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buckys-wintersoldier · 8 months ago

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Dinner with the mobster | Bucky Barnes

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> Mob!Single!Dad!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -> Your boss - who is also the most feared man in town - asks you to go out for dinner with him. When he suggests taking his daughter with him, you agree to go out with them.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 -> 2.295

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -> (G) none, just fluff

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 -> Hi I absolutely love your work. I was wondering if you could write a mob boss! Single dad!Bucky Barnes x reader. Feel free to ignore if it makes you uncomfortable. Thank you 🤎🤎

𝐀/𝐍 -> Thank you so much for your nice words, they really mean a lot and thank you for the sweet request. I wanted to write more for Mob!Bucky and your request was the perfect opportunity to do so. I hope you like what I made with it.🩷🩷 Divider made by @firefly-graphics.

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 -> AFG Fluff Bingo | Row Two-One | First Date | @anyfandomfluffbingo

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

James Buchanan Barnes, the most popular mobster in town, has at least one hundred men who are protecting him and another one hundred men as well as women who clean his house, cook for him, or do other chores. His house - his villa - near the forest is almost not even in town anymore. The man could have every woman, and almost every woman admires him. He has long brown hair, mostly tied into a bun; his beard is trimmed; he has ocean blue eyes; and he has a smile that could light up the darkest night. James has a muscular body, is tall, and is just the dream of every woman. But even though he could have it all, he lives with his daughter alone. But he has an eye on someone, someone who doesn’t look really interested in him, which slightly confuses him but makes her more interesting for the mobster.

“Daddy, look what I found,” his princess says with a proud smile, holding up a book in her hands.

He furrows his eyebrows, his legs spread, while he sits on his couch and waits for the woman he asked to come into his office. In his hand, he holds a glass of his favorite Bourbon while he looks at his daughter. She walks closer to him, pushing herself up to sit on his lap before she holds the book closer to his face. James reads the title on it and smirks.

“That’s the book your friends - my employees - wrote into, isn’t it?” he asks with a smirk.

He told all his closest employees to write into the book after his princess was sad about having just four people - next to her - written into it. Those people were James, Sam, Steve, and Natasha. And then she asked her daddy if he knew if some more who wanted to write into it. Of course she also has friends, but the little girl prefers the big men around her, commanding them around like her daddy does, and he enjoys seeing his well-working education.

“Do you wanna see it?” she asks, kissing her daddy’s cheek softly.

The small girl looks like James - just the smaller, female version - but she has the same brown hair, ocean blue eyes, and the same smirk and pout on her lips as her daddy.

“But just until Y/N is here,” James says, and he turns his daughter around.

With his hands wrapped around her tummy, he looks over her shoulder. Her small back is pressed against his broad chest. Then she opens the book and waits for her daddy to start reading. James does, and his princess is always telling him something about the pictures before he can turn to the next side.

After a few minutes, it knocks at the door, and he looks up to see you standing there, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. You play with your fingers, looking down, while you just stand there and wait for James to give you instructions.

“I- I can- I’m sorry for distracting you,” you mumble when your nervousness grows.

“No, it’s fine. I asked you to come here, so please come in,” he says with his rough voice, and you shiver slightly.

When you met him for the first time, he was scary, and being so close to such a dangerous man can still be scary, but he is all soft and sweet around you and makes you feel like you are special to him. Little do you know you’re special to him, and he would buy the whole town, the moon, or the whole universe for you just to see your smile and hear you laughing while he is the reason for it.

James leans closer to his daughter, kissing her cheek before he lifts her off his lap and places her in front of him.

“Tell Uncle Stevie he has to give you some cookies,” James says, laughing when he sees his daughter jumping around with a giggle before she runs out of the room.

His ocean blue eyes then meet you again, and he gets off the couch as well. James walks closer to the door, gripping the doorknob while he waits for you to walk into the room to close the door behind you. It makes you a bit uncomfortable to be all alone with him in a room, but you know you’re safe.

“Wanna drink something, Bourbon? It’s a good one, my favorite bourbon.”

“N-no, thank you. I- Uhm- I’m fine, really,” you mumble.

You could face palm yourself when you realize what you just said. He didn’t want to know more, just if you wanted to have a drink. You inhale deeply while he leads you to the couch. When the two of you are taking a seat, he smiles and turns his head toward you.

“Do you have any plans for tonight?”

“N-no. I can take care of your daughter when you have plans for tonight.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he laughs softly and takes a sip of his bourbon. “More like, do you have time to go out with me?”

Your mouth drops open, and you swallow hard, rubbing your palms over your pants to dry the sweat.

“I- You’re my boss, James,” you say quietly, turning your head away.

He chuckles softly and slides his hand to your back, stroking it softly while he takes another sip of his bourbon. The shiver along your spine makes him grin even more, and the way your body reacts to his touch lets him admire you even more.

“I’m not asking you, actually. Babydoll, let me take you out, please.”

“I-I don’t want to overstep boundaries. I- James, I should go back to my room,” you mumble.

Bucky chuckles; the way his body vibrates against yours sent another shiver along your spine. His thumb moves closer to your lips before he slides it over them, making you gasp. Your boss is so close, you can feel his hot breath on your skin; his touches are like electricity, causing more goosebumps all over your skin. Bucky leans closer, his lips almost touching your ear, inhaling your scent before he kisses your earlobe.

“How about we take Mia with us? You love her, and she loves you.”

None of the two of you mentioned that there are feelings between you and Bucky. You nod softly, but he sees it and smiles, kissing your earlobe again. Then he pulls away.

“I will pick you up in an hour,” he says, getting up, and you follow.

The two of you walk to the door. He opens it and runs his fingers over your back before you walk out of the room and to yours to change into something better to go out with your boss.

Like he told you, he is knocking at your door an hour later, wearing a suit - like always - his cologne all around you, and you smile softly when you look into his beautiful face. His brown hair is tied back, and he holds the tiny hand of his daughter. She is smiling at you as well as her daddy, both admiring you in your dress. Bucky in another way as the girl, but they both can’t get their eyes off of you. Bucky clears his throat and takes a step to the side, letting you walk out of the room.

“You look beautiful, doll.”

You blush, scratching the back of your neck.

“Daddy said we gonna go to my favorite restaurant,” she tells you with a proud smile.

You’re still not pretty sure what to say or how to act since your boss has invited you to go out with him. So you smile nicely and walk with him and Mia to the cars in the garage.

Bucky is a gentleman, opening the door for you, making sure you’re comfortable, but always taking care of his daughter too.

When you arrive at the restaurant, he takes your hand in his, stroking his thumb over the back of your hand. He makes sure you’re comfortable; otherwise, he would immediately let go of your hand. But there is not even a hint of discomfort on your face, just a small smile on your lips. Together with you and Mia, he walks to the entrance, letting the two of you walk into it before he follows you.

“Good evening,” the waiter says, his muscles tensing when he sees Bucky.

“Good evening, a table for three by the name of Barnes.”

The man in front of Bucky nods and shows you the table. You’re helping Mia out of her jacket and talking to her while you walk through the restaurant. The eyes of the people widen when they see James walking with his daughter and a woman through the room. He smirks when he offers you a seat, takes your and Mia’s jackets out of your hands, and sits across from you, smiling widely with his steel blue eyes piercing into yours. His tattoo-covered arms rest with the sleeves slightly up and his arms on the table, and he just admires you while you look between Mia and him with a small smile.

“Good evening. Have you already decided what you like to eat?” a woman asks, her smile shy, and her eyes dart from Bucky to you and back to the muscular man.

“As always, for my daughter and for me,” he says, then turns his face to you and smiles softly. “And you, doll?”

A shiver rushes through your body, and butterflies go crazy in your belly when he calls you by that nickname in front of other people. Then you look at the waitress and order your food as well. She just nods, takes the menus, and walks back to the kitchen.

“Y/N?” Mia asks, her hand touching yours.

“Yes?”

“Do you like daddy?”

You almost choke on your own saliva when she asks that. Of course you do; who doesn’t? He is a gentle and soft man; he is beautiful, muscular, and makes you laugh. You feel safe with him, not just because there are always some of his men around, but just because of him. On the other hand, he doesn’t act in a soft way with others like you always thought, which makes the feelings you have for him stronger. Bucky doesn’t say anything to the question; he just smirks and waits for you to answer, wanting to know what you think about him.

