden floor of the porch and skipped over to his house. He must not have heard your footsteps behind him over the sound of the hose, so your simple tap on his shoulder resulted in him whipping around, hose in hand, as he consequently drenched you.

You yelped, breaking out into nervous laughter both from shock and how cold the water was. Joel fumbled to turn off the hose as he began profusely apologizing. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry—”

Then he properly saw you. From Joel’s perspective, your clothes were reduced to translucency, practically melting into your skin.

But you didn’t know that. You never fully grasped just how vulnerable you had become from his accident, so when you caught him averting his gaze as quickly as he could, you were a little confused.

“You—Uh—I,” Joel stumbled before clearing his throat, “There’s clothes. Inside. Sarah’s. You can, um, you can go and… y’know. Change into them. Walkin’ all the way back to your house doesn’t seem like a… viable… option.”

By then, a blush had already risen to your cheeks just from how delicately Joel was treating you. As if you were something he had to be careful with, like if he didn’t think long and hard about every word coming out of his mouth, there would be consequences. 

“Lead the way.”

Joel gave you a firm smile before swallowing the lump in his throat and motioning for you to follow him as he walked. Once he had the front door open, he let you go in first. Even as you carefully walked past him, you could feel his eyes staring at you.

“Up there,” Joel gestured, “Um, first door on the left. I’ll… be outside.”

As he explained, you subconsciously scanned over the planes of his body—probably a habit you picked up from the multiple weeks of watching him work. But then he was turning to leave, and you could tell he was still really tense. You didn’t know why a simple accident had him so tripped up, but you had the urge to alleviate his worry.

“Hey,” You called, arms wrapped around yourself in an effort to stave off the cold. He turned around, concerned until he saw your soft smile and relaxed a little, “On a scale of one to ten, how sick and tired are you of washing that truck?”

There was only one way to break Joel out of his nervous state; you had to make the situation lighthearted; you learned that from years of watching him hang out with your dad.

He searched your eyes for a beat, eyes completely unwavering, before muttering, “Like a fifty.”

You both breathed a laugh at that. For the briefest moment, you thought you noticed Joel’s gaze flitting to your chest. Your breath caught in your throat, but before you could do a double take, his eyes were glued to yours again.

“So then,” You started, regathering yourself and pushing away whatever your brain was conjuring up, “How do you feel about replacing one lousy chore with another?”

“What kinda chore we talkin’?”

“Well, my closet door’s all screwed up. And you know, instead of apologizing for soaking me by way of expensive concert tickets and a brand new car, like how I know you were planning on doing—”

“—Oh, of course,” Joel sarcastically remarked, playing along as you quickly noticed the worry on his face faded into a crooked grin.

“Well, I really think I can just settle for the closet door fix. Go ahead and save the brand new car for when you break my toaster.”

“Okay, okay,” Joel laughed, “I get it. Go change, then you can lead me to this broken closet door.”

-

Sarah’s clothes definitely belonged to a fourteen-year-old. Not your taste, but then again, if you were fourteen like her, you probably would’ve dressed like that too.

You couldn’t settle on a top, all of them were either too small or bore a graphic design too childish for you. You did find a pair of stretchier shorts that fit alright though, so you decided you’d just pick up one of Joel’s shirts from the pile of clean laundry you saw sitting atop the washing machine downstairs.

When you made it out the front door, the hose was away and his toolbox was resting on the ground by his feet. Joel was drying up his car with a cloth, and when he heard you hop down the steps and subsequently turned your way, you weren’t exactly expecting him to completely stumble at the sight of you in his shirt.

“Oh—You, uh, I thought you were gettin’ Sarah’s clothes?”

“I was, none of her tops fit so I grabbed one of yours from the laundry downstairs.” You absorbed Joel’s cryptic reaction and began to worry. “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, I really should’ve asked—”

“—No, no, it’s fine. Really. Doesn't matter.”

Joel picked up his toolbox, then the both of you began walking over to your house. It wasn’t that far away at all, probably a couple of hundred feet at most, but he opted into small talk anyway.

“Um,” Joel began, “What’d you come over for in the first place? Didn’t really get a chance to ask ‘cause of this whole… debacle.”

You giggled at his old man vocabulary. Debacle.

“I wanted to help with your car, but looks like those plans got derailed.”

He breathed a polite laugh. “Yeah, well. Guess it turned out that way.”

Before an awkward silence could fall upon the both of you, your brain settled on something to bring up.

“Hey, my dad’s having that July 4th barbecue the day after tomorrow. You’re coming right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, honey.”

Honey? Honey. Honey honey honey honey—

He cleared his throat. “Where is your dad, anyway?”

You were both standing on your porch now, Joel’s eyes raking you over as you fumbled with the front door.

“Um, I think he’s out working.”

“Great.”

Great?

Before you could ask him what he meant, Joel realized what he had said. “Wait, no, not great. I don’t—I don’t know why I said that. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You pushed the door open. “Hey,” You brought a hand up to his chest and patted it, “You’ll give yourself a heart attack if you keep assuming all your mistakes are colossal and worthy of that much panic.”

His shoulders seemed to relax a little at that—you weren’t sure if it was your hand or your words that did it.

Eventually, you both found yourselves in your bedroom. You were sitting on the edge of your bed as you watched Joel work. Kneeling on one knee with a screwdriver in hand, he fumbled with one of the closet door’s hinges as he muttered little things to himself under his breath.

“Thanks for this, Mr. Miller.”

He turned to you, nodding as he seemed to process that he was in your bedroom. Your bedroom.

“So,” Joel began, as he dug through his toolbox, “Is your boyfriend visiting too? Or, y’know, girlfriend. Three months is a long ti—”

You softly smiled. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.”

He turned to look at you again as he turned a screwdriver, this time scanning you over. “Hm, I don’t believe you. Sweet thing like you? Single?”

“Oh, stop,” You blushed, shooing him off.

Joel stood to his feet, dusting his hands off on his thighs. “All fixed. Next time you ne—”

“—I’ve never been in a relationship before. Actually.”

Joel stared at you for a moment before diverting his gaze to the ground. “I, um…”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. You don’t wanna know about my completely nonexistent dating history,” You lightly smacked your forehead, “Wait, it’s existent if we count the boy I dated for a week in fourth grade.”

Joel laughed, sitting down next to you on your bed. “It’s okay. I haven’t really dated anybody since Sarah’s mom, either. Long-term, anyways.”

“Yeah, well at least you’re not a virgin.”

Joel seemed to tense at that, and you immediately regretted saying it.

“Oh gosh,” You cringed, hands gripping your head, “I really just say anything, don’t I?”

Joel chuckled, head hung between his shoulders with his eyes squinted shut. You eventually laughed, too, simply because—and you realized it sounded stupid—Joel’s laughter was contagious.

“Alright, alright,” Joel beckoned, “Lemme be serious for a second. C’mere.”

You slumped down next to him, staring up at the ceiling before turning to make eye contact.

“That’s not something you have to worry about. You got time, honey, you’re in college. All that crap about late blooming isn’t real. It’s about whenever you’re ready, and whenever you find the right person to do it with.”

You smiled up at him softly. “Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

“Joel. Just Joel.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. So you stayed like that, searching his eyes for something you didn’t have the courage to say out loud.

“Joel,” You echoed, repeating his name back to him, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“I, uh…” Joel trailed off, his gaze flitting down to your lips. “I…” He tried again, but it went nowhere.

You exhaled, and almost immediately, his hands cupped your face as he leaned forward and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your lips.

It was warm, and gentle, and amazing, and you didn’t know if you could ever let him stop kissing you with how delightful the scruff of his beard felt against your skin.

He did break the kiss after a few seconds, though, and it left you breathless. “Joel…”

His muscles seemed to visibly tense as he mistook your speechless state for confusion. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why—”

“—No. No, I liked it,” You smiled softly at him, “I, um, you know. Wouldn’t mind if you kissed me… again.”

With reassurance that you weren’t absolutely appalled, his limbs relaxed. He leaned forward again until he was kissing you. Slow at first, languid. But then it turned fervent and desperate, breaths being exchanged into one another's mouths as lips slotted together like fingers intertwined—so perfect, as if they were biologically designed to do so.

It wasn’t long until he had your back flat against your bed, and you felt his growing hardness dig into your hip.

“Y’know what that is, don’t you?”

You nodded hesitantly.

“You know why it’s there?”

You shrugged.

He gripped the fabric of your—no, his—shirt as his voice rumbled, “You prancin’ around in my shirt did that.”

Without a second thought, you clumsily palmed him there through the thick fabric of his jeans and reveled in the consequential shuddering moan he let out

“Joel, I don’t… I don’t think I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay, honey, I’ll teach you.”

Propping himself up with his elbow, he placed his hand atop your own and guided the movements of your open palm. Things like pressing your hand further into him so as to increase the pressure between his legs, and encouraging back-and-forth motions that had his hips rutting and his breath hitching.

Once you got the hang of it, he removed his hand from your own. You felt his hand snake down your neck, then the side of your torso. 

“I trust you,” You whispered, fingers playing with the happy trail peaking Joel’s pants, hoping to absolve him of any guilt or doubt.

But the second Joel’s fingertips grazed the waistband of your shorts, he froze. He was staring off somewhere to the right, so you followed his gaze until you found what he was so disturbed by.

A framed photo on your nightstand, one of you standing next to your dad on vacation in Maui.

You understood immediately; that picture was an astute reminder of exactly who’s daughter Joel was about to debauch.

Your hand fell away from his crotch as he leaned back on his haunches and ran his hands through his hair with worried eyes.

“Joel?” You whispered, but then he was completely backing off of you as he muttered curses under his breath. “Hey, no, come back. What’s wrong?”

It was a dumb question. You knew what was wrong. Even though you were well beyond legal, it seemed to mean little in the situation—the facts were, if he touched you, it was betrayal.

“This is…” Joel panted, standing to his feet and raking his hands through his hair, “I shouldn’t have… Fuck. Fuck. I have to go.”

And just like that, he was gone.

-

That night, your lights stayed on and you didn’t close your curtains.

You stripped yourself of Joel’s shirt first, going excruciatingly slow in case Joel happened to be watching through his neighboring window. You occasionally shot glances at his window on the off chance that the window illuminated, but you quickly realized if the two of you made eye contact that wouldn’t be good either. You’d gotten all the way down to your underwear before you spotted his light flick on from the corner of your eye.

So you did the first thing that came to mind; You turned your back to your window. Panties halfway down your legs, torso bent with your knees straightened as you slowly shed your clothing. Hoping. Hoping for him to avert his attention ever so slightly and accidentally catch you like this. Hoping he would think of it every time he talked to you.

Without ever making eye contact, you would never know if Joel actually saw anything, and he would never know you hadn’t actually “forgotten” to close your curtains.

No pressure on either of you.

You went to sleep with a hand shoved down the front of your panties as you thought of all the things you wanted Joel to do to you.

-

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Jesus. What time was it? You stretched until sleep left you and opened your eyes as wide as you could (not very wide at all). From what you could gather, the sun was definitely up. You, however, did not have the willpower required to read off of your phone screen 5 seconds after waking up, so you answered the phone without reading the contact.

“Hello?” You groaned, voice gruff from sleep.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

You knew that voice anywhere. Almost immediately, you shot upright and cleared your throat as you rubbed your eyes. “Oh, hey Mr. Mill—uh, I mean, Joel,” You breathed a nervous laugh before remembering his question, “No. No, it’s okay I was like, basically awake already, um, so… what’s up? Why’d you—Why’d you call?”

“Right, so just to preface, I understand things are not... ideal... between us right now. But to be honest, you’re the only person available who I trust with this, and… let me just explain. I got called into work unexpectedly and Sarah’s gonna be home alone. Lately, she’s been getting into these rebellious fits, and I just don’t want to risk another situation where she sneaks out at night to meet up with her boyfriend again.”

“Sarah and rebellious fits? Really?”

“Yes, believe it or not. So do you think you could just hang around my place for, to be honest, a long while? It’s looking like I’m gonna be home really late tonight. Oh, and I can pay you.”

“Oh, shut up, you’re not paying me.”

Joel exhaled appreciatively through the phone. “Okay, well I’m home right now if you wanna come by and eat some breakfast. Least I could do. I gotta leave in like thirty minutes by the way, so. Take your time but also don’t take your time?”

You smiled, hoping he could hear it in your voice. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks, honey.”

Oh god. There it was again. You thought you might actually pass out, but you quickly turned off your racing brain enough to mutter a small “mhm” before abruptly hanging up.

Okay. Joel Miller. Your dad’s best friend, who was this close to absolving you of every ounce of innocence in your body… just asked you to watch his daughter. What could go wrong?

When you got to his house, he had left already (you definitely took too long in the shower). He did leave out a plate of food, though, along with the message, “Thanks again. Enjoy the pancakes,” scratched out on a post-it note.

And boy did it turn out to be a long day. Sarah wasn’t that much of a handful, she mostly took care of herself. The hard part was lunch.

You attempted to cook something for the two of you, but it only ended in disaster when you left the quiches in the oven for too long. Then you decided Penne a la Vodka couldn’t be that hard, and you couldn't be more wrong. A whole box of pasta was ruined because Sarah didn’t realize the pasta went in after the water boiled, not before. Eventually, you both just accepted defeat and ordered Panera Bread.

Later, Sarah popped into the living room to let you know she was going up to her room to take a nap, and you figured you’d do the same on the couch.

The last thing you read was the time on the cable box; 7:37.

-

Metal clanking. The turn of a key. The creaking of a door. The blaring siren of an alarm system.

“Jesus—Fuck. I thought I told her to turn off the alarm at 8.”

And Joel’s voice.

You jolted awake, blinking wide as you moved to sit upright on the couch. The time on the cable box was 11:50.

Soon, the alarm stopped, and not long after, Joel’s figure came into view. He was wearing a denim button-up with work pants and work boots.

“Hey,” Joel called, setting his things down next to the kitchen island.

“Hi,” You replied, “How was work?”

Joel gave you a polite smile before pulling open the refrigerator door to retrieve a beer. With his head still poked inside the fridge, he replied, “The usual.”

“Well, what was the usual li—”

“—Were you asleep?”

“Uh…" You cleared your throat in an effort to stall as you debated whether or not you would lie. "Yeah, I was. Sorry.”

Joel took a swig of his beer, staring at you from across the room for a minute before blurting out, “The usual is busy. Extremely busy and tedious. But, um, how was Sarah? Hope you weren’t asleep too long.”

“Nope,” You lied, “I Wasn’t asleep long at all. Sarah was great. We had a bit of trouble with lunch, but everything ended up fine.”

“Good. Good. Well you can head out now, thanks for taking care of her.”

No. You did not want to "head out." You rose to your feet. “Joel?”

He looked around as he swallowed his beer. “Uh, yeah?”

“I actually wanted to talk to you. About yesterday.”

He peered down at the ground, swishing around the bottle in his hand. “That’s—That’s okay, honey. I think it’s best we forget that happened.”

“What? But why?”

Joel crossed the room and sat down next to you, leaning back against the couch while you sat back down on the edge with your elbows resting on your knees.

“Come on,” He started, “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly why we’re… this… is impossible.”

“Joel, I—”

“—I’m sorry. You should get home now.”

You turned around to face him. “Joel. No one has to know.” 

“As I said, I’m sorry. I handled yesterday… terribly. There were a million different ways to go about that, and I somehow chose the worst one. But we don't work. We can't work.”

You felt your eyes begin to water, but you tried to push the feeling down.

“Hey, hey,” He lulled, the hardness of his attitude falling away as he noticed the sad shine in your eyes, “Don’t cry.” He pulled you against him, rubbing your shoulder firmly.

“Joel,” You mumbled in a small voice, sniffling against his denim shirt with a frown.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to justify what he was quickly realizing was inevitable. You were an adult, somebody else independent of your father. It was your choice who to get involved with, just like it was his. This was mutual.

He knew he would regret it later, but your innocence and desperation allured him to the point of no return.

“It’s late,” Joel began, voice gentle as he offered you one last out, “You should go home. You need sleep, you’re not thinking straight. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“No,” You replied, removing yourself from his body so you could look him in the eye. “I don’t want to leave. I want you to… I want you to do what you said you’d do.”

Knowing exactly what you were talking about, he redundantly asked in a whisper, “And what’s that?”

You wiped a stray tear as you clumsily moved to straddle his lap. Almost automatically, his hands found their way to your hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into the slivers of skin peeking between your cami tank top and the waistband of your shorts. But it seemed at some point his consciousness realized what he was doing because his hands suddenly dropped to his sides. And, well, you just wouldn’t have that, so you grabbed hold of his wrists and returned them to where they were settled on your hips before you rested your own hands on Joel’s chest.

“You remember, don’t you?” You shifted in his lap, “You said you’d teach me.”

“How to have sex.” He said it more like a confirmation rather than a question.

You blushed at his blatant use of the word. It was like every fifth thing coming out of his mouth was sending your brain spiraling. You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, sex. Blowjobs, orgasms, literal sex. All of it.”

Silence for a beat. “I have one condition,” Joel warned.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“The second I suspect your dad is onto us, that’s it. It’s over. No more messing around, none of it. I can’t lose my best friend.”

You nodded. You probably shouldn’t have agreed so easily, but you didn’t actually think you and Joel would ever get caught.

“Okay, then,” Joel whispered. “Good. What do you wanna do first? Start off easy.”

You looked around the room nervously, careful not to make eye contact as you spoke. “Like. I dunno. Maybe for right now, I could just… touch you. Touch it, I mean.”

Joel nodded, and when your breathing began to grow the slightest bit uneven from nervousness, he noticed and rubbed your upper arm reassuringly. “Hey. Relax. Climb down and sit right there on the ground between my legs, and I’ll show you where to start.”

And so you did. Joel peered down at you with heavy lids as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and thus began your first lesson.

“Unbuckle my pants.”

With shaky hands, you removed his belt and undid his fly. You couldn’t explain why, but as soon as you caught sight of the bulge in his boxers, your mouth watered.

“What…” You began, “What now?”

“Whatever feels comfortable.”

With a light, feathery touch, you delicately traced a singular finger along the outline of his cock. Joel shivered at the contact, hands shooting to grip the sofa. Touching it felt different this time, more intense because you could feel every ridge and vein; you blamed it on the much thinner fabric dividing your fingers and his cock.

Your breath shuddered before speaking, “Can I take it ou—”

“—Yes, God, yes.”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling downwards until his cock sprang free. It was thick, long, and wet at the tip, and you found yourself instinctively leaning further into it.

“Okay,” Joel sighed shakily, “Now just form a circle with your fingers and stroke it.”

You did as Joel said, and when your fingers finally made contact with his cock, you sighed at how velvety the skin was there. Soft and smooth, except for the trimmed hair surrounding the base. You stroked him steadily, biting your lip as you watched the wetness leaking from his tip spread down his shaft.

“Twist at the tip, honey, twist at the—Yeah, just like that. So good, you’re doing so good.” You couldn’t help but smile when Joel tilted his head back from the pleasure of it all.

With Joel still reeling from the contact of your hand, you took his momentary refusal to look down at you as an opportunity to surprise him a little.

You leaned forward and kitten-licked his tip, and it had him finally making eye contact with you as he whispered, “Oh, do that again.”

And so you did, adoring the look of pleasure strewn across Joel’s face.

Joel offered you a quick, crooked grin. “How’s it feel?” He asked, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip as your tongue played with his tip.

You pulled away for a moment to respond, “How’s what feel?”

“Licking a man’s cock.”

You let the spit that had gathered in your mouth drip down onto his length. “I have the urge to do more with it.”

“Like what?”

“Like put it all the way in my mouth.”

And so kitten licks turned into long stripes up his shift, which turned into eager suckling on his tip, which turned into forcing his cock down as far as it could go without making you gag.

Joel’s hand gripped the back of your head, but he never pushed you down. Whenever you did accidentally end up gagging, he petted your hair, mumbling encouragements as best he could through the blinding pleasure. Things like, “Yeah, honey, doing so good. That’s it. Just a little more. Mhm.” And his affectionate nature, his gentleness, his reassuring words—he was exactly how you hoped he would be like. Not to mention, the general hotness of it all had your hips canting down against nothing, in desperate search of relief.

“M’close, sweetheart. Take it—Take it out.”

“I don’t wanna,” You replied in a hoarse voice as you jacked him off.

“You’re not ready for that, honey, just take it out. Take it out.”

You reluctantly complied, removing him from the tight heat of your mouth, drool dripping down your chin as you stroked him rapidly.

“Joel, I… I think I’m wet.”

He moaned a curse at that, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths as his orgasm approached him. “Jesus f-fuckin’… Tell me more.”

“I need you to touch it for me next time. Please. Maybe you could… Maybe you could put your mouth on it like how I put my mouth on you.”

“Yes, yes, oh fuck, I’m cumming, don’t stop stroking it,” Joel moaned, hot white spurts shooting up and all over your hand as you stroked him through it.

With his breathing still labored, he panted out in a high voice, “You’re lying. You’re f-fucking lying. Tell me the truth.”

“About what?”

“This isn’t—You’ve done this before. No way you made me cum this hard and it’s your first time.”

“Well,” You breathed a nervous laugh, “That’s flattering. But you’re my first. Trust me.”

When his orgasm fully subsided, Joel lay slumped against the sofa with his legs spread wide. You remained between them with your head resting on his thigh as you just stared at his cock. Took it all in, every curve, every vein, and inevitably, the cum that spurted itself over the surrounding area.

“What are you doing?” Joel chuckled, petting your hair as you smiled.

“I’m… I don’t know really. I just can’t stop looking at it.”

But then curiosity got the best of you, and you began to drag your fingers through the mess at his base. It caught Joel off-guard, his entire body stiffening as he watched you.

“What does it taste like?” You asked quietly as you examined the cum on your fingers. 

“Oh my god,” Joel groaned through his labored breathing, “I swear, if you do what I think you’re about to do, I’ll be hard again in five seconds.”

“I’ll take my chances,” You joked, bringing your finger to your mouth and licking it clean, ultimately wincing at the taste. “It’s like, bitter. And salty. And kinda sweet. But mostly bitter and salty. To be honest, it’s kinda nasty but I can see myself getting used to it.”

“Wow,” Joel sighed, “You just really know how to set the mood. Make things real romantic.”

“Oh, shut it,” You huffed, playfully swatting his thigh before getting up and plopping down next to him on the sofa as he got to work stuffing himself back into his pants despite the mess he made—that was a problem for future Joel. 

“Gonna miss you, little Joel,” You joked to his crotch.

“Oh my god, you’re the worst,” Joel chuckled painfully with his fists in his eyes. “I’m never letting you near ‘little Joel’ again.”

“Mm, no, because I just made you cum so hard you thought I was lying about being a virgin.”

He sighed at that. “You got me there.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

You both laughed at that; In fact, you both were laughing a lot. And at everything. In your head, you blamed it on the ecstatic high of being in each other’s presence this way.

When the mutual laughter died down, Joel looked at you for a moment, admiring you. Then, slow and hesitant as ever, he leaned in to kiss you.

“Do you taste it?” You whispered, breaking the kiss as you fought another giggle.

“Yes, actually. Wait, don’t say it please, this is actually a nice moment—”

“—Your cum!” You loud-whispered.

Another sigh. “My cum.”

You eagerly kissed him back after that, swearing off mood-breaking jokes for the rest of the night. Eventually, you even became too tired to kiss, simply letting your forehead rest against his. Your eyes fluttered shut as his hand snaked up your leg and inched under the leg of your shorts, using force to push your legs open wider.

“Need me to take care of this?” He asked into your mouth before letting his kisses travel down to your neck.

“Joel,” You breathed, breaths beginning to come out in rapid succession as your hips gyrated in response to how dangerously close Joel’s hand was to your pussy. “I… I’m tired.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do a thing,” Joel breathed, removing his hand from beneath your shorts in order to pull down the waistband. “It’s a yes or no question. Just give me a yes or a no.”

Your breath hitched as you opened your eyes and stared at the little bit of empty space left between you and Joel. The throbbing between your legs was bad, but it was something about the delayed gratification of saving things for later that stopped you from saying yes. “No, I… I think that’s it for tonight.”

Joel withdrew his hand, reassuringly cracking a brief smile. “Hey, uh, spend the night. It’s way too late, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, but what about Sarah?” 

“I came home super late, you fell asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

You thought about it for a second before agreeing. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thank you. But I’m taking the couch.”

“What? No—”

“—Joel. I’m taking the couch.”

He looked at you skeptically but then agreed. “If you change your mind just let me know.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

Joel squeezed your leg before getting up and making his way to the stairs. “Goodnight.”

masterlist

A/N: strikethrough means i can't tag you, check your settings

taglist:

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[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 1

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Summary: The Atreides daughter is sent off to Giedi Prime to marry the Harkonnen heir in an attempt to quell the feuding Great Houses. The bride, however, must prove her grit and earn the respect of her new family if she is to survive her new life. Perhaps she will find that she had more Harkonnen in her than she thought.

TW: none (for now)

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut (just not in this chapter lmao), No use of y/n, Original Characters, cannon what cannon

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Please bear with me, it has been ages since I've written anything and this is my first ever work of fanfiction. I've never written in the second person before so if you catch any mistakes, especially in verb tenses, please let me know. English is not my first language. Also, this might start out a bit slow but I promise things will pick up soon.

The smell of grass and the crashing waves of Caladan brought you comfort as you stood before the starship that had been rented from the Spacing Guild.

Your brother had insisted on accompanying you to Giedi Prime, but a round trip would have been unnecessarily expensive, even with the vast wealth of your Great House. Besides, it would be foolish to deliver the heir of House Atreides to the home world of their sworn enemies. It was bad enough they had to send you there.

"Give them hell," Paul teased as he hugged you goodbye.

You laughed, but you knew his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He had faith in your strength and ferocity, but he had much less faith in the hospitality of the Harkonnens.

"I'll miss you," you pull away and try to give him a reassuring smile but you, yourself, are not so certain of your fate.

You made your way to your mother, next in line to bid you farewell.

"Remember your training." Lady Jessica held your face and planted a tender kiss on your forehead. She had already given you all the advice she could.

You take her hands in yours and kiss them. "I will," you tell her solemnly.

You finally make it to your father, whose eyes are already welling with tears.

"My darling princess," his voice cracks as he lays a hand on your cheek. The Duke may seem a stoic man to most, but those who truly knew him knew he had a big heart.

Perhaps it is because you are one of those people that you finally feel that weight in your chest that you've been dreading since the signing of your marriage pact. It will be a truly long time before you would see your family again. If you could ever see them at all.

The Duke waves at an attendant who approaches with a silver tray. Leto takes the dagger resting on it and places it in your hands. "To remind you that you will always be an Atreides, that you will always be my daughter."

You let your tears fall as you hold the gift close to your chest.

"Don't cry now," your father pulls you into a hug, hoping to hide his own tears, "or I might never let you go."

You let a laugh slip through the sobs. You knew it was already decided and it is your duty to fulfill. The Sisterhood and the Emperor himself endorsed the match. Nothing could change it now.

The harsh light of Giedi Prime's black sun assaulted your eyes as you made your way down the starship's gangplank. The stark, high-contrast black and white made everything a pain to look at. You were thankful for the veils of your travelling gowns for providing you at least some shade.

You were greeted by House Harkonnen's steward, Jaromir Naggul, and swiftly led into the imposing, Brutalist fortress of their stronghold. You were almost happy to escape the infrared outside.

"Your belongings are being sent to your new quarters as we speak," Jaromir, a lanky but stately man, informs you. "You may change out of your traveling clothes and rest there. The Baron will receive you in the throne room in the afternoon."

You note his accent and the mild contempt in his voice, as if you were an inconvenience.

"This is Iassa," he gestures to one of the servants that had been following you through the halls. "She is your assigned slave. Should you need anything, you may tell her."

The word almost knocks the breath out of you.

You eyes turn to Iassa in her pale gray robes and you give her a polite nod. She hastily curtsies in return.

You knew the Harkonnens and even the Emperor kept slaves, but you suppose it never occurred to you that you would be charged with one yourself.

"Of course," Jaromir continues, "any of the servants in the fortress will be at your command, but Iassa will be in waiting for you in particular."

"Of course," you reply coldly.

"You will be staying in the guest wing for now," Jaromir says as he shows you the door to your quarters. "Of course, until your wedding. When you will then be moved to the na-Baron's apartments."

"...of course," you repeat, grateful again for your veils that they hide your dread.

You are silent as Iassa helps you into a black gown for your audience with the baron. It is the fashionable color in the Harkonnen home world. Although there were many other 'fashionable' traits on Giedi Prime, this was the only one you felt comfortable adopting right now. The complete lack of hair in every individual you had seen was certainly unsettling, but you sensed it would be rude to speak about it.

"What is the na-Baron like?" you ask.

Iassa pauses her fastening of your dress, she swallows. "He is a fearsome warrior, my lady," she keeps her gaze averted, "handsome and popular with the people."

Her voice was shaky but she seemed genuine. You only wonder if those words hold the same implications here as they do back home.

You look over to Iassa as she fetches your shoes. It's not difficult to see that she fears you. You cannot help but feel that that is all there is. You are still an off-worlder. An Atreides no less. She harbors no respect for you.

You take care to style your hair in the fashions of Caladan, fastening a falcon-like pin at the back of your head. The symbol of your house. Perhaps it is a risky choice, to be seen as defiant by the baron should he notice, but you could already feel the black sun beginning to drain the life out of you. The thrill of quiet defiance would have to sustain you for now.

Jaromir returns in time to fetch you and you are led to the throne room.

The baron's grotesque floating body looms over you and his subjects. You had never met any of the Harkonnens before but you were sure that was him.

"Welcome to your new home, Lady Atreides," the Baron utters your last name with thinly veiled loathing. "Let me present my nephew, Feyd-Rautha."

A tall muscular young man steps forward. Stately and regal as a Harkonnen could be, he looks over you with condescending eyes.

He certainly looked like a warrior, and you could see how the people of Giedi Prime could find him handsome, but you find yourself wanting to spit in his face.

"Forgive me for not greeting you when you landed, my lady," the na-Baron bows to you. His gravelly voice sends a chill down your spine, "I was preoccupied at the time. I trust you have settled well?"

You curtsy in turn, "I'm sure my lord had important duties to attend to. I am grateful for your hospitality. My rooms are very comfortable."

"Do not find them too comfortable young lady," the Baron calls from afloat his chair, "your wedding celebrations are to begin and you will be sharing rooms with my nephew before long."

Feyd-Rautha smirks at this and you are almost willing to cast decorum aside to slap it off his face.

"Tomorrow, your groom will take part in the arena to demonstrate his prowess as a worthy husband and leader, as per the traditions of our house," the Baron announces. "I'm sure you will make a point to attend."

"I would not miss it, dear Baron."

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

[matryosika]

Recording Sessions

Pairing — 3racha and Reader

Wordcount — 3,485 words

Genre — Smut

Warnings — Dom!Chan and Changbin, Switch(sub lean)!Jisung, consensual voice recording. Dirty talk, use of petnames (slut), mild humiliation, oral sex (m. receiving), brief spanking, unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, mild cum play, sex in a recording booth.

Autor's note — Wrote this a while ago for a commission, but as I was lurking through my google drive I found this again. I think its fun and I've been meaning to post something for a while now, but I can't get anything done sadly. I think I wrote this back in may or june? I am not too sure, but I hope you like it! I've been writing for NCT these days and I have 2 wips for them. I'm also working on something with Lee Know as a character. I hope I can get any of that finished soon! Hope you enjoy this, and I apologize for any grammar/spelling mistakes in advance 🤍

“Do any of you even know what a real moan sounds like?”

The look on their faces is amusing. Hadn't you been inside the recording booth, you're sure Changbin would have already headlocked you in a playful manner for running your mouth. 

But you are inside the recording booth, the three of them sitting in the studio with frustration written all over their faces.

“This sounds so fake,” you continue, taking off the headset. “What did you type in youtube to get this sample? Women moaning ASMR?”

“You’re not being helpful at all, you know that?” Changbin asks, trying to keep a serious demeanor but failing almost miserably every time he remembers the audio samples that are currently as background vocals in their upcoming song. They do sound awful, but he isn't as straight-forward as you are.

“Well, you asked for my opinion and I’m giving it to you,” the smug look on your face pisses off Chan just a little, but it is nothing new —the endless bickering between the both of you has happened ever since you two met. It's always light-hearted and friendly, but it surely does bring some tension into your friendship with him.

“Any ideas on how we can improve this?” 

“For once, get rid of all the fake moaning and get something that actually sounds like a woman being pleasured,” you instruct them, and smile when you see the three of them paying attention to your words. They have such abilities when it comes to music and producing, but they often look for constructive criticism outside their small group of three just to see things from different perspectives. “We don’t sound like that, it’s more like gasping for air and deep sighs accompanied with mostly quiet moans. This sounds like someone shouting exaggeratedly”.

“I’ve tried,” Chan murmurs, leaning back on his studio chair that he spins slightly. “But nothing sounds right. It’s a bit too much, maybe”.

“No, I do think the song calls for background sounds like these,” you encourage the trio. “It’s just- you need something more raw and real”.

There’s a quick moment of silence in which the four of you exchange glances, without exactly saying anything in particular.

Changbin and Chan look too deep into their own thoughts, probably trying to come up with another idea or alternative for that sound sample you all hate so much. Jisung, on the other hand, is staring right into you through the glass barrier that separates you from them, with an idea in mind he’s not quite sure how to deliver, but that he ends up doing it anyway. 

“What if we record you?” Jisung asks, drawing the scowling glances of the other two. “I mean, you can obviously fake them since you're a woman, right?” 

The suggestion has you cackling quietly, but even Chan and Changbin are considering it —you can tell by how they're looking at you as if they're expecting your verdict.

“Right,” you scoff, crossing both of your arms in front of your chest, “because what better way to spend my Saturday afternoon than faking moans inside a recording booth”. 

“It’s not going to take you long,” It’s Chan who speaks this time. The one you thought was going to be the least to be on board with such a crazy idea. “We all know this isn’t going to be the first time you fake them”. 

Your mouth opens in awe and you curse them mentally when they all laugh under their breaths. It was just one time, with a guy you didn’t even like, and you told them about it because you wanted to get the embarrassing memory out of your system. You were too bored, and desperate to go, that you ended up faking a series of moans that tricked him into thinking you were finished. 

“Very funny, Christopher,” you spit, resentful. “I thought you promised not to bring that shit up, ever again”.

“And I thought you promised you’d help us,” Chan attacks, “so what is it going to be?”

You look at them for a couple of seconds, pondering the situation. You can help them, you really have nothing better to do —yet a better idea comes to mind. 

“Why faking it if you can have the real deal?” you ask, nibbling at the skin against your fingernails. You’re trying to appear collected, but even suggesting such a crazy idea it’s making you feel uneasy. Unless you've gotten the signals wrong, you know they won't turn down such a proposal. “You’re all just sitting there, when one of you could help me”.

It’s Jisung who leans down over the console, clicking a red button to open the microphone.

“What exactly are you proposing?”

“Well, you were the one who pinned this on me, Han,” judging by their facial expressions, you know they understood exactly what you meant. They just want to make sure you are all on the same page. “Why don’t you come here and help me, so we can get this over with?”

“Why him?” Changbin immediately asks, offended even because you didn't consider him as your first option.

“Do you want to help me too?” you chuckle, “because I wouldn’t mind if you joined”.

“Han,” Chan’s cold voice interrupts the silence, catching the attention of the younger. He doesn’t say anything else, but rather signals for him to get inside the recording booth with a tilt of his head.

Jisung doesn’t say anything either, but his eyes flutter between you and Chan, almost begging for further instructions. He hesitates, perplexed. Not because he doesn’t want this, but because he really can’t begin to comprehend this is really happening.

“If you don’t want to, Changbin can do it,” the older speaks again.

“N-no, I mean- I can do it,” Jisung stands up from his studio chair abruptly and hastily, like he is in a rush. To be honest, he kind of is —he has been daydreaming of this moment ever since he met you, so he isn't going to waste it. Even if that means there are going to be other people watching or involved. “I just- what do I do?”

Chan and Changbin scoff quietly, teasing him. “You should ask her that question,” the former replies, crossing both of his arms and leaning back on his chair, “not us”.

“Yeah, okay”. 

Jisung walks inside the booth, swallowing thickly. Is he really about to do this? Is he dreaming? Or is this some sort of a sick joke?