“I-I- He is nice, but he is my boss,” you mumble.

“But you like him?”

“Yes, but I like you too, Mia.”

“So do you want to be my new mommy?”

This question caught you off guard, and your jaw drops immediately. Bucky chuckles are low and rough, causing your skin to tingle. He makes you feel things you never thought you would feel, especially not for him. The most fearful man in town, a mobster. But also your boss, a wonderful and sweet man and daddy of a beautiful and cute daughter.

“Say yes, and I’m gonna make you mine tonight,” he says.

Your breath hitches, your body shakes softly in anticipation, and you nod. Do you want it? Want to be his? Of course, you definitely want to be his.

“Y-yes.”

Mia smirks, ready to throw herself around your neck, but the food arrives at your table and she learned manners from her daddy, so she just squirms a bit in her seat but starts eating and smirks the whole time at you. Your cheeks are red, and you fix the plate with food in front of you instead of facing Bucky. What if he just wanted to know what you feel for him, but he just wants to play with you? But he is just so soft with you and not with any other woman around him.

“Doll?” his rough voice interrupts your thoughts, and you look at him. “Please let me make you mine. I know the way you look at me, and you’re the only woman I want to have. I have loved you since we first met.”

“O-Oke. B-But I can’t work for you then. H-How can I pay for my things?”

“You don’t have to pay anything. Don’t forget who you’re talking to; you will get everything you need, and you just need to ask me,” he tells you with the softest smile you have ever seen.

When you nod again, his eyes light up, and he can’t help but get up to walk around the table. He gets on his knees next to you, capturing your cheeks with his big hands before he leans closer and presses his soft, plumb lips on yours. Kissing you in a way no one has ever kissed you before, so filled with love and passion. When you kiss him back, he smirks, pulling you even closer, and your hands grip his shoulder, your fingers sliding along his neck. Mia cheers quietly, giggling and looking at the two of you in awe while he bits into her nugget. You blush when Bucky leans back, his thumb stroking your lips, and his blue eyes say more than words could ever say.

“I love you, doll. My precious doll.”

“I-I love you, too.”

“Andddddd I love you. And my nuggies,” Mia says, holding her nugget up to show it.

“Yeah. We love you too, little girl,” Bucky laughs and kisses you again, then he gets up and takes his seat again to finish eating.

Your cheeks are still red, especially when you recognize that everyone in the restaurant was looking at the two of you. But when you look at Bucky, every fear fades away, and you feel just loved by him.

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨

𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

Taglist: @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @suz7days @randomawesomeperson102 @rogersbarber @bucky-barnes-lover @felicitylemon @cjand10 @bookishtheaterlover7 @lives-in-midgard @casa-boiardi @futurequeen2018-blog @flstrawberry

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riacte · 13 days ago

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Unconventional format / mixed media / meta / epistolary fic ideas:

Script format but the characters slowly break fourth wall until they grow self aware and scream to leave but the script confines them.

Mock up notes of an author's fic outline only for a "fan favourite" / "author's darling" character to gain sentience and influence the story. The character changes the outline to suit their own agenda, and their changes are marked with a different colour whereas black text means it's the author's will. Maybe another character using another colour gains sentience. The different colours fight for dominance. Mom says it's my turn with the keyboard hey what the fuck man excuse me I'm literally trying to save my family can you guys let go and let me write your character arcs in peace OH FUCK OFF

Recipe fic. The story is told via those unnecessarily long backstories on a recipe blog in which you learn about someone's grandma or a breakup or literally anything. Bonus points if the actual recipe deals with worldbuilding (what ingredients are available? What utensils are used? How to serve this meal? Woohoo Dungeon Meshi) or in-cheek recipes (eg. "Recipe for making up with your estranged mother - Step 1: Mix patience, nostalgia, and filial piety and let it marinate for ten years. Step 2: Throw that shit into the trash because you're better than that")

Travel fic. A character is lost and trying to find their way somewhere. GPS directions, googling "x place to x place", tickets and dates, train station maps, leaflets. It gets weirder and weirder. You never get closer to your destination. You're walking around in circles. It's always 10 meters away. Where are you going and where have you been?

Receipts. Try to infer what a character is doing judging from the weird things they buy together. Also yipppee inflation tracker. On the other side, maybe it can be about a cashier/ shop owner getting to know their customers and what they order.

Written from the pov of an non-native English speaker, all the English words are italicized whereas their native tongue are the only words not italicized. Inspired by Kupu rere kē by Alice Te Punga Somerville. This is because I got salty about people from Ao3 Reddit saying they won't read a fic in all italics.

Murder mystery / "Among Us" style impersonation fic strictly using the chatfic format. Characters and readers will have to figure out which character has been killed and replaced from the way they text and use emojis. This is also because I got salty about Ao3 Reddit being a wee bit pretentious about emoji usage in fics. Maybe emojis can be important plot devices! Some people prefer to sign off messages with a heart emoji of their signature colour, so won't it be weird if they use another coloured heart? How about someone using lapslock suddenly using proper capitalisation and full stops? Can you tell if someone's phone has been stolen? What if someone's mother is pretending to text like their child? Why is someone suddenly only using UwU speak? Is it a bit, or have they been replaced?

Innocuous second person POV until the last line where it's suddenly revealed to be first person POV all along and the "I" has been stalking and narrating "you".

Other fun bits / Easter eggs / secrets to hide:

Decoding within the text itself. Maybe we get given instructions to find a word in x chapter on page y on the nth line. And when we as readers collect all the words, they form a sentence that spells out an important fact which the characters are oblivious to. Or maybe the in-universe characters find a book with the same title as the irl fic with a bookmark in it, and if you go to where the bookmark is stuck irl, you'll find the murderer plainly stated. The rest of the fic is about the readers having hard confirmation of who the murderer is while characters don't know.

A phrase is subtly repeated throughout the text of the fic and is spelled out with the letter that begins a sentence. It gives off the effect that the narrator is screaming and crying into the void (to the readers in the fourth wall) while trying to avoid detection. Bonus points if the same word is repeated for pages and pages to the point the lack of sentence variation feels weird and clunky.

Morse code!! I love morse code! Using onomatopoeia to convey the dots and dashes! The sound of rain pattering on the tin rooftop— drop, drop, drop. A low whistle of a train rumbling in the distance. He slowly sharpens his knife, creating a shiiing sound. A lengthy, high pitched squeal from his kettle. A dog barks. A sharp knock. His heart thumps. Dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dot dot dot. SOS. Maybe a character's death scene spells out the name of their mysterious murderer. Maybe a character is reminiscing their deceased loved one and the scene spells out what the deceased person would've wanted to tell them— "LIVE ON" or "I LOVE YOU" or something.

#ria.txt #writing #writeblr #i love unconventional formatting and whimsy #the morse code thing is from a spopera fic i never finished lol #ao3 reddit makes me creative in an annoying and contrarian way

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pitchsidestories · 6 months ago

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stay strong like a lioness II Ingrid Engen x Mapi León x Lioness!Reader

masterlist I word count: 1854

a/n: Hi, it's based off this request here, we hope it lives up to your expectations !

It suddenly felt hard to breathe, you fell to your knees on the pitch side, the whole England team was devasted, while the Spain team was celebrating the world cup win in front of your eyes. The tears of disappointment and sadness you were holding back made your vision turn blurry.

In addition to that a lot of your Barcelona teammates were ecstatic by their glorious achievement which made it even harder for you to accept the loss.

An inner voice was screaming at you, you lost, you looser, you were bad, simply not good enough, not worthy to represent your country on the world’s stage ! The hateful monologue was interrupted by a familiar voice and a hand which was encouragingly placed on your shoulder.

“Good game, y/n.”, Mariona who was under the winners of the night congratulated you.

“No, it wasn’t, Mario.”, you shook your head frantically.

“Hey, you fought hard. It was a close game.”, she countered softly.

“If you excuse me now.”, you announced, shaking of her hand who was padding your back seconds earlier, as you prepared yourself to leave.

“Where are you going? I’m sure the others want to talk to you too.”, the midfielder questioned confused.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t feel like talking to anyone, really.”, you apologized in an honest tone.

“But-“, Alexia joined your conversation, looking alarmed at you. Her worry made your inner demons even louder in your head, you almost screamed at her, why do you care about me now? You just won the biggest title in football and I’m just a looser who will be just a footnote in the history books.

Instead, you chose some words which wouldn’t hurt your club’s captain feelings:” No, please, I just need some time alone.”

“Come on, y/n.”, Keira who lost just like you, opened her arms empathetically, but you refused to let her touch you.

“I’ll go to the dressing room.”, you declared sternly.

“We win and loose together, y/n.”, Lucy added, her eyes were red from crying too, the sadness she felt was written all over her face, she was an open book to anyone who would catch sight of the defender.

But you did notice that a hand steadied her posture. It belonged to Ona who smiled at the older woman. Much to your surprise she returned the smile, an unhappy one, but it counted, nonetheless.

“I don’t want to talk.”, you stated stubbornly. The loving words of your teammates who were also your friends didn’t reach over the wall you built around yourself since the final whistle.

“But when you want to, we’re here for you.”, Keira offered.

“Sure.”, you nodded absent minded.

“Girls, I think we should let her alone now.”, Ona muttered biting her lip disheartened by your reaction.

“She’ll get over it soon.“, Lucy agreed calmly while she watched you leave.

What you did not know while you locked yourself into your hotel room as soon as the team was back at their base camp, was that your girlfriends where sitting at home in Barcelona worrying about you.

“Mapi, she’s not answering our messages or calls!“, Ingrid complained and slammed her phone on the kitchen table in frustration. Her team was already sent home after the Round of 16, so she and Mapi had supported your journey to the world cup final from home.

Mapi frowned: “Still not?“

“No…“

There was silence at the kitchen table for a moment until the Spanish defender cursed: “Shit!“

“Maybe I could call Lucy.“, Ingrid suggested, nervously tapping her fingers on the table.

Mapi shrugged: “It’s worth a try.“

While she waited for Lucy to take the call, Ingrid put her phone on speaker. The English defender sounded tired when she finally answered.

“Lucy, could you please look after y/n? She doesn’t respond to us since the loss…“, the Norwegian got straight to the point, trying to keep the urgency out of her voice.

“She’s pulled away from everyone. She doesn’t want to talk.“, Lucy explained.

Mapi joined the conversation. Nervously she asked: “Not even to you or Keira?“

“No, she’s locking everybody out.“

Your two girlfriends shared a concerned look.

With all the hopefulness she could manage, Ingrid suggested: “Maybe after a good night’s sleep, it will be better…?“

“Maybe.“, Lucys voice agreed but sounded less than convinced.

“Fingers crossed. Thanks, Lucy. See you soon, champ.“ Mapi ended the phone call, still not much calmer than before.

But your girlfriends had no other chance than to wait until you arrived home from Australia just a day later. They really tried their best to make you feel better about returning home without the trophy. There was even a cake on the table but all you wanted to do was lay in bed until you felt less empty.

“She’s home. Hello, my love!“, Ingrid smiled brightly.

Before she and Mapi could come over to embrace you, you had already shrugged off your jacket and kicked off your shoes. You silently waved at them before disappearing into your room.

Mapi looked at the suitcase that you left standing in the middle of the floor: “Still?“

“Mapi, that’s not normal.“, Ingrid voiced her concern.

“What should we do?“

“I don’t know…“

The two of them stared at the locked door for a moment before Mapi suggested: “We should make some dinner. She must be hungry after that long flight.“

Ingrid gave a short nod: “That’s a good idea, we’ll cook her favourite meal.“

“Yes, come on.”, the Spaniard got up from the stylish sofa they have been sitting on, while offering the Norwegian her hand, as she followed her to the kitchen to start cooking.

It didn’t take them long to cook the dinner you loved most, the delicious scent of it quickly filled the whole appartement, but smelling this only caused your stomach to turn.

“Y/n, we made dinner for you.”, Ingrid told you in an uplifting tone, knocking softly at the closed door.

“Not hungry.”, you shot back. Immediately you regretted the harshness in your voice. After all it wasn’t your girlfriend’s fault that you’ve lost the final. It was yours alone.

“You need to eat something though!”, Mapi protested, she sounded almost mad at you for not accepting your favourite food.

“Later maybe.”, you replied quietly. It was so soft that your girlfriends were almost unable to understand what you’ve been saying.

“Okay.”, the defender sighed, clearly frustrated that they couldn’t get through to you.

The mist of sadness surrounded you and didn’t pass, even when the training with the Barcelona girls started it clung on to you like a second skin.

While you were pushing yourself extra hard in the gym Lucy’s green eyes noticed it with growing concern until she had enough and yelled at you:” Y/n, stop it!”

“What?”, you blurted out, still heavily breathing from the exercise you’ve just done.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”, Mapi added, the defender has been doing her training along side the English player.

“You all don’t get it!”, you countered angrily. The mist has been lifted in your mind, instead there was a thunderstorm of emotions rolling through your whole body.

“Yes, we get it! We’re all players just like you. We all want to be our best.”, Lucy disagreed furiously. The pain of the loss was fresh for her too, but she knew that new challenges were laying ahead of her, with potential wins as a reward to lessen the hurt.

“Exactly, and you can’t shut everyone out, because you lost one game.”, Ingrid tuned in, her facial expression saddened as she glanced at you. The Norwegian felt helpless against the state you were in. Nothing seemed to lift your mood and made you return to your usual cheerful self; the one, she fell in love with.

“It wasn’t just any game.”, you replied through gritted teeth.

“You were in a World Cup Final. Other players don’t even make it that far.”, Mapi reminded you.

“Right, this was a big achievement.”, Ingrid continued, beaming proudly.

You looked from one of your girlfriends to the other. Everything they said felt like pure pity, it made your blood boil.

“No, it was a failure… My dad said I had to be strong and I wasn’t strong enough!“, you exploded.

There was silence in the gym, your teammates stared at you.

Mapi took a step towards you.

“You’ve been very strong.“, she assured you.

You sniffed once, fighting the upcoming tears: “But not like a lioness should be… I let everyone down.“

“We all lost the stupid game.“, Lucy replied.

Keira nodded confidently, gesticulating to herself and your other teammates: “Yes, and we’ll win a lot this season together.“

“Oh yes.“, Mapi agreed.

“Now heads up, little one. There will be another World Cup final coming for you.“, Lucy winked at you.

“And you’ll be in it, no doubt.“, Ingrid added, her gaze soft.

You could feel your breathing slow down as you stood there and listened.

Keira quietly continued: “Plus, it might sound weird coming from me but it does help to talk to someone professional about it because…“

“Because you don’t need to be strong all the time, mi amor.“, Mapi finished for the midfielder, bridging the distance between the two of you and taking your hands into hers.

“Kei’s got a point.“, Lucy said before quickly following up with: “That excludes me though.“

This caused Ona to raise her eyebrows at her girlfriend: “Lies. You cried about it on the first night of our vacation.“

“Shut up, Ona!“, the English defender shot back quickly but with a laugh.

You paused, looking at her. Lucy was without doubt the toughest person you had ever met. “Wait, you cried?“

Instead of her Ona answered, shooting Lucy teasing look: “Oh yes, like a little baby.“

“I didn’t cry. Especially not like a baby!“, she protested.

For the first time since the World Cup, you could feel a smile appear on your face: “I believe Ona.“

Returning your smile, Lucy shook her head: “Of course such blatant lies cheer you up.“

“They do.“

The sadness still weighed heavy on your chest but you felt like a dark veil had been lifted. The conversation with your teammates earlier had helped and you were ready to finally let people in again.

Exhausted from your gym session, you laid in bed with your girlfriends, one on either side of you.

“Can you two just hold me until it doesn’t hurt as much anymore?“, you asked quietly, your gaze directed towards the ceiling.

Your sweet girlfriends immediately wrapped you up into their arms, keeping you safe in their middle.

“Sure, as long as you need us to.“, Ingrid whispered while Mapi pressed gentle kisses onto your temple.

You were so grateful for your teammates and your two girlfriends. Right there, between them, the voices in your head seemed to quiet down and you fell asleep almost feeling at peace.

Maybe you failed at winning the most important game of your life so far but you would always be more than just good enough for Mapi and Ingrid.