He can’t help but overthink the situation, but every single one of his thoughts goes away when you welcome him into your embrace, holding him tightly against your body with his half-hard cock pressing against your lower abdomen and your tits against his toned chest. The other two are watching, and that only riles him up a lot more.

“Have you ever been this shy?” You tease him, wrapping your arms around his neck and brushing your lips against his. “You’re always so cocky, always running your mouth. But right now you aren’t. I wonder why”. 

“We don’t have that much time,” Chan warns you through the speakers, and you can feel the despair in his voice. Like Changbin, he’s anticipating something and you’re edging them, just like you are to Jisung. 

“Then I’m going to need more help,” you hum, latching your fingers against Jisung’s dark hair while pulling him closer to the crook of your neck. He loses no time and starts kissing and licking the sensitive flesh, hiding his face there. You, on the other hand, look through the glass barrier proudly to the other two who are out. “From the both of you”. 

“One isn’t enough for you? Do you need the three of us?” Chan asks, poking his cheek with his tongue. Changbin, on the other hand, observes the scene in awe, with both excitement and impatience. You don't reply, but shoot an accomplice glance at the older. “I always knew you were some of a slut, I just didn’t think this much”.

“Well, now you know,” you smile, biting your lower lip when Jisung sucks on a sensitive spot a bit too harshly, “so start recording”. 

The following moments are blurry, perhaps because of how nervous you are. You try to act in control, like you're the one calling the shots. But when you feel the three of them near you, with their hands all over you, it's hard to. 

“You’re not that bold now, are you?” Chan whispers in your ear, pressing your arse against his crotch. To your sides, there’s Jisung and Changbin, who grope and kiss your body as much as the other allows them to.

“I’m doing this for you,” you sigh, kicking your head back until it meets Chan’s shoulder. 

“Right,” he scoffs, grabbing a fistful of your hair and forcing you to kneel in front of Changbin and Jisung. “We just wanted your advice, but somehow we ended up like this”.

“I wonder why,” you tease him looking up to him while your hands tease the men in front of you.

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s such a filthy slut,” Changbin murmurs, caressing your hair back. 

You can feel them through their sweatpants —you can feel how hard and ready they are for you, how desperate they are for your touch. You wish to take your sweet time with them, to suck the three of until they come in your mouth only to fuck you afterwards. 

You want more than just a quick fuck. But this will have to do for now.

“Suck them off,” Chan orders, pleased with the sight of you on your knees. 

Good thing you’re wearing such accessible clothes today —you’re making his job ten times easier.

“Get us nice and wet, baby,” Changbin proceeds, pulling your head against his crotch while he lowers his sweatpants just enough to release his throbbing cock. “We’re going to fuck you with it, so it’s up to you how easy you’re going to make this for yourself”.

“Don’t forget Jisung too,” the one behind you murmurs into your ear, practically kneeling right beside you while he pulls up your dress, revealing a shameful piece of clothing that he can barely name as underwear. The sight makes Chan’s cock throb even harder. “See how much he’s leaking? I know he has been dreaming of this for a while now”. 

“Fucker,” Jisung hisses through gritted teeth, feeling betrayed by his friend. Truth is, he isn’t telling any lies.

“Aw, you have?” He has been infatuated with you for quite some time now, and he is too awkward to be discreet about it. You have caught him checking you out shamelessly, and it has always been a turn on for you. 

“We all have,” Changbin says, nibbling at his lower lip when you wrap your hand around his cock. You squeeze both of them hard, staring up at them with a mischievous smile. “If only you knew what we talk about when you’re not around”. 

“Mh, I feel a little excluded now,” you pout. “Why don’t you guys just show me?”

You spent another ten minutes on your knees, being throat fucked by your dearest friends Changbin and Jisung. They take turns in burying their cocks inside your warm mouth, using your hair as leverage to let you know which one of them to suck next.

In the meantime, Chan just watches. 

You’re drooling all over yourself by now, your shirt ruined with a mixture of spit, precum and sweat. Your skin feels sticky, your mouth feels full and your pussy feels wet —you really wouldn’t be surprised if the floor was stained with your arousal.

“C’me here,” Chan tells you, grabbing you by your arm and helping you get in a different position. Your knees are bruised and red, but you don’t really care —tomorrow it will be a fun reminder of what happened today. “Now let’s really start recording”. 

You lay on the floor on all fours, with your ass up and your hands and knees supporting your body weight. It's an uncomfortable position, but you can only do much in a recording booth with no bed or couches.

The first one to take a spot right behind you is Changbin. Out of the three, it’s the one who seems more desperate to get his release and you kind of understand him —you’re desperate to feel something too, anything.

“I don’t have-” his voice is strangled, almost panicking. You can feel his hands gripping your hips, and the tip of his cock brushing against your slit. 

“I don’t care,” you encourage him, whimpering when Chan forces your head to face his throbbing dick that he has his fist wrapped around. “Just fuck me”.

It’s the heat of the moment that's getting the best out of you, but you can’t begin to regret it when you feel Changbin’s cock burying itself little by little inside your aching pussy. You try to hold back your moans, worrying that someone outside the hall might hear you, but you know it’s practically impossible.

Plus, that’s the reason why you’re there, anyways.

 So you start enjoying the moment, being as vocal as possible. If anything, the lewd sounds escaping through your lips are only pushing Changbin towards the edge, hips snapping at yours roughly enough to get a series of strained moans immersed in both pleasure and pain.

“You sound so g-good,” Changbin grunts, biting his lower lip to stop himself from being too loud. “Had I known your moans were this pretty, I've would've fucked you before”.

“Fuck, Changbin”. The way his name falls from your lips boosts his ego, and he’s glad everything is being recorded. He makes a mental note to go back to the recording later today, just in case he needs to unwind.

“Jisung will fuck you after him,” Chan demands your attention yet again, brushing the tip of his cock against your lips. He’s kneeling in front of you while Changbin is pounding your pussy from behind. Jisung, on the other hand, is stroking himself while he witnesses the scene; too shy to actually make a move himself, like the rest of them. “And then I will go next, how does that sound?”

“How many seconds- of the sample do you even need?” you chuckle, but the laugh is soon muffled by another whimper caused by Changbin’s ministrations. 

“Just a couple,” he replies, smearing his precum along your lips. “But I’m sure you wouldn’t want to leave this studio without being fucked by Jisung and me, right?”

You love his cockiness, and how he is always almost right. So you nod frantically, clenching around Changbin at the idea of being filled with the both of them in just a couple of seconds.

It doesn’t take him long to come inside you, especially not with how much your pussy is clenching around him. He does so shamelessly, grunting your name and gripping your hips too harshly you’re sure it will leave a mark tomorrow.

When he pulls out, commanded by Jisung who is too desperate to wait another second, you feel his sticky arousal leaking out of you. It’s a weird sensation, and it makes you feel dirty, but you can’t deny you like it. 

And you like it even more when you feel the tip of Jisung’s cock gathering all of his friend’s cum, fucking it back into you little by little, making sure it doesn’t go to waste.

“Who would’ve thought, hm?” You whimper, feeling a bit sore from Changbin’s aggressive care. “You’re not as innocent as I thought, Jisungie”.

He doesn’t say anything, but gives you a sharp thrust in response. One that makes your whole body jolt and tremble, one that earns you one of the prettiest moans the three of them have ever heard.

Chan is sure the recording is good to be used by now, but he doesn’t want to stop just yet. Or at least not until he also gets his fun.

“S-so tight,” Jisung murmurs, holding you more delicately than Changbin did. You love the contrast, though, and they’re both a good fuck. “And warm, all filled up with cum”.

“You’re going to fill me up too, Jisungie?” On any other occasion, the nickname would’ve earned you a killer gaze and a couple of curses from him. But right now, Jisung doesn’t mind. In fact, he likes it. There’s something enticing about you acting like the one in control.

“Can- I?” He asks with a shakily breath. His sloppy movements tell you he is close, and you take it as a compliment. A minute is definitely a record, but you’re really not mad about it. 

“That depends,” you tease him, crying out loud when his cock starts hitting sensitive spots inside your walls. “Are you going to come a lot for me?” 

“Ngh, y-yes,” Jisung whimpers. “Please, I’m- close, just let- say yes, please”.

“Go on,” you order him, arching your ass even more for him. “Give it to me”. 

Not even a couple of seconds later, you feel a now familiar sensation warming up your lower tummy, leaking through your pussy and onto your thighs. 

“Shit,” Changbin scoffs, checking the scene out. “You made a fucking mess”. 

You want to look at what he did, know how much he came for you, but Chan reinforces your initial position yet again by arching your ass even more.

“Be a good slut for me,” he tells you, landing a sharp spank on one of your ass cheeks. The sudden action makes you cry out in pain, but you don’t hate the sensation completely. “And I’ll be good to you”.

You’re not quite sure what he means, and you don’t get time to ask before he’s bottoming out inside of you. 

“Fuck!” you moan, suddenly losing the strength on your arms and your upper body threatening to plop down onto the floor. “C-chan!”

“C’me here,” he groans, sneaking a hand underneath your tummy looking for your clit. Again, the position isn’t the best but he somehow makes it work. And when you feel his digits rubbing your nerves just at the same pace of his thrusts, you start clenching around him even harder.

“Oh my g-god,” that stimulation is exactly what you need to come undone. Jisung and Changbin did a hell of a job getting you closer to your orgasm, but this is exactly what you needed to reach your climax.

And a well deserved one.

“Come,” Chan grunts through gritted teeth, biting his lower lip while furrowing his eyebrows. The sight of your ass bouncing against his cock is enough to get him to come, but he needs you to come first. “I’ll come with you”.

“Ngh- Chan,” and just like some magic words, you’re coming right after his order. He can feel you tightening around him, trying to milk his cock just as badly as you did with the other two. And he can’t resist that feeling, so he sticks up to his word and comes inside you almost at the same time. 

“Such- a good- little fucking slut,” his words are strained and painful. But his voice only contributes more to your own orgasm, just like the feeling of his cum filling you up. 

It takes the two of you a few moments to actually stop —even after coming, he kept on fucking you slowly until he made sure to fuck all of their cum inside of you. The last thing he wanted was to make a mess inside the recording booth, but it was inevitable. 

The floor is stained with all sorts of fluids, ones that are dripping out of your swollen pussy and others that no one knows how they got there. 

“Jisung,” Chan sighs, caressing your hips while fixing his clothes. “Stay with her, I’ll go get something to clean her up. Make sure she’s alright, and take her to the sofa in the studio, ‘kay?”

Jisung nods, attentive, and he helps you get up off the floor with ease. He wraps his arm around you, and fixes the top part of your dress to which you mutter a quick and soft thank you. 

“Changbin’s going to get you something to eat or drink, and I’ll take care of this. Alright?” 

You nod, still supporting your whole weight on Jisung. Your sore legs can only do much.

“He’s going to be with you in the meantime, but we will all be right back,” Chan’s soft gaze is the opposite to what he showed inside the recording booth, but you absolutely adore the contrast. 

“Yeah, ‘s okay,” you smile. 

“You did good, yeah?” Chan smiles, caressing your hair, “sounded so pretty for us”.

You offer them a weak, yet satisfied smile, “my pleasure”. 

[elliezato]

❀˙⋆Summer With You⋆˙❀

Pairing: Ellie x Reader

-Modern au!

Summary: You and your friends decide to rent out a cabin on the beach over the summer. This was your last summer before leaving for college, so you wanted to make it memorable. This summer was going to be perfect. You spent your days in the water, taking In the moments in the sun with your friends.

It didn't take long for you to realize your feelings for your best friend Ellie.

The way her wet hair drips down her shoulders as she gets out of the water. The way her fingers strum the guitar as you gather around the fire. The way the stars light her eyes during late night swims. The way her smile grows when she’s with her girlfriend… It's all too much.

Will these feelings ruin your friendship and the whole summer? What will happen when it's time to leave Ellie behind for college?

Word Count: 4.4k

⋆˚✿˖°

a/n: Im back!! I've been in the summer mood recently and I just need to be laying out by the lake rn. I recently read "SYNS" by carmellie and was inspired to make this! I've really been wanting to write a slow burn, angst fic so I hope this turns out good.

I will probably split this story into a few parts depending on how long I want this to be.

This will be my first real fic because honestly I've only written smut in the past and I'm not sure if I like writing stuff like that. I might add a little bit of it every now and then in my stories but it's not something I want to continue to write.

Anyway, I'm super exited for this story! Please give me ideas for future chapters! I love to hear feedback on how to improve or what you guys like.

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Packing your bag was the only thing you weren't looking forward to doing on this trip. You always over packed and struggled to fit everything in your bags. Clothes and shoes were thrown all over your room as you pick out what you should pack. This trip is going to be 2 months long so you need enough clothes to last through the summer but not too much that your car will be over flowing.

"Eww, do not bring that" Dina says in disgust as you hold up an old one piece bathing suit from freshmen year.

You knew she was right, but you didn't have many options when It came to bathing suits. You packed it anyway, along with some other suits from the previous summer. The sun shined through your window, lighting up the room. It was almost noon and you needed to leave soon. The drive to the cabin would take the majority of the day so there wasn't much time to waste.

Dina helped you load your car with your bags. There wasn't a lot of room in the trunk but you two made it work. You slam the truck shut, making sure it wouldn't pop open from all the clothes. Your parents hug you goodbye in your drive way as you and Dina get ready to leave.

You get into your car and put the top of your convertible down. The breeze felt nice in your hair as you drove off. Music plays as you sing your heart out. This was going to be a good trip, you could feel it. Dina pulls out her digital camera and snaps a pic of you driving as your hair blows in the wind. Your sun glasses reflect the trees lining the road.

It's been a long time since you've been on a nice trip. Let alone with all your friends. Nerves start to build as you get closer to the cabin. Ellie and Jesse were supposed to meet you there. Recently it's been awkward with Ellie. Usually you two could talk for hours and spend every second together but things have been different.

⋆˚✿˖°

You noticed this sudden shift in your friendship during one of your sleepovers a few months ago. Ellie was sitting on the floor of your bedroom while you were getting ready for bed. She starts going on a rant about this girl she's been thinking about asking out. You don't know what happened but in that moment you felt this strange rage fill in your heart.

Ellie has always been open about girls she finds attractive but she's never made any moves. The thought of your best friend dating another girl upset you for some reason. You've never felt this before and decided to just let it go.

"She so pretty y/n! Like I really think I'm going to make my move" Ellie scrolls on her phone as she talks to you.

You look into the mirror while washing the rest of the soap off your face. "Go for it Els, you could probably pull anyone"

"Yeah, I know" Ellie says sarcastically, now putting down her phone.

She walks over to you and meets your gaze in the reflection on the bathroom mirror. Your eyes revert down to the counter. For some reason you felt your body tremble as she got closer. You couldn't understand why you were acting like this. You've known Ellie your whole life and never saw her as anything other than your best friend.

She picks up her toothbrush and you leave the bathroom. You lay in bed waiting for Ellie to finish in the bathroom. She noticed the sudden change in your demeanor. After a few minutes your friend turns off the lights and lays nexts to you in bed.

"You ok?" Ellie turns to look at you. Her hand rubs up and down your arm.

"Yeah, Im just tired" You lied. You were wide awake but the thoughts of Ellie swarmed your mind.

Things have been like this ever since then. Every time you guys hung out, you two always end up in awkward situations. You hated the fact that things felt like this. You almost convinced yourself that maybe your friendship isn't as strong and it use to be. Maybe you two are drifing apart. You prayed that this wasn't the case but it was the only logical way to explain the distance between you two.

⋆˚✿˖°

"Can we pull over? I have to pee and Im starving" Dina throws her head back into the seat.

"Yeah, I need to get gas anyway" You pull into a gas station and Dina runs in as you follow shortly behind her.

The area was very unfamiliar. There wasn't many people around. You walk inside the convince store and pick out a few snacks and your friend finishes up in the bathroom. You look over to pick out what you want and see a package of watermelon sour patch kids. These were Ellie's favorite. You guys use to walk to the gas station when you were younger and eat these on the curb in the summer heat.

You pick up two bags, one for yourself and one to give Ellie when you see her later tonight. Dina grabs her snacks and you pay. You quickly fill up your tank and get back onto the road. You put the top of your conferable back up now that it's getting darker and the air is cooling down.

The rest of the drive was quiet. Dina slept as you listed to music softly. Superache by Conan filled the car as your mind thought about Ellie. She was all you could think about for the rest of the drive. You were excited to see her, hoping she felt the same.

A few hours later you pull into the driveway of the cabin. You looked at the familiar car already in front of you.

"It looks like they're already here" You nudge Dina, trying to wake her.

You text the group chat, letting your friends know you arrived. As you get out of the car to help unload all your bags you hear your name being called out from a small distance. You look up and see Ellie and Jesse walking towards you to greet you and help with the bags.

"Y/N!! You guys took long enough." Ellie pulls you into a tight hug and then turns to Dina to welcome her.

Your eyes were glued to Ellie. She was dressed in a pair of jorts that ended a few inches above her knees. Her shirt displayed the album cover of her favorite band she took you to see last semester. She wore her old converse that probably need to be replaced sometime soon.

You guys walk into the cabin with all the bags. It was beautiful. Trees surround the land and fireflies lit up every now and then around the house. You could see a glimpse of the ocean from the front. You walk into the cabin and place your bags onto the floor.

"You guys have to see the view!" Ellie grabs your wrist to bring you to the backyard.

Dina and Jesse followed as Ellie opened the backdoor for everyone. As she opened the door you were met with the view of the beach in the distance. Lanterns lit the path leading down to a fire pit. Lights were strung across the yard, lighting up every inch. You closed your eyes and listened to the waves crashing in the distance and the bugs humming from the trees.

"Holy shit. This is insane!" Your eyes light up thinking about all the memories that are about to be made here.

"Lets go down to the beach!" Jesse says as he's already sprinting down to the sand.

"I'll be there in a minute, Im going to change into a bathing suit." You begin to walk back inside until you feel a tug on your arm.

"Come onnnn!" Ellie drags you down to the beach with everyone else.

There wasn't anyone on the beach. It was more of a reserved area for residents only. You kick off your shoes as you stumble down to the water. You watch as your friends run into the waves laughing and taking in the moment. Ellie looks over at you from the water smiling, motioning you to come in. You roll your eyes and walk into the water. It was oddly warm. You cringe at the fact you're still dressed in your clothes from the drive here.

You suddenly gasp as you feel yourself getting pushed into the water. "Hey!" You sit as waves crash over you.

Ellie looks down at you and laughs but it doesn't last long before Jesse pushes her in. "What the fuck!"

You're now laughing at the sight of her drenched in the water. She grabs your hand and helps you up as you two are now dripping wet. You look up and notice how bright the stars are here. Back home you can barely see the stars. The city isn't the best place for star gazing. You can feel your body start to shiver.

The wet cloths that cling to your body get colder by each second. Ellie notices and pulls you close. "Lets go back up and change"

You take your bag of clothes and bring it it your room. Your eyes widen when you realize the room you were sharing with Ellie only has one bed. You don't understand why you're in shock. You've shared a bed with Ellie many times in your life but for some reason you felt weird about it.

"Nice right?" She says as she walks past you into the room.

The room was nice. It was open and had big windows looking out to the ocean. You place your bags down next to the bed and pull out a pair of pjs. You feel her eyes on you as you walk to the bathroom to shower and change for the night.

You take your time getting unready. Turing on the shower as you slip out of your wet clothes. The water is hot and feels nice against your shivering skin. Fingers run through your scalp as you wash out the salty water, tasting it on your lips as it washes over your face.

You dry off your body and put on fresh clothes. You throw your wet hair up into a towel as you wash your face. As you exit the bathroom you notice Ellie is no longer in the room. You walk downstairs to the kitchen to see all your friends sitting at the island laughing.

"Were ordered pizza, I hope that's fine" Dina says smiling, then returning to her conversation

"Im literally starving, I could fuck up some pizza right now" You say as you sit and join them at the island.

"I think Cat is going to join us for a week. She's supposed to be here next Saturday" Ellie looks at you waiting for a reaction.

You immediately feel a frown forming on your face. You hated Cat. You hated how she practically stole Ellie from you, and now she's coming on your trip!? Ever since Ellie made her move on Cat they've been inseparable. She never referred to Cat as her girlfriend but you knew it was coming. The way Ellie looks at her. It hurts. You figured it was just because she doesn't spend all her time with you anymore. Maybe you're just jealous that Ellie's time is being taken up by someone else.

You were looking forward to spending time with Ellie on this trip and now she's inventing Cat? You felt your heart drop at the thought of Ellie spending the next week with her.

"That's exciting" You say as you force a smile but it's clear your upset.

Suddenly there's a knock at the door. "That's probably the pizza" Jesse gets up and walks to the front door.

You make your way over to the living room with a box of pizza in your hands. You place the box down on the coffee table next to the other boxes. Ellie hands you a glass of water as she takes a seat next to you on the couch.

"What movie are we watching?" You feel Ellie's body shift next to you as she grabs the remote to scroll through the options.

"Want to rewatch Bottoms? I don't think Dina or Jesse have seen it yet."

"YES!" She searches up the movie and hits rent without any hesitation.

⋆˚✿˖°

The night was nice. You rested your head on Ellies shoulder as you watch the movie. The boxes of pizza are practically empty except for the left over crust from Ellie that she refuses to eat. The movie was almost over and you could feel your eyes getting tired. You've already seen this move a million times so you decided to go ahead and go to bed.

"Where are you going" Ellie looks up at you as you remove yourself from her arms.

"Im going to head up to bed. Im tired from driving all day. I'll see you guys in the morning" You smile and say goodnight to Jesse and Dina.

"Okay, goodnight! I'll be up there right when the movie ends." She gives you a soft smile in return.

The bed was comfortable. It was easy to get settled in as you wait for Ellie's presence. Your eyes close as you wait for her. You could feel yourself drifting off until you hear the sound of the door opening. Your body turns towards the door and you open your eyes to see Ellie walking into the room.

"Sorry, did I wake you up" She quietly closes the door.

"No, I was still up." You watch as she pulls out her toothbrush from her bag and walks to the bathroom.

She eventually joins you in bed. Her body was close. You could feel her settling into the mattress. The widow was slightly open, allowing the sound of the waves crashing to fill the room. The fan kept the room at a cool temperature as you pull the covers higher up your body.

"Do you like Cat" Ellie breaks the silence and turns to face you in the bed waiting for a response.

Her face was close. You could feel her gentle breath on your cheeks as she waited for you to answer. You knew you couldn't tell her the truth. She's your best friend. There's no reason for you dislike Cat, but you did, but you couldn't tell her that.

"Yeah. Why?" Your response was cold and blunt.

"You just always change the subject when I bring her up or you just seem to always get upset." She frowns. "I just really want you to like her because I think I'm going to make things official with her."

You almost was to cry when you hear those words come out of her mouth. Your heart aches. You knew this was coming but you prayed it wouldn't happen. You wished things would fall through between them. You hated that you felt this way. You wanted Ellie to be happy. You really did but you've been letting your emotions get in the way.

"Do whatever you want Ellie" You turn to face the opposite way. You didn't mean for your response to come out as harsh as it did, but it was too late.

"This is exactly what I was talking about. I don't understand why you're being like this" Her voice is harsh. "Ever since I told you about Cat you've been so distant. I don't know why you're being like this but clearly you need space."

You feel her get up from the bed. "Where are you going?" You sit up and look at her.

"Giving you space. You obviously are upset with me and I don't know why." She gets up and leaves the room.

You lay back down on your back as the tears that formed in your eyes begin to fall down your cheeks. Her words stung but she was right. You feel bad for being so short with Ellie, she doesn't deserve it. Your whole life you and Ellie have been so close. You told each other everything. The reason your friendship is changing was because of you.

After tossing and turning in the empty bed for a while you look over at your bag and see the candy you bought for Ellie but forgot to give her. You decide to get up and find her, still feeling bad about earlier. The room was dark and hard to navigate but you found the door. You walk downstairs to see Ellie laying on the couch. She's wrapped up in a small blanket, sleeping softly. You sit on the edge of the couch and look at her with a feeling of guilt settling in your stomach.

"y/n?" She slowly opens her eyes and looks at you.

"Im sorry Els." You look at her with damp eyes. "Im sorry I've been so distant and I'm sorry for being rude." You wipe your tears trying to gain composer.

Ellie sits up and wraps her arms around you, bringing you close to her body. She wipes your tears as she holds you. "Stop crying. Im not mad at you, Im just confused."

"I know and Im sorry" You rest your head on her chest.

You eventually lay down on the couch with her. There isn't too much room but you make it work. Your bodies press against each other as you close your eyes. Her arms are wrapped around your waist, still trying to calm you down. You quickly fall asleep, feeling that your friendship is returning to what it once was.

⋆˚✿˖°

You wake up alone on the couch, hearing chatter from the kitchen. Sitting up and looking over you see your friends making breakfast. The air smells of salt and pancakes.

"Look who's finally up" Jesse says teasingly as he flips a pancake.

"You hungry?" Ellie asks as she holds up a plate of food she had already prepared for you.

You get up from the couch and sit at the table. The kitchen had huge windows that had the perfect view on the backyard and the beach. The cabin was so pretty during the day. The sunlight lit up the whole house. You look up as you see Ellie placing a plate in front of you. She sits down and joins you for breakfast.

"Do you have any plans in mind for today" She looks up at you as she takes a bite of pineapple.

"I really want to explore this area and go to the beach." You smile at her as you spread the butter on your pancakes.

You put on your bathing suit and then some shorts over as a coverup. The weather was hot but not humid. There was nice breeze outside. There were a bunch of beach bikes on the side of the cabin for guest so you and your friends decided to explore on them.

Wind blew through your hair as you rode down the dirt paths from the cabin to the nearest sidewalk. Music played through Ellie's speakers as you rode. You eventually came across a small beach town with restaurants and shops. There were people walking through with friends and family enjoying the start of summer break.

You tied your bikes to a post and decided to walk around. "This place is so cute!" You take out you phone to take some pictures.

Dina points out a small local coffee shop and starts walking towards it. You guys enter the shop and order coffees to start your morning. Ellie wasn't a huge coffee person so she got a refresher.

"Els you need to try this!" You hand her your drink waiting for her to take a sip.

"No thanks. I really don't like coffee" She pushes your drink away.

"Seriously Ellie, its so good, you have to try it" You push your cup back into her hands.

She hands you her drink so you can try it as she takes a sip of your coffee. "This is disgusting!" She cringes as the taste of coffee lingers in her mouth.

She takes her drink back and washes out the bitter taste of coffee from her mouth. The coffee wasn't even strong, it was mostly washed out with a sugary creamer. You laugh watching Ellie's reaction to the coffee and took it back from her hands.

The town was small so it didn't take long to explore it. You guys planned on trying every restaurant here over the summer. The breeze from the ocean felt nice. The air smelt of salt and coffee.

You and your friends got back onto your bikes and rode down to the beach. The weather was starting to get warmer as noon approached. You set you bike up again the beach entrance and step onto the sand. You take off your shoes and toss them into your bag and walk down to the water. Ellie follows shortly behind and sits down on the towel that Dina places on the warm sand.

You join Ellie on the towel as Dina and Jesse head towards the water. "Im sorry about last night, I was just tired. I don't even remember why I was upset." You say looking at Ellie as she takes a sip of her drink.

"Y/n, it's really ok, I'm not mad. I just want us to go back to how we use to be" She admits as she meets your gaze.

"Me too" You smile and rest your head on her shoulder as you watch your friends splashing each other in the waves.

⋆˚✿˖°

The first week was perfect. You spent your days at the beach and cooking out in the backyard of the cabin. Jesse and Ellie set up hammocks in the back, so you guys could star gaze and talk until the sun starts to rise. Things were going better than you imagined. Your relationship with Ellie was better than ever. You two did everyone together.

"Cats going to be here in a few minutes!" Ellie impatiently checks her phone waiting for Cat's arrival text.

You sit at the island finishing your breakfast. The windows were open, allowing the fresh air to calm you down. You've been dreading this since Ellie first brought up the fact that Cat was even visiting. The thought of Ellie spending all her time with Cat made you sick. You didn't want to lash out again so you kept your feelings to yourself.

A ding from Ellie's phone interrupted your conversation followed by a loud knock at the door. "She's here!" Ellie jumped from her seat and walked over to the front door.

Cat stood at the entrance with her bag. She was dressed in shorts and a tank top with an opened button down on top. You took in the image of Ellie's face lighting up as she looked Cat up and down. You watched as she pulled her into a tight hug. Ellie leaded her into the kitchen with everyone else.

"Hi guys! Thanks for letting me stay for a few days" She smiles and then looks at you.

You return the smile but its obvious you're annoyed. Cat takes the hint and turns back too Ellie. They walk upstairs so she could put up her bags.

Dina looks over at you with a frown. "You ok y/n?"

"Yeah... why?" You look at her with a confused and saddened expression.

Dina caught on to your feelings for Ellie a long time ago. You've never admitted to them because honestly you never thought of Ellie in that way. At least not until recently. It's all been so confusing.

"She's only going to be here for five days, it'll go by fast" Dina tries to reassure you but it just makes things worse.

"I know, I think we'll have fun. And Ellie's happy" You try to convince your friends you're ok, and maybe you're trying to convince yourself too.

Ellie returns downstairs with Cats hand in hers. The sight makes you want to cry but you suck in your feelings and try to avoid them. You knew these next few days would be hard. Not only did you have to watch your best friend fall in love with someone else but you had to get rid of any feelings you have for her.

You didn't even know you liked her but it makes sense now. It's all coming together. Why did you feel this way? You've known Ellie all your life. Why are you just now realizing these feelings? The way she makes you feel when her fingers are running through your hair. The way she holds you close at night. The way she immediately drops everything when you need her.

Your thoughts shatter in your mind when you see Cats lips against Ellie's. You can't help but sit and stare. Ellie never told you they were official yet. Why didn't she tell you?

Your emotions took over and you left. You didn't know where you were going but your keys were in your hand and you were already half way to you car.

"Y/n!? Where are you going?" Ellie follows you as you walk out the door. Cat standing behind. She stands at the door frame as she watches you pull out of the drive way.

The air was much needed. You drove down the roads of the beach. tears building up in your eyes. You had hopes that this drive would distract you but the only thing on your mind was Ellie. Why did you let your feelings get the best of you again. She clearly doesn't like you. She has Cat.

You find yourself sitting in a cafe looking out at the beach. The thoughts Ellie holding you floods your mind. You hate yourself for feeling like this. What would she think if she knew about how you felt? Would this ruin everything between you two? Would your friendship be over for good?

You immediately snap out of your thoughts as you look down and notice a text from Ellie.

⋆˚✿˖°

a/n: Thank you for reading!! Im already working on the next chapter. I hope my writing gets stronger as I write more because I feel like this could be more detailed:( Please, please, pleaseeee give me feedback! I love hearing others opinions! Im excited to continue this story because honestly I have no idea where the plot is going to go yet. The next chapters should be longer as they come out. Im not expecting this to be too long but let me know what you guys want for the future chapters!<3

[nolita-fairytale]

comfort & chaos (carmy berzatto x fem!reader) chapter one: october 2019

summary: the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you: carmy, the recently promoted chef du cuisine at the best restaurant in the world, has no idea what he's in for when he accidentally spills his drink on the recently hired patissiere. (prequel to make my heart surrender)

warnings: swearing, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language. eventual smut.

word count: 4.5k

listen to: dover beach part 2 - baby queen | alaska - maggie rogers | less than i do - the band camino | 2 / 14 - the band camino

a/n: i'm back back back again! this is six part series will be a snapshot of carmy x reader's relationship in nyc that span across a three year period. i'm really looking forward to writing their friendship & so much repressed sexual tension it's not even funny. this is the first story i've published without it being almost or fully written so updates will maybe be more sporadic this time.

October 2019 

“i was hoping somehow we'd end up together, outside, past midnight, and smoking cigarettes. the wallpaper inside my brain is decorated with your face. i'm lonely for you only, and i'm trying to convince you that i'm something you could love.” – dover beach (pt 2)

He hates you. 

You’re absolutely sure of it. 

You can see it in the way his body stiffens as you walk by – in the way he hasn’t stopped sending you long, piercing glares across the kitchen – in just how bright red his face turns when you catch him doing it. 

And for what? For being excellent? For being good enough to get a job after staging that one night?

Fuck that, you think to yourself.

You find Carmen Berzatto infuriating, and it begins to dawn on you that you may have had one too many gin cocktails to stomach the fact that you have to be here tonight. 

Here, at his promotion party. 

Here, at this stupid fucking bar that you hate. 

Here, because he’s sort of everyone’s boss now… and it’s something you’re just going to have to live with.

It hadn’t come as much of a surprise. There’d been talk of a leadership change (and Carmy filling the CDC position) when you had first started working here, but having a head’s up didn’t really help you now. You just hadn’t pictured having to go out for drinks to celebrate the man that seemed like he could barely stand being in the same room as you. But your friend Liz, one of the chef de parties at the restaurant, had insisted you come with, since she hadn’t wanted to go alone. You understood why you both had to go, so you’d invited your other best friend to help the both of you get through. 

You thank your lucky stars that your direct report is the head pastry chef and not Carmy. Using your boss as a buffer, you had used every excuse in the book to avoid interacting with him. 

Sure, he was brilliant. 

Sure, he was a wunderkind who had just gotten back from a three month stage at noma right before he was hired here.

Sure, he was kind of a total asshole. 

“Fuck that, man! C’mon. Just one shot. It’s your big night, motherfucker!” Nate calls out, practically shoving a shot into Carmy’s hand. 

“Oh, I- uh, I’m good, man,” Carmy stutters, trying to find an excuse not to take the shot. 

Truthfully, he hates shots… and he’s not much of a vodka drinker either. 

He’s just not in the mood to get hammered either, his thoughts consumed with tomorrow, his first day as chef du cuisine, going perfectly. 

You watch the uncomfortable interaction, almost feeling bad for the guy. Nate and the most recently promoted sous, Tim, are trying their best to corral Carmy into taking the shot as you walk by. You can see the uncomfortable look on Carmy’s face as he declines Nate’s offer for a second time. 

In fact, he seems like a different person tonight. He’s… boyishly awkward, almost, and you wonder if he’s maybe not so great in social situations. As you pass by, drink in hand, you hear a cacophony of sound. Carmy’s trying his best to dodge his friends’ next attempt, and before you know it, Nate’s practically pushing him towards Tim, sending Carmy backwards, tumbling right into you. 

You feel the wet liquid of your gin and tonic, along with the shot of vodka that’s flown out of Carmy’s hand spill all over your shirt. The shot glass shatters as it hits the floor, and the sobering feeling of ice cold liquid soaking through your shirt causes you to shriek. 

“Shit! What the fuck, Carmy!” you yell, angrily, as you push him off of you.

At this point, you could care less that he’s everyone’s new boss, and the drama of it all has caught the attention of almost all of the other restaurant staff that have come out tonight. Your friends rush towards you, searching for as many napkins as they can grab. 

“Fffffuck,” is all he says back and you can’t believe he’s yelling at you right now. You watch as his face changes quickly, from angry, to thoroughly shocked as he begins to stammer through an apology. 

“I-. I’m sorry I-. I didn’t mean to-.” 

He scrambles to help you, with one cocktail napkin as you push him away, your friends rushing to your side. 

“No! I don’t want your help,” you grit through a clenched jaw. 

“Shit, your shirt is ruined… C’mon,” Liz says, as she ushers you away shooting a glare in Carmy’s direction. 

“Damn, man. You could just ask her out,” you can hear Nate say, even though you’re too preoccupied with examining the damage of your totally soaked through t-shirt. 

So much for a chill evening. 

“Oh shut up, Nate,” Maya snaps at the sous. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” You nod, following her as she leads you away towards the bathroom. 

Back at the bar, Liz is trying her best to remedy the situation, trying her best to clean up the mess you left behind. She watches Carmy closely, trying to figure out whether she’s going to pay for this tomorrow. But instead of being angry, he just seems embarrassed… remorseful, even. There’s a small part of her that feels bad for the guy as it becomes clearer that he may just not be great in social situations.

As soon as you get to the single-room bathroom, you're swearing loudly and stripping off your shirt. It’s completely see through and you know you’re going to smell like a distillery until you can get home to shower. 

“I told you. He hates me,” you pout, examining your reflection in the mirror, a scowl glued to your face. You dap a few dry paper towels across your chest.

“I think it was just an accident, sweetie,” Maya says, sympathetically, as she tries her best to console you. 

“Yeah, I know,” you admit in defeat.

As much as you’d like to blame this on him, you know it wasn’t his fault. 