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chaos-in-deepspace · 6 months ago

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L&DS Boys: Suspected Smut | 18+

Eeeeeeey my first written request for this blog homies! The request was asking for a scenario with the boys where they walk in on the reader either reading or writing a smutty novel that's based off their myths. Also make it crack. So here we go. I'm going to post a small, separate one later that has a Zayne attempt (had to write his twice) since I managed to make it slightly angsty somehow and it was such a stark contrast when read with the other two boys.

♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+. ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Warnings: Erotica Novels, Teasing, Crack Treated Seriously, Suggestive Scenarios, Mentions of Monster Fucking, Dark Romance Mentions, Reader ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Pairings: Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Xavier x Reader

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Xavier

“What are you reading?” The voice made you scream as you slammed the book you had out shut. Your heart racing as you turned to Xavier in shock. He seemed just as surprised as you, his eyes now wide as though he had been the one caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Words.” You said with a shrug. Now Xavier was curious, trying to see what you were reading. You hid the book behind your back and cleared your throat, “Seriously, it’s nothing important.” You tried convincing him.

He stared at you for a minute longer, then his posture relaxed. “If you really don’t wish to tell me, I won’t pressure you.” Xavier looked away dejectedly and oh goodness does it make you feel bad when you see him like that. Those pouty little eyes of his made your heart beat without fail, and they were now trained on the floor as he was prepared to leave you alone.

You let out the longest, most annoyed groan as you took the book out again. Xavier perked up, looking to see what it was. He read the title “A Luminous Lover”, his face was confused as he flipped it around to read the description. As his eyes skimmed the back recognition seemed to finally cross him.

Xavier turned to you, “Are you reading a romance novel involving Lumiere?” He said and you sighed, glad that the back of the book didn’t have anything too explicit on it.

You sucked in your lips and nodded your head, “Ya, ya I am.” Your voice cracked a bit as you said this. Xavier seemed to be perplexed, his eyes shining in confusion and hurt. You then watched in horror as he opened the book up to read a bit.

He opened it to a random page, however with the contents of the book you just knew there was a 50/50 chance he’d see it. With how his eyes widened and mouth opened slightly, you knew he had found a scene, “You’re reading an…erotic novel about Lumiere.” He corrected himself.

You let out another groan, “Fuck, fine, yes I am.” You said, going to grab the book, “You can’t blame me for wanting to be railed by Lumiere on a rooftop while he tells me how I’m being so good for him and absolutely destroying me until all I can do it moan is name several times and cry while looking at the stars because it feels so good!” You said all in one breath, panting at the end of your long sentence.

Xavier stood shocked for a moment before smirking, “Then why read a book about it?” He asked, his eyebrow going up as he looked down at you, “You have something better at home, there’s no need to read this.”

You whined a bit, “But consider some of these things are downright impossible or…not plausible I should say. Things that can only happen or are acceptable in a novel like this.” You tried explaining. You managed to finally snatch the book from him and held it to your chest.

“We won’t know if it’s impossible until we try.” Xavier said, his hand ghosting over your waist now.

“You gonna put on the Lumiere costume?” You finally asked and he seemed to be almost offended.

“You'd rather be in Lumiere’s bed?” He asked, looking away.

“Xavier, you adorable dork, you are Lumiere.” You huffed, “And it’s called roleplaying. You’d be playing the role of Lumiere, and I’d be playing the role of a whore who worships your dick. Sound good?”

Xavier took a moment and just shook his head, “You truly are something else, starlight.” He said as he pulled you closer, “I won’t put on the costume, however if you’d like to be railed on a rooftop while staring up at the stars, I’d be more than happy to make that fantasy come true.” He said, leaning closer to you. You let out a small whimper as his mouth pressed a kiss against your neck.

“Fine…but later tonight. I wanna finish this chapter.” You said and Xavier huffed. He grabbed the book out of your hand and you watched in horror as he tossed it.

“No, perhaps I should give you a preview of tonight. It’ll be far more enjoyable than a book.” Xavier grumbled. Oh you adored this man, even if he did get jealous of himself in book form.

Zayne

“Might I ask what you’re writing, my beloved?” You paused for a moment at hearing his words, your head slowly turning to him. Your laptop was on the bed while you sprawled out, typing away like you didn’t have a care in the world. Your now wide eyes stared at your boyfriend, who had clearly been reading what was on your screen.

“Well…you see.” You started before realizing something, “Okay ya I have no defense for this. You’re not allowed to judge me though. You love me.” You pointed at him sternly then looked back at your writing. You went to close your laptop, but Zayne’s hand prevented that.

“You never answered my question.” He said and you groaned, wanting to crawl into a hole and die. You looked at him with a small pout, hoping he would give up questioning you. It didn’t work this time as he waited for an explanation.

You let out an annoyed groan, “Okay so like…I had an idea about a serial killer, but like he’s a good guy who dresses in all black and like kills for a good cause. And uuuuuh…” You said, thinking about what had initially sparked this. You had seen a yandere in a show and you had thought ‘But what if Zayne?’ which led to you writing this. The main character was based on Zayne, clearly. Hopefully he didn’t catch onto that though.

“And all that led to…this scene on your screen?” Zayne said, motioning to your writing. Honestly you hadn’t even gotten to the steamiest part yet. You had only started your debauched writing.

“Okay maybe I wanna get railed by a man who’s a lil scary and not very expressive but also will kill if someone looks at me wrong. It’s just a fantasy. If it were real life no way in hell would this be fine, but the thought of a hot man breaking into my window and then fucking me into the mattress is just so…sexy…” You trailed off from your rambles, looking at Zayne then to the floor.

Your dear boyfriend, in his defense, managed to recover from your small confession pretty fast as he looked at you. “That’s truly what goes through your head?” He finally asked and you swallowed a lump in your throat.

“I mean…sometimes…” You finally said. You noticed there was a conflicted look in Zayne’s eyes, almost like he was realizing something in the deep recess of his mind. He just shook his head, shoving whatever thoughts or memories he had as he approached you.

“And this type of situation, you’d only ever want it in a fantasy setting, correct?” He asks, as though making sure there was some semblance of sanity left in you.

“Obviously. If someone actually broke through my window I’m waking you up to deal with them.” You said, crossing your arms. You could see the small, subtle twitch of a smile on Zayne’s face.

“Even if in the fantasy I’m the one breaking through the window?” He asked and you paused. You looked at him suspiciously.

“Why would you think it was…you I was writing about?” You murmured. Zayne walked over to you, pinning you in place by putting his hands on either side of your thighs as he leaned in.

“I shouldn’t have to remind you that you named the male lead after me. I can see my name on your screen.” He paused, “Along with other things.” He said and you didn’t know if you should feel bashful or turned on at the moment…perhaps both.

“Well,” You cleared your throat, “since you know.” another quick pause as you fluttered your eyelashes, “Hey Zayne, I’m having some trouble writing this scene.” You said, trying to give him a cutesy expression.

“And?” He murmured, getting closer to you.

“Think you could give me a helping hand at…testing out a few positions and kinks to see if they’d work. For inspiration of course.” You said, your hands trailing his shirt until they got to his tie. You played with it as you looked at him with needy eyes.

“Thought you said they were only good for fantasies, why would you want to play out a scene?” He teased and you chuckled.

“Well sir, perhaps some things don’t have to remain a fantasy.” You said, tilting your head. You gasped as you felt Zayne’s lips on yours, pressing closer but before he could leave you breathless, Zayne parted.

“I do apologize, I have something important I need to do.” He said and you huffed, feeling like you got doused in cold water suddenly. There was always something.

“What do you need to do?” You bitterly said, pouting at you gave him a half assed glare.

“I need to call a psychologist for you, snowflake.”

You paused, gathering your thoughts but there were none, “Um why?”

“Because I’m fairly certain you need help psychologically. You realize you shouldn’t be placing guns-” You cut Zayne off by covering his mouth.

“I hate you…” You muttered. You felt his lips kissing the palm of your hand with amusement swimming behind those hazel eyes.

“And I adore you…most of the time.”

Rafayel

You almost screamed when you felt cool, wet lips kissing the back of your neck. You clutched your phone to your chest, your cheeks warm as you looked behind you to see Rafayel. He was smirking, looking you over; he was clearly proud at having startled you.

“Raf…” You warned, but the man in question just threw his hands up in mock surrender.

“I do apologize, my dear bodyguard, but I feel like you shouldn’t be so distracted when you have a job to do. If I was able to sneak up on you, imagine what could happen to me.” He said, placing a hand over his chest.