“Sorry I asked you to come tonight. If I knew it would be this much drama-,” you begin, before being promptly cut off. 

“Oh no, I’m all here for this drama,” she laughs, causing you to shake your head and lighten up a little about the situation.

As angry as you’d like to be with Carmy, you know that the truth of the matter is that he hadn’t meant to spill his drink all over you. You should be mad at Nate and Tim… but it just feels easier to be mad at Carmy considering. 

“Incoming!” you hear a voice say as Liz arrives. In her hands, she holds what looks like a white t-shirt, neatly folded up, that she hands to you. “Anyone in need of dry clothes?”

“Oh thank god,” you sigh with relief, glady taking it. 

“Good on you for having an extra,” Maya says. 

“Well, it’s a restaurant. You never know when you’re gonna need a change of clothes,” Liz shrugs, a glimmer in her eyes that Maya notices, as she says it. You find it a little strange that she seems to be watching you for a reaction, but you brush off the look she sends you, as you slide the dry t-shirt over your head.

The t-shirt isn’t much bigger than an oversized fit you’d buy for yourself – which makes sense because Liz is a bit taller than you. The cotton fabric hangs loosely over your form as your eyes flicker over to your completely soaked through shirt that lays crumpled up on the bathroom sink. 

“Well, ladies. We did our best,” you resign yourself, as you notice your still-very-wet bra begin soaking through the white t-shirt. 

“C’mon. Let’s see if we can get some more paper towels. Or uh.. See if the kitchen has a towel we can use,” Liz says, nodding her head towards the door. 

“We’ll be right back,” Maya reassures you, empathy in her eyes.

You watch as Liz follows her, leaving you alone in the bathroom. 

It doesn’t take long for the door to the bathroom to swing open again, which surprises you. You gasp as soon as you see who's come through the door, and you’re crossing your arms over your chest which may only make the wet bra, white t-shirt ordeal even worse. A very flustered Carmy stands in the doorway, his mouth hanging open as if he hadn’t expected you to be in here. 

“There’s uh… someone in here,” you scoff, unable to hide the irritation in the sound of your voice. You hug your arms closer to yourself, almost as if to cover yourself up. 

“No I-, yeah, I know I just-,” he stammers, his eyes shifting to the floor. He feels like he’s walked in on something he shouldn’t have, and he can feel all the blood rushing to his face, instantly regretting his decision not to knock first. 

“I actually, uh… I came to apologize,” he manages to get out, his words quiet. He says it as if there’s an unintentional question mark at the end of his sentence. You can see the way he runs his eyes back and forth, trailing over the fancy floor tile, searching for the right words. 

“I didn’t mean to- I just-. Sorry…”

His demeanor surprises you. At work, Carmy’s this confident, commandeering, talented chef, but tonight, he seems anything but.

Nervous. Shy. Like a fish out of water, even.

You take a breath, trying your best to relax.

You can feel some of your guard coming down as you begin to accept he really hadn’t meant to spill his drink on you. But you’re not eager to forget the fact that he’s been kind of an asshole to you since you started working here. Unsure of how to respond, you give literal effort to replying with a:

“It’s fine. Thanks.”

He knows you don’t mean it. 

In fact, he can hear how painful it is for you to get out those words. 

You wait for him to leave, but Carmy continues to stand in the bathroom with you, awkwardly. But he doesn’t say anything, so you figure that the least you can do is deflect a little with humor. 

“I’ll uh-, invoice you for the therapy session,” you say, trying to eliminate any malice in your tone so that he knows you’re joking. “Walking home in a wet shirt on the streets of NYC is gonna be… fun.”

“Oh uh…” he trails off, his face turning a darker shade of red. 

“I’m kidding,” you state, searching his face for any kind of expression. 

This man is impossible to read, you think to yourself.

His eyes are still glued to the floor as he begins to move, mumbling something you can’t quite hear in response to your failed joke. Carmy slides out of the denim jacket he’s wearing, before taking hold of it, extending an arm out to you. 

“Sorry um-. Here,” he says nervously, and it’s the first time he’s allowed his eyes to meet yours. “You can uh-. You can wear this. For your walk home.”

Well, that wasn’t what you were expecting. 

And had his eyes always been that blue?

Your face softens. 

You take the jacket hesitantly, holding it in your hands. This time you mean it when you say:

“Thanks.”

“Least I could do,” he shrugs, daring to meet your eyes with his again. 

You slip the jacket over your shoulders as the two of you stand a few feet apart. The air feels thick, and at this point, you’re not sure how to feel. Even though your bra has continued to soak through the white t-shirt, the way his denim jacket feels wrapped around your shoulders feels like an added layer of protection.

“After uh-. You know I-,” he stumbles through.

“Yeah. No I uh-. Thanks, again,” you repeat, cutting him off. 

Might as well put the poor guy out of his misery. 

“Anyways, I’ll make sure to get this back to you,” you interject, your voice much more reassuring this time. 

“Yeah,” he nods. 

You swear you can almost see the corner of his lips turn up, but you’ve never really seen him smile, so it’s not like you have much to compare it to. Carmy excuses himself, and you watch as he leaves, genuinely grateful for the peace offering. 

The way that Carmy’s jacket hangs heavily around your shoulders makes you wonder if it’s real denim. You notice that it smells like him too: a faint scent of cigarettes, Old Spice deodorant, whatever scented laundry detergent he uses that feels familiar. 

You and Carmy don’t speak again, save for a few short exchanges at work, but he’s been on your mind. Your interaction the other night had left an impression on you – albeit a strange one – and you’re not sure why you haven’t returned his jacket yet. 

It’s not till a few days later that you speak again, leaving another strange impression on you. You head into the walk-in to get a few quarts of heavy cream and as you pull the door open, you find a flustered Carmy standing there. He’s got his hands on his hips and eyes glued to the floor with an exasperated look on his face as he watches the plastic storage containers he’s just thrown clamor across the floor. You gasp, shocked by the loud sounds, and Carmy knows he’s not alone. 

As he turns to you with a glare on his face, you notice that Carmy’s eyes are puffy, his cheeks flushed red, and he looks sick as a dog. 

His eyes are wide with embarrassment for a moment, before returning to their normal, stoic focus, hardened by a less than positive interaction with the exec chef. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, uncomfortably. He gestures towards the storage containers on the floor, before running a hand through his neatly slicked back hair. 

“It’s uh, you’re good, chef,” you say, trying your best to put your wall of professionalism up. 

You had witnessed the demeaning encounter from the exec chef – everyone had. It had been impossible not to. He’d practically breathed down Carmy’s neck, taunting him for his lack of focus today, that he’s a little bitch for letting allergies get to him. 

To say that the man was emotionally abusive would be an understatement. 

You should leave – turn and go, and pretend that this never happened – that you’d seen nothing. But instead, you stay. 

“You good, chef?” you ask softly, a hint of concern in your voice.

He sniffles again, the searing headache that robs him of his focus only burning brighter after what just happened. 

“Yeah, no. I’m fine,” he snaps, refusing to look at you. 

You wait for him to say something more, only he doesn’t. You can see he’s not feeling well and that he must be feeling worse after his metaphorical public stoning in the town square. He’s not sure what the hell it is you’re waiting for, and he just needs another fucking second to himself. 

“Why are you still here?” he grits through teeth, his eyes fixed to the floor. 

You open your mouth to say something, but you’re honestly not sure why you’re still in the walk-in with him either. 

Maybe because you know that the exec chef is a total monster.

That he shouldn’t have talked to Carmy like that. 

That you can understand why he’d be upset. 

“Chef!” he says, raising his voice a little louder and flinging his hands towards the door. “Will you just-?”

You nod, a feeling of embarrassment filling your chest, as you realize he wants you to leave. You hurry out of the walk-in, closing the door behind you as you escape, your heavy cream quart containers in hand. 

“You good?” Liz asks, as soon as she sees you come out of the walk-in. She’s passing by to bring a few deli containers over to the dish station. 

“What?” you ask back in surprise, unaware that you look visibly shaken up.

“You look… flustered is all,” she points out. 

“Oh. Yeah. I just uh-, Carmy’s in there. Throwing a fit. He just uh… snapped at me is all. But what’s new?” you reply, trying your best to shake it off. 

She rolls her eyes in response, “Yeah, he can be like that. Thank your lucky stars that you don’t have to work under him.”

You let out an annoyed exhale. It’s a funny feeling – one that leaves you a little confused: one minute he’s this chivalrous guy that’s handing you his jacket to wear home and the next he’s practically tearing your head off to get out of the walk-in. You can’t quite figure him out. He’s so hot and cold, you’re not sure what to expect from him anymore. 

As you and Liz are about to part ways, you remember that you have to give her back her borrowed shirt. 

“Oh!” you say, calling her attention before she returns to her station. 

“I have your shirt, by the way,” you say. “From the other night.”

“Oh,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “Okay weird timing considering he’s being such an asshole today but uh…. Yeah. The shirt’s... not mine. I forgot to tell you.”

You send her a puzzled look as she shrugs. 

“I didn’t think you’d take it if I told you but… it’s Carmy’s. He pulled it out of his bag when he spilled the drink on you,” she informs, waiting to gauge your reaction.

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

“You were so mad at him that I just figured-, it doesn't matter. He pulled it out of his bag to give to you. I think he felt really fucking bad, babe,” she interjects, revealing the truth. 

Well now you’re really fucking confused. 

And after your little interaction with him in the walk-in, there’s no way you’re going to bring it up to him today. 

“Oh. Yeah um, got it,” you reply, feeling even more confused than when you started the day. 

You show up to work the next day with the t-shirt and his jacket tucked into a canvas tote bag you plan on giving to Carmy. You’d decided to wait till you had them both, and you’re also hoping that he’s in a better mood today. 

Only, Carmy’s not here today. 

“Yeah, he’s out sick. Looks like those allergies turned out to be a nasty head cold,” your general manager had informed you when you’d asked about where Carmy was. “Looks like Tim’s filling in today for him.”

“Got it. Thanks, Kate” you’d replied. 

Later on your mid-shift break, you’d then mustered up all the courage possible to ask if anyone had checked in on Carmy. Kate, your GM, had answered no, and had been more than happy to give you his address so that you could do so. You’re not sure why you feel like it’s the right thing to do, but between his act of kindness at the bar, and his outburst in the walk-in yesterday, you figure it wouldn’t hurt to show him a little kindness. Not that you feel like you owe him or anything. 

Maybe you just want to give him his clothes back and be done with it. 

Maybe you’re also deeply confused about who the hell Carmen Berzatto really is. 

Maybe the mystery of it intrigues you a little more than you’d like to admit.

Dinner service flies by quickly – a string of non-stop orders helps the time go faster. Carmy’s apartment is on your way home, so it’s a no-brainer to make the trip. You stop on your way at a deli nearby, picking up a quart of matzo ball soup, before heading over to his apartment. 

When you get there, you knock on the door three times, anxiety beginning to flood you.

What if he thinks this is totally creepy – that you just got his address from the general manager? What if he thinks you’re stalking him? What if he hates the fact that you’re even there in the first place? 

You wonder if you should just leave the soup at the door and run as fast as you can so that, by the time he answers the door, you’re gone. 

Just as you’re bending down to place the quart container down by his door, the door swings open to reveal a very congested Carmy. His curls seem wilder than normal as he looks genuinely surprised to see you crouching in the hall of his apartment. 

“Hi!” you practically shout, taken off guard as you rise to your feet. 

“Yo,” he says, blinking a few times to make sure he’s not dreaming. “What’s uh-, what’s going on?”

It’s weird – seeing Carmy outside of the restaurant, outside of his chef whites. His usually slicked back, out-of-his-face hair falls in the messiest most unruly curls around his face in a way that's surprisingly unkempt. He’s… almost human-like. 

“This is for you,” is all you manage to say, handing him the quart container. 

“Uh… thanks,” he trails off, taking it and checking out the matzo ball soup. 

You’re not sure where to begin, how to explain why the hell you’re here, so you just start talking. 

“I uh… your place was on the way home,” you begin. “I hope it’s okay but I got your address from Kate. I actually used to go to this deli all the time when I was a kid with my parents and I forgot that it was in your neighborhood so I just figured that I should pick something up on the way over since I heard you were sick and uh-.”

Carmy shoots you a look and he almost looks amused. 

“... I’m rambling, aren’t I?” you ask, a light blush running across your cheeks. 

“Yeah,” he nods, a dry laugh following.

You wait a beat, collecting yourself. You’re not sure why this is so weird, but it’s so weird. 

“I came by because…” you start, digging through your canvas tote bag that’s draped across your right shoulder. “... I wanted to return these to you.” 

You hold out the jacket and t-shirt folded up together to Carmy, his eyes following them. 

“Liz told me that the shirt was yours too. I just-, I know we don’t always… that you don’t-, I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I know it’s kind of weird at work sometimes but… I guess  I just wanted to say thank you. For these. Hence the soup,” you finally explain.

“No problem,” Carmy nods, taking them in his empty hand, before disappearing momentarily to place them somewhere inside of his apartment.  

You’re only a little disappointed by his short response, yet you’re not sure you expected anything else. He returns only seconds later.

“It’s uh-, Cool jacket,” you say. You can’t tell whether you’re making small talk or just saying something out of discomfort, but it seems to pique Carmy’s interest. 

“It actually reminds me of the denim jacket that John Lennon used to wear ”

“You know denim?” he asks, and you could swear that you see his eyes light up for a moment. 

“No, but I know music,” you reply. 

“Uh I mean. Yeah. It is…” he says, with a nod, a hint of excitement in the words that follow. “Not the actual one he wore but… it’s a 1950s selvedge Wrangler. Just like Lennon.”

So he wasn’t just a fine-dining robot. 

“Wow I didn’t know you were into all that,” you say, feeling some of the tension between the two of you melt. “Denim, I mean.”

“Something I picked up from my brother, I guess,” he shrugs, shyly. 

“That’s funny,” you chuckle. 

“Hm?” he hums in response. 

“Just… the thought of you having a brother,” you clarify, jokingly. “Thought you were like… grown in a lab at noma or something.”

And Carmy almost smiles, you think.

“Nope. Just Chicago,” he replies, enjoying the act of sharing something with you. 

“Ahhh,” you sound, following it up with another small laugh. “Well, I’ll let you get some rest. Enjoy the soup.”

“Yeah, uh. Thanks for this,” he says, holding up the brown bag. 

“Of course,” you reply, turning to go. 

But you don’t go yet, not ready to let go of the momentary connection you’ve built with Carmy 

"You know it doesn’t have to be like this,” you say, turning back to him. He's staring at you, just like he does in the kitchen. It’s another long, languid look that makes you realize that maybe they haven’t been hate-glares after all.

“We don't have to do this... start over every time we see each other.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree with a nod. “I mean, I've already worn your clothes so… it’s a rather… intimate thing for us to just be strangers….”

He listens attentively. 

"We could… coworkers… friends, even,” you suggest, hesitantly.

“Me and you?” he asks, a puzzled look on his face. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by what you’ve said, or if he’s about to laugh in your face. 

“If you want,” you nod in response. 

He waits a beat, and you watch his facial expressions soften a little as he finally says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

You smile at him, the man you thought hated you, wants to be friends with you. You get a wicked idea, letting out a chuckle before continuing. 

“Great. There’s just one thing,” you begin playfully.

You can’t help yourself.

“Hm?” he hums. 

“It’s just… I haven’t made my mind up about you. So you should consider this your trial period, buddy,” you tease. 

He lets out a dry laugh, “Like a stage?”

Of course it’s all kitchen-related for him.

You laugh in response, “Yeah, like a stage.”

“Heard, chef.”

“Goodnight, Carmy.”

Carmy’s never had someone joke with him so sweetly. Between his family and, well, Richie… it’s always been callous humor and insults thrown back and forth lovingly. This feels… different: lighter.

As he watches you walk away, he looks down at the deli quart container that he holds in his hand. He’s never had anyone take care of him before – not like this – someone who wasn’t Sugar or Mikey, and certainly not his Mom. Not like this. Not without asking for anything in return. He can’t seem to identify the warm feeling that rushes through him, and wonders, for a moment, if this is what it feels like to fall in love. 

Not that he’s ever experienced that either.

By Saturday, he’s back to work and feeling much better (the soup definitely helps, he decides) but it’s not for another week that he musters up the courage to ask you what you’re doing between lunch and dinner service. 

“Chef!” he calls out to you as you’re cleaning up your station.

“Yeah, what’s up?” you reply. 

It’s not like you’ve been all buddy-buddy and friendly over the last week, but you’ve at least stopped thinking that he hates you. Sure you’ve decided to be friends, but it’s not like you’d expected wildly different behavior. 

“You uh… wanna grab a cup of coffee? On the break, I mean,” he asks, his blue eyes seeming… more brilliant than you’ve ever noticed. 

“I owe you one. You know. For the soup.”

You smile, “Yeah. I’d uh-, I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Yeah.”

read: chapter two

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos

[genshinluvr]

Burning Desire 4

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader (Al Haitham x Isekai'd!Reader)

Summary: Awaken from your slumber due to the burning pit in your stomach, you decide to take a shower early morning, hoping it will cool you off. After your shower, you leave your bedroom to see a shirtless Al Haitham reading a book at your desk. You weren't sure why Al Haitham is in your bedroom, but he has his reasons for visiting you.

Note: I've been busy dealing with some things outside of my fanfics, and I haven't been able to type as much as I would like. Therefore, Al Haitham's smut is a bit shorter than the previous routes in the Burning Desire smut series. Again, the smut routes aren't supposed to be as long as the first "chapter" of the series and Crave. It's pure smut and has no plot, so some smut will be shorter depending on how it flows. As previously stated in my previous smut-fics, I tried to keep the story as gender-neutral as possible. All of my smuts do lean towards female!reader/AFAB!reader with gender-neutral pronouns. As usual, minors DO NOT INTERACT! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Horribly written smut, as per usual ✨ slight masturbation/groping (?), orgasm denial, mating press, fingering, handjob, cervix fucking, slight choking, doggy style, slight overstimulation, slight voyeurism

Word Count: 4.1k

Burning Desire "chapters"/routes: [1], [2], [3], [4]

You tried to sleep, but the burning pit in your stomach was unbearable. You’re worn out from getting dicked down by Scaramouche and Tighnari, and you can use some sleep. Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t look like that’s going to be happening any time soon. You would fall asleep for a few hours but wake up to the unbearable throbbing between your legs. You need someone to drill their cock into you, or else you will go crazy. 

The first thing you did when you wake up for the umpteenth time in the middle of the night is to masturbate. It provided a small amount of relief, but the same feeling will come back. The same burning desire will hit you like a sumpter beast, causing you to writhe around on your bed despite having your fingers buried deep in your entrance and cumming multiple times. Okay, well, ‘multiple times’ is a bit of an exaggeration— three times is the correct number.

Archons, you even went as far as taking a cold shower at four in the morning while everyone was still sleeping in their beds. You’re hoping the men who have a keen sense of hearing and smell don’t wake up to your activities. That would be even more embarrassing. The shower lasts almost two hours— your body’s really hot, and the cold water raining down on you feels so nice that it nearly makes you forget that you inhaled a large amount of aphrodisiac. 

You step out of your bathroom, hair still drenched from your shower. You stop in your tracks when you see the Scribe sitting at your desk, reading a book. You blink at Al Haitham and peek at the clock in your bedroom. It’s almost six in the morning, and yet the gray-haired man is in your bedroom, wearing nothing but gray silk pajama pants.

You rub your eyes and gingerly sit on your bed. “Al Haitham? What are you doing up around this time?” You ask, getting under your blanket.

You squeeze your eyes shut briefly when the ache between your legs spikes up when you press your thighs together. You’re hoping that Al Haitham either leaves your room soon or he buries his cock inside you until you wake up everyone in the abode. Your mind is constantly racing ever since you breathe in the aphrodisiac, and you can never get peace of mind. Al Haitham closes his book, turning to face you and spreading his legs wide open. You gulp and look away, running your hands through your damp hair to distract yourself from looking at the faint tent forming in his pajama pants. 

Al Haitham rests his arm on the armrest, staring at you intently in the darkness of your room. Light peeking through the blackout curtains of your room, illuminating your bedroom. You gulp and hug your knees to your chest, waiting for Al Haitham to say something. Al Haitham sighs and leans back in his seat; you can see his muscles ripple and flex whenever he moves. Archons, he is so handsome. 

“I wanted to check up on you. I didn’t think you’d be awake so early,” says Al Haitham, crossing his arms over his chest.

Archons. The way his biceps flexes when he crosses his arms over his chest. You gulp and lie down, not taking your eyes off the gray-haired Scribe. Why is Al Haitham acting so casual with you when he knows you’re having inner turmoil. You want to skin yourself alive for feeling this way. The intense need for someone to be buried balls deep inside your entrance until you’re crying and begging for them to give you a break.

You nod, trying to act casual. “My bedroom was hot, and I was sweating in my sleep. I didn’t want to lay in a puddle of sweat, so I went to take a shower,” you lie.

Al Haitham hums, nodding slowly. You curl up into a ball, waiting for Al Haitham to leave your room. Judging by the way he’s sitting on the chair near your desk, you don’t think he will be leaving your bedroom any time soon. Al Haitham suddenly stands up, stretching his arms in the air and yawning. You blink and quickly look at the tent in his pants before looking away before Al Haitham can catch you in the act. You pretend to look at the clock, gesturing to it.

“I think you should go to bed. It’s still early in the morning,” you say, pulling your blanket up to your chin and closing your eyes. 

Al Haitham raises his eyebrows at you. “Oh? You want me to leave already? I thought you would want me to help you with your problem,” Al Haitham says nonchalantly, walking toward your bed.

You crack an eye open and nearly jump out of your skin when you see how close he is to you. Al Haitham kneels on your bed and towers over you, caging you against your bed with his arms on both sides of your head while you look up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Al Haitham tilts his head, cocking an eyebrow at you, waiting for you to respond. 

You clear your throat, snuggling deep into your blanket to distract yourself from Al Haitham’s stare and the dampness pooling in your underwear. Al Haitham is so freaking breathless— the veins on his arms are driving you crazy. He’s so handsome, and he knows it. Al Haitham clears his throat, grabbing you by the chin to have you look into his eyes. 

“Are you going to answer my question or not?” Al Haitham asks.

You nod sheepishly, making Al Haitham look at you skeptically. 

“Is that a yes to the question I just asked or the previous question?”

You stare at Al Haitham and rub the back of your neck. “I do want you to help me, but it’s embarrassing, and it’s too early in the morning to be having sex,” you mutter.

Al Haitham clicks his tongue and releases your chin, now sitting at the edge of your bed. You sit up and rest your chin on your knees, staring at the gray-haired man before you. Al Haitham leans back and runs his fingers through his bedhead. Archons, his bedhead is too cute. For someone who’s aching to get railed, you act like a prude— despite having two men fucking a couple of orgasms from you.

Al Haitham strokes his chin. “You don’t have to worry about waking the others if you can keep your volume to a minimum,” Al Haitham comments, grabbing at his aching cock through his silk pajamas.

You gulp and watch Al Haitham stroke and squeeze his cock. Heat rushes to your cheeks when you realize Al Haitham is staring at you, waiting for you to respond. How are you going to keep your volume at a minimal volume when you have something thick or long pistoning into your entrance?

“But there are people in the abode that have a keen sense of hearing, Al Haitham,” you whine.

Al Haitham squeezes the base of his cock through his pajama pants, grunting quietly when you whine his name. You cover your face, trying to get the image of Al Haitham hovering over you out of your head. Al Haitham releases his dick and crawls over you, pinning you down on your bed.

“So? What are they going to do about it, hmm? I am helping you, aren’t I?” Al Haitham mutters, brushing the tip of his nose against your cheek before peppering kisses on your cheek.

Al Haitham is not wrong about that. The aphrodisiac is still in your system, and it doesn’t seem like it’s not going away any time soon. Plus, the aphrodisiac is just the same as it was when the symptoms kicked in. You don’t think you can handle the thought of Al Haitham plowing into you while the others are asleep and when Gorou and Tighnari can wake up to the littlest sounds coming from you.

You close your eyes, wrapping your arms around Al Haitham’s shoulders as he kisses down your neck, lightly nibbling and biting your neck. You shiver and dig your nails into his back as Al Haitham latches his lips into your collarbone, lightly sucking on it. 

Al Haitham murmurs against your neck, “If you want me to stop, let me know, and I’ll stop.”

You run your fingers through Al Haitham’s hair, tilting your head to the side to give him some room to suck on your neck.

You let out a shaky sigh when he sucks on your neck. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper, tugging on his hair.

Al Haitham smirks against your neck and stops sucking on your neck. Al Haitham grabs your blanket and rips it off your body, leaving you only in your oversized t-shirt. You hear a sharp intake of breath from Al Haitham when he sees that you’re not wearing anything underneath the large t-shirt.

“You naughty little thing,” Al Haitham whispers, shaking his head with a smirk.

You whine and hide your face with one hand while attempting to pull your shirt down to cover your exposed groin with the other. Al Haitham clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval. Al Haitham grabs you by your wrist and pins them over your head with one hand while lifting your shirt until your chest is exposed. 

Al Haitham spreads your legs with his knees before kneeling between your legs. Al Haitham releases your shirt and lifts your leg. Al Haitham swipes his index and middle finger up your wet entrance, making you jolt with surprise. You tremble beneath Al Haitham as he continues to coat his fingers in your slick, muttering about how wet you are for him. 

“Al Haitham, please…” You trail off, gazing at him through your lashes.

Al Haitham plunges his middle and ring finger into your entrance. You tense up and let out a choked gasp. You tried to cover your mouth to muffle your moans, but you couldn’t free yourself from Al Haitham’s iron grip. You wrap your legs around his waist as he pulls his fingers out from your entrance before slamming them back into your gummy walls, making you writhe and arch your back beneath him. 

Archons, you’re so wet that every time Al Haitham thrusts his fingers into your sopping-wet cavern, you and Al Haitham would hear squelching, and your juices would coat the inside of your thighs. Al Haitham groans, feeling how tight you are around his fingers. Your back arches every time Al Haitham’s long fingers jab a particular spot inside you, causing you to choke out a moan and clench around his fingers.

“Al Haitham…” You whimper, attempting to free yourself from his iron grip.

Al Haitham suddenly pulls his fingers out. You nearly whine at the feeling of emptiness. Al Haitham releases your wrists before grabbing your shirt collar with both hands, tearing your shirt in half. You watch Al Haitham toss your shirt to the side carelessly before taking his pajama pants, leaving him only in his black boxers. 

You can see his bulge clear as day— the tent in his boxers is bigger than it was before. Al Haitham cages you against your bed with his arms before pressing his lips against yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, pressing your bare entrance against Al Haitham’s pulsating cock. The only thing that is getting in the way of you feeling Al Haitham’s cock is his boxers.

Al Haitham breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against your shoulders, breathing heavily. Al Haitham begins grinding his clothed cock against your entrance. You panted, eyes rolling to the back of your head when his cock rubbed up against your swollen bundle of nerves. You clench around nothing, biting on your lips to muffle your gasps. Al Haitham blindly reaches down to his boxers and begins taking his underwear off and tossing them to the ground beside your bed. You sigh in relief when you feel his hot cock press against your entrance. You peek down to see Al Haitham’s cock— the bulbous tip is red with need, pre-cum beading at the tip. 

Al Haitham slowly ruts his cock against your entrance, coating the base of his cock in your essence. You reach down to grab his cock by the base, gently squeezing them. Al Haitham hisses and squeezes his eyes shut. You gently stroke his cock before rubbing the mushroom tip of his cock with your thumb, spreading his pre-cum around. 

“You’re incredibly sensitive, Al Haitham,” you murmur, giving his cock a light squeeze.

Al Haitham hisses again before burying his face into the crook of your neck, panting heavily against your neck as you continue to stroke his cock. You stoke his throbbing dick slowly, making sure to lightly squeeze the tip and rub the tip of your thumb over the mushroom tip. Al Haitham releases a guttural moan and bucks into your hands, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when you tighten your grip around his red cock. 

You continue pumping Al Haitham’s throbbing member until Al Haitham lets out a choked moan. Al Haitham grabs your wrist and forcibly removes your hand from his dick. Al Haitham gulps, pinning your hand to your side as he tries to catch his breath. 

You press your lips into a thin line. “I almost made Al Haitham cum.” You can’t help but feel proud of yourself for being able to (almost) have Al Haitham cum with just your hands.

Al Haitham looks at you and slowly stands, brushing his messy hair from his face. Al Haitham grabs you by the waist and pulls you down. You squeal and gasp when Al Haitham slaps your already aching entrance. Al Haitham grabs your engorged bundle of nerves and pinches them hard. You grit your teeth and curl your toes, legs shaking as Al Haitham rubs the nub at a fierce pace. 

You grab Al Haitham’s wrists, attempting to get him to stop before he makes you cum. “Stop, stop, stop, stop! I’m going to cum if you don’t stop!” You whine as you flail your legs around.

The tight knot forms at the bottom of your abdomen, getting incredibly tighter while Al Haitham continues to pinch, twist, and rub your swollen, aching nub. You shudder and tense up, preparing yourself for your impending orgasm. When the tight knot in your lower abdomen is about to snap and unleash the floodgates, Al Haitham releases your throbbing nub.

You look at Al Haitham, eyes wide and chest heaving with heavy breaths. “Al Haitham! Why’d you stop!?” you whine softly, grabbing his wrist and shaking his arm.

Al Haitham spreads your legs and slaps your sopping-wet entrance, making you involuntarily clench around nothing. You rest your head on your pillow and close your eyes, trying to catch your breath while Al Haitham coats the underside of his cock with your slick. You gasp softly when you feel Al Haitham’s hot cock rubs against your puffy entrance.

You’re not sure if you’re feeling extra needy because of the aphrodisiac or if it’s because Al Haitham denied you of your orgasm. Maybe it’s both. Al Haitham lifts your legs by the thighs, having your calves rest on his shoulders as he lines the tip of his cock at your entrance. Archons, this isn’t going to be the first time getting railed by your boyfriends, but for some reason, you can’t help but feel nervous about it. Sensing your anxiousness, Al Haitham kisses the back of your calves and gives your thigh a reassuring squeeze. You smile at Al Haitham and swallow your saliva. You grip Al Haitham’s thighs, gently digging your nails into his flesh. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and brace yourself. Al Haitham rubs the bulbous tip of his dick against your fluttery entrance before slowly entering your drenched hole. Your jaws drop, letting out a string of moans when Al Haitham’s mushroom tip breaches your entrance. You unintentionally clench your thighs around his waist, tensing below Al Haitham the more he sinks his cock into your gummy walls with a semi-loud moan.

You whimper when Al Haitham’s thick cock stretches you out. You squeeze your thighs around Al Haitham’s waist, causing him to stop halfway in your hot cavern. Al Haitham pants, balling his hands into fists beside your head. Al Haitham closes his eyes, relishing the feeling of your gummy walls clamping around his throbbing dick.

Al Haitham leans over you, his chest pressing against your face while he buries his face into your pillow. “Try to relax for me, baby. Please,” Al Haitham rasps, reaching down to grab your hand.

You whimper, holding Al Haitham’s hands and interlocking your fingers with his. “I-I’m trying,” you whisper, eyebrows furrowing while trying to relax and adjust to Al Haitham’s size.

Al Haitham nudges his nose against yours, his lips ghosting over yours. Al Haitham presses his lips against yours, swallowing your moans and whimpers when he sinks further into your heat. You wrap your legs around Al Haitham’s slim waist, heels digging into his ass cheeks. Al Haitham grunts into your mouth, balls deep inside your entrance. 

Al Haitham stretching your hole is painful— you could’ve sworn that if Al Haitham was any thicker than he already is, he’d stretch you out so much that your entrance would rip to shreds. You can literally feel the skin stretch to accommodate his girth. You wrap your arm around Al Haitham’s shoulders while squeezing Al Haitham’s hand with the other. 

Al Haitham gently thrusts forward to test the waters. You clench around Al Haitham’s cock, panting into his mouth. Al Haitham pulls away from the kiss and kisses your jawline while pressing his chest against yours, refusing to release your hand. Your thighs are shaking as you try your best to relax and not tense up each time Al Haitham thrusts lightly into you.

Al Haitham can feel you tremble while peppering kisses on your jaws and neck. He gently massages your inner thighs, closing his eyes while trying to adjust to the tightness of your entrance.

You unclench your legs around Al Haitham’s waist and signal him to start. Al Haitham pushes himself off you and kneels between your legs, lifting your legs up, and begins thrusting into your drenched entrance at a steady pace. You pant, eyes rolling to the back of your head every time Al Haitham thrusts in and out of your hole. The veiny base of Al Haitham’s cock rubs against the gummy walls of your warm, tight cavern, sending you to Celestia and back. 

“Fuck, Al Haitham,” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut each time Al Haitham buries his cock into you. 

Al Haitham chokes out a moan, hugging your legs to his chest while thrusting. Al Haitham lifts your legs up until your ass is hanging above the bed. Al Haitham leans forward, folding you in half until your feet are above your head. You grunt when you feel the muscles of your thighs strain under the pressure. Al Haitham kisses the back of your calves, pulling his cock out until only the tip remains.

Al Haitham plunges only the tip of his cock in and out of your entrance, making you wince and shudder at the strange feeling. If you could describe how it feels, it feels like Al Haitham is almost scooping your insides out. It’s hard for you to put your finger on it— it’s the best way you can describe it, and it feels strange. You don’t think anyone has ever fucked you with just the tip of their cock.

Al Haitham continues to plunge the tip of his dick into your entrance repeatedly. You tense up, whimper, and clamp your thighs together. Without warning, Al Haitham thrusts his cock all the way into your drooling hole. Al Haitham chokes a moan and collapses on top of you when your gummy walls clench around his member. 

Al Haitham props himself up on his forearms and begins pumping his cock in and out of your entrance. Your thigh muscles strain under Al Haitham’s weight, making you whimper and grunt at the feeling. Al Haitham hooks one leg over his shoulder while wrapping the other around his waist without stopping or slowing down. Al Haitham grabs your throat with one hand before aggressively pressing his lips against yours, quickening his pace.

You bite Al Haitham’s lips, making him growl and slam his dick into you so hard that you see stars dancing behind your vision. Al Haitham swallows your wails as you try to keep your voice down. Much to your dismay, a familiar feeling starts building up in your lower abdomen as Al Haitham continues to abuse your hole with his thick cock sooner than you thought.

You break the kiss, panting and squealing as Al Haitham drills his cock deep into you. “Al Haitham! I’m going to cum,” you whine, weakly punching his shoulders.

Al Haitham slides his hands down from your throat to your groin and slaps your puffy entrance, making sure to hit your bundle of nerves. You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut, tightening your leg around Al Haitham’s waist. Al Haitham starts rubbing your engorged nub aggressively, making sure to piston his cock into your g-spot. 

Al Haitham leans down and bites your neck hard, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when your gummy walls squeeze his cock so tightly that thick ropes of hot cum spurt into you. You whimper cum around his cock, back arching, chest pressing against Al Haitham’s heaving chest, eyes rolling to the back of your head as stars spin and dance behind your eyelids. You go limp and lay beneath Al Haitham in a daze, trying to catch your breath as your groin continues to pulse.

Al Haitham pulls his cock out from your now-sullied entrance before getting off your bed. You peek at Al Haitham to see him standing at the foot of your bed. Al Haitham slicks his hair back before grabbing your ankles and pulling you toward the edge of your bed. You’re too tired to fight back. Instead, you let Al Haitham do as he pleases. Al Haitham spreads your legs, watching his and your mixed cum spill from your pulsing hole. Al Haitham flips you over on your stomach and bends you over with your ass in the air.

“Another round?” You mumble, rubbing your eyes.

Al Haitham grunts in response before slamming his cock back inside. You squeal and grip your bedsheets hard, burying your face into your mattress as Al Haitham pistons his cock into your entrance. Al Haitham spreads your cheeks, watching his and your cum coat his dick and spill onto your bedsheets. The only thing Al Haitham hears are the sounds of your moans and whimpers. Something in the corner of Al Haitham’s eyes distracts him for a moment. Al Haitham looks up to see your bedroom door cracked open and a shadow standing at the doorway. The shadowy figure watches Al Haitham pistons his cock in and out of your sulled, pulsating entrance. Al Haitham smirks at the person, grabs a handful of your hair, and pulls you back toward his chest. You groan and close your eyes, wrapping your arm around his neck while digging your nails into your thighs. Your gummy walls pulse around Al Haitham’s cock as you whimper and writhe in Al Haitham’s grasp. Al Haitham doesn’t take his eyes off the shadowy figure, making sure to give the unknown person a show.