“Rafayel, we are in your art studio. In the middle of the day, no less.” You point out, “I think you’re safe.”

“You never know, what if someone breaks in and kidnaps me while your nose is in your phone?” He was pouting as he then looked at said object being clutched to your chest, “What ended up distracting you? It wouldn’t be anything naughty, now would it? The blush on your cheeks are telling.” Now he was just teasing you.

“It’s important stuff…research if you will.” You said and now he seemed even more intrigued.

“What are you researching?” He asked and you bit back a blush, willing your body and the gods to help it go away.

“Stuff.” You murmured. This wasn’t doing it for Rafayel as he looked down at you with a frown.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll just assume you were up to no good.” He said, leaning closer to you, “The only way to prove your innocence is to tell me, my pearl.”

You let out a groan and averted your eyes; you didn’t want this man to see the guilty admission in them. After all, your fish boy was right. You were up to no good, reading ‘naughty things’ as he so eloquently put it. Apparently you were silent for a moment too long though, because you felt his hands trailing up your sides and under your shirt.

Before you could ask him what he was doing, he pinched your hips hard. You let out a yelp, and at the moment the grip on your phone loosened enough for Rafayel to steal it from you. When you saw it, you flushed and tried to swipe it back, “Rafayel, you bastard man, give that back!” You hissed.

Sadly the man knew your password and he was soon looking at exactly what you were reading. A small story about a sea god…that happened to be extremely explicit with some monster elements to it. Rafayel’s face went from curiosity to burning red in an instant.

“You were reading naughty things!” He accused; you let out a groan, trying again to swipe your phone back. He wasn’t done though as he continued, “Wait…is that even possible? And he only has one? Now this certainly isn’t lore accurate.” He teased with a large, toothy grin.

“Rafayel, stop teasing me. Am I not mortified enough?” You said before pausing, “Wait…what do you mean he only has one?” You said and Rafayel seemed to realize his mistake. His eyes widened and he sucked in his lips for a moment as he tried to think of a way out of this.

“Raffie, do you have two dicks in your other form?” You said, your eyes twinkling. You guys hadn’t slept together while he was like that since it was such a rare treat for you to even view his other form. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Wait, you’re into that?” Rafayel finally asked after realizing what you said.

“Babes, if I knew I could be a double stuffed oreo with you, I would’ve been begging you to take me in your fish form more so than I already do.” You said, not bothering to stop your language. Rafayel choked on air at your confession and tried to regain himself.

“Double stuffed oreo?” He echoed, “I don’t think I have ever heard someone say that in such an unsexy way.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No, it absolutely isn’t…wait, so were you researching…” He began but you were already willing to give him an answer.

“Wanted to figure out what positions might work best, so I was researching. Plus the male lead described in this book sounds like you so it was pretty easy to put myself in the place of the main character…which by the way do you think you could fuck me in the ocean while doing the little mermaid rock pose and calling me a-”

“That’s enough.” He said, and noticed you attempted to speak once more, “Ah ah ah.” He chided, “Not. A. Single.” He leaned closer, “Word.”

To which you replied with a moan.

I hope you guys enjoyed this! It's dumb and fun! I enjoyed writing it (tbh I've been wanting to write it but gah so many things to write, so little time)

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secretmellowblog · 2 months ago

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Jean Valjean's Canon Toxic Unhealthiness around Romantic Love

( alternate titles: “Does Jean Valjean is Gay?”, or “Does Jean Valjean is Asexual?” Or: “Why is it so difficult to slap an identity/sexuality label onto Jean Valjean?” Or “LGBTPTSD+”)

I was looking at the responses to this poll about whether people interpret Jean Valjean as gay/asexual/straight or something else….and it got me thinking again about Jean Valjean’s canonical intense, complex, awful, toxic, and overwrought emotions around identity/ romantic love. I want to talk about that for a bit because I think it often gets overlooked in fandom!

I've noticed that Les Mis fandom/analysis often tends to interpret Jean Valjean as being far more content, more "at peace with himself," and more "comfortable in his own skin" than he ever is within the novel. This is also a common change in adaptations. The musical's version of Jean Valjean is great-- but he also seems a lot more self-actualized, more like he's gotten himself completely "figured out" by the end of the story. Other, bad, Les Mis adaptations — the adaptations that generally portray Jean Valjean a worse more violent person — also usually make Jean Valjean more confident in himself, more confident in his own feelings/desires, more certain that he’s entitled to certain things, and more willing to demand or take what he wants.

But one major aspect of book Jean Valjean's personality is that he does not have a healthy relationship with anything about himself. He has a tortured broken relationship with his own identity. He repeatedly thinks about “Jean Valjean” as a person outside of himself, a person who he finds frightening, repulsive, savage, and horrible— like a wild animal he needs to sedate, or beat into submission. He is obsessed with self-denial and self-repression. He is fixated on the idea that he is subhuman, that he is not allowed to want things or to pursue having any kinds of relationships with other people-- and that the most heroic thing he can do is "grab himself by the collar” and violently force himself to stay away from the things he wants. He is desperate to be loved and fixated on being unworthy of love and on denying himself love. He is absolutely not at peace with his identity: to paraphrase Jean Valjean in one of the later chapters, he believes he can only gain inner peace by “eviscerating his own entrails.”

He is never truly content with who he is, what he wants, or what kind of love he wants— and he never learns to be. The novel ends with him cutting himself off from his only family, breaking ties with the only person who loves him, and essentially slowly killing himself out of self-loathing.

There are other characters in Les Mis who seem very content with who they are and what they want. Enjolras is self-assured in his identity, and doesn’t appear to feel like there is any kind of love that is missing from his life. Whether you interpret him as gay or ace or trans or w/e, book!Enjolras is written as someone who is extremely self-assured and has a loving support system that is enough to keep him happy. But I don’t think that’s true for Jean Valjean at all XD.

And that’s why it's hard to apply labels like “aromantic” or “ace” or gay/straight/etc to Jean Valjean, when talking about his canon characterization. Those labels imply the person has a basic level of comfort with acknowledging their own desires/lack of desire/identity. And Jean Valjean never achieves that level of comfort. What “label” do you give to someone whose relationship with their identity is “I do not belong in a family, I have no right to want things, I have no right to be happy, I am outside of life, and I will never be at peace until I eviscerate my own entrails?” Is there a “self-disembowelment" pride flag? XD I've seen a lot of interpretations that go "Jean Valjean never expresses any interest in romance, he's perfectly content just to have his relationship with his daughter" but I honestly don't think that's true. Jean Valjean tries to content himself with having only Cosette. But part of why everything explodes so catastrophically in the end of the novel is because he needs more than just a paternal relationship. He doesn’t try to have a “normal” father-daughter relationship with Cosette, he tries to force his relationship with Cosette to be literally everything and everyone to him, for her to be his entire world: and it doesn’t work.

There’s a passage in the novel that talks about how all the love Valjean is capable of ends up being suppressed/sublimated into his relationship with Cosette. The love of a brother, of a friend, of a father, of a husband, the love of everything he is capable of, gets repressed so that he can throw every part of himself into being a father. There are Bad les mis adaptations that incorrectly misinterpret that passage to mean that Jean Valjean is incestuous/grooming Cosette. But in context, that’s not what the passage means at all.

The passage specifies very explicitly that Jean Valjean “did not love Cosette otherwise than as a father,” that “no marriage was possible between them,” that his feelings for her are absolutely paternal. But the passage does show how Jean Valjean is doing a very different unhealthy thing: he’s relying on Cosette to fill every single emotional void in his life.

He’s relying on parenthood to fill the grief/emptiness left behind by all the other kinds of love that he has wanted, but never been given.

To quote a bit of that passage:

Jean Valjean did not love Cosette otherwise than as a father (…) Let the reader recall the situation of heart which we have already indicated. No marriage was possible between them; not even that of souls; and yet, it is certain that their destinies were wedded. With the exception of Cosette, that is to say, with the exception of a childhood, Jean Valjean had never, in the whole of his long life, known anything of that which may be loved. The passions and loves which succeed each other had not produced in him those successive green growths, tender green or dark green, which can be seen in foliage which passes through the winter and in men who pass fifty. In short, and we have insisted on it more than once, all this interior fusion, all this whole, of which the sum total was a lofty virtue, ended in rendering Jean Valjean a father to Cosette. A strange father, forged from the grandfather, the son, the brother, and the husband, that existed in Jean Valjean; a father in whom there was included even a mother; a father who loved Cosette and adored her, and who held that child as his light, his home, his family, his country, his paradise.