Al Haitham hisses when you clench around his cock, taking his attention away from the unknown person at the door and down at you. You choke out a wail, cumming around Al Haitham’s cock for the second time before going limp while Al Haitham proceeds to pump and grind his cock into your entrance. 

‘I can do this all day,’ Al Haitham pants, filling your hole with cum.

Al Haitham pulls his cock out of your battered entrance, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Al Haitham glances at the door, only to see that the door is now shut. You curl up in a ball and groan when the mixture of your and Al Haitham’s cum spills out of you. 

You rub your eyes, muttering, “Now I know how creampuffs feel.”

Al Haitham snorts and lays beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you to his chest, and pulling a blanket over your body. Al Haitham kisses the side of your head and squeezes you lightly. You moan quietly when you feel cum leaking from your hole as the burning pit in your stomach remains ravenous. 

Note: I won't be posting next week because I decided that it would be a perfect time to take a break from writing and posting for this upcoming week. Not only have I been busy, but I haven't had the motivation to write/continue fanfics because of how exhausted I have been lately. But fear not, I will post the week after my break! I'm thinking about continuing Tragic Outcomes, but we'll have to wait and see about that 🤔 Anyway! Ready to vote for the next route in Burning Desire? Remember to vote for who you want to be in the next fic and read the instructions carefully— which should be simple enough, I hope. Vote for the next route [HERE]! Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

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[thelastofhyde]

you cut your hair, and take some space. (1)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 1 of 3 ! (part 2)

warnings. no use of y/n! all spanish text is followed by immediate translation (please note that i am fluent in castilian spanish, therefore some words/phrases may differ from that of other hispanic countries), age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, officer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, so much crying ( reader spends half her time crying over javi p which is honestly a mood ), violence, nondescript depictions of sa ( not javi ), smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 15k

hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

“i told you, corazón mia (my heart),” he can't meet your eyes. “made it clear from the start i wasn't looking for anything serious.” “i know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “but if it wasn't serious, why'd you treat me like it was?”

I cut my nose to save some face You cut your hair and take some space.

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

Where there are usually your eyes, there’s a discoloured splotch of brown. A crack runs down the left of what should be your face. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to draw a cartoon penis just where your mouth is. But in your drunken haze and laser focus, you don’t care enough to notice. All you see is the spot where your nose is, a tiny ball of silver nestled just above your right nostril.

It’s something new to fidget with.

On the flip side, it stings like a bitch. Or, more appropriately, like the tequila shots that led you to this run-down tattoo parlour.

You wonder if, come the morning and mental clarity, you’ll regret it.

If you do, you’ll blame him.

Your night was going fine. Good, even. And, with a lack of good nights in the recent week, that was an accomplishment.

You’d dressed up, let loose, had fun. A friend on either arm and a drink close at hand, you’d giggled and gossiped your way through this impromptu girls’ night.

They’d ambushed you, in a way, forced their way through the barricade of tissues and take-out boxes into your apartment. A skimpy dress tossed at your head and four hands dragging you, limb by limb, into the shower.

Get some dinner, hit the town, get fucked up. That was the plan they set out for you.

You skipped dinner, dove head-first into the town.

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

One part fearful it would summon him, another part embarrassed to admit just who you’d gotten tangled up in. A third part, tucked away in a locked closet, ready to do it all over again.

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

You thought it, for just a second, hearing the person beside you at the bar order the same drink you’d watched him nurse time after time. It wasn’t him but, instead, a man far too short and a clean-cut kind of handsome to even begin to compare to the ex-agent.

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

Giving up your space, you’d made your way back to your girls and made up some little white lie, surprised neither of them called you out on it- what kind of bar doesn’t have white wine?

They left to find someplace with wine, you left to find some peace of mind.

The bar they dragged you into was familiar, the setting of many of your father’s stories. It only took you walking through the door, tugging down the dress-too-short, to hear your name called across the floor.

“Hey kiddo!” Your dad’s a tell-tale kind of drunk, his eyes giving away even the smallest sip of alcohol he has. He was just tipsy, scooting his way out of a tattered booth to wrap you up in his arms. It felt as nice as it did guilt-inducing, knowing you’d been avoiding his calls all week since The Incident. A punishment to yourself more than one aimed at him. “You here yourself? Could join us for the night, if you like. Ain’t that right, boys?”

It was only then that you’d realised two men were sat within the booth, collars undone and ties loosened after a week’s work.

There were usually three of them.

"We’re just waiting on Peña." Oh god, it made you feel sick. Heart in your throat, stomach at your feet. His name no longer feels real, not when spoken by anyone but you.

“And raising bets on his tardiness,” one of your father’s friends said. You recognised him from a few of the barbecues and Christmas parties your dad's thrown. He's nice, responsible. Married, to a woman his own age. “I’m saying he’s chasing some tail. God knows he could use some stress relief. Boy’s been wound up all week, nearly bit my head off for asking him about some files."

It’s a wonder none of the three men- one a retired lawyer, the other two members of the force- noticed the blood drain from your face.

“My guess is he’s pulled some muscle in his back and can’t get himself out of bed,” a nudge from your father’s elbow, delivered straight to your ribs. “Whatcha think, kiddo?”

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

“You need to quit speaking ‘bout me like you’re not a whole decade my senior, viejo (old man),” it came from behind you and threatened you to look. Like the foolish final-girl in a slasher, you ignored your basic instincts and glanced over your shoulder.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you know what you were hoping for.

Tired eyes, chewed lips, unkept facial hair. A twitch of sadness drawn between his brows and the stains of cigarette ash on a worn-out suit.

Javier Peña was none of that.

The suit, grey. One that fit him all too well and had you wishing you could stain it with your drink.

The signature moustache, perfectly groomed, sitting perched above the bow of his pouty lips, rosy-red and fresh for picking.

His eyes have always given him away but, staring down at you in that moment, they read only as passive, unaffected.

It was like, nothing.

And, yes, that’s what you’d asked for- from now on, whenever you see me, can you at least pretend that none of this happened?

But he's smart enough to know you didn't mean it, right?

“Hey officers, sorry to interrupt but,” a hand curled around your arm. It tugged and you let yourself be inched away from heavy brown eyes and your father’s smile. “She’s ours for the night. We’re going clubbing!”

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

You caught the back of him as you were dragged away, some pleading from your father to take it easy and call me in the morning, and noticed it only then.

His hair, freshly cut.

“‘S getting too long,” a mumbled sort of thing, hidden in your neck, spoken against your pulse. A kiss placed upon it, and then another for extra measure. Fingers dragging through his hair, ridding him of the knots your very same hands had worked into them an hour of passionate touching ago. “Lo sé (I know).”

A pause of silence. The blissful moan birthed from nails on his scalp. And, then, “no. It’s nice, I like it.”

That puppy-dog stare, so particular to the cool-down moments between you, meets your own, chin propped upon your sternum. He’s sweet like this, honeyed skin and pleasant smiles.

“Yeah?” He asks, like he even needs to. “You like it, corazón (sweetheart)?” You opt for a hummed confirmation, finger tracing over the arch of his nose. “Guess I better keep it this way, then.”

Now he’s gone and chopped the overgrown curls off.

In a way, it feels like he’s cut you off with them.

We don’t speak cause it’s too tricky But if I’m tricky, why’d you kiss me?

The next time you see him, a wedding is taking place.

He sits on the groom’s side, you sit on the bride’s.

It feels unreasonable to be surprised by his presence. Why wouldn’t he be here, sitting four rows from the back, at his cousin’s brother-in-law’s wedding?

The bride is gorgeous, the groom is in tears. The priest drones on a little too long.

Somewhere between the exchanging of vows, and the ceremonial kissing, and the cheering of guests, your instincts get the better of you and you glance back at him.

He’s already staring right back, eyes ignited with something that weakens your knees and shakes your confidence. The newlyweds walk down the aisle, cut through your line of sight. He’s still staring at you when they’ve passed.

The reception takes place in the events room of some glammed-up hotel, the kind you can barely afford the one night you’re booked in for.

An open bar, a local band. The catering is tasteful, handpicked by the couple, and the table you feast at is so far away from his that you don’t get that chance to see if he chose the chicken or the beef.

You find a friend behind the bar, in the shape of a bottle and toothpick-impaled olives.

You dance till your feet hurt, slip away to your table, take off your heels. You’re back on the dance floor in time to catch the bouquet, too busy basking in the envy of the other women to notice his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

If it weren’t for the dent in your bank account made by the room you booked, you’d gladly dance away the whole night. But if a bed with a view costs double your rent, you’ll be damned if you don’t get to sleep in it.

So you stumble to the elevator.

Clutch your heels and flowers to your chest, struggle to remember your floor number. The fifth floor seems to ring a bell, but it might’ve been the eighth floor. Your room key! Maybe, you hope, that’ll have your floor number on it. You struggle with your purse’s zipper, trying your best to pry it open.

You succeed, but at what cost? Heels and bouquet tumble to the floor, thumping and clunking as they knock against it, flower petals falling loose.

You try to bend down, stretch your fingers out to grasp the clasps, seize the stems. A wave of exhaustion mixed with too much alcohol washes over you and you stand up straight again. Take a calming breath, do a little song and dance before reaching down again.

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

Scuffed shoes come into view as you’re halfway down, bent at the waist and holding your balance with one arm against a wall. You stand up straight, too fast, lose your balance and stumble forward.

He catches you.

For a moment, it feels like you’ve never left his arms.

“C’mon, let’s get you to your room.” You hate the way he ends his sentence, no term of endearment and no impure intentions.

He asks for your floor, you give him your key. He punches the number into the elevator and it shakes to life.

Neither one of you makes an attempt to part. There’s a chance he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself melt, regardless, muscles relaxing and sinking into his arms.

He’s still warm. He’s still steady. but his cologne’s different and it makes your eyes sting.

You’d warned him he was about to run out of his signature bottle, made a note to buy him another one for his birthday or Christmas, whichever came first.

“You look like you had fun,” he rasps out, eventually, as the elevator slips past the fifth floor.

“I did,” you tell a partial truth. You would have had more fun, if he’d stood at your side, ate at your table, danced in your arms. But you can’t say that, because he doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad.”

It turns out your floor is the ninth. He’s careful to guide you out the mobile-box, hand on your hip, pressing you to his side. Your heels dangling from one of his fingers and the bouquet gripped in his palm, smacking against his thigh every other step. A little down the hall and there you find it, your precious and expensive home for the night.

It’s easier to let him open the door, he tells you.

It’s easier to let him guide you to bed, you tell yourself.

Dropping the heels on the floor, he disappears out of your line of sight and you stare motionless at the ceiling above, buzzing in your brain and pain in your heart.

You’ve never shared a space like this with him, one that’s hollow and decayed. The shell of a creature that’s long abandoned it, grown too big for its home.

Your eyes sting all over again, this time enough to brim with unfallen tears.

A thud against the nightstand.

You roll onto your side and find he’s still here, a glass of water and some painkillers lay to rest at your bedside. The first tear gives way, running down your cheek and dropping to the crisp white sheets below. Even more fall as he raises a damp cloth to your face, wiping away smudged mascara and bringing your lips back to their natural colour.

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

Fingertips drag down each inch of skin released as he unzips the back of your dress, tugging it down and folding it by your heels. The weight off your chest helps you breathe as he unhooks your bra. Left only in your underwear, the sheets ruffle as he drags them up your tired limbs and tucks them under your chin.

“Get in bed, please,” you plead like you have any right to ask that of him. “Javi.”

It’s the first time you’ve said his name since that night in May. His shoulders tense and release, his fingers smooth down his moustache. He looks like he’s going to fulfil your request, slip in behind you and wrap you up in his soft but steady embrace.

He looks like he wants to.

His back cracks as he bends down and presses a kiss.

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

Then, he stands up straight and walks out the door.

On the forehead, way up north Pressed the scar and found the source

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

It was someone in the station who had the wild idea they celebrate it together. The sheriff and the station’s rookie- really, a hardened, inching-out-of-a-fresh-retirement former DEA agent your father manipulated back into the force, some promise of a light workload and a hefty pension. With no need for money, you wonder why he ever accepted the offer.

Plans were set, money was put in a pot, and a wheel of fortune was spun. It landed on the northern state, a downpayment to rent a ski lodge placed within a matter of twenty-four hours.

Somewhere along the way, you’d been roped into joining this boys-only trip. Your dad argued you needed a break from studying. Your mother argued there needed to be a responsible adult to supervise your dad. and, well, a free holiday never hurt nobody, right?

Wrong.

The final evening, with a constant pounding of a hangover never-quite-nursed, a litter of bruises down your back from falling and a firmly closed chapter on any possible career as a ski prodigy you may have had, you trailed your way down to the only bar in the tiny ski town.

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

A half-drank glass of cabernet, an empty plate.

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

The cheer of a frat-boy out in the wild warrants the same response as hearing a lion’s roar in the dark of the Saharan night.

The kind you hear them before you see them, spilling through the door in their obnoxious jerseys and their face-painted cheeks. one wore the badge of honour, a giant Soon To Be shackled Married printed poorly onto the back of his jersey.

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

The pride stormed their way over to the bar, pounding their fists onto the surface and gnashing their teeth, spit spilling down their mouth as they brutally tore into the bartender, demanding pints of beer and rounds of shots.

The key was to avoid eye contact, keep low and out of sight.

They dispersed through the area, sniffing out free booths and the occasional local to irritate out of their seats.

One of them found the jukebox and wasted his coin on blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. The group of older women playing bingo scowled and made their way out of the joint, calling it for the night.

You got up to follow suit, hands slowly packing up your belongings and slinging your bag over your back.

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

“Woo! Look at you,” just as you were close to slipping out the door, a single member of the pack spotted you, prowling his way over. He already had his chest puffed out by the time you turned around. “Ain’t seen an ass like that since we left the city!”

Hardly charming. Tame, compared to other things frat boys have said to you.

“Why don’cha come join me and my buddies over there?” He nodded back at them, like they weren’t the obnoxious centres of everyone’s attention.

You were not scared of him, exactly. But you’ve seen where things can go. Heard about it, countless times, from your own father.

So you spoke with caution, gripping your bag a little tighter, “thanks, but I’ve got an early flight. Have a nice night-” He told you his name, like you cared. “Yeah, thanks, bye.”

And then you were stepping out into the quiet of the night.

Fresh air, cold enough to sting your lungs. You breathed it in like it was going out of fashion.

You barely got a moment to compose yourself before that grating voice was back in your ears.

“Oh don’t be a buzzkill!” He whined, you cringed. Took a step back, watched him move an inch. “It’s early, stay. Have a drink.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“To have fun?! C’mon, it’s too cold to be out here by yourself.”

“I have an early flight.”

“It’s just one drink, sweetheart. I ain’t asking you to sign your life away.”

A couple bumped past you both, weaved their way between you. His eyes trailed after them, your feet twisted around, carrying you away from him slowly, carefully. Best not to make yourself look like prey, not to this predator.

“Hey!” He called after you. Your steps sped up. “Where you going, sweetheart?”

It didn’t even matter that you were walking in the opposite direction of the ski lodge. You told yourself you would find your way back, once this lion was off your back.

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

The lion pounced, sank his claws into your back and ripped through you.

Your hand flew out to break your fall, the contents of your bag spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Pain, the kind that stings. It nipped at your knees, and your hands, and your eyes. Pushed it down, pulled yourself up.

He froze, maybe surprised at his own actions, maybe waiting on the chance to pounce once more, this time with his fangs instead of his claws.

You wouldn’t give him the chance. Filled your bag, collected your senses and ran.

It was tricky on frozen ground, trying so hard to not look back.

He followed and you knew it, heard it. Roaring and growling, chasing you down streets you’d never walked.

You slipped, momentarily, slammed into a wall. A crossroads, go right or go left.

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

Caving in, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the blurry figure of him running after you.

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

You came to a screeching halt, body smacking into something solid. Eyes shut, mind alive. You feared the worst, hoped for the best, expected to open your eyes and find yourself trapped in a dead-end, nowhere to run from this predator.

Instead, you heard your name. Called softly, at first. Gentle, coaxing you to pay attention. The second time it was more urgent, worried and aggressive. You sank deeper into the wall, felt your feet shuffle on the gravel below.

“...Gotta let me know, nena,” the wall pulled you back from it, a firm grasp on your forearms. Your eyes opened and met his. “Fucking Christ, look at the state of you.”

You’d not known much about Javier Peña at the start of the trip.

Your dad had mentioned something about a family ranch. Your mom let it slip that he’d enjoyed the pumpkin pie she’d brought to the station’s Thanksgiving feast.

There’d been one time you’d caught the end of a conversation between him and your dad. Nothing concrete, just some shameful mutterings about Colombia and Los Pepes. You’d left once you heard your dad start to comfort the man, deciding your intruding on the moment had already gone too far.

You now knew he liked his whiskey, no ice. His coffee, no milk. His bread, no butter.

He didn’t like the mess of mixing things, and you had to wonder if it had always been this way. Or had he learned his lesson, the hard way? Mixed the wrong things, burnt his own blessings?

“You’re bleeding,” he announced it, fresh news for you.

A pleasant warmth thrummed through your veins as he took hold of your hand, inspecting it under his scrutiny.

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

Something visceral shifted in him, enough to coax you to glance at him.

He was looking past you, eyes a deadly killer stalking their prey. You followed their line of sight and found the lion at the end of the street. Standing still, arms at his side, eyes a little wider than you remembered them. You’d not really been looking, in the first place.

The former agent twisted you behind him, an effortless shield. Took an urgent step toward the frat boy, and then another three.

You grasped at his sleeve and tugged him back, didn’t let him stray too far.

“I’m fine,” you lied. He didn’t believe you, furrowing his brow. “I’m just cold.”

He seemed to hesitate, softened by a tremble in your voice.

He glanced back to see the lion was retreating, staggering his way back to the pride of frat boys. A perfect opportunity for him to attack, from behind and unexpectedly.

“Leave it, he’s not-” The sting in your eye got the best of you and a tear tracked itself down your cheek. You wiped it away with your scraped hand, leaving behind a smear of gravel and blood. “It’s not worth it.”

You said it not for the agent’s sake, but the boy’s.

The agent puffed out a breath of frustration, then followed your plea. Turned back to you, licked his thumb and swiped off the dirt on your cheek. Pulled you in, against him once more, and pressed a deliberate kiss against your forehead.

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

He did it because that seemed to be in his nature: to nurture.

“C’mon, the lodge is this way,” he pointed in some direction.

You didn’t bother paying attention, more than willing to follow wherever he led.

“Put this on.” It was not posed as an option, not when the agent tugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

Somewhere along the path, you realised you’d lost your key to your cabin. Your dad carried the other.

Officer Peña offered to take you to him, drinking down in the ski lodge’s bar with the rest of the men.

You shook your head, told him your dad couldn’t see you in that state.

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

Cleaned up your hands, put on the fire, poured you a drink.

Then fucked you into his bed, till you clawed and sobbed around him.

If you don’t love me, Why’d you act it?

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

You get bored quick, no college to fill your days. Pick up extra shifts, hope to combat the empty feeling in your chest with the rush hour traffic that torpedoes it’s way through the cafe.

Friends invite you out, you rarely go. They tease you’re becoming a recluse, and that just makes you want to shut yourself in even more.

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

Some line dance event, downtown in a bar that’s only gimmick seems to be a worn-down mechanical bull. It’s missing a horn and no one seems to know why.

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

You want to stuff your face with take-out while you melt into your couch, watching reruns of the first season of Friends and drooling over Joey till you forget about another smooth-talking, raven haired man.

Here you are instead, fighting against the cheesy cowgirl hat till it sits on your head correctly.

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

You give up, decide to pretend you want the hat this way. Slip on your jacket, do a sweep around your apartment: windows locked, flat iron off, fridge closed. Grabbing your purse, you unzip it and wrestle around in it’s contents, searching for your keys.

You pull on something and- it’s a pack a gum.

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

Third time’s a charm, you think, and try once more. Something scratches your fingers, coaxes you to tug it out and inspect it.

A broken earring.

A familiar car honk’s outside, you stay frozen in place, staring at the broken hoop and counting one, two, three.

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

Any other night, he practically rips the door off it’s hinges and tugs you in, before you can so much as raise your fist for a second knock.

Maybe he was busy, on the toilet or on the phone. You don’t think too much into it.

He steps aside, lets you in. Stands so far away, it’s hard to read his eyes.

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

You think’s it’s all in your head, self-doubt at an all time high after a bad day.

“My earring snapped today,” there’s a growing pit in your stomach, just from staring at him. He looks so distant, not present. Mind a galaxy away. "Your favourite ones, too. You know, the little hoops with-”

“The hearts dangling from them.” He finishes, on your behalf, and it’s the first green flag you see. Green enough to lull yourself into a faux calm.

The silence returns.

You rock backwards on your heels, glance around the apartment. Try to find what has changed, because this no longer feels like the place you’ve grown so familiar with. And neither does the man observing you from a distance, hands glued to his sides.

He should be touching you by now, in any way he could: his foot bumping against yours under his dining table, his hand trailing patterns over your shoulders as you settle into his side on the couch, his tongue delving between your folds as you lay splayed out on his sheets.

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

“Is- Am I-” You don’t have to find the words, but the courage to speak them. “Do you have someone over?”

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

“Because if you do, that’s fine!” It’s not. “I understand,” You don’t.

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

“Totally chill, I’ll comeback some other night. Or, you can just come by mine! Yeah, actually, that sounds better. Won’t risk interrupting again-”

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

“Us. This-” He’s pointing between you both, a little haphazardly. It’s like he’s rushing to get the words out, get it over with. Get you out his apartment. “Thing we’re doing. It’s done.”

“I don’t underst-”

He cuts you off with your name. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

He’s stern.

Not in the way that makes you want to bend to his will and indulge in all his sins. But in a way that makes you feel dirty, wrong. A child scorned for touching fire and getting themselves burnt.

“I,” you’re beginning to wish there was someone else in his bed, so she could stroll out of his room in one of his stupidly soft shirts and interrupt this conversation. “Uh, I had a bad day.”

“Okay,” he nods. Smooths a hands over his chin, pops out his hip. “What’s that got anything to do with me?”

Everything, you want to tell him.

For every single thing that went wrong throughout your day, seeing Javi gave you something to look forward to.

“I just thought-”

“You thought, what?” His face twists up, just like your insides. He’s angry and you’re the one to blame. “This isn’t a- I’m not your boyfriend.”

I know, you mouth.

Because you do know. Repeat it to yourself all the time.

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

When you sneak off to pee in the middle of the night and are welcomed back to bed with a forceful tug into his chest, a sleepy, gruffed out ‘where’d you go?’ whispered into your neck.

When he picks up on the things you say, remembers silly things like your favourite toilet paper brand and the exact milk to cereal ratio you enjoy.

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

“Look, kid, you’re young, and I know-”

Kid.

That makes you angry.

He wasn’t calling you kid when he bent you over your parents’ bathroom counter.

“Don’t call me kid.”

“And I know,” he pushes through your protest, keeps up the distance. “This can be a lot at your age. Don’t blame you for getting caught up. But whatever you think you’re feeling for me, it’s not-”

“Is this about the p-” The word won’t come out of you, so your change the verbiage. “The hospital? Because I told you, Javi. We’ve been safe. Safer than a pair of purity-ring wearing teenagers-”

“No, this is about me needing to do the right-”

At this point, you’re just interrupting one another.

Fighting to get in the next word, frowning at what you do hear.

He tilts his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, a groan leaving his cracked lips. You’d imagined him doing that tonight, but not like this.

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

“I told you, corazón mía (my heart),” he can’t meet your eyes. “Made it clear from the start I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

“I know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “But if it wasn’t serious, why’d you treat me like it was?”

It takes him a few minutes to answer. There’s a twitch, in his hand, reaching up only to drop back down at his side.

Usually, he wipes your tears before they get chance to fall.

The rug at your feet turns darker with each wet spot that drops.

“I got caught up,” his eyes seem so sad, so lost. Staring across the ocean of his living room, searching for a lighthouse to pull him safe to shore. But he won’t let you be that. “In the way you deserve to be treated, instead of some sleazy secret.”

He breathes out your name, the most painful melody you’ve ever heard.

“This has to end,” you’re unsure if it’s only you he’s attempting to convince. “Before someone gets hurt.”

Too late, you want to say.

You’re already being torn apart by his hands, and he’s standing ten feet away.

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

You breathe in, and find it’s hard, snot piling up in your nose and tears splashing down your cheers.

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

You curl in on yourself, instead, and fall asleep to the sound of Joey and Chandler’s bickering.

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

In retrospect, it’s hard to tell where the lines begin to blur.

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

Whenever you think about it, for too long, your mind carries you back to the same night. A few months after Vermont, you don’t recall the exact date.

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

You nearly trip over discarded shoes, curse earlier-you for assuming you would remember their existence. Undo the bolt, grab the key and then-

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

You check the peephole, find exactly who you were hoping for.

He’s on you like a moth to a flame, pressing you flush against him the instant he can fit through the crack in your doorway. Mouth on mouth, hands on waist. The door thuds as he closes it behind you both, you’re too distracted to notice.

You let him invade your senses.

Smell his aged leather and nicotine thrill. Feel his strong arms and bulging crotch. Hear his laboured breaths and muttered pleasantries. Taste his whiskey tongue and metallic lips-

You pull back. He follows.

It’s flattering, his inability to get enough of you, but you halt him nonetheless.

Cup his cheeks, pull down his face, and stare.

“My dad finally figure out who those panties in your glove-box belong to, Peña?” It’s meant to be a joke.

There’s nothing funny about his bleeding lip and split eyebrow.

He graces no response, dives back into you and submerses himself in your touch. Kisses you slow, with deliverance, his final mission to arrest all your sense of self till you turn yourself in to his embrace.

Only as you pass by those discarded shoes do you realise he’s inching you both deeper into the dark of your apartment.

This time, you do trip over them.

It’s okay though, Javi’s there to catch you.

He finds refuge in your neck, burrowing in deep, mouthing at the skin like a dog does a wound. Your arm shoots out to find a light-switch. A warm glow fills the apartment, bathing you both in an orange hue.

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

“What happened to you?” You don’t need to worry about him. And, yet, doing so comes naturally.

“S’not important,” it’s spoken against your skin, as if he intends to seep his gravelled tone into your pores and have it grow a new life for itself within you. A gentle scraping of his teeth sends a shiver down your spine. “I’ll tell you later.”

Later with Javi never seems to come.

‘If you’re not busy, I’ll make you dinner later.’

‘Keep it up and I’ll be fucking that attitude out of you later.’

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

He’d dragged you into the station’s bathrooms and fucked the attitude out of you only seconds after.

You’d never gotten those panties back.

You decide to grant him no time for later. Shove him down into a seat at your dining table-for-two. Roll your eyes as he asks if you’re “gonna put on a show for me, corazón?”

The makeshift first-aid kit put together by your mother resides at the back of a cupboard, hidden by mugs and cups. It takes several minutes and a smashed glass to manoeuvre it out. You step over the pieces of glass and head straight back to the table, dumping out the contents.

You click your tongue, point your finger. He scoots the chair back from the table and you slip between the space. Press back against the surface, stand between his parted knees and do your best to not look down at the jeans that grant him no modesty.

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

He’s insisting he’s okay, yet he’s hissing when you dab at the tears in his flesh with betadine. His hands find a place upon your hips and give a tight squeeze as you press butterfly stitches to his no-longer bleeding brow.

“I,” he starts up, an indefinite time of silence passing between you both. He shakes his head.“It’s stupid.”

“Javi,” you stroke your finger over his jaw, tilt his head back to meet your eyes. “The less you tell me, the more I’ll worry.”

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

“I was just wanting one drink, was gonna head home... Or to you, after. I had a shitty day at work and... You probably don’t care about that,” he has no idea you’ll hang onto those words for the weeks to come, wondering how to lighten his workload, ease his tension. “Heard some loud-mouth kid beside me at the bar, he was talking to this girl. She gets up to leave, he follows. I was just gonna go back to nursing my drink but-”

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

There’s no malice in his eyes as you pull your hand back, only soft and tender. He must sense your remorse for hurting him, chasing after your fingers and grazing a gentle kiss upon them.

A splotch of red stains your skin.

“Corazón,” he croons, shifts himself closer to you. His hands grip the backs of your exposed thighs, his chin presses into your lower stomach. A few movie-strand hairs cover the molten brown eyes that stare up at you. “You’re exhausted. Vamos, basta de preocuparte (C'mon, stop worrying), I’m fine. I just wanna crawl into your tiny bed so I can wake up to your bedhead and more back pains.”

It’s a tempting offer, and one you’ve given into far too many times acceptable for the casual agreement you both share.

A deep breath. Your hand lands on his cheek, his eyes flutter shut.

There’s bags under them. Heavy, dark. Bearing the exhaustion he hides behind charming winks and dashing smiles. Your thumb grazes over one and you ache to give him the rest he deserves, the rest his body craves.

“But, what?” You persist, pleading for him to continue his story.

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

“I just- I don’t know, it’s crazy, but I kept thinking of you,” his eyes reopen, sorrow buried deep in his soul and a worry-line etched into his brow. “In that bar. Alone, in Vermont, when you...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

“So what did you do?” It’s best to keep him talking, drag his mind away from whatever dark thoughts those memories bring up.

“I followed them outside,” he admits with a tinge of shame. “Tried to be subtle about it. Lit a cigarette, took a few drags, scoped out the street. Neither of them were around,” you’ve long abandoned the first aid kit, transfixed by the tight grip he holds you in, his hands smoothing up and down the backs of your thighs in an attempt to soothe himself. “I thought I’d maybe read into it wrong. Maybe she was into him, and they’d got a cab back to her place. Or his.”

He’s rambling.

Stumbling through words he deems unimportant, rushing to push out the thoughts that clog up his brain pipes.

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

“It was just as I turned to go back inside that I heard something,” his hands no longer dance over your skin. They sit stagnant, halfway up your thigh, fingers flexed and nails digging into flesh. He’s burying himself into any part of you he can, rooting himself in your solid figure. “Rustling, or something. Coming from the alley. And I just... I felt my stomach drop. Followed after it. Found them, him-”

He chokes.

On his words, on his breath, on his failure.

You run a hand through his curls, soothe the lines off his face.

Bend down, drag him up, press your lips to the arc of his nose.

“Didn’t think, I just dragged him off. Punched him, a few times. Felt his nose crack under my fist.” He’s still pushing through, his earlier unwillingness to talk now a streaming fountain you can’t switch off. “I must’ve tripped on some glass, lost my balance. Gave him the space to get a few hits in, and-”

“Did you arrest him?” You cut him off.

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

“An officer checked her in at the hospital, stayed till her friend arrived.”

“Then Javi,” you make a point of saying his name, remind him of who he is when he’s not on duty. Not parading around with a badge and a gun, and answering to Officer Peña. The shift in his stare tells you it helps. “You did enough.”

A weight slips off his shoulders and he slumps further into you, eyes squeezing shut.

“I didn’t,” frustration steals the show, coursing through his voice.

“What more could you have done?”

“I don’t know... I could’ve-” He groans, like something pains him, and purses his lips. “I should’ve helped her sooner. Followed them, the minute they left. Shouldn’t have let...” A whiff of whiskey reaches your nostrils. Javi pulls you in tighter, breathes in the mixture of sleep-sweat and lingering cologne on the shirt you wear- Pink, the top buttons undone, left behind by him. “Shouldn’t have let you go out alone.”

You whine out his name.

The air is miserable, dragging through your lungs and staining them.

The chair creeks at the loss of his weight, knees straightening him up to his full height. Instinctually, you lean back into the table, head tilting to meet his broken eyes.

He’s searching for comfort, in the only way he knows how.

Slap a bandage over a bullet-hole, place a kiss upon his gaping-heart.

“Not everything about that night was so bad,” you play into his game, splay a hand upon his shirt. Trace a finger over a stained blood spot. “If I hadn’t gone out, then maybe we wouldn’t be...”

The words catch in your throat.

Partially because you don’t know what you are anymore. Boundaries crossed, lines blurring. Hands that hold and eyes that linger. Too close to be nothing, too reckless to be something.

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

He’s a man on a mission, to consume your soul right out your willing body. Unravelling you where you stand, he takes pleasure in peeling his shirt off you.

Hot mouth to hot skin, the tip of his tongue meeting the peak of your breasts. Your hands pull at his hair and he grips at your waist.

The descent into madness is quick, bodies melting together in a dance that’s unique, improvised, and yet always in sync.

He tugs at your panties and you undo his belt. He hooks your thigh over his hip and you anchor yourself to his chest. He teases you with a pinch to your clit and you torture him as you cup his heavy balls.

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

The table thuds and scrapes along the floor with each punctuated thrust he gives, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt, the coarse hairs at its base gifting you the occasional thrill of friction on your aching clit.

He’s slurring out curses and pet-names, lavishing you with delightful proclaims of what a pretty girl you are when you 'shut up and take my cock'.

When he does manage a full sentence of logical wording, his forehead’s pressed to your shoulder, his cum coats your thighs and the sweat between your frantic bodies holds you both together.

“There’s not a universe where this doesn’t happen, corazón,” you feel him softening against your thigh, yet you still delight as he drags a finger coated in his own spend up your folds. “Want you too damn much to miss out on you.”

Curling up into your bed that feels too big these days, you grip at the pink shirt and wonder when that changed.

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

And I’m spiritual cleansing (but the truth) Is I’m good at pretending (oh and you)

By July, things change.

The stud in your nose is traded out for a silver ring.

The lonely nights in your apartment turn into stumbling back home from some nameless club in the early hours.

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

Four plates broken and a crumbled mug later, you put on your dance shoes.

Slip. Almost break your arm. Wrestle with the doom placed on your budding dance career. Throw out the dancing shoes, bring home running shoes.

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

But when you’re gasping for a breath and your feet pound into concrete ground, you don’t think about it.

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

You drop a few pounds, tone up your muscles. Watch your body’s shape outgrow your wardrobe, investing in a new one while clinging onto the items you love too much to lose.

Like the dress that now rests just below your ass, instead of it’s usual place mid-thigh. Or the sweater that once hung loose, that now hugs new curves and creases. The jeans that were tight now sliding off your hips.

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

But you’re not thinking about it, or it’s previous owner.

Not right now.

Now, you’re balling your fists and counting your breaths. Music blasting through your headphones, sweat dancing on your forehead.

The sun is warm on your back, even as it makes way for night to begin. This is the best time to run, dusk, you’ve discovered.

No kids loitering on park grounds, no threat brought on by the dark, no slow-walking pedestrians crossing your path.

You run your self-made circuit with freedom, switching off all your senses and emptying your mind.

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

The thought of him creeps through, no matter the effort you put in to fight it. Your father’s the one to blame.

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

Because it wouldn’t be the same without you there.

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

Then, you tried some lame excuse of already having plans.

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

You nearly groaned out loud at his enthusiasm, but held back. Your father’s light didn’t deserve to be dampened by your shadow.

C’mon, kiddo! I’ve not hosted the annual barbecue since you were still wearing your braces!

You bit your tongue. Fought against telling him that, back then, there were no pretty-eyed, heart-breaking agents for you to worry about.

The whole station’s gonna be there, you have to come!

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

The more he spoke, the less you wanted to go.

Just last night Javi was asking how you’re doing!

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

Called back, 3 minutes later. Mumbled an apology and an excuse- I lost signal!- and ultimately agreed to going to the damn barbecue.

Now, you run from the phone call, from the impending doom it brings.

All this heartache and pain, it’s not good for the soul.

Of course, being dumped is a lot easier when the person isn’t your dad’s closest confidant.

It gets hard to breath. Each pound against concrete shakes the cassette player glued to your hip. There’s a sting of tears in your eyes.

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

You pay no mind to the figure sitting a few feet away on a bench.

Nor to the dog that’s chasing it’s ball back forth between it’s owner’s throws.

You let the sadness flood your soul, deflate you like some discarded party-balloon.

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

Watch him laugh, and smile, and share beers with your father.

It’s unfair, and you hate him for putting you through this.

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand. Try to stand up straight, get lost in the knots you’d tied into your laces. Sloppy and uneven.

You’re usually more careful.

You catch, in your peripheral, the figure on the bench move. Take it as your sign to compose yourself, get over yourself.

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

Beneath the sounds of Olivia Newton-John demanding you get physical, you hear a muffled sorry! yelled out. Spot as the dog rushes to grab it’s ball, halfway down the path thanks to your kick.

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

You’re met with a hand in your face, palm open and waiting for you to accept the open offer. You take it, no hesitation.

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

“Easy, tiger,” he coughs up a laugh, like you don’t wind him as you slam into him, full-body force, nerves on fire and all systems shutting down. “You trying to break my ribs?”

It’s no less than you deserves, you think.

And instantly regret it, heart turning blue at the thought of him hurt at your hand.

You take a few steps back, create a safe distance where you can’t smell the remnants of his last cigarette or count the eyelashes that line his eyes.

He asks you how you’ve been, and tries his best to smile.

It comes off as awkward. A crooked line across his lips.

You try to remember the last time he smiled at you and meant it.

You come up empty handed.

Maybe it was back in April. A hospital hallway, one hand clasping yours, the other peeling through the leafs of some medical pamphlet.

Or, was it after, on the drive home, back to his apartment, hand still holding yours while the other spun the wheel?

There’s a vague memory that toils in the depth of your mind.

Sharing an elevator, your heels in his hand, his lips on your forehead.

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

It’s toyed with you since you woke up in that hotel room, driven half-mad by an image you can’t quite form of him tucking you into bed.

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

His fingers grasp your chin, no warning, and tilt your face.

His eyes don’t greet your own. Instead, they’re focused on the centre of your face, inspecting you like a piece of evidence.

“Hmm,” he’s so close, you smell the mint of freshly bitten gum on his breath. Dart your eyes down, catch the glint of his badge poking out his pocket.

He’s still on duty, a tailored uniform contrasting the hair roused by stress. Maybe at his desk, in the office next to your father’s, hands running through his tresses to express frustrations, tensions.

Were they his own hands, or someone with longer, brightly painted nails? Your stomach turns at the thought, your loins warm at the memory of writhing in his desk chair, legs thrown over his shoulders whilst his own dug into the ground below, eager to please mouth and a happy to taste tongue working you to a orgasm muffled by your own hand.

He’d slapped your ass, kissed your cheek and sent you out his office door, wiping your own wetness off your cheek just in time to greet your father.

“You suit the ring,” his voice and a gentle breeze bring you back to the present. To the park. To the heavy feeling that hangs between you both. “I prefer it to that stud.”

“I- What?” Confussion.

You furrow your brow, wipe your sweaty palms over your thighs.

He just smiles, still crookedly, and brings his hand up to your nose.

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

It’s hard to breath, but you do it anyway.

Thank him, in a struggle to find your voice, with a whisper.

His eyes bore into your own, chase them as you look off to the side, watch the dog still chasing it’s ball and failing to catch it.

You wonder if it’s a cruel metaphor sent by the universe, a symbol of you and Javi.

And then you wonder if you’re the dog or the ball.

Or both.

“You never answered me,” his voice, honey, sweet on your ears. It melts away your other senses, turns you blind to anything other than him. “I want to hear how you’ve be-”

“Peña, if you don’t report your skinny ass to my office in 5 minutes and share a celebratory drink with me, I’m putting you on cleaning duties at our next poker night.”

A static-filled voice blares out his walkie-talkie.

Your father’s voice.

It’s enough to set things right, force your body to retreat from his.

He’s not your Javi anymore, desperate to hear about your day and kiss any aches away.

He’s Peña, your dad’s best friend, meant for nothing more than to be a passing figure in your life.

His eyes are heavy with emotion as he fishes out the device.

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

“We... Your dad caught the guy that’s been breaking into college girls’ apartments.” He tells you, shares information that should help you sleep better at night. You’ve not done that since the last time he lay next to you. You watch him press down on the call button, hold the speaker up to his mouth. “Do that and I’ll shit in your shower, pendejo (asshole).”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d commit an indecency within your parent’s bathroom.

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

Wringing your hands and hoping the tension in your limbs falls out.

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

People who know fine well who your father is, who Javier is.

You turn in time to see him half-jog, half-pace his way over to you.

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

“I’ll, um,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, grinds his teeth in an attempt to say something. “I’ll see you at the barbecue, right?”

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

Smile, uncomfortably brightly, before you turn and walk away once more.

You feel his eyes on you.

And pray he takes no notice of the sob that shakes your shoulders.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think I’m alright

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

A courtesy, a polite gesture. A signal that you’re still listening, despite tuning out her voice five minutes ago.

She’s a nice lady, someone who works alongside your father. Specialised in forensics, she balances the darkness of her job with the brightness of her wardrobe.

Today, she’s paired a lemon-yellow skirt with a vibrantly orange camisole. She looks like a walking cheese cube.

You’ve known her since you were a kid, even if you can’t remember. She claims you used to stand on her desk, make a big spectacle out of nearly matching your dad’s height.

You’d got to talking to her after she helped you wipe ketchup off your chin.

That was half an hour ago, and the discomfort of wanting to be anywhere but here is finally settling in.

It’s not her fault. You know.

She’s not the one who roped you into going to this barbecue.

Your dad is.

And right now he’s stood on the other side of his backyard, half-drunken beer bottle in one hand and Javier Peña’s shoulder clapped under the other.

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

Chases this guy, whilst he’s driving down the street!

Catches him at an intersection, physically rips him out the car.

All while the man in question shrugs, sheepish. Dismisses your father’s praising.

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

Sweat lines his forehead, shirt-sleeves hug his biceps, joy wrinkles his eyes.

He’s happy, at ease. Enjoying himself, in a way he was always meant to.

Something about him fits so perfectly in this picture: laughing with your father, complimenting your mother, playing fetch with your dog.

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

Broke things off before you could try find a frame large enough to fit you all in.

And, though it hurts, you see why things had to end between you and feel relieved it happened before it was too late.

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

Your father’s voice is obnoxiously loud. Several of the party-goers turn their heads, follow his line of sight. Spot you, frozen in place, glass full of watered down lemonade and a belly full of dread.

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

Still, you do as he asks. Smile at your mother, shuffle your feet, make your way across the yard. Do everything in your power to not look at Javi.

Even if the weight of his stare threatens to crumble you.

“You having a good time?” Your dad’s got this smile, big and dopy and oh so caring, that you can’t bring yourself to ruin with the truth.

“I’m having a great time,” you barely manage out before he’s squeezing you into his side.

The condensation on his bottle of beer seeps through the shoulder of your top, his arm secured safely around you.

He must be tipsy already, a buzz in his veins making him more affectionate than normal.

“I can’t believe it,” he laments, speaking to no one in particular.

In your peripheral, you fail to ignore tight jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.

It’s hardly buttoned, the top three undone and leaving a golden plain on display.

Perhaps you’re going crazy but he seems thinner, skin drawn a little tighter against his ribcage.

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

Pulling you out of your own head, you father continues to drone on.

“My little girl’s spreading her wings soon, going on her first adult holiday to-”

“London.”

Javi’s voice, interrupting your father, finishing his sentence.

All eyes snap to him.

Your own, wide and panicked. Scared. Trying so hard to dismiss how intensely he’s staring back you.

Your mother’s, amused and curious. Flicking back and forth between his face and her husband’s.

Your father, confused and perplexed, “I- Yeah...” He speaks slow and the arm on your shoulder slips down. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve been, you know?” Two hands dance in front of you, somewhere in the dark, intwining and unwinding. It’s a nervous habit, of Javi’s. You welcome the contact of soothing touches. “To London.”

That peaks your interest.

Enough to shift positions. Rip your hand out his own, roll onto your side and rest a hand under your propped up head. Your other, inevitably, finds its way upon his warm chest, rests over his no-longer-racing heartbeat.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been a few times, actually. I’ve got some friends out there.”

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

A fellow agent, a government official, a moonlight lover.

For all you know, this friend could be the Queen of England.

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

“Where do you recommend I visit then, Mr. Bond?”

“Mr... Bond?”

The room is dark, but you still notice the furrow in his brow.

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

“You know, like James Bond.” That’s the thing about jokes, explaining them makes you realise how dumb they are. “‘Cause you were an agent and you like London, and he’s an agent in Lon-”

He cuts you off in the way you like best: his mouth against yours.

The kiss is brief, and leads no place further than the simple act of wanting to silence you.

And, though it goes unaddressed, because it’s been too long since he’d last done it.

Even if he’d done so less than an hour ago, naked bodies intertwined on ruffled bedsheets.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, corazón,” somehow, the words don’t bruise your ego.

Instead, they make you giggle and burrow your heated face into the crook of his neck.

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

“I’d need to write you a list of places to go, too many for me to pick one.”

“Maybe I need a tour guide,” a hand of his greets your back, strokes soothing motions back and forth. It’s lulling you to sleep, at last. “Y’know, show me all the places a real Londoner goes.”

“I could,” he pauses. Clears his throat. Pulls you a little tighter against him, till your limbs are tangled and it’s hard to tell where he stops and you start. “I could check my calendar. See how many holiday days I’ve got left. Could come with you, to London, if you want me there.”

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

“How does he know?” Your mother shatters the silence, tone incredulous. “I mean, seriously, are you blind!?”

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

Should look away from one another, should wipe the guilt off your faces, should already be working on some excuse for when your mother exposes what once was between you.

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

You’re just staring at each other, as if you’re working to commit each other’s face to memory.

“He knows because you won’t shut up about it!”

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

Javi takes a sip of beer and looks off to the side, eyes breaking contact from your own at last.

“Ok but,” your father’s back to talking before you can fully work up the courage to leave. At least that’s the excuse you try give yourself, anything to distract from Javi. “I bet I’ve not told you what she’s decided to do on her travels!”

“You have,” your mother’s tone is pointed.

Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.

There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.

You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.

“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.

As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.

“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,” your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.

Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.

“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.

And all because you heard his voice.

“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.

And a well-rounded belly.

“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”

You’ve never seen her before.

Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.

She’s a total stranger, to you.

But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.

The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.

The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.

You won’t let it fester.

Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.

It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?

Was he with her, all along, while he was with...

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”

Your heart’s palpitating.

Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.

Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.

Because, how could he do this to you?

Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

At first, you think it’s spoken to you.

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.

The man nods, pride on his face, “I���m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”

The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”

“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.

And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.

“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.

“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”

You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.

“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”

In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.

Your breathing stops.

Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”

“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”

“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”

“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”

You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.

They walk away and you’re left alone, again.

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.

Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.

I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs So pour the gin and call Graham Norton

You wake up early.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.

Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.

A quarter past six.

Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.

Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.

It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.

In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.

Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.

Your ringtone is the culprit.

Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.

Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.

You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.

“Corazón.”

It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.

You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.

Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.

“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.

“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”

“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.

You sure felt alone.

“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”

“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”

“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”

For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.

You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.

Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.

You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.

“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.

For answers, for clarity, for closure

“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”

“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.

Even then, it kills you to do so.

“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”

Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.

You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.

“What answer?”

“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.

You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.

He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.

“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”

You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.

You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.

The image doesn’t quite form.

“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”

It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.

You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”

“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”

I’m gonna throw you down the river Your mum can watch it over dinner

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.

“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”

Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.

All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.

Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.

She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.

Neither of them have, really.

“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”

“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”

Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.

“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.

Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.

He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.

In fact, you can’t think of anything better.

“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”

He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes. 

Immediately, you spot chicken.

Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.

You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.

Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.

It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.

He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.

And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating. 

Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.

“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.

And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.

Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.

But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.

A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.

Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.

“Was she a good cook?”

Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.

“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.

Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.

A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.

Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.

“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”

You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing. 

It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.

In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.

A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.

“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.

Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.

“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”

There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.

Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.

“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”

You don’t know what to say.

You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.

Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.

Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.

“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”

Both of you settle back in your seats.

You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-

“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”

Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.

When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.

And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.

You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.

“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”

Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.

“She would have liked you.”

You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?” 

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

[glutengoblin]

imgoingtogetyouback (Sebastian Sallow X Reader)

A/N: I've been bad and haven't been posting much - BUT I swear I have a lot things coming, I just need to work through writer's block a bit more. Anyway, here is something I wrote tonight, since I feel like it's been so long since I've posted anything. As always, any feedback is appreciating (Especially since this is my first smut that I've written)

Summary: Your and Sebastian's on and off again relationship has been driving you crazy- So, you decide to do something about it. (inspired by imgoingtogetyouback by miss TS)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Minors DNI

Disclaimer: All characters are aged up to 18 in this piece. Also, I am not Taylor Swift and therefore do not own the rights to imgoingtogetyouback

-

You couldn’t believe that you found yourself here again.

You were drunk at the Three Broom Sticks, nearly falling off your stool as you eyed Sebastian Sallow across the room. Though the place was packed, you managed to keep your gaze steady on him. He cast a sly smirk as he studied the brunette Gryffindor student in front of him. While you had to admit that she was beautiful, it didn’t make the situation any less vexatious.

Neither Poppy nor Natty seemed to notice your intense focus on him, as the conversation at the table continued, and, most importantly, the drinking. Your body began to grow warm with anger as Sebastian leaned in to brush a strand of hair away from the Gryffindor’s face. You didn’t know which part was more frustrating - The fact that he was already touching another girl, or the fact that you loved it when he did that it to you.

After a couple more shots of fire whiskey, the world began to blur to the point where you felt like it was a good decision to confront Sebastian. After all, you had only broken up (for the third time) 2 weeks ago. How did he already think it was okay to go snogging yet another girl? You made a move to stand up, nearly falling off your stool before Poppy caught your arm.

“Woah there… What’s up Y/N?” When you didn’t answer, Poppy’s gaze followed your’s until her eyes pooled with worry. “Nuh-uh, you are not going there. Sit your butt back down.” You shook your head, pulling your arm free of Poppy’s grip.

“No Poppy, I have to- I mean, he’s touching another girl. Already.” Poppy stared at you, clearly concerned about your drunken state as she rubbed her temple.

“I’m not going to be able to stop you, am I?” You shot her a slightly lopsided grin, taking a few more steps forward.

“You know me so well!”

You began to make your way across the room, trying to limit the amount you bumped into the various patrons crowding the tables. Through the low light of the establishment, you could see Sebastian full-on kissing the girl at this point- That wouldn’t stand on your watch.

Marching over to his table, you slammed your hands down and tried to look as threatening as possible. Thankfully, the faint ancient magic glow that cast a blue tint around you seemed to do the trick, as the Gryffindor student looked up at you nervously.

“Can… Can I help you?” She asked softly, clearly trying to discern how to best proceed with caution. Sebastian, on the other hand, looked furious. But before he could voice his frustration, you shot the girl a menacing glare and began to draw your wand.

“Well, if you knew what was best for you, you probably would stop snogging another girl’s boyfriend. Specifically, a girl who could hex you into oblivion if she really wanted to.” At that moment, the Gryffindor clearly no longer valued bravery as much as she thought, as she choose to apologize profusely and quickly leave the table.

Sebastian turned to stare at you, wide-mouthed and red in the face, until he was finally able to speak again. “What the FUCK was that Y/N- You broke up with me!”

You simply shrugged, and gripped his arm, dragging him out towards the front doors. “What if I told you I changed my mind?” Sebastian could hardly get any retort out, sputtering words as you dragged him out into the lamp-lit, rainy street.

Sebastian sputtered some more, before finally yanking free of your grip. “And what exactly makes you think you can just decide that Y/N. For fuck’s sake, didn’t I see you snogging Amit just the other week? I thought you had moved on already, and here you come ruining my chances. I had a good thing going there you know. Plus, you broke up with me, remember?” The Slytherin crossed his arms over his chest, clearly fuming at your actions. Honestly, you were kind of glad you still had this effect on him. After all, Sebastian was the most attractive when he was angry.

You let out a soft chuckle, as you drunkenly took a couple more steps towards him, and placed your hand on his cheek. He flushed at the contact, his resolve clearly flattering a bit. “I mean, I did, but I’ve decided to put your last transgression aside, just for tonight… Assuming you’re interested?” You cocked an eyebrow, trying to give him the most seductive smile you could when this wasted. Sebastian studied your face for only a few moments, before making the decision you always knew he would.

As he leaned in to capture your lips with his own, you pulled him closer to you with fistfuls of his shirt, and apparated you to your room of requirement. You both stumbled a bit at the sudden travel, but Sebastian recovered quickly. Pressing you backward with increasingly more desperate kisses, he pressed you into a wall, and gripped your thighs to hoist you up higher.

You your legs wrapped around his waist, you could already feel his erection growing- You loved having this effect on him, almost as much as you loved being railed by him. You pressed your core against him, rubbing until you gained a satisfied groan from his lips.

Sebastian moved his lips away from yours and began to greedily press kisses against your neck, as his hands traveled under your sweater, gracing your skin with his hot touch. Between kisses, he choked out praises, trying his best to earn a reaction. “Fuck, Y/N- I didn’t know how much I missed your body.” He let out another throaty groan and you pressed yourself against his still-clothed erection, and let out a small sigh of your own.

“If you missed my body that much, you sure are not doing a great job of taking my clothes off.” Sebastian let out a chuckle against your neck, before taking the invitation and beginning to practically rip your clothes off of you, throwing your sweater and skirt to the floor, with your tights following close after. You began to work on his buttons and belt, quickly ridding him of his clothes until only his undergarments remained on, his shirt long discarded and his pants pooled around his legs.

Finally letting you down from your pinned position to fully remove his pants, Sebastian pointed to the chaise lounge. “You, on there, now. Strip while you’re at it.”

To his surprise, you were more obedient than usual, as you gave him a mischievous smirk over your shoulder and began to walk towards the lounge, leaving a trail of undergarments as you went. Eventually, you laid down fully bare, and eyed Sebastian’s form as he made his way over. He too had chosen to discard all of his clothing, and now held his length in his hand, rubbing slowly as he greedily eyed your body.

“All submissive and spread out for me- You know, I think I may like you better like this.” He let around a soft chuckle as he knelt in front of you, grabbing the backs of your knees to yank you closer.

The next thing you knew, his mouth had collided with your core, his tongue traveling over your folds. You let out a moan, your head falling back against the lounge as your hands found purchase in his hair, pulling that delicious mouth of his even closer.

Sebastian obliged willing, his tongue probing your entrance before he moved to suck gently on your clit. You looked down to meet his lustful eyes, as he brought his hand up to your opening. While continuing the suction on your clit, he brought his fingers to your folds, stroking a few times to wet them before dipping them in, gaining an elicit reaction from you.

You groaned his name, as your grip on his hair only tightened. You could feel him chuckle against you, as you let out a few lewd moans. “There, there darling.” Sebastian pistoned his fingers in and out of you harder, moving up your body to stare down at your face. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you come until my cock is inside you. You deserve at least that much for putting me through the wringer these past few weeks.”

You could barely contain your excitement as he eventually withdrew his fingers from you, and used your slick to wet the tip of his cock. He then leaned over your body, positioning himself at your entrance. “Have you been a good girl for me, stayed as tight as I like it?”

You let out a stuttered yes, as your eyes traveled down his form and to his cock, which looked as large as ever. Gods, you loved having sex when Sebastian was mad at you.

Sebastian let out a chuckle, before pressing a needy kiss against your lips. “Good.”

Without warning, you felt him penetrating you. Before you could even adjust, he began to thrust in and out, letting out lewd noises of his own. “Fuck Y/N- You don’t know how much I missed this.” He filled you completely before pulling back out again, delightfully stretching your walls with each thrust.

“Gods, Sebastian- I-I missed you too.” You begged for it harder, wrapping your hands around his back and digging your nails in, drawing him in even closer.

Sebastian’s thrusts began to falter a bit, as he left a mark on your neck, slightly regretting the ruthless pace he had chosen to set. His hands moved down to your hips, one holding you down tightly. The other continued onto your core, as his fingers found purchase against your clit and began to rub those circles you loved, ever so dearly.

You groaned uncontrollably, begging for more, as your orgasm drew ever nearer. Sebastian was clearly in the same boat, as his hips began to falter even more. Still, he tried his best to continue, willing your orgasm to come before his. “Tell me Y/N, can Amit make you feel this good?” He looked up to study your expression, trying his best to hide his worry that you may in fact say yes.

“O-Of course not- fuck… No one can make me feel like you do Sebastian.” That gained a grin from the freckled boy, who rubbed with more pressure as if to reward the answer he so desperately needed to hear.

“Good, then cum for me, babe.” It was only a few moments before you obliged him, your body winding tightly before releasing into wonderful waves of pleasure, that took over your form and made you go limp against the lounge.

Sebastian’s attack on your body only continued, until he eventually filled you with hot trails of his seed, his hips gradually slowing down as he lingered in the warm heat of your connection.

Eventually, once you came to a bit more, you found Sebastian lying beside you, his arms wrapped around your frame as he rubbed your back, pressing gentle kissing against your forehead. You eventually looked up, giving him a shy smile, before reaching up to press a soft kiss against his lips.

Sebastian smiled down at you as well, studying your features with quiet intrigue. “Would it be too forward to ask if this means that we’re back together?”

You let out a small chuckle, pressing your lips gently against his cheek. “I suppose it does… Assuming you can provide dick like that every night.”

Sebastian laughed, brushing a strand of hair from your face behind your ear, cementing the fact that you were once again his. “I suppose I could try… Tough standard to live up to.”

“Oh don’t worry… I’m sure you will. Besides, I know I’ll always be able to find ways to make you mad. You’re kind of an easy target.”

[avelera]

Avelera's Dreamling Fic Status Update:

Keeping Sanctuary (subscribe for updates here) - Giving Sanctuary Sequel follows Dream and Hob from the events of the altered meeting in 1689 up to the modern era. (aka, What if they hooked up after the 1689 meeting?) Current word count: ~7,000 words across several chapters. Realistic progress update: 1/10 complete total, Ch. 1 is about 1/5 complete.

(The rest are below the cut!)

Come live with me and be my love - Dream and Hob fall in love during the Regency Era when Dream loses a bet to Desire. Shenanigans ensue. (aka, What if they hooked up after the 1789 meeting?) Ch. 16 is at 2,500 words, probably about 1/3 done. Current plan is to wrap up Part 1 in the next few chapters then create a part 2 which finishes out their "1 year of marriage" on a month by month basis instead of following them day to day like Part 1 done. Probably won't be a separate fic though, just a change of format.

This Rough Magic - My take on "Hob rescues Dream from Burgess" with a twist that Hob ends up on Burgess's radar himself when he picked up some occult magic skills in the hopes of contacting Dream after 1889 and apologizing. Now he has to pretend to be friends with Burgess in order to get them both out of there, because Burgess thinks Hob can help force Dream to give him immortality. (aka, What if they hooked up after the 1889 meeting?) Ch. 9 is about 800 words in. Story is still very much in progress I just have a lot of WIPs, as you can see.

Joke's On You (I'm Into That) - The 1589 meeting goes very different when Hob proposes to Dream, who is so offended that he just can't let the matter go. A very angry, very horny competition kicks off between them. (Aka, what if they hooked up in 1589 when they were both at their absolute worst as people?) I have literally 40,000 words written for the rest of this fic. The problem is, there's big gaps in that first draft I have to fill in and scenes that need to be added. This might be my favorite WIP but it's also the hardest to write with all the smut scenes so it'll arrive whenever I can manage, I'm afraid.

Banana Daiquiris Ch. 2 - Comic-canon compliant (mostly) - Dream fakes his death to go on a vacation with Hob and Destruction. They end up in Tahiti. Destruction plays matchmaker. Hob doesn't know whether to thank Destruction or strangle him. Current word count 6,000 words. I've been playing around with adding on to this fic for ages. One of these days, I'll pull it all together.

Great Triumphs and Tragedies - aka, "Dream Accidentally Cursed Hob with a Normal Life" Fic - Dream learns that from 1689 on, Hob's life has been safe. Too safe. Improbably safe. Nothing bad or extraordinary or even terribly special has happened to him since Dream began to consider Hob his friend. He knows this because during his imprisonment, Hob's life became exciting again and suddenly went back to normal the day Dream was freed. Hob is not convinced that Dream is the reason for this, Dream disagrees. They talk about it. And fight about it. And some things that they've probably needed to talk about for a long time finally get said. (aka, sometimes the author just needs to write their weird headcanon into a 20,000 word fic that's almost entirely dialogue). Current word count: 19,000 words and about 80-90% finished, 3 of 4 chapters written. I'm hoping that posting what I've got will help push me through the final stretch. Real life interrupted for a bit though.

Unraveling Centuries, aka the Hob Amesia Fic - Dream and Hob are dating officially now in the 21st century when Hob gets hit with what seems to be a memory loss curse, shaving off 100 years of his life each day until Dream finds a cure. This effectively grants Dream a walk down memory lane as he is reacquainted with the Hob of each era and, in the process, learns how much longer Hob cared for him than Dream ever realized. Current word count: 40,000 words. Currently writing 1489 (1889-1589 are done) and re-writing the opening. First chapter is posted!

And for fics that haven't been posted anywhere yet (you can subscribe on my Ao3 author page for alerts about them):

"Fairy God Marlowe" - 1589 fixit fic where Hob and Kit Marlowe strike up a conversation while Dream and Shaxberd are talking. Hob and Marlowe talk about plays, and faith, and salvation, and queer love, and what it means to live forever. Hob gets a second chance at a first impression. Current word count: ~5,000 words. Sadly, it's all dialogue in script format. I'd need to convert it into prose to publish which would be a slog. So it's a bit shelved until I find the energy to do so. No, I will not post it in script format, I'm allergic to the thought.

I've got a few other concepts kicking around, but these are the ones that actually have (*does a quick calculation*) over 100,000 words written that I haven't had the chance to post yet?? And it's driving me insane????

Anyway, I should probably pin this post for those curious lol. Feel free to ask me any follow-up questions, I love talking about WIPs even as they ruin my life!

[artists-ally]

{Flatline} OFC x Harvey Specter {Pt.2}

Helllloooooooo. This is probably the filthiest thing I've written in a long time so I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. As I've been writing this part, I've tortured @rosedpetal to no end with a few teasers and I cannot wait for her reaction. As always, if anyone wants to be tagged in the next part lmk in the comments!!! I love seeing your guys' reactions it makes my day. enjoy loves <3 p.s. this is my birthday gift to you guys (even though it was two days ago it still counts)

Pt. 1 Character Playlist

Word count: 13,156 (holy shit)

Warnings: age gap, smut (18+), degration, exhibitionism, dom/sub vibes, language, anxiety/anxious thoughts, angst, a touch of fluff, more inaccurate lawyer shit

Summary: After Claudia and Harvey win their first case, the week and a half that follows is filled with more of Harvey's 'confidence boosters' and valuable lessons ;). But when they hit a snag in the case, Harvey can't keep the one promise he made to Claudia.