Jean Valjean reminds me of a Failmode I’ve seen in a lot of different real-life parents? There are parents who cope with their own hard lives by telling themselves that parenthood is their sole reason for being alive, and who obsess over their child’s success as their only source of purpose, meaning, love, happiness, community, and validation. But it’s a bad idea to rely on one child to provide the emotional support that should be shared by friends, parents, siblings, every possible loved one, etc etc—- One child can’t actually heal you from your trauma, be a replacement for your broken relationships, pull you out of your grief, save you from your adult loneliness, etc etc etc etc.

When I see the common interpretation that Jean Valjean is perfectly content just to be the father of Cosette, I think of this line:

Thus when he saw that the end had absolutely come, that she was escaping from him, that she was slipping from his hands, that she was gliding from him, like a cloud, like water, when he had before his eyes this crushing proof: “another is the goal of her heart, another is the wish of her life; there is a dearest one, I am no longer anything but her father, I no longer exist”; when he could no longer doubt, when he said to himself: “She is going away from me!” the grief which he felt surpassed the bounds of possibility. To have done all that he had done for the purpose of ending like this! And the very idea of being nothing!

On one hand, the terrible Les mis adaptations that portray Valjean as Incest Creep are incorrect and wrong. On the other hand, though, Jean Valjean IS unhealthy about Cosette— just in a different and actually sympathetic way.

He has made fatherhood his only purpose, to replace every other purpose he could have in life. So he can’t be “just Cosette’s father.” He can’t imagine her becoming an adult and leaving the nest, like children do. What does he have if he’s not taking care of her? What is his purpose in life if she doesn’t need him to be her parent? He's not just being her father, he's relying on her to be his entire reason to exist. He hasn't been allowing himself to have things outside of her.

And speaking of things outside of Cosette: segue time. This post was supposed to be about Jean Valjean and romance, so let's switch gears and talk about his canon 'romantic experiences' more:

We’re told that in his youth he “never had a sweetheart” because he “never had time to be in love.” There is no indication that Jean Valjean never wanted to be in love. The opposite is implied. Hugo frames it as a tragedy that Jean Valjean’s does not experience young love; it’s the horror of poverty taking yet another thing from him.

Within prison, Valjean is “gloomy” and “chaste;” when he traumadumps to Montparnasse about it, he talks about women looking on galley slaves with horror and disgust. Romance, at least “normal” heterosexual romance, is no longer something that is permitted for him. Jean Valjean knows very little about romance/love/sex and it repeatedly messes up his life. He spends 19 years in the all-male environment of prison, then about a decade in the almost-all-female environment of the convent. He has very little experience with how men and women are supposed to interact. The oppression Fantine faces as a sex worker, and Cosette's relationship with Marius, are both two big 'blind spots' that he struggles with.

At one point romantic love is described as “The only misery Jean Valjean had not yet experienced, and the only one that is sweet.”

In his massive confession to Marius, he agonizes over how he is not allowed to be part of a family, and is incapable of being part of a home. He compares himself to someone sick and diseased, that poisons good and normal people with his presence, and cannot be allowed to make himself part of their families.

So Jean Valjean doesn’t frame Romance as “a thing he doesn’t want:” it’s a thing “he is not allowed to want,” it is one of the many things he is banned from wanting. It's impossible to tell what kind of things he would want, if he were allowed to want them.

One of the most interesting things to me, however, is his general attitude towards Marius/Cosette.

Obviously his first reaction to Marius snooping around is fear and resentment— he doesn’t know to interact with romance, having never experienced it, and immediately begins catastrophizing. He views Marius as a privileged booby ruining his life for something as frivolous as a love affair: it reads to me as partially envy, envy of the fact that Marius lives the kind of safe comfortable life that allows him to experience young love.

Jean Valjean added: “What does he want? A love affair! A love affair! And I? What! I have been first, the most wretched of men, and then the most unhappy, and I have traversed sixty years of life on my knees, I have suffered everything that man can suffer, I have grown old without having been young, I have lived without a family, without relatives, without friends, without life, without children, I have left my blood on every stone, on every bramble, on every mile-post, along every wall, I have been gentle, though others have been hard to me, and kind, although others have been malicious, I have become an honest man once more, in spite of everything, I have repented of the evil that I have done and have forgiven the evil that has been done to me, and at the moment when I receive my recompense, at the moment when it is all over, at the moment when I am just touching the goal, at the moment when I have what I desire, it is well, it is good, I have paid, I have earned it, all this is to take flight, all this will vanish, and I shall lose Cosette, and I shall lose my life, my joy, my soul, because it has pleased a great booby to come and lounge at the Luxembourg.”

But, even though Jean Valjean views romance as something he isn’t allowed or have or to want, views it as a threat and catastrophizes over how it will ruin his life……he seems to also put heterosexual romance on a pedestal.

The way Jean Valjean idealizes marriage is one of his weirdest character notes for me.

He views marriage as Cosette’s “happy ending.” It’s her “happily ever after” point where she won’t need him anymore, where she won’t need anyone outside of her husband. A Man And a Woman Are Meant to Get Married, It's Fate, and It Means They Will Live Happily Together Forever. Marius is “the goal of her heart, the wish of her life; her dearest one.” Nothing outside of that matters anymore.

He treats her marriage as if romantic love is inherently always more important than any kind of platonic relationships, and always takes priority over them. He later dismisses the unconventional family structure he has with Cosette, saying that despite his love for her he was only a "passerby" and was not actually her real father, because they were not biologically related.

There's a moment where Jean Valjean is described as someone whose ideal is to be angel on the inside and a bourgeois on the outside. Jean Valjean's worship of bourgeois social norms, norms he can never truly be a part of, is one of his character flaws. He has a similar "guard dog" energy as Eponine does when she defends Rue Plumet from her parents.....Eponine and Jean Valjean both become the guard dogs of a kind of romantic relationship they believe they are banned from having. Jean Valjean believes that getting Happily Straight Married in a Middle-Class Home with a Picket Fence(tm) is the ideal path for life....but believes himself broken/incapable of ever following that path. And so he instead throws his entire life into securing that future for Marius and Cosette.

In what manner was Jean Valjean to behave in relation to the happiness of Cosette and Marius? It was he who had willed that happiness, it was he who had brought it about; he had, himself, buried it in his entrails, and at that moment, when he reflected on it, he was able to enjoy the sort of satisfaction which an armorer would experience on recognizing his factory mark on a knife, on withdrawing it, all smoking, from his own breast. Cosette had Marius, Marius possessed Cosette. They had everything, even riches. And this was his doing.

TL: DR:

Jean Valjean's gender/sexuality label is “idk but he’s super fucked up about it.”

#les mis #jean valjean #les mis letters #because i BRIEFLY tied it into Eponine #my idea for a self disembowelment pride flag #is that its like. prometheus and the eagle #but prometheus is into it #not sure how coherent this essay is but I am POasting it

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aesthet · 7 months ago

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Sweet Spot 𓍢ִ໋🀦

Alhaitham x fem!reader

contents: squirting, fingering, small story before smut, curious Alhaitham, mind fucked reader, bottom reader x top alhaitham

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Alhaitham wasn't interested in sex until he met you. Well it was a book to be exact, a 'How to' sex book that he came across in a bazaar held in the city of wisdom.

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"Book sale! Book sale! 40℅ off!" A man yelled promoting his books. The scribe isn't the type of person to go down town and be surrounded by people, but when he heard they sell books from all across Teyvat he just can't help but check it out.

While Kaveh wonders in the furniture section, the Scribe found himself between piles of books. He was looking around when he came across a book, quite a thick book but somehow light. The cover shows a hand, holding what seems to be a peach with the title 'Ladies' favorite secret',

"a cliche title" He mumbled when the merchant that's selling these books appeared behind him.