Tagging: @rosedpetal @maxdamax @ashcosmo

~~~~~

When I woke up the morning after, I didn’t know what to think. And I surely didn’t know what to do the next day. Or the day after that. Even a week later, mostly consumed with thoughts of Harvey and how to avoid him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that what we were doing was wrong. 

I mean, in ways it was. For starters, he was a name partner and I was a first year associate. He was at least ten years older than I was. Probably more. What would my parents think? My brothers? 

Hell, what do I think? 

It’s no secret that Harvey is a good looking guy; his sharp jaw, his cunning eyes and fierce smirk that always appeared whenever our eyes would meet. Just because I said I tried to avoid him, doesn’t mean my evasions worked. Nine times out of ten it always fails. Miserably. 

By the time the elevator chimed, the doors whisked open and I immediately looked to his office. Good, he wasn’t there. He always seemed to be waiting for me in his office, just watching. It was like he was stalking his prey. Which, in a way, always sent my skin burning and my mind running. Running right back to his tongue on mine, his hand in my hair… my hand wrapped around-

“Good morning, Claudia,” Donna’s perky voice nearly sent me to the hospital. She was already sitting in my cubicle. When did I end up in the bullpen?

“Jesus, don’t you know how to not give a girl a heart attack?”

She chuckled, “I like to start every day off with a surprise.” In her hand was another blue file. Labeled Friddle vs. Gustoson. It was a corporate case, something about some patent being violated and a stolen technology design.

“What is this for?” 

“Harvey wants to work with you on another case. He has not shut up about how well you did on the last one and knows you’ll bring this home too,” she was grinning. A look that meant trouble.

“Is that… all he’s talked about?” I had to be cautious. If she knew about what happened, I knew she’d tell me. But if she didn’t I certainly didn’t want her to find out. 

“I mean, he raved about that cross examination you gave. And about how nervous you were, but that he’s gonna keep working with you to help build that up because we all know you are the best damn associate this firm has to offer.”

Holy shit she didn’t know. She had no idea. Keep it cool, Claudia, don’t let your face give it all away.

“Oh,” I tried not to sigh in relief. “Yeah I was shitting bricks before the trial. But I did it, I guess.”

“You’re goddamn right you did,” she stood up, taking my hands in hers. “And you’re gonna kick ass again. And, since I know Harvey won’t say it to you, I’m proud of you. Good work, Claudia. Keep it up and Junior partner might be here sooner than you think.”

Donna’s ginger hair swayed back and forth as she waltzed away. That was a perfect way to describe her walk, a dance. I should learn how to walk like that.

I sat, firing up my computer and sorting through the motions and other filing work on my desk. It seemed like this part of the job never ended. We had to single-handedly be the reason twenty percent of the Amazon was gone. 

Other associates around me were gathered at Griffin's desk, chatting about whatever they did over the weekend. I had never, not once, been invited out for drinks or to lunch by any of the associates. Not that I expected to be, I never really made an effort. Not that I wanted to befriend any of these assholes. 

After I won the case, instead of congratulating me on keeping Harvey’s client with the firm and sending the losers running with their tail between their legs, all I got were dirty looks and hushed whispers behind closed doors. 

It made me feel nauseous. What if they knew? What if they found out about Harvey and I’s… whatever it was, and were spreading it through the office? Soon it would reach him. And if Harvey hear rumors then Donna would, and then Louis and Jessica and god knows who else-

“Griffin, Harvey wants to see you in his office,” Donna’s voice rang through the bullpen. Him and his group of dogs were not shy with the looks they gave me. My heart sank in my chest. At the same time I was relieved that it wasn’t me; at least then I wouldn’t have to deal with the hateful, resentful looks. Those were even worse than the ones of triumph. 

I occupied my ever anxious mind by burying my nose in the legal book next to my keyboard, highlighting rapidly to find the errors of some of the other associates' mistakes. Louis always had me check the others' work. He knew– either because Donna vouched for me, or he just saw that I was half competent– that I wouldn’t let careless mistakes slip through. So I always got them.

Lucky me. 

From grammatical errors to punctuation, it was endless. I wasn’t sure who this was, but they clearly have never taken an English class because they used ‘affect’ wrong. It needed to be ‘effect’. Within the same brief, they used ‘to’ instead of ‘too’, and ‘accept’ instead of ‘except’. I wanted to find whoever this was and smack them across the face because this was completely unacceptable for a Harvard graduate. 

I mean, how does one spend well over a hundred thousand dollars and not know the difference between their, there, and they’re? It pisses me off. If Louis ever saw these things before they were edited he’d have a coronary. 

A hand slammed down on my desk. I jumped halfway out of my skin and bit down on the cap of the highlighter, hard enough to have it crack and pinch my tongue. 

“Harvey wanted you instead,” Griffin bit out. His face was twisted and contorted. Obviously pissed. 

Why did he want me? 

I scrambled a little, careful to put all my papers away so we wouldn’t have another incident like I did with my first case. And I made sure to bring it with me this time, basically implanted it in my hand, just to be safe. 

“Mr. Specter, you wanted to see me?” He was looking out the window at the view below. Sometimes it made me lightheaded to think about how high up we were. I’ve never been good with heights. 

“Yes, I did.”

“Can I ask why you called Griffin in first instead of just coming to me?”

Harvey turned around, fussing with his cufflink before sitting down on the corner of his desk. “I just thought you’d like to have the satisfaction of Griffin being turned away.”

I blinked, “Satisfaction? I don’t understand, you did that on purpose?”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Harvey’s smirk was evil. 

“Why?” I still didn’t get it. Why bring Griffin in and then tell him ‘sorry, I actually meant the first year, not you’. It seemed kind of pointless when he could’ve just… “Oh…”

“Now you understand?”

“You wanted Griffin to know that he is still not the first choice, and that that first choice is me.” “It has been, and it will continue to be. If he can’t see that, then I’ll make him,” Harvey stood, coming to stand in front of me. Almost too close; we were not in the safety of an empty office, I couldn’t let him get too close.

“Why not just come to the bullpen and do it yourself?”

“Because,” he squared his shoulders, “I wanted to knock him down a peg. When I call someone into my office, or have Donna do it, it means I need them for something. I just wanted Griffin to tell you that I needed you for the sole reason of getting under his skin.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Mr. Specter-” “Harvey.” He corrected. 

I swallowed. “Harvey, I appreciate it. Well, in theory I do, but that is besides the point. Ever since we won-”

“You won,” he corrected again. I see what he’s doing. 

“I won,” I huffed, “ever since, I have had a target on my back. People are whispering about me and I don’t need you to escalate the situation. Especially with someone who already hates me.”

Harvey cast his eyes away from mine. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put unnecessary pressure on your shoulders.”

My lips pressed in a line, arms crossing over my chest. I knew what this would do, what it would look like from outside eyes: that Harvey was doing me a favor. Giving me special treatment. In a way I guess he was, but it was because I earned it. Right? I had earned this? My place by his side as an associate? Not by his side, at his side. I worked with Harvey side-by-side. And you’re goddamn right I earned it. 

Maybe Harvey’s weird Jedi mind tricks are working. As weird as they are. 

“You’ve got that look in your eye,” Harvey spoke softly. 

“What look?” He smiled, “The one where you’re having some internal conflict. Battling it out in your head like Rocky and Apollo, two greats against each other. Claudia, you’re doing great here. And I know you believe it, but you’ve gotta learn to not spiral out of control when something comes up. You can handle it.”

He’s right, Harvey’s always right. Most of the time. 

I followed his eyes to the corner of my mouth. He furrowed his brows, bringing his hand up. His thumb brushed against my skin and I froze. Spine cemented in place. What is he doing? Doesn’t he know how many people could be-

“Just some highlighter,” he reassured. I must’ve missed the cap once or twice. “Have you had a chance to look at the case?”

My brain was half melted. “Sort of, I glanced at it when Donna gave it to me. Seem’s… ballsy.”

“It certainly isn’t gonna be a walk-off,” he sighed. “Which is why I want you to come with me to the meeting with Jay Friddle. He wants to settle with Gustoson.”

“And you don’t want him to?”

“You’re goddamn right I don’t,” Harvey snapped. Not really at me, but at me. I couldn’t help the flinch, and I could see the hurt in his eyes. “Sorry. No, I don’t want him to settle. I think there is some shady shit going on, and I think he’s being framed. I’ve known Jay for five years and I know he didn’t steal their design. Whoever is behind this set him up and made this whole thing look like his fault.”

“When is the meeting?”

“Later today, two-forty.”

“Okay, give me some time to review and do some research on the employees. If he’s being framed, maybe it was an inside job. There could be someone who is from Gustoson’s posing as a loyal employee, or maybe someone cut a deal with them for a pretty penny.”

Harvey gave a firm nod, and I turned to leave. His hand wrapped around my arm and kept me from going. 

“That’s my girl,” he moved a piece of my hair from my forehead. “Always so eager to get to work.”

“Harvey,” I warned. “N-Not here.”

“No one is watching.” “How can you be so sure?” I felt that tingling feeling prick my fingers. The kind of numbness you get when something unexplainable happens and you’re not sure if it’s real. Or when your life flashes before your eyes. 

“Look around?”

I gently turned away from his touch, looking around at the weirdly empty office. All those around were occupied, engaged in conversation and not paying attention. Even Donna was nowhere to be found.   

“I can see that our first… session,” he decided on. His front was pressed close to my back, lips right against the shell of my ear. “Has started to work. You took precedent and responsibility without a second thought. But, you were still wary when I called you in here. I think I need to weed it out of you. Give you something to be in control of.”

A single finger trailed the length of my spine. I could barely breathe. My body, which was not helping me in any way, leaned back into him. 

“How about this, while you’re doing your research, you think of what you want. Of how I can please you, of how you can take control of me. Then whenever we get back, meet me in the file room on the fiftieth floor. How does that sound, sweetheart?”

He was a twisted son of a bitch, that's for sure. 

“Yeah,” I nearly choked on my own tongue when his hand wrapped around the back of my neck. “Yeah I’ll think about it, Harvey.”

“Good girl, Claudia.”

_____

Focus? What was that? How does one simply focus after they’re told they’re gonna have their deepest fantasies lived out in just a few hours? All I could do was think about Harvey between my legs. His fingers wrapped around my neck. 

Of course I knew what I’d ask him to do, but physically saying the words out loud was a whole other thing. That’s what I'm not sure I can do. And I know he’ll make me say it before he’ll even think about giving me what I want.

God damn Harvey Specter. 

At first it had been anxiety that consumed me about him; wondering when he was gonna pop by and request, demanding rather, that I help him with something. But now it was different. I craved him. His mouth on mine, his scent. Harvey always smelled so good. It was calm and didn’t give me a headache like most of them do. Definitely not a cedar or pine or some other woodsy bullshit. Mellow is a great way to put it. 

His hands certainly won’t be mellow when they’re working in and out of- okay Claudia that’s enough. My computer is spinning spinning spinning in circles as I wait for some files to be uploaded. 

When Harvey had me leave his office, not without pressing his obvious need into my ass, I went straight to looking into those employees. About four hours of searching through employee records and cross checking them with ex-employees of Gustosons. Most of them were clean, a few that had a past, but nothing in relation to what we needed. 

That was until I stumbled across one of the hiring managers. His name was Nelson and he seemed like a grade A asshole. He had worked with Gustoson for ten years before leaving and making his way to our client. And he brought over some of the IT department. 

Bingo. 

“Hey Claudia, Harvey wants to know if you’re ready to go for the meeting?” Donna paused by my desk. 

“Yes, I just need to run to the printer and then I will be right in,” I smiled up at her, tucking my file under my arm and grabbing my keys. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

She hummed and waltzed off. If I had been alone in the bullpen I’d one hundred percent be trying to copy her movements. I mean, how was it possible that she moved so smoothly in a pair of stilettos? I could barely walk in a straight line with flats or a wedge. 

Donna was mind blowing. Donna was Donna. 

By the time I made it to the printer, my papers were there and I just skimmed over them just to make sure I wasn’t taking anyone else's. I had done that before; one of the first weeks I had been working here. I sent my papers to a printer three floors below ours and accidentally grabbed another associate’s. I was mortified, but the girl, Kathrine Bennett? Kaitlyn? Something like that, but she was really nice. She had done the same thing once. I think she got fired and was now at a rival firm. A shame, I wish I got the chance to know her. 

This might seem kind of weird, but I oddly loved the feeling of freshly printed paper. It was always kind of warm and had this very light scent. And it was smooth and easy to flip through. One of those things that brings me a little bit of joy in this hellscape. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” I damn near buckled to the floor. Harvey’s voice was right against the back of my neck, and the presence around me suddenly felt all too warm.

“Jesus Harvey,” I chuckled, trying not to let my fingers tremble. “Maybe don’t sneak up behind me like that?” “I said your name, but you obviously didn’t hear me.”

No. I didn’t. But I did feel his hand slip up the back of my thigh. I went motionless. My breath came out in stutters as he dragged it across my ass, up and around my hip, palm flat against the space right below my belly button. Harvey pulled me back into him, his earlier arousal still there. 

Had it gone away at all? Or did he walk in here just now and get another? No, that couldn’t be. I mean, it wasn’t like I was trying to get a reaction out of him or anything. 

“Harvey I-”

“I locked the door.”

That settled me instantly. I let my hand find the back of his head, letting his lips brush over my neck and shoulder. “Seems like you’re the one who couldn’t wait.”

“Not when you look like that, no. I can’t resist you when you taunt me like this. With a skirt this short, those buttons undone a few more than they had been earlier.”

“I was just hot,” I explained. 

“Oh trust me, I know how hot you are.” Harvey must’ve seen my eye roll at his terrible joke. “You’re right, I couldn’t wait until after our meeting. I needed to have something to hold me over.”

His hands crept around to my chest, fingers ever so gentle as they skimmed over my shirt. As if Harvey’s hands commanded my will, there was nothing I could do to keep from sighing out when he pinched my nipples. It forced me to arch back into him. 

“You’re sensitive, aren’t you? That is very good to know. Where else are you so sensitive? Here?” He kissed right below my ear, then nipped at it. Another spine bending shudder. God damn that laugh of his. “What about here, hmm?” He tugged up the edge of my skirt, toying with the waistband of my underwear, letting it snap back against my skin. “Aww, look at how much you want me to touch you. You’re a writhing mess aren’t you?”

“Harvey,” I pleaded. 

“Harvey what?”

That son of a bitch. I knew he was going to do it and yet I still wasn’t prepared. 

“Harvey, we're gonna be late for the meeting.”

“It’s at three.” 

He turned me around, hand on my neck, so fast I almost went dizzy. He backed me up against the wall and had this devious look on his face. Harvey crushed his mouth to mine and wasted no time sweeping his tongue into my mouth.

I sure as hell wasn’t going to stop him. He was such a good kisser, so dominant and reactive to my endless noises. And he was really good at pulling them from me. 

Harvey lifted under my thighs and pushed my skirt back in the same motion, planting me against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist. It was hard to remember what happened next, but he was quick to pluck open a few more buttons of my shirt and pull my bra down.

If I thought his tongue felt good on mine…

I had to put my own hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t make any noise. Well, I did a shit job, but it wasn’t too loud. 

His mouth was hot on my skin, leaving behind small bruises and wet marks. He bit down, and I hissed, and he grinned before letting up. He slowly set me down, not breaking eye contact as he seamlessly fixed my bra and shirt, reshuffling my skirt back to where it was before. 

“If you liked that, just wait till I get my tongue between those legs of yours. And don’t you worry, sweetheart, I promise I will be far less controlled when I taste you for the first time.”

And then he was gone. He left me there. 

I ran my fingers through my hair, schooled my face into the best neutral one I could and followed him out. Not too close, I didn’t need anyone speculating. 

How Harvey managed to keep his face unreadable was unbeknownst to me. It seemed impossible, I’d need a cold shower and at least seventy-two hours notice to get my head back on. But there he was in the lobby. Totally stoic. Totally unphased. Totally not looking like he had his teeth leaving marks on my chest and making wetness pool between my legs. 

“Oh, there she is,” Donna sighed in relief. “We were starting to think you ran away. Get going you two, you’re gonna be late. Go kick their ass in that depo.”

“Seems like that's all Claudia knows how to do,” Harvey said, giving me a wink when Donna walked off after wishing us good luck.

“You really do not know how to keep it in your pants,” I led the way to the elevator. 

“Why would I want to when I have you to take care of it?”

I just stared blankly at him, his grin spreading wider and wider. God damn Harvey Specter. 

When we slid in the backseat of the car, his hand immediately went to my thigh and it was all I could think about. It was so warm, and so deceptively big. Long fingers brushed over my skin, leaving goosebumps behind.

I had a feeling he was doing all of this on purpose, trying to get me riled up for after this meeting. Since I can’t get away from him, especially right now, all I could do was think about what I wanted most from him. 

To see him smirking between my legs while he made me come undone has got to be at the top of the list. I wonder if he’ll like the way I taste. Shit I haven’t shaved in for-fucking-ever. Is he gonna be disgusted? What if he thinks I’m unhygienic for not taking care of it?

I mean… it hasn’t been that long, a month or two? But I wish I would’ve thought about it. It never occurred to me, even after the endless daydreams, that we’d actually continue all of this. Especially to this much. 

By no means was I a virgin, but I haven’t been in a serious relationship in well over a year, so why did I need to keep things neat down there?  I do not do hookups. Never had, never thought I would. But this technically also wasn’t a hookup? 

What the hell would you even call this? 

My mind was rampant at this point. Going in a billion different directions, all delusional thinking. It was irrational. Not true. And I knew that, but that didn’t stop me from thinking about them. I couldn’t steer my mind away from one in particular: did Harvey even think I was attractive? 

It might seem like a silly question when, about twenty minutes ago, he had me moaning his name in the file room. But it still crossed my mind. Maybe he just thought I was naive and easily manipulatable. That he could have me just because he could, you know? 

It made me feel sick to my stomach. 

Why are you torturing yourself, Claudia? Obviously Harvey finds you attractive. He straight up left bruises on your skin with how eager he was to get at your tits, give yourself a little grace for once.

Why was my inner conscience now sounding like Harvey? I never told myself to ‘give a little grace’. He’s getting in my head. Changing the way I think and talk about myself. Then again I guess that was his whole reason for doing this in the first place-

“Hey pretty girl,” Harvey tapped my leg. “What are you thinking about so hard? You’re white-knuckling your seatbelt.”

Pretty girl pretty girl pretty girl…

I broke out into a huge smile. “Nothing, nothing at all.”

_____

My grin was permanently plastered on my face. We absolutely blew their fucking heads off in that depo. They had no idea what hit them.

“And when you threatened to put Nelson on the stand? Ugh, perfection, the look on their face was priceless. I’ll be replaying it all night and into tomorrow. That shit was awesome,” I couldn’t help the giddy squeal I let out either.

Harvey smiled brightly, a fondness to his face that I hadn’t ever seen before when our eyes met in the elevator on the way back to the firm. 

“Now do you see why I like winning so much?”

I nodded, “Yeah, I can definitely see how it gets addicting. That was… wow. That was amazing. You were amazing, we were amazing.”

“...And?” He pressed. I flushed, I couldn’t fucking help it. 

“And I was… amazing.”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. What did you say?”

“You’re one cruel son of a bitch you know that right?” I rolled my eyes. “I was amazing.”

“There you go,” that same fond smile from before showing again. “Now say it again like you actually believe it.”

“I do actually believe it-”

“Say it again.” The smile was gone. 

My throat worked down and I shifted on my feet, clutching my purse in my hands. Just do it and get it over with.

“I did fucking amazing,” I said with a little more umph. It worked, Harvey grinned like the Devil and caught my mouth with his right before the door chimed open. 

“Oh, and before you go and spend all night replaying it over and over, there’s something else I’d like to have you remembering more.”

When I glanced up, I saw that it wasn’t the firm, but the fiftieth floor. The goddamn file room… I had forgotten. How could I have forgotten? I trailed behind him as he led the way, anxiety swirling so violently in my stomach I wasn’t entirely sure that I wasn’t gonna vomit. 

My brain immediately kept trying to think of ways out of it. But my stupid fucking feet kept moving. Why did they keep moving? I didn’t want them to move-

“Claudia, is everything okay? You look… really pale,” Harvey asked once he shut the door and locked it. He looked incredibly concerned, which really only made it worse. “If you don’t want to do this right now we don’t have to.”

“It’s not that,” I shook my head, plastering a smile on my face. Don’t let some god damn hair ruin this, Claudia. You’re gonna be fine. Deep breaths. “Well?”

“Well… what?” He took a step closer, taking my purse from me and setting it on a cabinet. 

“Aren’t you going to ask what I’ve been thinking about? What I’ve been wanting all day?”

“Oh I already know,” he said. “I just want to see if you’re going to tell me or not.”

Touche.

“I don’t need to ask you,” I felt my anxiety melt away, and that surge of power rush in my veins. The same way it did Harvey and I’s first night. “You said you wanted to please me, and if you already know what I want, why aren’t you already between my legs giving it to me?”

His hand on my neck was the only validation he gave me before lifting me up onto a counter, or a cabinet, I didn’t really care.

Wow I can’t believe that actually worked. We’re getting the hang of this, bitch. Keep it up.

Harvey’s tongue tangled with mine, pulling strings of pleas and moans from me. He unbuttoned my shirt yet again, adding to the marks he left earlier. I laid down; thankfully whatever I was on was long enough. Being tall has its perks for sure, but doesn’t necessarily work for these particular scenarios. 

As he bent over me, I let my shoes slide off, wrapping a leg around his hip so my front melted with his. I ground against him, and he wasn’t shy about what it did to him. He pushed back, hand palming at my chest, the other pinning my other thigh to the surface. 

It was so hard to breathe with him over me. But in the most pleasurable way possible. An intoxing sort of suffocation of having his mouth on mine, his chest pressed close, his very obvious arousal doing wonders for my own. 

The second his hands began to push up my skirt, those thoughts came with it. I felt the panic rise in my chest, and the confidence I had built up crumbled to the floor. 

“H-Harvey-”

“Yes, sweetheart?” His voice was sickly sweet and it almost made all those thoughts go away. 

“I umm- I just don’t want you to be- I haven’t… god I am so sorry.”

“You’ve never had someone go down on you?” Harvey asked, eyes wide. “Who the hell have you been with in the past cause they were obviously assholes and I’ll-”

“No no Harvey,” I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “That’s not what I was talking about.”

“Then what, Claudia.”

“Nothing nothing, it’s fine, just go back to-”

“Not until you tell me everything's okay. Just tell me, it’s alright, sweetheart,” his voice was so tender. And his eyes, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that they were loving in a way. But that was most certainly an irrational thought. 

I blushed, so much felt it go down my neck and light up my chest. 

“Claudia-” “I haven’t shaved,” I blurted out. “I didn’t know this was happening and if I did I would’ve cleaned up for you so if you don’t want to I understand and we can do this another time but I don’t want you to be disappointed and grossed out and-” I actually yelped. He forced my skirt off, pulling off my stockings and tossing them over his shoulder. Then slid my underwear down my legs, not before he made fun of the little pink bow that was on the front. 

He splayed my legs wide, throwing one over his shoulder, pinning the other down. The first touch of his tongue nearly made me tear up. His mouth was so hot. So warm and it felt so good as it curved in and out of me. 

Bliss. Pure, raw, satisfying bliss encased me. I jolted when he flicked over my clit, sending a very much welcome tremble down my spine. I arched up and couldn’t help but grind against his face.

Harveys nails left dents in my skin. I hoped that they would bruise. He was not shy about how good I tasted. He had such a filthy way of describing what I did to him, and he knew that every word would get an even more filthy noise from my chest. 

I could see my wetness smeared on his cheeks; I was a mess since the car on the way to the meeting. Which was well over two hours ago now. It made everything feel that much better. 

Harvey took my leg off his shoulder, pushing it flat to the counter. He then took my chest between his fingers, definitely not careful with how hard he pinched and pulled. My legs quivered, clamping against his head, only for him to force them back down. 

“Keep them there,” he stood, wrapping his palm across my throat. “I’m gonna make you cum on my tongue, but you’re not going to do it until I say, understand?”

“Yes, Harvey.” I thought about calling him sir, but I wasn’t sure what it would do. I really really really wanted to know, but it was more than likely something we should save for the privacy outside of the office because I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my screams at bay.

I could barely do it right now. 

He brought me in for a possessive kiss before laying me back down and settling between my legs. His fingers scratched and marked the insides of my thighs. I could feel my release building, and how on earth he knew I’ll never know, but every time I got relatively close, he slowed down, sending me right back to the start. It was infuriating, and I almost said something, but then he kept going. 

And kept going and going and going-

“Harvey,” I sighed, breathless and airy. I had to bite on my fingers to keep from making too much noise. Again, I was doing a really shit job. 

“Not yet,” he ordered. “Harvey I can’t…”

“Yes, you can, sweetheart. And you will because you love doing what I tell you, don’t you? You love being on display for me while I have my way with you.” I did. “You don’t even need to say it, I can taste how much you want it. Such a good girl for me, now be good and take it just a little longer and I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

I had no doubt that he would, so I nodded. I bit my lip and nodded. His smirk was devastating as he swiped his thumb through my folds and pressed it to my lips. I sucked urgently, showing him just how good I wanted to be. 

Something changed in his eyes then. It wasn’t just dominance that resonated behind his shaded eyes. It was a look of possession, of ownership. There was definitely a whole other side to Harvey I hadn’t seen yet, but I’d be damned if I didn’t do anything to see it. 

So I placed my foot on his shoulder and pushed until he knelt back on the ground. His grin was wild, purely animalistic and feral in a way. 

Harvey Specter, aka the best damn attorney in the state of New York just knelt to the ground because you told him to. This man is bent to your will, you can make him do anything.

He resumed his mostions, taking the time to mark my thighs even more. I couldn’t think straight anymore. I don’t know how long it's been since we started, but I was quivering, begging for a release. It was right there, so close and so far away at the same time but if I could just get a little more…

“You taste so fucking good, Claudia. I want you to cum on my tongue and don’t you dare be fucking shy with those pretty little noises of yours. I want to know exactly how my tongue is making you feel, just how good you feel. You want to be good, don’t you?”

I nodded rapidly, saying just as much. “Yes, Harvey, yes I want to be good for you.”

“You’re learning so well,” he looked like he was in a daze. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Be my good girl and give me what I want. I know just how much you need it.”

It came so fast it caught me off guard. His fingers… his tongue… it was otherworldly. I haven’t ever felt this euphoric. I kept my noises down, but my breath was out of control, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth. 

Harvey didn’t let up even with my release, he kept going going going even well after I began to settle back down. I tried to get him to let up; I couldn’t speak so I pushed against his shoulder but he pinned my ankle down.

He wasn’t done with me. 

He licked me dry, gently kissing my skin when he was done. Sweat lined my hair and back, but he was done. And I was limp and thoroughly worked over. 

“I knew you could be good,” he cooed. His hand brushed over my exposed chest, toying with me a little before helping me sit up. He carefully helped dress me again, letting my head come back before kissing me again. Not only did he taste like me, he smelled like it too. 

But his kiss was soft. Softer than it had been before. 

“Feel alright?” he asked, and all I could do was nod. He chuckled, motioning for me to hop down. Harvey’s hand steadied me as he picked up a foot and placed my shoe one, doing the same for the other. This… fizzy feeling bubbled in my chest as I watched him. 

It made me smile uncontrollably. 

“What are you so smiley about?” He asked, welcoming me when I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. 

“Nothing,” I sighed, a content sigh and let my chest rest against his, chin on his shoulder. “I just feel… nice. Really really nice.”

Harvey laughed, “Well I’m glad you feel really really nice. You tasted really really good.”

I swatted at his chest. When we were this close, it was easy to forget all the complex things about our situation: the fact that he was my boss, or how much older he was than me. That he just ate me out like a god in our file room after a huge step in our case. There were so many risks in all of this, but right here none of them seemed that big. A swirling thought in the back of my head wouldn’t let them go, but they could be tamed in this moment.

“Oh, don’t you ever feel embarrassed about not being ‘cleaned up’ for me. I don’t care. Getting to be between your legs is an experience I am beyond privileged to get. You don’t ever have to worry about me being disgusted by you or your body. It’ll never happen, never gonna be possible, Claudia.”

For a long time, I had always thought that Harvey was kind of a dick. They he never gave a shit about anyone other than himself and his reputation. Clearly that wasn’t the case. He, very obviously, cared a whole hell of a lot more than I thought. 

Clearly Harvey cared for me beyond the idea of our sexual desires. I genuinely believe that he wants me to have more confidence in myself. This is just killing two birds with one stone. And I certainly didn’t mind having Harvey Specter between my legs.

“Would you like to-”

“Oh, Harvey what are you- oh, hi Claudia. What are you guys doing in here?” Louis asked. I instantly detached myself from Harvey and took a huge step back. “Is everything alright? Claudia you look really flushed, are you not feeling well? Do you need to go home?”

“No, no Louis I’m alright,” I could feel my skin ignite. “We were just… looking for old files for our case. I just needed a hug. Stress is a bitch.”

How did you manage to pull that outta your ass? 

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. I give the best hugs on earth. Get over here,” Louis insisted. 

“Thank you Louis, but I’m-”

“It’s non negotiable,” he nodded. “Come on, bring it in my dazzling little friend.”

I looked at Harvey who was clearly trying not to burst out in hysterical laughter. I hugged Louis, and it was surprisingly good. Not as good as Harvey, but then again maybe I was just a bit biased. 

“You know my door is always open to you, Claudia,” Louis reassured before he grabbed a box, the one right where I had just been laid out, and practically skipped away. 

When the door shut, I covered my face and Harvey nearly fell over. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. I wanted to evaporate and never be seen again. There was no way that Louis just… I appreciated his complete obliviousness. More so than ever.

“Okay, that might’ve been more entertaining than sticking it to Gustoson.”

“Not a word, Specter,” I warned. 

“Specter, huh? Well, Martin, you’re lucky I’m in such a good mood because I would really love to go tell Donna about this little interaction.”

My heart sank. “Does she know?”

“No,” my heart began to beat again. “Which baffles me. You are really terrible at wearing your emotions on your face, by the way."

“I don’t understand how you can be so calm, it makes no sense. My brain scrambles and my mouth disconnects from it. I couldn’t believe I managed to spit out something coherent when Louis walked in.”

“It’s cute watching you stutter.”

I blushed.

“That's cute, too.”

“Shut up.” Harvey smiled. “Would you teach me? How to have some sort of a poker face?”

“You want me to?” I nodded, and he looked off behind me, obviously thinking of something. “Okay, stay after everyone has gone home tomorrow, I have an idea.”

“Uh oh, don’t hurt yourself.” He grabbed my arm, laying a firm hand on my ass. I yelped at the smack, eyes going wide.

“Wanna try that again?”

“If we weren’t in an un-sound-proofed office I’d say yes.” That didn’t stop him from doing it again, only this time spinning me around and pushing me down on the counter, fisting my hair and yanking hard enough to bring a tear to my eye. 

“Two strikes, Caudia. Be careful how you read the next pitch.” I really wanted to make an awful sports joke, but I didn’t need to risk someone else walking in and seeing this. There would be no way to explain around it. 

I’d have to move to Antarctica and become a penguin. 

“Okay okay,” I mumbled out. He released me and I turned around. Not without feeling how hard he was. I pulsed between my legs again. Man, did I want to feel that between my legs. I already had a good idea of what he looked like, and god damn did I want it. 

“I’ll be in my office if you need me,” Harvey said, playing with my hair. “Try not to think of me too much, my Claudia.”

My Claudia…

My mouth was dry. “You know I will.”

“Of course you will,” he winked before turning.

I was certainly not going to let him have the last laugh. 

I’d wait a couple hours and then attack. I had a plan, surely one he’d never see coming. It was almost six now and I couldn’t think of anything work related. Just Harvey. I had that sore, sweet burn of an overstimulated release still, and couldn’t feel more content.

But I wasn’t satisfied by any means. 

I waited a little longer before printing out the transcription from our depo to go over. Yes, we had boxed Gustoson in and backed him into a corner, but like Harvey always said, when there was a gun pointed to your head there were seventy-five other ways out. We had to be prepared for every single one. 

When I picked them up, I swung by Donna’s desk.

“Hey hot shot,” she cheered. “Heard about the depo, you really are one hell of a lawyer, aren’t you?”

“Well, what can I say? I’m just awesome at what I do,” I beamed. “Do you know where Harvey went? He wanted to go over it so we can get a clear idea of what their next move will be. I think they’re all out of cards to deal, but you never know.”

“Harvey really is rubbing off on you,” she looked me head to toe. Hide the face, hide the face. “Did something happen between you two? You’re like- glowing.”

Shit shit shit shit shit-

“No- well, no not really.”

“What do you mean ‘not really’?” She joined me on the other side of her desk. “Claudia, did he yell at you cause if he did I can-”

“No no, Donna. Everythings fine, more than fine actually. I am just… starting to feel more comfortable around him, is all. I don’t feel so nervous to be around him.”

“That’s fantastic,” Donna smiled, bringing me in for a hug. I prayed she didn’t feel my sweat back. “Good for you, Claudia. I knew it would happen sooner or later. I know he can be a hardass, but there is a method to his madness.”

“You don’t say,” she had no fucking idea. This was great. “Let me find him, I’ll be back before you leave to let you know how the depo really went.”

She just raised her eyebrows before I walked away.

Time for some real fun.

I pushed open the bathroom door, someone on their way out giving me a weird look. Harvey was at the sink washing his hands when he saw me.

“Claudia, what are you-”

I looked under the stalls and thankfully no one was in here. I locked the door. As I planted myself in front of him, I spoke so coolly it didn’t even sound like my voice. “You didn’t think I could leave you high and dry, did you? What kind of good girl would I be if I didn’t return the favor.”

“Claudia, sweetheart you don’t have to-”

“I want to. And I’m going to.”

I slipped to my knees, my eyes never leaving his. Even as I popped open the button of his trousers and untucked his shirt. They fell to his ankles and I let his briefs join them. He was hard and waiting for me so I didn’t waste time to build the confidence.

It was already there. 

Harvey braced against the sink when my tongue ran up the backside of his shaft, slowly starting to take him into my mouth. I worked it all the way in, earning a deep, guttural noise from him. 

“Jesus fucking… Claudia…”

I felt a rush of pride run through me at the thought of him not even being able to speak. It only motivated me that much more. 

I worked up and down, pausing every now and then to focus on the tip, ever so gently letting my teeth graze for a little extra pleasure. I wasn’t sure if he was going to like it, but he shivered. And when I did it again, he did it again. He was under my control.

I couldn’t help the spit that collected and fell down my chin, or the tears that fell from my eyes and smeared some of my mascara. I knew he didn’t mind because when he looked down, he swore and bucked his hips.

“God you look so hot stuffed full of my cock,” he put his hand on my head and pushed me all the way down. “And you know how to take it all the way, I didn’t even have to teach you. Such a good fucking girl, Claudia. If your throat feels this good I can’t fucking wait to be inside that pretty pink pussy of yours. I know it’ll be a tight fit but you’ll take it like such a good girl won’t you?”

I nodded, humming around him as he began to fuck my mouth. 

“Yeah, you love this, don’t you? Being full of my cock. I just know you were dying to taste it, huh? Go on then, open really fucking wide for me.”

His hips were brutal, pushing more tears out with every thrust. Harvey let the praises and moans fall from his mouth like the sweetest candy. I had to brace my hands on his thighs so he wouldn’t break my nose. That’s how hard he was going. 

“Gonna cum, sweetheart. You're gonna take it all down, aren’t you? Just wait until I get you on your hands and knees so I can fill you up and have you begging for it.”

I couldn’t help the whine that came out. Granted it was broken up by his thrusts, but that somehow made it dirtier. 

Harvey released, stilling his hips, pushing deep until his body lay flush with my face. He pulled out, cum coating his skin. I was more than happy to clean it off for him. 

“Awww look at you, Claudia. Being such a sweet girl and cleaning me up. God you are such a funcking slut for me. Show me.”

I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue, presenting it to him. Again, that dark, feral look was in his eyes. He grabbed me by my neck and pulled me to my feet. His eyes never left my tongue.

“Swallow.”

I did. Harvey’s laugh was cruel. His thumb was pressed right up against my esophagus, and I knew he felt it go down.

“I am going to fucking ruin you for anyone else, Claudia. I am going to take you apart and put you back together over and over again until all you’ll know is my name and how to breathe.”

I clenched my legs together, already feeling my desire come back. He let go and I bent to put him back together this time. When I put the button back through the slit, I made sure to keep my eyes on him. I gave a pat to his chest before turning for the door.

Before I left, I looked over my shoulder, swiping my thumb across the corner of my mouth to get a remaining drop of him. I dragged it over my tongue, giving my own devastating wink before leaving him alone.

_____

There were plenty of ways I could’ve spent the next twenty-four hours. Were any of them productive? Absolutely not. No matter how much water or tea I drank, I could still taste him on my tongue, and it only made me that much more distracted every time I remembered it.

I loved it when he told me how good I felt. 

Not only was Harvey incredibly good at being a lawyer, he was very diligent with his body. So responsive to every touch and noise I made. He made doing all of this feel not so intimidating.

Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I did feel like it was working. never in a million years would I have the balls to initiate an intimate moment with him, let alone any type of moment.

His madness was working. A little too well.

What he had planned next was beyond me. Apparently he went out for the day, according to Donna, who also told me he cleared the rest of his schedule for the night and asked if I knew anything about it. I felt bad lying to her, but I didn’t really know what else to do. She couldn’t know yet, I needed to wait. 

But when she came to check on me, eyes a little bloodshot from staring at this damn computer all day, she wished me good luck tonight and headed home. She hoped that Harvey wouldn’t run me into the ground.

I knew we weren’t going to get any work done. 

And I was so excited. 

I waited. And waited. And waited for Harvey to come find me. Maybe he was still out? I had no idea. I was about to call him when he walked into the bullpen.

“Oh, hey I was just looking for you.”

“Good,” the corners of his mouth curled up. “Come on, let's go to my office.”

I was more than eager to follow. When I got there, there was a bag on the corner of his desk, a note pad and a pen. “What’s all this?” “You asked me to help you with keeping your face unfazed. Well, I’m gonna help you. You’re going to sit in my lap while I’m inside you and we’re going to sit on this conference call with one of my clients in California. You’re gonna learn how to keep your voice steady while taking notes for me or everyone's gonna know what we’re doing. Are we clear?”

My whole world was tilted on its axes. This could go wrong on so many levels. My mouth voided any saliva and I couldn't process this idea.

“Harvey is this really a good idea when-” “You always do this, Claudia. We do something, you question it, and then you realize afterwards that I was right. When are you going to start trusting my ideas and just do what I say?”

I just rolled my eyes, “Fine. You’re right, and I do trust you."

“Of course I am, I’m Harvey Specter.” I really wanted to smack him, but he moved away before I could. He opened the bag and pulled out three boxes of condoms. “I wasn’t sure which kind you preferred so I grabbed a few options.”

That was, weirdly enough, one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me. I know, it seems kind of lame, but it was incredibly thoughtful. I read the back of the boxes, settling on one and putting the others back in the bag. 

Everything’s gonna be fine, Claudia. He’s right, he knows what he’s doing. We’ve got this, just breathe and everything is gonna go great… holy shit you’re about to fuck Harvey. This is really about to fucking happen holy fucking fuck-

His presence in front of me took my rushing thoughts away. I smiled up at him before kissing him a few times. No turning back now. 

We didn’t dare fully undress, but I slipped down my bottoms and hiked up my skirt, Harvey doing more or less the same. Harvey brought my back to his front and gently swept my hair over my shoulders to help soothe me. I was shaking a little. 

“Relax, sweetheart. You’re gonna feel so good, I promise you.” Chills. All over my body. 

I eased down onto him, with his help, and settled into his lap. It burned and stretched so well. It took a good few steady breaths to adjust and let myself loosen up. 

“Good girl, Claudia,” he praised, that sickly sweet tone back once again. “That’s it, just lean back and let me do the rest.”

Harvey trailed his hands over my thighs, pulling my knees open so they fell over his own. I sighed out when his finger dragged around where we connected and up up up to where I was still so sensitive. I jolted, and he turned his face into my neck.

“Ready?” He asked, and I nodded. He dialed a number on the phone and it rang a few times before a voice came through the other line. “Brian Fergison, how is the West Coast treating you?” “Oh it’s a dream, Harvey. An absolute dream, you gotta come out here one of these days,” Brian said enthusiastically. “I have my insurance broker, CEO, accountant and consultant on here as well. Thomas, Daniel, Michael and Henry.”

A collection of hello’s and hey’s came through. “Nice to speak with you gentlemen. I have my personal associate, Claudia with me here. She’s been helping me out on a few cases recently and I thought I’d show her more of the big leagues.”

“It’s a pleasure to have you, Claudia. If you’re Harvey’s personal associate, you must be one hell of a lawyer,” Brian boasted and I could feel my flush. 

“Lets just say that I can give one hell of a nasty cross examination,” I said, voice calm and collected despite Harvey's fingers between my legs. “Most first years don’t get an opportunity like this so I appreciate it.”

“Wow, Harvey, where do you keep finding all these kick ass young stars?” “Harvard,” I answered for him, earning an array of laughs through the phone. I looked over at Harvey who had a devious grin plastered on his face. He thrusted up particularly hard, almost making me gasp out loud.

So that's how it's going to be?

I clenched hard, making him flinch. He dug in his nails as a warning. I listened.

“Alright, let’s get to the business at hand. I was hoping we could all discuss what is at stake for my company with the new rules and regulations…”

The conversation faded out for me. I half paid attention to what they were saying, but focused mostly on Harvey. And these stupid notes he had me taking. It was a steady pace, not fast at all, leisurely. He hit deep inside me, and it was incredibly difficult to not make any noise. I did my best to keep my face neutral, even though we weren’t on camera or anything. 

His hands crept up my shirt and played with my chest, making it even harder. I throbbed around him, hissing slightly. His grip shifted my hips, rocking me back and forth to grind even deeper. 

My wetness stuck to him and made noises I thought only we could hear.

“Is someone eating or something? What is that noise?” Brian asked. I went frozen, but Harvey pinched my nipple again as if to say ‘go on, answer him’.

“Sorry, Brian,” I responded, voice still together. “Harvey is a bit of a hardass and hasn’t let me have a break all day to eat. I’ll put us on mute and we can chime in if need be.”

“All good, and make sure Harvey hears that he needs to take it easy on you over there. Give that poor girl some time to breathe, man.”

“Don’t worry, Brian, she can handle that and a whole lot more.” Even I could hear the grin in Harvey's voice. I reached around me and hit the mute button, then sat up so abruptly I nearly smacked into the table. He placed one hand on the center of my back, holding me there, the other fisting my hair and pulling. Hard.

“You’re asking for it, aren’t you?” “And if I am?” I said, my breath stilling in my chest. 

“This is not how this call is going to go. It’s forty minutes long, so I hope you’re ready for that. Be careful how you speak about me because I can make this really fun for me and miserable for you.”

“I thought this was your idea in the first place,” I wasn’t going to be bullied by him. I wasn’t afraid when we were like this. “Bring it on.”

We were up so fast and I was chest down on the desk. Bent over me, cock still shoved all the way in, he whispered, “I am gonna take that phone off of mute, and when I do, you’re gonna say you’re going to the bathroom and I am gonna fuck those bratty words right out of your head. If you make one fucking sound I will make you cum. And if you make a sound when you do, I’ll do it again and again until you learn.”

My toes barely touched the floor. Harvey hit the button and nodded for me to speak. I waited a moment until there was a lull in the conversation. “Hey, I’ll be right back. Don’t rip on Harvey without me.”

“You got it, Claudia, I’ll save all his embarrassing college stories for the end.” I was going to get it for sure after that comment.

Harvey started a more than brutal pace. Thankfully I was adjusted to him so it wasn’t as bad, but with the force of his thrusts… gods help me. 

I bit down on my lip, fingers clenching the edge of the desk as he rammed into me. It was so hard to keep from crying out, to keep my knees from hitting the desk. 

“Harvey, I was wondering if there was anything I needed to do to get my patent’s turned over? Or if there is something extra I need to get to make them usable in California?” I knew Harvey spoke, but I didn’t understand. I was far too focused on him pulsing in and out and in and out of me to care. It felt so fucking good. With one particularly hard push of his hips, the whole desk shifted and I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. 

Then my hand was gone. His hand was big enough to wrap around both of my wrists and force them behind my back. 

God fucking dammit-

“Is Claudia back? I had a question for her,” Henry, the consultant, asked. Shit shit shit shit shit.

“Yeah she just walked back in,” Harvey said, dragging me back into his lap as he sat, fingers immediately playing with my exposed chest. 

“Hey, what did you want to ask?” Still ice cold. 

“I was just wondering what your thoughts were on the idea of handling a personal case for me. My lawyer just retired and obviously you seem more than qualified, even if you are a first year associate.”

I was genuinely shocked. “Oh, sure. I’ll get your number and email at the end and I’ll make sure to reach out about the details.”

“Sounds good,” he said, switching to ask Harvey something. A brush of his finger between my legs told me I did a good job. 

Soon enough, we were back on mute while Brian took a moment to get his kids settled for bed. Harvey was quick to start talking.

“Look at you, taking me so good. I wasn’t sure how well I’d fit but you’re just such a good girl, Claudia. I bet you love this, being split open while others are just one moan away from knowing what I’m doing to you.”

“I can’t take it much longer,” my voice was trembling. 

“You’re gonna take it as long as I say. We’re over halfway, my pretty little toy. You can stay seated on my dick for a little while, can’t you?” I nodded, my brains almost gone. “See, still such a desire to please me. I think you’ve earned a little reward, no?”

His fingers circled around my clit, sending waves of pleasure and hurt through my body. I let the noises built up in my chest slip through, trying to shift away from his touch when it became too much. 

“I will put you back on that desk and tie your hands behind your back if you don’t stop moving. Sit here, be still, and take my cock like you should. Do not make me tell you again.”

I shut my mouth quickly, occupying my hands in his hair. With one hand between my legs, the other on my throat, his lips trailed over my neck. I did my absolute best not to move, but it wasn’t easy. I writhed and whined and begged for him to let me reach my high. 

“You wanna cum on my cock? Is that what you want? Go on then, make a mess all over me.”

It wasn’t even pleasurable at this point. It hurt in the most amazing way possible, but I was to the point of numbness. He quickly hit the unmute button and I bit my lip so hard I knew it’d bruise. He drew lazy circles through my slick and I was on the verge of tears.

Guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he’d break me down and build me back up over and over again.

Harvey’s hand came and clamped over my mouth when I shuddered around him. His whole body tensed and clung to me, forcing me to still even though I wanted to fall onto the floor with the strength of my release. 

Stars danced the backs of my eyelids. My voice would be rubbed raw tomorrow for sure. I’d be more sore than I had ever been. 

My chest rose and fell quickly as I came down from my high, legs and arms tingling. I don’t think I made any noise, if I did, they’d surely know and we’d be in some deep shit. But when I looked at the phone, they were still carrying on with their conversation. 

“I’m thinking of having a company party. And Harvey I’d be thrilled if you could make it out, even bring Claudia if you want. I’m sure Henry would love to meet her, as would I,” Brian spoke.

“That sounds good, Brian,” Harvey’s voice was thick, very clearly too turned on for his own good. 

“I’d be honored to come out,” I said, voice wavering just a tad. “When are you thinking of having it?”

“Not until we get everything squared away on the legal side of things. Then I’ll worry about all that stuff,” he gave a big sigh. “Man there is a lot that comes with running a business.”

We all have a laugh, Harvey starting up my hips again. I didn’t even feel it, couldn’t rather. He was content using me to get off and I was content to let him. I stayed quiet, using my legs to push up and down, rock back and forth, anything I could think of to make him miserable. 

His fingers were locked onto my sides, thrusting up into my down strokes. The noise was minimal, but still sounded around us. Hopefully just us. 

I felt his teeth lock onto the back of my shoulder and yelped. 

“You alright, Claudia?” Brian asked. 

Yeah it’s just Harvey fucking bit me, I almost said. “Yup, just stabbed myself with my pen.” Nice cover, idiot. 

Harvey let up then, kissing over the indentations. His hips stuttered, and his breath was hot and fast on the back of my neck. I leaned forward and hit the mute button. 

“You close?” I got a grumbled string of pleas. “Come on Harvey, you know how much you’ve been waiting for this, don’t be shy now. I want it, sir-”

The words weren’t even out of my mouth before I was gagging on his fingers. I struggled to breathe, eyes watering with the force of it. He fucked up into me so hard I had to brace on the desk and the chair. A noise tore from his chest, so deep it sent goosebumps scattering across my body. His hips were flush with mine, his hands forcing my hips flat, taking taking taking all of him at once. 

“Say it again, Claudia,” he commanded. 

“S-Sir?” I hadn’t even realized I said it. Now or never, I guess.

“Fuck,” he swore. Harvey pulled me off his lap and stood, dragging me over to the window. Don’t look down don’t look down- “Want it, sweetheart? You want my cum, huh?”

“Yes sir,” my voice was barely there. I gasped when he lifted me into the air, pressing my back to the window. Holy shit I hope this fucking glass doesn’t break.

Harvey damn near made me see stars when his hand wrapped around my throat. Between that and his tongue on mine, his cock shoved all the way in, so deep it was painful, I was in the most glorious twilight state I’ve ever been. 

He had his way with me, brutal and erotic and of pure primal instinct. It was clear he didn’t give a shit about if he was hurting me or not. He wanted one thing. And I was gonna let him have it. 

The release caught us both off guard, nearly sending us both to the ground. I clawed up his back and his fingers tightened on my neck. His hips were flush with mine again, jerking in and out at random convulsions. His forehead was damp against my chest.

When he eased me down, my legs were shaking so bad I couldn’t stand. I tripped over my feet trying to sit down. Harvey was far steadier, handing me a bottle of water from a drawer in his desk. While I sipped, he tucked himself back into his pants, and we gave our final goodbyes and email exchanges to Brian’s team. 

It wasn’t until a few minutes after the call ended that we looked at each other. 

“You uhh… you alright?” He asked. 

I was a little stunned, did he just stutter? “Oh, yeah Harvey I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah yeah I’m good.”

“Good.”

Silence. I tapped my thumbs on the plastic bottle, combing my fingers through my hair. Our eyes met again and we both broke out into wild smiles. 

“So 'sir' really does it for you?”

“I wasn’t exactly expecting to hear you say that,” he looked mildly embarrassed. “It just- it’s a power move, for sure.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind.” He shrugged, “I am far less forgiving when I am in that state of mine. I am not nice and don’t necessarily give a-”

“Harvey,” I stopped him, standing. I took his outstretched hand and let his hands land back on my hips. “If it was too much, I would’ve told you. And besides, I’ve been dying to see that side of you ever since you first mentioned it.”

“You have?”

I nodded, humming and nodding my head. “Just like you I have my secrets. One of those is my undying desire to please. I’d find a way to get it one way or another.”

His smile was devastating. He swooped down to pick me up in his arms and gently spun me around. “God Claudia you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear someone say that.”

My heart clenched and my stomach dropped at the same time. I didn’t want to read too far into his words but how could I not when he said things like that and placed gentle kisses along my collar bone? 

We grabbed our belongings and headed for the elevator, it was well past eleven now and we both wanted to go home. Harvey insisted he drop me off, and I wasn’t in the position to say no. my feet were killing me, and so was pretty much every other inch of my body. 

The car was warm despite the bitter February wind. The city lights were as bright as ever as we raced down the street, just a couple of city blocks, to my apartment. 

It took every bit of my willpower to not ask him to stay over. That wasn’t part of the deal, I kept telling myself. He wasn’t obligated to comfort me afterwards. And I wasn’t obligated to do the same. 

“Have a good night, Claudia,” Harvey said, brushing his thumb across my cheek.

It was really fucking hard to not melt into him.

“Good night, Harvey.”

______

The next day I didn’t see Harvey at all. When I asked Donna where he was she said he had to take a trip upstate to see his family. I didn’t want to pry, it certainly wasn’t my business, and if he wanted to tell me he would. 

But I got concerned when I didn’t see him the rest of the week. Well, I saw him, just could never catch him at the right time. He stops by my cubicle for two seconds, dumps a stack of papers and says ‘have these organized and on my desk ready to go for tomorrow’, and then disappears. 

What in the hell was going on? “Donna, I really need to talk to Harvey,” I stood my ground. He was in his office, sitting at his desk, the desk that held more than a few intimate memories.

“Claudia, now is really not a good time,” she insisted. I rolled my eyes, huffing and turning away. I’ll catch him before he leaves.

I didn’t catch him before he left. Or when he showed up the next day, or the next. A goddamn week went by and I could barely get two words in. I was getting a little pissed off. And of course my mind had been running rampant with anxious thoughts: he got what he wanted, now he didn’t need you anymore; he was just using you to get the job done and he’ll move on to the next associate. And in big bold letters: Harvey fucking used you.

I could feel the tears welling in my eyes, pricking my nose and burning my throat. 

I can’t take this torture any longer. I need to find him. Now.

I marched right past Donna and into Harvey’s office. I did have our complete case file in hand as an excuse, but I wasn’t really planning on talking about the case. My brain was on fucking fire at this point, I didn’t know what I was going to say, if anything at all, or if I was just going to break down like a pathetic little girl who couldn’t take it.

“Claudia, now is really not a good-” “It never seems to be a good time, Harvey,” I cut him off, watching his mouth snap shut at my harsh tone. “I have been trying to get this to you for four days now, you gonna take the five minutes it takes to go over it or do I need to FedEx it to your apartment so you can get to it in two to three business days?”

His eyes were wide. He stood up from his desk and took the file, but set it on the table. 

“Harvey just take one fucking look at it-”

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice calm and steady.

“You’re sorry? For what, ignoring me the past week?”

“Claudia I wasn’t-”

“Are you sure because it seems like ever since after that conference call you’ve been actively avoiding me like a fucking disease. I-I-I don’t understand what I did, Harvey. Was I not good enough for you? Did I make too much noise or-or did I say something wrong when you dropped me off?”

“No, Claudia I have just been-” “Using me? Leveraging me to climb the corporate ladder?”

“How dare you accuse me of that bullshit,” Harvey bit out, a venom laced in his words. “I can’t believe this, after everything I’ve been trying to help you with, you’re gonna look me in the eyes and say I’m using you?”

“It sure seems like it to me because I can’t think of another goddamn reason why you would go through all that trouble just to practically ghost me.”

“I have been trying to tell you that I’m not avoiding you, but you cannot take down your alligator filled moat for two fucking seconds to let me explain what the hell I’ve been doing.” 

“What the fuck is going on in here?” Donna shouted over both of us. I snapped towards her, flushing a deep shade of red. 

“Nothing, Donna,” Harvey pressed his lips in a flat line. “We don’t need you to intervene-” “Well it sure as hell sounds like you do,” she came and stood at my side. “What’s going on?” “I was just trying to tell Claudia that I haven’t been avoiding her, that I have been busy being a goddamn name partner and trying to keep this firm above water. In fact, I’ve wanted nothing more than to just put everything else on pause and actually get to sit down for half an hour and discuss what we’re gonna do in court because I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, Claudia, but we are in some deep shit with this Gustoson case.”

“Which is why I have been doing everything in my power to hunt you down and give you that file.”

All eyes landed on it, it’s tan envelope. Harvey flipped it open and scanned the document.

He ripped it up and threw it in the trash. 

I stopped moving, I stopped breathing. 

“Are you out of your goddamn mind, Claudia?” 

“Harvey,” Donna was baffled at his tone. 

“You seriously want to file a motion to dismiss? In what way would that benefit us? Cause it seems like all you want to do is throw this case away and let Gustoson win.”

“No, I want to get their lawyer off the case so that way we can go after him, because he’s in on it and-” “We have no proof of that.” I wanted to rip out my fucking hair. “I was working on getting it.”

“Claudia, we don’t have time for you to just stumble upon evidence and hope it works,” Harvey let his hands slap against his thighs, eyebrows knitted together. “I needed an idea last night, and since you clearly can’t get the job done, maybe it’s you who should be thrown off the case because you clearly have no idea what the hell it is that you’re doing.”

There was nothing I could do to keep the tears from burning tracks in my skin. He promised… Harvey promised…

“Okay, let’s just take this down a few notches,” Donna stood between us.

“No,” Harvey shook his head. “Claudia, you’re going to learn real fast that just because you’re my associate, that doesn’t mean you get your ass kissed. I am not gonna sit here and baby you on every case. If you can’t come up with a different idea by the end of the day, I’m gonna put Griffin on this case and you’ll never get the chance to work with me ever again. I don’t lose, and I’m sure as hell not gonna risk that just because you don’t know how to do your goddamn job.”

All I could do was stare at him. Stare and stare and stare. 

My hands didn’t even shake. My breath didn’t pick up, and my tears didn’t fall. I was utterly tranquill, like a certain part of me was expecting this to happen, and here it was. Served to me on a silver platter. 

I hiccuped a sob. It hit me out of nowhere. I couldn’t do anything to control it. 

“You promised…” I wasn’t even sure I actually spoke the words, I may have just mouthed them, be he understood. I watched him snap out of his heated daze and take a jarring step back. But I wasn't going to sit around and wait for him to give a fake apology.

His intentions, from the very beginning, were blindingly clear. Harvey didn’t want to work with me, he didn’t think I was a good lawyer, he just wanted to get in my pants. 

I was disgusted by him, my stomach churned and I knew I was going to vomit. 

“Claudia-” Harvey gasped, like had been punched in the stomach; I wished it was Donna who socked him.

“You’ve done enough,” she said, and placed her hands on my shoulders. She steered me out of his office and my vision blurred. 

I was one sorry son of a bitch to believe that Harvey actually gave a shit about me. Why would I ever fucking believe that? I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve known it from the start. A man like him does not fall for a woman like me, they only pretend to when they need something. 

“Claudia I am so sorry about-” “I wanna go home.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “I’ll tell Louis you had something come up.”

I just nodded, grabbing my purse and jacket, heading for the elevator. 

He promised… he promised… he promised…

[liminalmemories21]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @screamlet (who I've been reading since at least 2010). Thank you!

1. How many works do you have an AO3? 48

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 711,517

3. What fandoms do you write for? 911 LS, and 911

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Long Story Short (series) - LS A home isn't always the house we live in - LS It came without ribbons! - LS Always Wear Your Invisible Crown - LS Awful quiet here since love fell asleep - 911

5. Do you respond to comments? I really try to, sometimes I think they get lost in my inbox, but I do try.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? uh, none of them? I don't think I've written anything that doesn't have a happy ending.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? hmmm, maybe It came without ribbons?, or Knave 4 (The Knave of Clubs ... swears he'll take her part). They both end in marriage proposals.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Just a few on Knave 4, which I expected and mostly ignored.

9. Do you write smut? more often than I ever imagined I would

10. Do you write crossovers? I love a good crossover. Haven't written one yet, but would enjoy it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of. Let's keep it that way. (finger's crossed)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? no

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yup! All the 911 stuff with @cecilyv - nothing better.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Well, I don't publish WIPs, not because I have an ethical stance on it, but because I'm usually still changing things at the beginning right up until I hit post and I don't understand how people post things as they write them. Not my process.

That being said, there's a LS kidfic that I'd like to finish some day, but every time I look at it I can't figure out where it's going.

16. What are your writing strengths? I feel like this is a thing other people need to tell me? Dialogue? Plot (apparently? or so 200,000 words of Knave-verse would like me to believe).

17. What are your writing weaknesses? brevity

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I'd like to do more of it, because I have characters I write who I think probably do think in another language, but it's not a language I speak, so I don't.

19. First fandom you wrote for? published? Lonestar. unpublished? there's a Merlin story @cecilyv and I wrote for years that is mostly not great, but has it's moments.

20. Favorite fics you've written? ooh, okay:

There were a bunch I wrote early for LS that are kind of character studies that I love - A home isn't always the house we live in (Judd), Stitched with its color (TK & 9/11), and through same of am through haves of give (Enzo)

And, I'd be lying if I didn't say Knave-verse, because I think Knave 2 and Knave 4 are the best things I've ever written - and there is just so much of me in the way TK thinks about art.

And then Baggage That Goes with Mine - because there isn't necessarily me in there, but there is a lot of my history in fandom and the huge cultural shift that I have seen happen since I started reading fic in Tommy's story. Also, I do love me a split timeline narrative.

tagging @walkinginland, @rmd-writes, @alchemistc, @rcmclachlan, and @three-drink-amy

[angelst4re]

hi sweetie! i have been dying for a teacher x student type of story trope with jamie ;) with some smut if your comfortable <3

i dont think i've ever written for teacher!jamie before so i could not just let this request sit in my inbox for another 4 months... i also combined it with a jealous jamie smut request but i'm thinking of making a part 2 to this which has more jealous jamie... which i may even be writing right now!!! <3

Sugar- Teacher!Jamie x Reader

♡ warnings: NSFW!!! contains smut!!! please don't read if you're not comfortable love! NEITHER AGES ARE SPECIFIED BUT READER IS 18+ <3 it’s only ever mentioned that theres a 15 year age gap

♡ notes: i attempted to keep this as gender neutral as possible but reader is afab! also i kinda rushed this because i just needed to post something!! but there's going to be a part 2 I PROMISE!!!

“...Oh, and don’t forget, y/l/n, we have a one to one scheduled for 3:30 to discuss your exam results. I’ll be in my office.” Mr Bower, who insisted you call him Jamie, reminded you with a smile as you left the classroom. 

“I haven’t forgotten, sir.” You say as you turn back around to smile at him, and give him a little wave before you leave the room. 

You had two hours to spare before your meeting with the music teacher, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t spend the majority of the time in the bathroom making sure you looked perfect. You had been waiting for a moment like this, a moment alone with the teacher that has plagued your mind since the beginning of the school year. You and your friends, and most likely the entire class, had been captivated by not only his looks but his personality. Having learnt that he had recently become single after a three year long relationship, you felt like you stood a chance, but then you were quickly reminded of the 15 year age gap. 

However, his behaviour around you didn’t go unnoticed. You’d catch him eyeing you up when you would come in wearing a new outfit that evidently boosted your confidence, or you would catch him looking over at you whilst you were in the middle of a written exam, and he would quickly divert his eyes when they met yours. 

Despite the clear indication he may be into you the way you’re into him, you both had a very positive, friendly relationship. He would give you the best tips and advice, and be more than willing to help you progress in the ways you wished to, as he would with anybody in the class, but there was one particular encounter that you couldn’t stop thinking about. 

You and your boyfriend, Andy, had a fight the night before and you had missed your class in the morning. Jamie got in contact with you to ask about the absence, and you felt comfortable enough to explain the situation to him. He told you that even if you didn’t attend your classes that day, to at least come in to talk about how you’re feeling. He assured you that although he didn’t qualify as a therapist, it would be good to talk to someone. And so you did. 

You came in with unbrushed hair, wearing yesterday's clothes and threw yourself onto the chair in his office as you broke down in tears. You don’t remember much of that day, besides the pet names he would casually drop into his sentences. 

Sweetheart, love, darling.

He definitely knew how to charm. 

You also had a memory of staining his white shirt with tears as he let you cry into his chest, telling him how your boyfriend was a dick. How he was caught in bed with a random girl (to which there was proof) but he tried to convince you it never happened. 

You remember Jamie telling you something along the lines of, “every failed relationship should be thought of as a blessing. It might be upsetting to see it come to an end, but it means you’re still yet to find the one out there who’s for you, and it's giving the chance to find them. The one that will treat you right, even on their bad days. You’ll never know where this person may be, but they’re definitely out there.”

It was apparent through a quick google search that Jamie was definitely experienced when it came to relationships, so you knew to trust him on this one. 

You kept checking the time on your phone, waiting and waiting and waiting for it to hit 3:25 so you could begin walking towards Jamie’s office, but the time seemed to pass so slow. 

It was only 3pm. 

You sighed, placing your phone back down on the table you were sat at in the library. All your friends had gone home as you finish early on a Wednesday, yet you agreed to meet Jamie today as it was the only afternoon he had free this week. 

Only seconds after placing your phone down on the table, the screen lights up as it begins to ring, the noise causing everyone to turn around, some even sending dirty looks your way as you pick up your bag and leave, answering the phone as you begin to walk towards the building where Jamie’s office was. 

“What do you want, Andy?” You sighed, holding the phone up to your ear. 

“I miss you,” he said, a feeble attempt to guilt trip you, “I was just looking at some old pictures and-”

“It was your idea for us to take a break in the first place. I’m not just going to drop everything and come running back to you because you ‘miss me’.” 

“I’m sorry, okay. I realised what I did was wrong and…” 

You stopped listening to what Andy was saying as Jamie passed you in the hallway, sensing your distressed state he stopped quickly to mouth an ‘is everything okay?’, to which you nodded your head. 

“I don’t care, okay. Whatever you have to say I’m sure I’ve heard it all before. When I’m ready to talk to you I will, until then just please give me some space.” You say before ending the call, and you jump as you realise Jamie was waiting by your side. 

You were blocking the door to his office. 

“I’m so sorry!” You apologise, stepping to the side. 

“Don’t apologise!” Jamie gasped, as if you had offended him, before opening the door for you, “we can start early if that’s okay with you, I have nothing else planned this afternoon.” 

Nodding your head, you entered his office. 

“So he’s still giving you grief- Andy?” 

“How did you guess?” You scoff as you sit down on the chair opposite his desk. 

“I don’t know how a someone like you can stay with someone like him-”

“We’re on a break, actually.” You interrupted. “Although he seems to care about me more now than he did in the 8 months we were together.” 

“You need to leave him for good, sweetheart.” He told you, as he rummaged through the cabinet beside his desk, pulling out your exam papers and setting them in front of you. “So, let’s begin!”

Only twenty minutes into the session, your phone began to ring again, and you apologised to Jamie, getting ready to leave the room to take the call before realising it was Andy again. Jamie didn't look best impressed as you ran a hand through your hair stressfully. 

“Give me your phone.” Jamie sighed. 

“No, it’s okay, really. I’ll just switch it off-”

“Y/n. Phone.”

The sternness in his voice sent chills through your body, yet a warmth grew in your lower stomach. 

By the time you handed your phone over to him, Andy had stopped calling. Hopefully, he had given up, but you knew he would keep going until he got his way, like always. 

“You know, sweetheart, the look on your face when you saw it was him calling you told me everything.” Jamie said, leaning back in his chair. 

“What do you mean?” You scoffed. 

“You know what I mean, darling. Please stop trying to convince yourself he’s a good guy, not when he treats you like shit and expects you to drop everything for him. You deserve better.”

“And how do you know that? Sure, me and Andy might have our moments, but when he can be nice… he’s somebody completely different. Deep down, he’s a really good guy, Jamie.” You explain, feeling tears of frustration begin to gloss your eyes. 

“I’m not buying it, love.” He said, shaking his head in disbelief. 

And that was all it took to push you over the edge, shoving your phone into your bag as you pushed your exam papers towards him and stood up. 

“That’s it, I’m not taking this anymore.” You frown, turning around to leave. 

“There we go, that’s what you should say next time Andy’s on the phone-”

“Oh, Jamie, won’t you just shut up!” You shout, throwing your arms in the air. “What is your fucking problem today?”

“Well, technically your ‘boyfriend’ isn’t my problem, so…”

“Why do you care so much?” You finally say after a moment's silence, your hands placed on the back of the chair you were previously sitting on. 

“You’re my student. It’s my job to care.” He answers, simply. 

“But there’s more to it than that. Isn’t there?” You swallow, bracing yourself for his reply, “c’mon Jamie, I’m not stupid.” 

“What are you trying to imply, darling?” He chuckles, standing up from his chair and making his way towards you, “are you talking about the way I catch you staring at me in class when everyone else is working, or how about when I hear you gossiping with your friends about my love life, or about how you could tell I had used a different aftershave one day…” 

The smirk on his face was devilish, but you had no time to process that with your recent revelation. 

“You’re jealous.” You stated, turning to look up at him. “You’re jealous of Andy.” 

“Darling, I have no need to be jealous of him. Not when I know you’re leaving him.” 

“You don’t know whether I’m-”

You never got to finish that sentence as you were met with his lips on yours. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear which had fallen in your moment of frustration. As he pulled back from the kiss, he pressed his forehead against yours before whispering,

“What if I prove you- show to you why you should leave him, hm?” He asked, although it wasn’t much of a question as he could tell by the way you were looking at him what the answer was going to be. “I need words, baby.” 

“Yes.” You managed to say, after catching your breath. 

A smile spread across Jamie’s lips briefly before you pulled him back in, missing the feeling of his soft lips against yours. With one hand on your waist, holding you against him, the other was placed on your cheek again, whilst your arms wrapped around his neck. You had dreamt and fantasised about this moment for months, but you never expected it to ever happen. It was always more of a scenario to help you fall asleep rather than something that would actually come true. 

“Does he fuck you good, hm? The way you want?” He asks, breathlessly, as he lifts you up onto his desk, shoving everything out of the way. 

You shake your head, using the slight space between you to reach for his belt, but he seemed to have other plans. 

“Has he ever gone down on you?” He asked bluntly, his fingers dipping into the waistband of your shorts, easing them down your legs along with your underwear. 

You once again shake your head, you have only received head once, and that was during a drunk fling at your friends birthday party- and even then you didn’t get to finish. 

Jamie simply chuckled, as if to say he wasn’t surprised. 

“Poor thing,” he frowns, lowering himself to his knees in front of you as he holds your legs open for him, placing kisses on your inner thighs, trailing down to your knees before going back up again, stopping where you needed him the most. “You ever cum when he fucks you?” 

And as if on command, you shook your head again.

“Only when I’m alone.” You confess. 

“Oh yeah, and who do you think about whilst you touch yourself?” He teases, his thumb gently stroking your clit as you fight the urge to close your legs. He looks up at you, stopping all movement as he waits on your answer. 

“You, I think about you, Jamie.” You whine.

“Oh, honey, I know.” He says before you feel his lips on your skin, his tongue circling your clit as his fingers move a little lower, finding your opening and teasing circles around it before gently pushing one in. 

His fingers were a favourite in your fantasies, thinking about what they could do, and he certainly did not disappoint. 

A second finger followed the first and they began curling inside you, searching for a spot Jamie was sure your ex would never have been able to find, and when you let out a choked moan he smirked against you, knowing he’d found it. 

Hif fingers rubbed against this spot inside you as his tongue licked, sucked and nibbled on the sensitive nub, and you were frighteningly close to the edge. You had never reached your high so quickly before, but as his hot breath fanned over your clit you tumbled off the edge, your orgasm washing over you. Your release began to drip down his hand as he continued at the pace he started, and your legs shook as you panted, your fingers pulling at his hair. 

“Jesus,” you whispered breathlessly. 

“Just me, darling.” He smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before coming back up to place a kiss on your forehead. 

You couldn’t believe the timing as there was a knock at the door to Jamie’s office. The two of you both froze for a moment, before Jamie handed you your clothes and rushed to the door. 

“Mr Bower, I know you usually go home early today but Margaret told me you were here so I was just wondering if I could-” 

“I’m in a meeting right now, Sasha, can you wait just two minutes?” He put on his best grin as he his behind the slightly open door to disguise his hard on. 

“Oh, of course! Sorry to interrupt!” The girl apologised before Jamie shut the door. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, we have to cut it short today. But you’re sure to be back in here later this week, or should I say let's reschedule?” He tried to hide his smirk when your legs wobbled as you got off his desk.

“I’m available all week, unless I decide to see Andy-”

“Honey, if I have to hear about him once more-”

“You’ll get all heated and fuck me senseless over your desk?” You grinned, feeling slightly giddy after the mind blowing orgasm he had given you, “why on earth would I want that?”

[axofluff]

The man in the mask || 18+ Fem!Reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley || part 1

・❥・Part of the previous story: Conflicted feelings ・❥・Masterlist

・❥・Tags/Warning: 18+, NSFW, Sexual themes, Blowjob, Fingering, Vaginal sex, Protected sex but no mention of condom used, Reader is assumed to take birth control. Reader is virgin, Body worship, slight mentions of Ghost's trauma, Ghost is dom but mostly a big softie. Guides reader through everything. Aftercare, cuddles and mostly smut/fluff. No angst

Note: The game also follows off from MW2 so the events are not canon at all to MW3.If any of this just so happens to be in MW3  then no way shape or form is this fanfic related to the canon events of the game

・❥・A/N: I haven't written on here for SOOO long so I wanted to write something for you all. I've been so busy with home life and I need to get back into writing. I wanted to spoil you all so enjoy ;) This is also like SUPER long. Probably the longest one shot I've ever done Had to do it in three parts since tumblrs word count hated me for this I'll leave a link down below for the second one Part two: The man in the mask || Fem!Reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley Part three: The man in the mask || Fem!Reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley part 3 ・❥・Word count: 4,356

Your relationship with Ghost was growing more with each passing day. Nothing felt awkward anymore although he was still the same lieutenant you met when he's with the team. You both tried to keep your relationship hidden, at least for now. Although he wasn't shy of showing you love and affection whenever you both had alone time.

You can't lie though, the desire for him grew a little more each day as you caught him stealing glances when he thought you weren't paying attention. His eyes fixated on your breasts just for a little too long or the way he snakes his gaze to the cures of your waist. You could only dream what it would finally be like to have you both naked, breathless and covered in sweat. His hands touching and tracing every inch of your soft skin. It was enough to keep you awake some nights as the fire between your legs could only be settled by your fingers, wishing it was him.As much as you wanted him, you was to scared to bring it up to him. The gnawing need and desire for him was scratching inside of you, but you put it to side. Too ashamed to admit your lust for Simon. : ̗̀➛

It was late at night and you were laying in bed, your body remained still although your mind had different plans. The man in the mask was the only thing on your mind and as much as you tried you just couldn't get him off your mind. The ache in your legs was on high alert tonight, the most it has been and to no avail you can't sleep. You thought about reliving yourself but decided against it as you didn't wanna make a mess of your bedsheets, since they were recently cleaned and washed.So, as much as you hate it, you decide to go speak to the man who's been engraved in your mind the past few weeks.

You get out of bed and put on some shorts and a hoodie. Deciding against not to wear underwear. You check the time. 2:20am. You just hope he was still awake. Knowing Ghost though he would never sleep, or at least only sleep when he's with you.You leave your dorm and head over to Simons and you hesitate for a second as you begin to second question it."Stop being a pussy your a soldier in task force 141 for gods sake..." You mutter to yourself as you bring your hand to the door and you knock before you change your mind again.

A few seconds later the door swings open and Ghost looks down. His balaclava fitting smug around his face.

"Y/n?...Is everything alright...you aren't usually awake at this time." His voice is a whisper as he offers his hand, You take it and he brings you inside."Can't...sleep...." You bite your lip and he closes the door behind him.

"Bad dream?" He brings his hand to lift your chin up lightly, trying to look for any signs of discomfort in your eyes. His touch sends a shiver down your spine.

"No...nothing like that." You look away, knowing eye contact is making your emotions run more 

wild."Then what's wrong?" Ghost's voice suddenly turns to concern and he brings you a little closer.

"Just...thoughts...good thoughts, but I don't know how to put them into words." You blush lightly and he seems to catch on what you're trying to achieve. He sits down and he pulls you to him so your straddling his lap.

"Then why don't you show me through actions then babe?" He strokes your cheek with his thumb and you could just give in to him then and there. He chuckles at your response and he pulls his balaclava just enough to reveal his lips. He grabs your hair and kiss's you deeply, Your hunger purrs in reply as you lean into him, pressing your lips harder to his. He licks your bottom lip and you grip his waist tightly. He pulls away and he whispers in your ear

"I understood you loud and clear, but just before we go further. Is this what you want?" His voice is laced with seduction and his voice is deep, a new side to Ghost you never knew, but still enough to care. Not wanting to do anything you're uncomfortable with.

"Yes..." Is all you can imagine to say, your heart racing and you can only imagine the things that you and ghost are about to do. Your mind goes giddy with the sudden rush of excitement as you can't lie; you've been dreaming about this the past few weeks.

"Mmm...good...Just so you know, I won't hold back...just let me know if you ever want to stop." He kisses your jaw slightly causing your mouth to open slightly and you nod eagerly. Not caring, just wanting to be with him. His hands grip your waist with need and he pulls your hips closer to his. His head burrows into your neck as he begins to place wet, sloppy kisses along your neck and shoulder.

You let out a shaky breath and he lightly bites down your skin, leaving a hickey; running his tongue over the mark.

"Mine...." He mumbles against your skin, his nose rubbing along. You clutch onto him tighter as your heart hammers in your chest and he moves his lips to your ear where he tugs and pulls it with his teeth gently.

"Simon..." A small moan escapes you and he pulls away and his grip tightens on you. Just enough to form small bruises at the fingertips.

"Yes love?" He whispers huskily, tilting your chin to look at you.

"I...I need you." You squeak, not wanting to waste another moment.

"Needy little thing, ain't you...patience baby." He kisses' you again but more rougher. His tongue runs along your lips, begging for entrance. You open your mouth and his tongue dips into yours. Running it along yours as he entices another soft moan from you. You feel him grow from under you, his pants begin to strain as he kiss's you more. His tongue dancing along yours and you begin to suck on his tongue. He groans and he bites your lip, drawing blood."Fuck...y/n...look how hard you've gotten me already...." He looks down to his pants, a very visible bulge.

"Be a good girl and let it out for me." He growls, you just nod, and your hands slowly reach for his pants. He's still in his work clothes and he watches you with lust, his gaze watching your every move.

"That a girl, just unbuckle my belt and slide my jeans down like a good little girl." He orders and you begin to unbuckle his belt. Your fingers fumbling both from nervousness and excitement.

"It's alright Y/n, You're doing perfect." His words of encouragement are enough to finally undo his belt and you work on his jeans. Once his jeans are off you can see the lining of his shaft through his boxers. He was certainly large and you felt your pussy throb at the sight and you it clenches as you think of what it would be like to feel it. Inside you as he slams it deep inside your core. Hungry you reach your hand into his boxers and your palm grazes along his shaft.

"Ah ah...easy...just pull it out for me, yeah?" He suddenly stops your hand and you slide his boxers down and his cock springs out, precum already leaking from the bud. Some of it runs from your hand and he chuckles lightly.

Your eyes stare at his size, his cock pulsing now and then and you only realize just how much of a mess you are gonna be, the animal inside you going feral as your mouth begins to water.

"Like what you see?" Ghost teases as he looks into your eyes, his eyes full of desire.

"Suck it..." He points to his cock and you blush profusely, you have very little experience to sex. Ghost was your first partner since you never cared for relationships before joining the army.. He notices your reaction and he  bends down to cup your cheek.

"Hey it’s okay…I’ll guide you. Just open your mouth for me love. I’ll guide you down.” His hand clutches around his shaft and he aligns the tip with your mouth. You take a deep breath before parting your lips. He carefully slips the tip in and the head rubs along your tongue. Ghost stiffles a groan.