"Ah~ I see you're a cultured man, hm? " He wiggles his eyebrows, but after not seeing any reaction from the taller man he immediately cleared his throat and continued with his words "Pardon me friend-- are you interested in this book? "

But before Alhaitham could reply, the merchant continued his words "This book is written by a quite famous author amongst the ladies and she decided to help the men out here." The merchant then took a deep breath and held the book infront of Alhaitham's face "With this hand painted cover she presented a book to make your girlfriend happy! " The merchant smiled widely, and again after faced with an expressionless face, the merchant laughs awkwardly. "O-or partner, I don't judge!" the merchant said, thinking Alhaitham was offended by his words. But after not receiving any reaction he decided to change the topic.

"Say, friend? Care to take the book home with you? It's 40% off and your-"

"I'll take it" Alhaitham cut short

"What?" The merchant blinked a couple of times

"Need i repeat myself?" Alhaitham said, accidentally intimidating the poor merchant.

"O-oh! that wou;dn't be necessary. Uhm, Is there anything else? " The merchant fixes his wrinkled top, cold sweat trickling down his neck.

"No" He replied, though there was also another book that caught his eye. It was a Kama sutra, but he doesn't need it. For now that is, after all the bazaar will be going on for two weeks. Plenty of time

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A few days passed by and you noticed him being more bold, with his movements. Such as; helping you from behind when cutting a certain fruit, reaching for a book on the top shelf, getting a blanket from the closet and pressing himself against you while doing so, pulling you closer by the waist, and even taking a shower together more often. Teasing you, giving you bedroom eyes and a not so subtle hints.

So it's not surprising when you start to become more flustered around him and that made you overthink things. But those thoughts stopped when one day, you were cleaning the house and when you're dusting the bookshelves, you found a book that you've never seen before and after reading a little bit of the book. You can't help but wonder 'is this really him that bought this-'

"What are you doing? " The familiar voice cuts off your thoughts, making you flinch. "Alhaitham, you scared me" sighing after realizing it's just him. He walks over to you, towering you making you feel small. He looks down to see which page you were on "'How to find the sweet spot" he said, smirking slightly.

You looked down, realizing you're still holding the book and on page 69, coincidentally. So when you look up at him with a nervous smile along with an awkward chuckle only to be greeted by Alhaitham's eyes that are filled with something you've never seen from him. A wanting gaze.

"Want me to touch it for you, doll?" He leans in, kissing you. And after you agreed. He immediately puts you in a position, making your back lean against his broad chest as he holds your legs open as he bury his skilled digits in your cunt, curling it upwards and deep hitting your sweet spot. "Ah! Alhaitham--" you whined when his fingers dug deep into you, feeling it in your abdomen and a you writhed around feeling sensitive.

He hummed "Is this it? the sweet spot?" he mumbled to himself, learning your insides and taking notes of what makes you whine and shake like a leaf. "H-hah~ Alh-Haitham-" You moaned holding his wrist, feeling something build up in your abdomen. At this point you're drunk on his fingers, buried really deep in you and reaching spots that you can't reach with your own fingers. And after realizing the feeling that is in your abdomen is similar to the feeling you feel when you're about to pee. You panicked and try pushing his fingers away, only to have your wrist held by his other hand "W-wait, 'haitham! I-" he shushed you, his face beside your ear looking at the way his fingers pump in and out of your tight cunt.

He lets out a pleased, leaning in to your ear and nibbled on your ear "It's okay, no need to hold it in. Just let it out" You shake your head, scared at what's a bout to happen. Creaming around his two fingers, you begin to feel that you can't hold it in anymore and you told him "I-i can't it's too much!--angh~" he fondled your nipple through your shirt with the hand he used to grip your hand earlier. He shushes your whines with a kiss, swallowing every noise that comes out of your mouth.

With whines and moans filling up the room, you finally did what he said and finally let go that feeling building up in your abdomen. And when you did it felt like you blacked out for a few seconds, exhaling and letting out a relieved moan. You didn't realize you've squirted, and slouched against his chest. Alhaitham saw the big gush that sprayed from your pretty cunt, he was surprised and amazed that his doll can do such a thing!. That left you shaking and a whimpering, sweaty mess. Alhaitham then sat up and looked at your face again, then something inside him clicked. So without missing a beat he pushed two fingers in and began to massage your sweet walls

"A-hah! A-wait! I'm still sensi-tive! " You whine, writhing against the sheets and trying to push away his hand. But he only pushed away your hand and pressing down on your stomach. That resulted with a loud moan being ripped away from you. Despite your efforts of trying to push him away, you can't help but enjoy it and soon you became a mumbling mess., cumming again not long after.

He looked down to see your flushed face, too drunk on the feeling of his fingers. He tuts at your adorable face, in the midst of your heavy panting he pulled out his fingers and licking his fingers clean. "I didn't know you can be so messy" he said, easily changing your position.

"Wait, what are you doing?" you asked him and he replied with a chuckle "Oh? so you thought i was done with you?" he asked you with a smug smirk. That alone tells you that you're going to be here for awhile.

#genshin smut #alhaitham smut #fem reader #gens #genshin impact #genshin imagines

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sugarverse · 3 months ago

Text

𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝙾𝚞𝚝 📚📖

word count: 3.3k out of 9.4k

synopsis: you, 23 reader, have been working at a library on the corner for awhile until your boss invites a hero to come and visit. The hero also happens to ask for your number... <3

authors note: yikes i know, it was originally in three parts but I don't necessarily know how to break it up, originally the story was 12k. it's written for poc!reader/black!fem!reader so there's mentions of brown skin and eyes but other than that it's your normal x reader. Izuku is aged up to 25, The smut is in the second part.

moodboard for fic by @fizziedoodle !

“Hey Miss!!” You peered down at the smaller voice, simultaneously feeling a book slip from your hand and onto the ground with a thud. The bookshelf wasn’t too high, but you still needed a ladder to organize and dust the top shelf. Which… hadn’t been so pleasant with children running around before their daily read. Regardless, you had a job to do. It wasn’t gonna stop for a ton of kids. You had been rearranging the books in alphabetical order before the kid startled you.. Thank god it didn’t fall on their head.

“Are you gonna read to us today? Or is Miss Maggie?” The kid didn’t look over six years old, blue eyes and long brown hair with freckles littering her face in the sweetest way. She wore a small dress full of sunflowers with bright pink gel shoes. You’ve definitely seen her before, although her name wasn’t ringing a bell.

“I wanted to read one of those pigeon stories you read us last time!” She squeaked, shoving the book in your direction. You let out a sigh of relief, climbing down to the ground. Leaning down to be eye-level with her, taking the book gently from the girl. The title read The Pigeon Needs A Bath.

“This book is pretty thin, You sure you want me to read just this one book, sweetheart?” You ask, handing the girl the book back before standing straight. Your hands found their way into your pockets, looking for your notepad to mark the row complete after you snagged the book back from the ground.

“I’ll go find some more!” She hurried off, going to find even more things to shove in your face. You climb back up to finish your organizing. Their reading wasn’t for another.. what? 20 minutes? You had time to knock out another shelf. Time flew by as you finished reorganizing, hearing bigger footsteps behind you than the average 6 year old.

“I have to stop by Goodwill and get some more books.. I also gotta stop at the post office and some.. other errands?” The owner of the store, Maggie, looked over to make sure she had gotten your attention before naming off a few things that needed done in the shop “You got this reading?”

“Of course, What time will you be back?” You climbed down the last step of the ladder, patting off the dust from the bookcase that had gotten on your apron. It was some cutesy light blue apron you wore so the dust wouldn’t ruin your clothing. It didn’t match everything you wore but the baby blue made your skin pop.

“I’ll be back in time for that uh, Pro hero guy..” She snapped her fingers, trying to place a face and a name. “I don’t know exactly who- my wife wrote him in.” Maggie waved her hand, grabbing her bag from behind the counter as you followed. “But I’ll be back to close, Promise y/n!” She gave you a quick side hug, rushing out the door.

You weren’t too involved with all the hero bullshit, competing for the number one spot on who can save more lives to be rich and famous? Please. The system in itself is ass and it wouldn’t make a difference in your everyday life for one of those snobby people to stop by. The kids seemed to love it, quirkless or not. You walked around to the counter, placing your notepad next to the register before going to sit in the small corner of the shop for reading time. Maggie left with a wave, letting a small chime rang through the shop as it called the children over for their reading, a few already sitting and ready to listen.