“There ya go…if you can, run your tongue along the bud, get an idea of how big I am.” He soothes and coos you as he praises you. You slowly move your tongue and swirl it along the bud, the sweet nectar of precum dripping slightly down your throat.

“T-thats it…” Ghost rasps, encouraging you more. You begin to gain more confidence and you move further down and Ghost gasps. Taking him in your mouth, sucking and slurping as you grip on his legs for stability.“Oh fuck~...that…that a girl Y/n. You…fuck you feel so good.” Ghost breaths, allowing you to do all the work as he watches your head bob up and down. His hand gripping your hair, he buckles his hips, jerking him deeper down you. You gag by surprise as he hits the back of your throat

“S-sorry…I…you just feel so….you just…god….mmmm.” He groans as you lick your tongue along from his halt to the head, dipping it into his tilt. Precum meeting your tastebuds, making you want more.

“Oh….oh…oh god…oh fucking hell Y/n….such a good girl. Taking me well so easily baby….I’m gonna make sure I reward you.” Ghost groans, enjoying the feeling of your mouth wrapped around his erection.

You gag more, he’s certainly large and you weren't expecting him to be so big, but you take him anyways. The hunger inside you more than your concern for your throat. You begin to suck harder and faster, the reactions from Ghost only driving you more. Just wanting to please him and only him. His cock jerks and moves lightly as you work your magic. Swirling your tongue along his veins with delicacy.

“Oh fuck…I’m close…” He holds himself back just to not raveges your throat here and there but he knows if he did, he’d probably ruin you. So he just clutches the bed sheets.

Ghost pants heavily more and he tilts his head back as you begin to work faster. It’s not long until Ghost lets out a loud groan and you taste a salty, warm liquid fill your mouth, he cums into your mouth, he grunts and moans as he works on filling you with his climax.

“Mmmmmpgh~” Ghost grunts as he pumps a load into you. Feeling the slick trickle down your throat and you take it all. Greedily.

Once you know he’s done you pull away from him, his dick leaving your mouth with a satisfying pop. You breath heavily as you try to regain yourself. Wiping your mouth as some of his seed drips from your chin.

“Good girl….such a good girl for me.” Ghost strokes your chin, wiping away any cum that may have landed on your face. He pats his lap, beckoning you.“Come here…I want to reward my good girl.” He ushes you. You get back up and you sit on his lap once more, his cock still standing upright as it runs along your hoodie, covering it with his cum.

“Such a sweet little thing…” He strokes your cheek and he slowly begins to lift your hoodie. You lift your arms and he removes it in one swift moment. Revealing your chest, his eyes glance at your exposed chest and he doesn't smirk  but he just looks at you adoringly.

“So fucking beautiful…” He brings his mouth and makes his way to kiss and suckle along your skin as he moves to your breasts. You gasp and your hands grip onto his hair as he advances to one of your buds. Kissing and licking the nipple. Covering it with his salvia. He laps it like a baby, pulling and biting it gently. You bite back a moan as you didn't know your buds was that sensitive

“God…you are so fucking perfect.” He mumbles as he plays and suckles, enticing moans and whimpers from you. Worshiping you like a goddess, his words like honey as it just makes you fall for him more.

“It’s like an angel themself carved your body…” He purred, closing his eyes as he makes sloppy licks to your other bud. Your body is arching and aching for more. His fingers trail along your skin, capturing and captivating every curve. Like he’s memorizing you like a painting, he rubs small but firm circles along your arms and legs, his lips kissing every inch of you softly and tenderly. He brings his mouth down to your inner thighs, licking and sucking near your cunt as he lifts your shorts up to do so. You let out a small moan in response, knowing how close he is to your sweet spot.

“I suppose it’s only fair I reward you, hmmm?” He chuckles lightly as he pulls away. His hands guiding their way down to your shorts. You whimper, wanting him more and more with each passing second.

Not a second later he dips his hand into your shorts and his fingers find your already soaking wet core.“You’re already soaked, darling…so eager…so needy.” He coos and you buckle your hips in response, the feeling overtaking you as you feel nothing but pure lust for him. He dips one finger inside of your core and you gasp, tilting your head back and he kisses your neck and back, making sure you're comfortable.

“Relax for me…just let me take control.” He begins to stroke and you moans become muffled as you burrow your face into the crook of his neck.

“So sensitive…have you never had sex before?” He whispers, feeling how tight you are on just his finger. You shake your head and he kisses your shoulder.

“Then I shall give you the best first time…” He pushed his finger deeper and you bite your lip, stopping a moan.Your walls clenched around him and he edges deeper and deeper. Once he has his full finger in he begins to thrust, stretching you out.

A loud moan escapes your mouth as you slink into him, grinding your hips along his hand. He lets out a low growl and he suddenly places you down on the bed and pins you, keeping a knee pressed up against your crotch as his hands rub and trail along your skin.His touch soft and gentle as your skin ignites from the simplest of moves as he dips and curves along your frame. God you are in love with him.

“God Y/n, the things you do to me…” He kisses you deeply as he spreads your legs, your soaking shorts drenched with your wetness. He moves his hands and pulls at your shorts before he finally pulls them off. Leaving your completely naked body underneath him, your cunt oozes as it begs for Ghost. His eyes soak your frame up, his gaze lingering but soft. An adoring look in his brown eyes.

“Look at that sweet little cunt…just begging for me.” He chuckles lightly as he traces his fingers along the entrance, you squirm in pleasure from under him as his fingers tease you. He melts at your reaction and he rewards you by pressing his thumb on your clit, earning a  moan from you. He begins to rub it softly, and your head tilts back onto the pillow, the pleasure fills you to your very core as his fingers battle in between your legs. He then carefully slides two fingers in, and you moan in ecstasy as he begins to work on your cunt. Each stroke and thrust of his fingers, making you squirm and moan for more. You bask in the pleasure that Ghost is giving you and he leans down to continue his battle on your neck with his kiss’s. He nips and bites at your skin, which only increases the pleasure you are already getting from the slow and long thrusts of Ghost's fingers. His fingers curl slightly as he hits the sweet spot each time. You squeal and moan, becoming a complete mess.

[e-pluribus-unum-e]

Haunted (1/?)

A/N#1: This is a Mattheo Riddle x OC fanfic, I did this just because I struggle with writing "Y/N" over and over again. I feel like an actual name for the reader helps you connect better, and I already struggle with being a personable writer. Please forgive me. The OC is named Veralynn Post, she goes by Vera. Idk her middle name yet so don't ask. She has long curly blonde hair, it reaches to her mid to lower back, it's also very poofy (think Hermione Granger). She has amber eyes, almost like whiskey and honey. She's 5'2 and a Hufflepuff. And she's from the US of A 🗽. It probably doesn't make sense why she's in a wizarding school in England but bare with me. Also I'll probably have smut in this at some point but that won't be until they're well into their 7th year.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Mattheo 🥵, my terrible writing, eventual smut but not until much later in the series

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Fem!OC

Summary: Vera's best friend finds herself in a whirlwind romance with none other than Theodore Nott. Vera reflects on her own love, how ever unrequited it is, and wonders when she'll finally confess to the man that holds her heart in his hands. 6.0k+ words

A/N#2: Dear Reader, Hello! This is the start of my very first attempt at a series LOL. I've written for my own enjoyment for years, but never on a blog or anything even similar to Tumblr. Last night at 2 AM I was hit with inspiration after hearing a series of songs play one after the other that reminded me so much of our baby boy Matty <3. So I have a timeline worked out and a list of songs I want to incorporate, one song per chapter, but that list is constantly changing because I'm trying to find the best ones possible to make this work. Also I'm starting them off in 6th year because yes, while they are minors, I need the time afforded to me by starting them off that young. No smut, NO SMUT, will happen before they're both well established 18 year olds in year 7. Please let me know how I can improve with my writing, it means a lot. It is my absolute pleasure to present you with the very first chapter in my Haunted series, When Emma Falls in Love. ---Sincerely, Me

When Emma Falls in Love

When Emma falls in love, she paces the floor Closes the blinds and locks the door When Emma falls in love, she calls up her mom Jokes about the ways that this one could go wrong She waits and takes her time 'Cause Little Miss Sunshine always thinks it's gonna rain When Emma falls in love, I know That boy will never be the same

Emma Hemlock is my best friend. I met her at Platform 9¾ on our first day at Hogwarts, and ever since then, we've been joined at the hip. With her dazzling blue eyes and her straight brown hair, her tan complexion, and her warm smile, she drew the boys' attention immediately. They would scramble to write her love letters, asking her on dates and whether or not she'd give them a chance. And she never said yes. Until, now.

Theodore Nott had been asking her out since 3rd year, always being met with a resounding "NO." He even asked me for advice!-- "C'mon Veralynn! What's her favorite flowers? Does she like butter beer? When does she-" "PISS OFF THEO"-- (spoiler alert: we didn't get along). But it seems he finally 'wore her down.'

That's such a terrible expression. At least, that's what Emma says. She explained that 'no, he didn't wear me down, I just finally had the courage to say yes.' Or something like that. In all honesty, her hesitation to say yes in the first place made sense. Theo had gained the reputation of a ladies' man, him and the rest of his crew. Draco Malfoy, Lorenzo Montague, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, and Mattheo Riddle.

Mattheo.

A man who could simultaneously get my heart racing out of fear and attraction. Fear of him, fear of the attraction, attraction because of the fear, however, you want to put it I don't care. But we'll get back to him later. Right now, it's all about Emma and her love life.

Emma finally said yes to Theo's persistent nagging, making him quite literally the happiest man in all of Hogwarts. No seriously, he ran into the Great Hall shouting "SHE SAID YES! WE'RE GETTING MARRI- OW, DAMN IT VERA!" (I may have thrown a dinner plate at his head).

So here I am. Waiting, sitting on the couch in our dorm, my arms wrapped around a pillow as I sat on my legs, watching the door in anticipation. They started dating in the summer. Emma's family had decided to spend their two months break on vacation in Italy. They ran into the Nott's while they were there. I have a theory that Theo caught wind of where the Hemlock family would be that June, and he begged his parents to let him go spend the summer in their family villa.

All that being said, they had had a whirlwind romance that didn't end when the warmer months came to a close. It's only the second week of our 6th year and they've gone on a total of four dates. It's almost hilarious how utterly whipped Theo is for her. That boy will never be the same.

Creeeeak. The door was pushed open—interrupting my thoughts—and Emma slipped into the room. She locked the door behind herself, her face looking... oh that's weird. She paced across the floor, closing the blinds, effectively putting an end to the bright sun I was basking in. I had expected her to come in, huffing and annoyed with the latest story on Theo's escapades. But this time, no, this time was different. Her eyes held a different story. "Vera..." Her grip on the window loosened as she turned towards me. Her lip trembling, and her eyes squinting. Suddenly her face split into the widest grin she's ever given me. "Vera-" "I know." We smiled at each other, one sincere and one feigned.

"I need- I need to send an owl to my parents. I need to ask my mom- oh shit this has never happened to me before. Vera, what do I do? What is this?" She started rambling, all the while her smile remained and she ran over to her desk. She pulled out her stationary and began her letter to her mother. "Ughhh I shouldn't even be writing to her about this, it's going to end in disaster anyway!"

What made me chuckle was the way she said it. The words were foreboding, but her smile never slipped. She didn't really expect this to end in a 'disaster.' "Write your letter, Em. Tell your Momma you're falling in love." I encourage softly from where I remain seated, nuzzling my face further into the pillow between my arms. Emma nods at me, eyes crinkling yet again as she leans back over her letter.

Okay, sure, maybe I don't sound as excited as I should for my closest friend. That's not the case, I am excited for her! But now's the time when we finally get to talk about Mattheo.

Chocolate eyes, curls the color of rich dark dirt, dimples when he smiles, and the scent of cigarettes and rain that clings to him no matter where he's been. To be frank, the man is liquid fire. And everyone else in Hogwarts noticed that too. And he took advantage of that fact. He had a new girl on his arm almost every day, never coming up empty in the 'love department.' But it was never love. Everyone understood he was never and would never be interested in anything serious. The problem with this?

Well that requires a bit of explanation.

I met him the same day I met Emma. Before her, even. I had gotten lost in the muggle train station trying to find the right platform, getting bumped into by grown strangers who didn't seem to notice the lost little girl tripping under their feet. I was born and raised in America until being invited to Hogwarts, and unfortunately, my parents couldn't afford to come with me to this wild train station. So I was all alone, trying desperately to find my way to Platform 9¾.

~flashback to that day~

I huff, dragging my luggage behind me as I try my best to push through the crowd. I couldn't see many children, which gave me my first clue that I wasn't in the right place. It was mostly muggle adults going to and fro, not glancing down to notice the small poofy-haired kid all alone. My thoughts were interrupted as someone slammed into me, "OW" I cried as the luggage slipped from my fingers. It hit the pavement floor below my feet, buckles popping open as the contents spill out. I shake my head in disbelief, looking up to see who knocked into me. All I saw was the back of a grown man walking away from me, seemingly the culprit, and also seemingly ignoring the fact that he just ruined an 11-year-old's day. "Hey wanker, watch where you're going!" I jump, startled at the grumbling voice ringing in my ear.

That wasn't my voice. No, that was behind me. Turning around, I gaze upon—for the very first time—the boy who would turn my whole world upside down. He was wearing jeans, and an almost too-big-for-him flannel, his curls falling effortlessly over his forehead as he glared past me at the man who just Kool-Aided into my back.

His eyes flickered from over my shoulder to my belongings on the ground. Wordlessly, he crouched down and started folding up the clothes and slipping them back into my suitcase. "Oh- no no that's okay you don't have to- I mean- agh this is such a mess." I scramble, trying to stop him from helping any further. 'This is so embarrassing.'

I squat down next to him, working side by side to get everything packed away. His hands stopped moving at the sound of my own voice, his head turning toward me as he took in my appearance for the first time. "You're American?" "Uh-" I blush, distracted by his pretty frown. "-yeah." I finally answer, a bit dazedly. "Cool." He responded. We just sat there, chocolate eyes looking into amber, until the distant sound of a train's horn broke us out of our trance. "Riddle. Mattheo Riddle. Where are you headed?" The boy asked, sticking his hand out for me to shake.

"Oh! I'm Veralynn Post, um, you can call me Vera. Everyone does." His eyebrow raised at that. "E-Everyone back in my- HEY!" I gasp as he starts laughing. "I was just teasing you Anna, no need to fret. But seriously where are you headed?" He tried to quiet his chuckling as he lifts my bag from the ground, carrying it along with his (and refusing to let me take it off his hands).

I took out the letter in my pocket, looking at the information it contained. "Platform 9¾." He seemed to ponder that for a minute. "I don't think that exists..." My eyes widen. How could I be so stupid? He's a normal not-wizardy-boy and here I am, spilling all of Hogwarts beans to the first person who would listen. Maybe if I play it off like I'm a dumb tourist he'll just forget all about it. Wait- is he laughing? OH THIS BOY- "Man it's easy to trick you. Lighten up, Vera."

My blush deepens, but not out of embarrassment. No, I was mad. "That's not funny Mattheo, I'm genuinely lost and alone and you're laughing at me." He seemed to soften at that, his laughter quieting down. "I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you." "I'm not laughing." "Hmm... touché." The way he said it made me want to punch him in the face.

Mattheo seemed to notice the anger in my eyes as he straightened up. "All jokes aside, I'm headed there too. We can walk together?" He offered, looking at me apologetically. "...fine, but no more teasing." "That's too high a price." "Fine," another huff from me, "you can tease if you want to but at least make it obvious you're not being serious."

His grin grew. "You're funny, Vera."

~end of flashback~

I met Emma when we got onto the train, and ever since then, I've had an unrequited crush and a best friend. Emma was everything I could have asked for; a dear friend, a confidant, and a sister. And I will always remember that day in fondness for when I met her, but alongside the sweet memories of a friendship comes the tainted recollection of a lost love.

Mattheo and I have remained friendly up to this very moment, as I watch Emma fall in love with his best friend, Theodore. But after I was sorted into Hufflepuff and he into Slytherin, we went our separate ways. Never being close but always painfully aware whenever he walked into the room. In his defense, it's not like he ignored me or anything. We were amicable with one another, just not in each other's core friend group.

The sad truth is, is that girls tripped over themselves because the kind boy I met seven years ago grew into Adonis reincarnate. They notice him because he's effortlessly good-looking and always seems to get great grades, even when he's constantly skipping class to smoke or make out with some girl in the broom closet.

His chiseled abs, strong jawline, and generally Greek-god-like physique (thank you Quidditch) made him a heart throb.

However, the female population of Hogwarts treat him like a piece of meat. Even though they're aware that he’ll cast them aside after just one night of being in his embrace, not only being aware but wanting it because no one really wanted to love him. Him. I've had to watch as everyone acted as if he really was just a carnal beautiful body and not a soul.

Sure, his core friend group (Pansy, Theodore, Blaise, Enzo, and Draco) didn't care about his looks. From what I've observed, they genuinely care about him. But after years of almost the entirety of Hogwarts not caring, I've noticed how it's worn on him.

And it's not just Hogwarts and their obsessive drooling over him, it's his home life. His father in Azkaban, his mother dead, his brother ignoring his existence. He had an abusive childhood and the roughest of up bringings. The very same women who will beg him for one night in his bed, turn around to gossip about how he's the next Voldemort.

So very few people cared about him.

And I've noticed how it's worn on him.

I've noticed lots of things.

I've noticed how when he walks through the food line, he never takes the last of anything, always leaving it for the person behind him. How he hangs behind after dinner to pick up the plates and trays our fellow students were too lazy to clean up themselves. I've noticed that whenever a girl in our year comes into class with bruises on her body, her boyfriend is in the infirmary the next day and there are cuts on Mattheo's knuckles. How he slips treats to the magical creatures when everyone's too busy listening to Hagrid's lecture to even notice the exchange. Everyone is too busy to notice, except for me.

I've spent my entire Hogwarts career falling in love with a boy, who grew into a man, all while I remained unnoticed.

I hang on to every word I hear him mutter to Theo, to every nod he sends my way as he walks past, and the rare time he asks me for my notes after he misses class.

So here we are, back in my dorm, watching my best friend's love life blossom before my eyes. Yes, I'm happy for her. But yes, I'm also, admittedly and ashamedly, jealous.

'Cause she's the kind of book that you can't put down Like if Cleopatra grew up in a small town And all the bad boys would be good boys If they only had a chance to love her And to tell you the truth, sometimes I wish I was her

I tried to listen as Cedric droned on, talking excitedly about this new book or muggle movie or something. To be honest, I've missed about 90% of what he's said. I slept roughly two hours last night, staying up to be Emma's sounding board. 'She really has fallen hard for this guy.' I think to myself as I glance across the Great Hall. Theo was sitting at his usual table, with the usual people. One of those people is Mattheo...

Mattheo laughed at something Enzo said, leaning across the table to grab food off of Pansy's plate (much to Pansy's protest). 'I hope he has a good day.' I sigh, looking back down into my cup. I had my hands wrapped firmly around the mug, sipping the warm black nectar. Emma still teased me after all these years, calling me a "Yank" for preferring just plain old coffee over tea.

A masculine rumble broke me out of my thoughts as my eyes flickered up again to see what was happening. Oh. Theo was here. And he was yapping, per usual. What, when did he get here?

The man in question was leaning his hand onto the table to my right, looking down at Emma who was in between us. "Hey, honey..." He muttered, their voices getting collectively quieter as they got wrapped up in each other's presence.

I rolled my eyes, sitting up slightly to grab Cedric. He leaned forward, but not willingly. My hands firmly grasped his collar to pull him halfway across the table. "AH- Vera let go-" "Not until you get me a new dorm and a new table. I can't handle it anymore, DO YOU HEAR ME? TOO MUCH THEO! TOO MUCH!" I shouted, sleep deprivation getting to me.

Theo stopped whatever poem or other crap he was reciting for my friend, looking up just to glare at me. "Oh stop being the anti-Cupid just because you're jealous." I turn my head, poor Cedric still being subject to my grasp, just to glare right back at Theo.

"Jealous? What the hell would I be jealous of? The fact that y'all effortlessly behave as if you got SLEEP LAST NIGHT?" "No, jealous that no one got you flowers." "Flowers? What flow- awwww Emma those are so pretty!" I push Cedric back down, turning fully in my seat to see the pretty roses in her hands.

She smiled up at me, nodding. "Someone told him they were my favorite." Her lovesick grin made me crack a genuine smirk. I sigh, feigning disappointment as I respond, "Too bad they lied."

"WHAT?" Theo exclaimed, eyes widening in horror. "Veralynn Post quit lying to my boyfriend!" Emma cried out as I just laughed harder. "Sorry, sorry, I had to."

I straightened up my posture, leaning back over my food, finishing the rest of my coffee as the lovebirds said their goodbyes. We both watched as Theo made his way back to his side of the Hall, sliding in to sit next to Mattheo.

Mattheo.

He was looking right at me. I smiled hesitantly at him, but he just looked back at his own friends, conversation continuing like it never stopped.

Oh.

My heart skipped a beat and not in a good way. This happened sometimes. I'd think he was encouraging me, I'd make an attempt to reach out, he'd go back to acting like I barely existed. My thoughts wandered to Emma. Emma. She seemed to be a natural at taming the 'bad boys.'

She had broken down the walls of her man, her man who was so misunderstood and underappreciated. Theo wanted to be good for her. It was like she was a drug he couldn't walk away from, a book he just couldn't put down.

My final thought echoed in my head like a constant ringing in between my ears as my eyes felt glued to the man who held my heart. And I knew—I knew that while I was happy to be myself—that sometimes on the coldest of nights and loneliest of days, when the absence of his love and affection rang the loudest... sometimes I wish I was her.

Well, she's so New York when she's in L.A.​​ She won't lose herself in love the way that I did 'Cause she'll call you out, she'll put you in your place When Emma falls in love, I'm learning

It was only the start of our 6th year, but every morning felt as if I was waking up on death row. Like my days were numbered, and with each passing minute, the executioner took another step closer. I've always been able to comfort myself by saying, 'It's okay that I can't hold him in my arms. At least I can be near him.'

Being in his presence alone has always been enough for me. His aura, his being, his soul being in the same room as mine has been enough for me to be content. But with graduation comes the end of it all. The end of us. The end of him. You might be going, 'Ah but graduation is just next year! You have time!'

Time? Time? It's taken me six years to get to this point and you think one more will be the difference between my anguish and my happiness? The time needed to cause a change? When him and I, two separate souls, intwine to become just us? No. There's never enough time and I'm too much of a coward to try it now, with another year in Hogwarts, where I would have to suffer not only 6th but 7th year in embarrassment and rejection. Because Mattheo Riddle doesn't want an us.

'Who am I even kidding? There is no us, there never will be. I sound like a fucking stalker.' I scoff, aggressively zipping up my bag. Potions had ended a while ago but apparently, I spaced out, only coming to when Professor Snape closed a desk draw rather loudly. It was only me and three other students in the room with him, taking our time to pack up and clean our workstations.

"-Vera. VERA." My eyes snapped up, noticing Emma waving her hand in my face. I grimaced, pushing her hand away. "How long...?" "A few seconds." She answered, frowning. I squirmed under her scrutinizing overlook. Her eyes swirled with a flurry of emotions; confusion, doubt, concern, etc. "What? Do I have something on my face?" She frowned deeper at that.

Chuckling nervously I hiked my bag over my shoulder, leading us into the hallway as we began our trek to the courtyard. Once a week we always pack lunch ahead of time, and then walk down to the Black Lake to have a picnic together. It was the highlight of my day and the pick-me-up I've really needed this past week. 'I just hope we can get there before we run into Theo.'

Theo's been really good for her, and he's been really good to her. Honestly, never thought I'd say it, but he's become like a brother to me. I usually look forward to our playful banter and then watching him whine and pout and tell Emma she hasn't spent enough time with him, but something's been off with him lately.

His behavior is as if he's walking on eggshells around me. His glances were full of concern. His questions, 'How are you?', 'Do you need to talk?', etc., etc. have been way more persistent. Nothing about me has changed, at least I don't think it has. I have no clue how he's somehow gotten the skill to look right through my mask.

I risk a glance over at Emma, eyes narrowing. She was chewing her lip, her fingers tap tap tapping. It was a trait she picked up from me. She used to complain about how fidgety I was, constantly having to at least drum my fingers or shake my knee to be able to focus. Something that became more incessant as I would get nervous or uncomfortable.

And then I noticed her doing the same thing whenever she got... nervous. 'You must have rubbed off on me,' she'd say. Well, it's a two-way road, Emma. Because your annoyingly empathetic self rubbed off on me too.

I left her with a habit she hated, and she left me with the ability to read her emotions like a book. It had it's benefits. We push through the bustling crowd, making our way to the ‘glass room,’ as we so eloquently coined it in our 1st year. It was a room with an entire wall made up of windows and an almost simple back-patio-like door that worked as one of the many exits that led to the courtyard. It was our favorite, just because of how homey it felt.

I twist the doorknob, pulling the door open for her before following her outside. There was a small friendly match of quidditch being played on one side of the courtyard, some kids were studying, and there was just a general bustle of life out there. Both from the students and from nature. As we walked down the steps and into the grass, further past everyone, weaving through all the hubbub and finally getting away from all the prying ears, I turned toward Emma. We continued down to the lake but now we finally had privacy. 

“Emma, what’s been up with you? You and Theo, now that I mention it. It’s felt as if you’ve both been… watching me. It’s kinda weird.” I nervously laugh, running a hand through my blonde curls to push them out of my face. Our black robes with yellow accents swished with our movement, though Emma’s posture noticeably stiffened when I spoke up.

She slowed to a stop, hand reaching out to grab my own and making me halt right alongside her. “Em?-” “I know.” “Know what?” “I know you’re in love with him.” Time seemed to slow. My heart quickened and my hands started tap tap tapping. I tilted my head slightly, looking at her closer. I never told anyone, I never spoke a word about my feelings.

Which means she noticed, she caught on, and she figured it out. She’s the only one who could’ve figured it out. Theo’s too dense to have- she told him. “Love who?” I spat out, anger simmering just below the surface. She caught on to that too. “Matt-” I yank my hand from hers, stomping away from her and towards the water. “Vera! I’m not judging you- stop just stop running away!” “Running?!” I whip back around. “You told Theo!” 

Her eyes looked wet, her lip trembling as she took in my ruffled appearance. “I didn’t.” I scoffed. “I didn’t.” She repeated with a firmer tone this time. “He knows you enough to know something is wrong, but he doesn’t know what is wrong.” “My- my love isn’t wrong. It’s not the end of the world for someone to be loved by me.” I shutter out running a hand down my face as I try not to spiral.

I know she didn’t mean it like that, I know she didn’t mean to have that heart wrenching look of pity in her eyes. But I could just hear what she was thinking, my insecurities clanging like a gong in between my ears, ‘Oh Vera, how could you ever think he’d love you back?’

We stood in a field. Surrounded by tall grass and beautiful wildflowers, a lake just a few feet to our right, a tree about two yards to the left of us, and the sounds of our school echoing down the hill and filling the uncomfortable silence that fell upon us.

“Vera…” My friend’s words cut through that very silence, voice sincere. “...you love with a love so loyal, that you are content with standing on the sidelines for years. You love, with a love so fierce, that you will defend and fight and protect even when the object of your desire doesn’t take notice. You think I haven't noticed your absolute adoration toward the boy? I picked up on it back in 2nd year. You can’t keep secrets from me, you know that.” We both laughed through tears at that one.

I looked at her in shock, not knowing what to say. 

But she quickly spoke up before I could even fully process what she said before, “You love with a love anyone would be blessed to receive. But the fact of the matter is, you absolutely suck when it comes to confessions.”

My eyes narrowed at that sudden change in tone, getting whiplash from how fast she went from serious to downright insulting. It would be funny if the situation wasn't so emotional.

“You watch him from afar, you love him at a distance, but graduation is closer than it's ever been and you’re letting him slip through your fingers. I’ve watched you lose yourself in this love for long enough. It’s time, Vera. Tell him or move on but I won’t let you throw away our last years at Hogwarts just because you were trying to hold on to something you’ve never had.” I flinched at that, looking back toward the ground.

“I-I don’t know what you’re saying…” Evidently, Emma crossed the distance separating us, and I felt her hands comfortingly squeezing my shoulders. “I’m saying… it’s time you come clean. It’s time you tell Mattheo you’re in love with him.”

Emma met a boy with eyes like a man Turns out her heart fits right in the palm of his hand Now he'll be her shelter when it rains Little does he know, his whole world's about to change

So I told him I love him. 

KIDDING. After Emma surprise attacked me in that field, I ran back to our dorm and hid until noon the next day. She gave me her notes and we caught up on all the classes I missed, and then we talked for hours about him. And I told her everything.

Everything I felt toward him, everything I loved about him, everything I knew about him. She just smiled at me and rubbed my back during it all, giving nods of encouragement as I stuttered over my words.

The days went by as I tried to figure out what to do. I’d sound absolutely bonkers if I just went up to him and professed my undying affection. I’d become every other girl! ‘Except this time, it’d be a girl who truly cares about him…’ I thought bitterly to myself.

Every time I started to brainstorm on how I could run into him or get his attention, I felt like a crazy person. Like someone could peer into my thoughts and watch as I spiraled further and further into the madness of conspiracy theories and red string. It felt wrong to be so… calculated with him. He deserves better than that.

So I stayed quiet, waiting for an opportunity but not pushing it. Waiting for the stars to align and him to drop in my lap. Waiting like I’ve been waiting for the past six years. My frown deepened at that thought, heart weary as I walked into Transfiguration. Three things immediately drew my attention to the far corner of the room.

The object of my affections was actually… attending class.

He was sitting in my seat.

He was staring right at me.

I gulp, hands flexing around the strap of my satchel, nervously and uncomfortably holding eye contact with his gorgeous chocolate pools, the windows to his soul. The only way to describe the emotions swarming in those very same windows, was… curiosity? Amusement? Warmth? It was hard to tell at this distance—the occasional student walking to their seat or passing by to meet up with their friends making it hard to gaze wholly into his eyes.

‘Oh how I wish I knew what you were thinking…’ I shake my head, breaking that train of thought as well as the spell Mattheo and I seemed to be under. A shoulder bumps into me, reminding me I was planted in the doorway. I crossed the threshold, walking towards Mattheo— my desk.

“I’d say I was happy to see you but I’d be happier if I had my own seat.” I prodded jokingly as I sat down rather heavily in the seat to his left. A laugh slipped out of his lips, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile, throwing his head to the side to look at me. “Your seat? I’ve never seen you sit here, baby.” Mattheo teased, eyes glinting with humor.

I felt my cheeks burn at that comment. He said it so casually, that term of endearment that I would give anything to hear him say with meaning.

Our interactions always went this way. He'd shamelessly flirt with me (making me feel as if I couldn't breathe), I tried my best to meet his challenge (occasionally I got him to blush too), and it always ended with him walking away without a backwards glance. ‘Stop, stop thinking that. He’s talking to you, talk back!’ My inner Jiminy Cricket chides.

“You’ve never seen me sit here? Well, darling, I’d have to say this is the first time I’ve seen you in this class. It’s no wonder you’ve never noticed me sitting here.” Mattheo’s eyes widened slightly at that but his smile never faded, pleasantly surprised respond with your own pet-name. 

“Wizards and witches, quiet down!” Professor McGonagall called out, dropping a heavy book onto her desk. The sound of the loud thud echoed as the surrounding voices hushed to a silence. She had everyone’s attention. Well, everyone except for the two kids in the far corner.

We continued gazing into each other’s eyes, brows furrowing into an almost challenge to see who’d turn away first. “Ah, Mr. Riddle. Glad to see you bothered to grace us with your presence.” The older woman clicked her tongue, effectively pulling us apart, our eyes breaking contact as our heads whipped toward her. “Talk to me after class.” McGonagall made sure to stare point blank at Mattheo, voice steady and tone devoid of humor. “Fuck, she looks mad.” I put my hand over my mouth, holding in a snicker at Mattheo’s whispered comment as our teacher begins her lesson. “Stop, you’re gonna get us in trouble.” I scold, opening my notebook and reaching into my bag looking for a quill. Oh crap.

My eyes widened in panic. No quill. I started unzipping the different pockets, rummaging around, hoping that with enough silent begging and prayer, one would just magically appear. ‘It’s fitting we’re in Transfiguration… maybe the lesson will be on “Making Your Own Quill.”’

I’m pulled out of my inner grumbling with a tap on my shoulder. I was bent over toward the side, in between Mattheo and I’s tables, searching as silently as possible for anything to write with. So the sudden feeling of two fingers tapping my arm made me jump slightly.

I glance up, seeing the prettiest and most annoyingly smug grin. “If I lend you a quill, will you lend me your seat?” He asked, tapping on the chair he was leaning back in. I frown, eyebrows furrowing yet again as I sit back up. “You not only brought one, but two quills? I didn’t know you owned a notebook.” I whisper back, happily shocked to find out he had planned to pay attention today.

“No, I brought one. And trust me, it was a spur of the moment decision. Deep down we both know I wasn’t gonna use it anyway. Just take it.” He finally pulled out the writing tool from his bag, sliding it onto the wood slab in front of me.

“Mattheo I can’t take your onl-” “You can, and you will.” He smirked, insisting. "Well..." I sigh, nodding as I picked up the feather. "...Mattheo Riddle. You are my hero." "Call me any day baby, I'm happy to rescue such a beautiful damsel." His eyes glinted with amusement at my burning cheeks.

He turned back to face the front of the class, his heart stopping stupid ass grin staying plastered on his gorgeous stupid ass face. ‘He called me bea-HE CALLED ME BEAUTIFUL. What the heck is happening.' I close my eyes, breathing in and out a few times to try to get control over my racing thoughts.

'Will I ever get used to the utter heart palpitations this man causes me to have? It’s like a rabbit is trapped in my chest.’ I shake my head, looking back down at my journal.

I didn’t even know where to begin, utterly lost in this day's lecture as the past however-many-minutes was spent paying attention to Mattheo and panicking over my lack of writing tools rather than the actual subject Professor McGonagall was droning on about.

My thoughts wander back to what I was thinking of before I saw the beautiful boy to the right of me. I’ve been waiting for six years. For six years I’ve been waiting for the perfect opportunity to drop in my lap, or for Riddle to come profess his love to me, or something, anything. I can’t even remember at this point.

I was tired of it all. Tired of waiting, tired of not knowing, tired of not living just because I yearned for something I didn’t have. I dip the quill in the ink, hesitating as the tip hovered over paper. The ink gathered at the point, almost falling off and splattering on the white page.

I glance to my right, gazing fondly at him. His profile, his curls, his general posture as he tried to pretend he was paying attention but he was simultaneously fighting sleep. His eyes kept fluttering shut and he was slumping further and further down into his chair.

I look back down at the paper. I’m tired of waiting. And so I began writing.

I met a boy with eyes like a man Turns out my heart fits right in the palm of his hand Now I’ll be his shelter when it rains Little does he know, his whole world's about to change

[fearandhatred]

what are your favorite good omens fics??

WOO REC TIME thank u for asking!! you may want to ask again after i've finished my resolution of reading all my mutuals' fics though because i've barely had the time to read anything these past few months... so i don't have much bookmarked lol but here are a few anyway! (from earliest read to most recent)

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mourning doves by sleepyimpulse (Words: 22,686 Chapters: 7/7)

“I’m sorry,” he registered himself saying between heaving sobs. “I’m so sorry, Crowley, I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please, please forgive me.” He hadn’t meant to say it like that, he knew the words were all wrong (he would never find the right ones). But the pain was coming at him in every direction and something, something had to give, and so he clung to Crowley like a life preserver. Crowley bent his body over Aziraphale’s and slowly, surely, pressed a kiss to his bloodied forehead. “I can’t,” he whispered, and Aziraphale went unconscious. (Aziraphale falls, post season 2)

this was one of the very first good omens fics i read and one thing about me is i LOVE this type of angst. so so good and such a nice exploration of crowley's struggle with what forgiveness is. gorgeous and so angsty. have i said that already. angst galore

say yes to me (i've got my eye on you) by thehappyyears (Words: 11,983 Chapters: 1/1)

It’s a pleasant evening much like many pleasant evenings this month, so Crowley doesn’t expect anything unusual when he makes himself comfortable on his side of the couch and lets Aziraphale select the wine. Which is why he’s resolutely caught off guard when Aziraphale disappears into a backroom, which Crowley always assumed was a wine cellar, and then turns around, darkness behind him and low, warm light gilding his hair and making his eyes bright. He’s breathtaking, he’s so beautiful, his eyes are so dark. “Crowley,” he breathes. Or, Crowley and Aziraphale have sex.

this is THE epitome of service top crowley. all hail service top crowley. also it's just so well-written and seamless. also i don't want this list to be too long so if smut is your thing then i recommend literally anything by focusfixated or zehwulf or Ineffably_Yours

Zmija by Himitsu_no (Words: 3,185 Chapters: 4/4)

He'd sigh in annoyance and hide his face in the angel's chest. "Said if they lived longer they'd have more time to become nasty and corrupted little shits, do all sorts of evil deeds and the likes. They never questioned it and went as far as warn me in advance of all the bigger natural disasters." Aziraphale would laugh and his fingers find their way into the red locks with practiced ease, and he'd bend to kiss the top of his head. "Did they do that, though? The evil deeds." Crowley would smile despite himself, eyes closed and leaning into the caress. "About a dozen, maybe. The rest were just... ordinary humans doing ordinary stuff." There'd be a long pause in which the angel would take it all in, and the demon would replay many of it in his mind with unease. Then Aziraphale would speak again, voice barely a whisper, "How long were you in Mesopotamia after the flood, my love?"

yeah i have this in my bookmarks but i have not touched it ever since i read it the first time because. it hurts me :) idk if it's because of my mommy and daddy issues but the whole crowley being good with kids tropes makes me so sad. and also this fic is just. devastating to me. i really should leave a comment but i don't want to read it again fr

when i knew love’s perfect ache by sugarskulled (Words: 1,834 Chapters: 1/1)

A demon can't touch that which has been made holy by God. Crowley knows this well as anyone. And Aziraphale? Aziraphale is so holy it burns.

this is definitely one of my favourite good omens fics of all time. angst again and so bittersweet i think about it so often

better to read and eat cake in a Soho bookshop than to reign in Hell by Kaesa (Words: 35,717 Chapters: 5/8)

When Aziraphale flees Heaven with the Book of Life, he's planned for it -- he's alerted other angels stationed on Earth to Heaven's plans, and asked them to take steps so that humans won't get caught up in the inevitable battle he faces with the other archangels. But Crowley shows up too, and he doesn't know the plan, and in the chaos Aziraphale leaps in front of a terrible blow meant for Crowley. And so, still very angry with him, Crowley must get him back to the bookshop (which is full of annoying angels) and help him heal, and try to figure out how to move past their previous fight, because, sure, he's mad at Aziraphale, but he doesn't want him to die. But soon enough it becomes clear that Aziraphale isn't necessarily dying. He is changing, and no one quite knows what to expect, because this situation has only happened once before, when Supreme Archangel Lucifer Fell and became Satan.

this fic has everything tbh and it's one i keep coming back to. the smut is great AND well-written and besides that the plot itself is so good??? the writing overall is just gorgeous tbh. slight body horror too :) the moment this updates i will be all over it like a rabid dog

Dear Angel by crowleys_bentley_and_plants (Words: 3,379 Chapters: 13/?)

A collection of emails addressed to a certain Aziraphale, found on the computer of a lonely demon.

poetic and hard-hitting and interconnected and also tells a story. through emails!! also the last lines of every chapter always knock me out lmaoo

to hold you like a bouquet by gravitron (Words: 10,676 Chapters: 1/1)

Crowley and Aziraphale, as told by history’s flowers.

can y'all read this fic oh my god i'm gonna fight everyone. so so beautifully written and well-structured. you know what i'm just gonna copy and paste part of my comment on here because yeah: i love your writing it's just. The Way Yo uWrite. The Words. your way with words. etc. and some of your sentences have a directness to them that's so effective. and the way you incorporated the flowers into every part of the story is like... so tastefully done I'm obsessed