The library wasn’t big, it was a corner store completely renovated into a library for children. The second floor had been an apartment where the owner and her wife stayed. It was a cozy little place where neighborhood kiddos would visit for a read, parents come in to buy a few books. Maggie always made sure there was something for everyone, Along with cute little toys and those foam floor mats to sit on. The girl from earlier held 4 books in her hands, rushing to sit near the front with her pile. A few other kids held thin picture books in their hands as well, but only having 15 minutes to read to them, you knew you wouldn’t get to them all.

“Alright, Who’s first?“ You asked, smiling down at them. All twelve of them raised their hand, some even raising both so your attention was on them. Of course this wasn’t going to be easy. You thought to yourself as you put a hand over your eyes, pointing to some random kid. He held a small book, standing up slowly and handing it to you.

"My mommy reads me this sometimes..” If you give a mouse a cookie. You gave him a reassuring smile before he went back to his seat. You began to read and in no time at all you finished reading the few books children selected. Thank god it was a Friday, Most children would be picked up right after the reading for afternoon preschool etc. But it seemed like no one wanted to leave.. Was it that hero Maggie had mentioned? You sighed, hopping up and heading to the check out desk where you saw a small line of children waiting to scan their books. The store bell jingled, as if the creak of the door didn’t give away someone walking in.

“Welcome to ‘Maggie’s Magical Bookshop,’ You paid the person no mind as you spoke, handing the last child their book before letting your gaze fall upon the… very tall man in front of you. Noise almost immediately filled the shop, children running up to him screaming-

"Deku!” As loud as their little lungs could. He gave a flashy smile, leaning down to hug the children that ran straight for his legs. He laughed and lifted a few of them in his.. very strong arms. Was it hot in the bookshop? Was the AC fucked up? You force your eyes from the tall man.. fumbling with something on the desktop. Was he looking at you too? Your mind screamed at you to introduce yourself, Quickly walking towards a shelf to do something. Anything besides gawk at him.

“Are you Maggie?” There were hopping children behind him, playing with his gloves and such as he spoke up. You stopped in your tracks, huffing through your nose before turning around to face him.

“No, I’m y/n. Are you the um.. pro? She had been talking about?” He extended a hand, nodding with a cheesy grin on his face as soon as your hand was in his. It wasn’t like you never saw him on the news, but you sure did skip the channel as soon as it was some bullshit hero chart over who had been number one. He was newer to being a pro, you knew that much. He was also so much hotter in person..

“Yes! I’m sorry I’m so early, I finished patrol sooner than I thought!- I hope I’m not interrupting anything! The woman on the phone said before six, I told her I was sure I could make it before then!” Your eyes never left his, watching his gaze fall to your lips for a moment as he spoke.

“You’re fine, There’s plenty of time for you to hang out and sign all of their t-shirts and such. Make yourself at home, The reading area might be best for the swarm you got..” The kids dragged him to where you were just moments ago before he could respond, talking his ears off about different silly topics.

The poor hero stayed until close, kids coming from school to see him before going off to finish homework. It’s the busiest the store has been since opening day! However, Izuku made it a point to stay that long. He spent the last 45 minutes of the store being open to make some conversation with you, he just couldn’t help himself. You had this smile that he couldn’t resist. And quite frankly, he wasn’t used to the feeling of butterflies in his stomach. He fought some shit villain every day, What’s a few butterflies? Especially as pretty as you. Why wouldn’t he want to stick around?

“I really didn’t think it would be so calm this week! It feels like I’ve done nothing but catch up on papers!” The hero scratched his neck with his index finger, shaking his head lightly. “I guess I really am doing a good job!- Of course other pros are doing their jobs as well!” He let out a relieved chuckle, looking at you with a big, sincere, smile on his face. “How has work here been? It must be so nice working with so many children!”

You feel your eyes involuntarily roll, shaking your head and leaning against the wall behind you. “It’s nice until some kid gets sick on themselves and their mother isn’t here to help. We have extra clothing in the back because it’s happened more than once.. I don’t understand why kids throw up so much.” Your groan turned into a laugh, eyes leading to lost n found. You had an unamused look on your face talking about it. He noticed but couldn’t stop looking at your soft brown eyes. He felt like he was a kid all over again, the blush on his face never faulting.

“I see adults get sick all of the time if you can believe it..” He chuckled, looking out of the store window for a few seconds before speaking again. “Do you have a number I can text? I would love to talk to you more.. If that’s okay with you?” He braced for rejection, It was kinda weird to be hitting on you after dealing with kids wasn’t it? Maybe he should take it back. Was he coming off sleazy? Maybe he should talk to you a few times before he asks.

Your eyes widened in the slightest, feeling a smile tug at your lips. “Sure, Let me see your phone,” You stepped closer to the counter, seeing him fumble in the pouch of his belt before handing you his phone. You went to his contacts, making yourself one of them and handing it right back to him. He had an even bigger, cheesier, grin on his face after he took it back.

“I have to um.. I have to go back to my agency to make sure everything is settled for the night. I’ll be texting you as soon as I’m off!” He spoke quickly, stumbling over his words as he slowly backed towards the door. “I hope you have a good night y/n!” He waved, bumping into the door with his back before quickly leaving. He didn’t want to continue making a fool of himself.

Finally, you could go home as well. Not that he was a problem, but that man sure could talk. It was endearing. You thought to yourself, grabbing your keys and walking out to lock the small bookshop up. There was no doubt that you were attracted to him. Every woman in America.. Japan, Hell the world was attracted to him in some way. But he asked for your number. You felt your chest swell with some kind of pride. By the time you made it home, he had already texted. You two made plans to hang out soon and have dinner together. You talked for hours until you eventually fell asleep. He was ecstatic. You really enjoyed his company.

As the next Friday rolls around, He tells you to put on the most fancy thing you have in your closet. He refused to tell you where he was taking you, only that he’d be to pick you up at 6. You weren’t one for surprises but this couldn’t go too bad. Fancy clothing? Had to be a dinner! You hoped it was just dinner. Your social battery couldn’t take being fancy for more than about two hours max.

And 6:00pm sharp, there he was. He wore a shiny black tux with a handsome sage green tie, carrying flowers for you. Thinking that roses were too cliche, he had bought you a bouquet of daisies and pink lilies. He took a deep breath, walking up to your door and knocking before taking a small step back, wanting to give you some space to avoid smothering you as soon as you opened the door. The gold watch on his wrist flickered in the sunlight, the reflection of the light shimmering across your chest as you answered the door.

You had on a short, silk, black dress, fitting to your body in the best way possible. Your hair was done, your make-up was done, you even had on these cute black glittery heels you got on sale. You looked stunning. He blinked a few times, scanning your body with his emerald eyes. His jaw stayed slack, struggling to speak at first. “You look gorgeous.. I-I brought you flowers.!” He extended his arms out to hand them to you, feeling his face radiate heat from how red he had gotten. He tried to fan himself, laughing softly.

You simply smiled, taking them and going to put them in a vase. “You can come inside if you’d like! It’s not really tux weather, huh Deku?” You teased, turning on the water from your faucet and looking back at him.

He quickly nodded, walking in and shutting the door quietly behind him. “Please- Call me Izuku.” You undid the rubber band on the bouquet, sliding the flowers into the vase along with the small flower food it came with.

“Is that your first or last name?” He looked around your cozy apartment, looking at pictures and the designs on the coffee table. Just soaking in small details. “My first name, Midoriya is my last..” He looked over at you, hearing the small clunk of glass hit the table lightly as you set the vase down. You bent over slightly, centering it at the table and moving the napkins to the kitchen counter top instead. “How’s it look, Izuku?” You looked over at him, standing up straight and leaning your arms on the back of the dining room chair.

He let his eyes drift over to the vase, smiling as he felt his face finally cool down. “I think it looks great! I didn’t want to get you roses, I just thought it was.. boring?” He didn’t want you to be allergic in some way or throw them away right after he left. Then again, He couldn’t ask what your favorite flowers had been. You would have known what he was getting. You began walking over to him, grabbing your handbag. “I think it looks pretty! Are you ready to leave?”

He beamed, nodding and opening the door for you. He gave a small bow for you to go first. You thank him, flicking off a few lights on the way out. He followed before shutting the door. You lock it with a small hum, checking that it was locked before walking you to the.. fucking limo he had waiting? Your eyes shot open in surprise, looking over at him as he looped his arm around yours and walked you to the newly washed, maybe even newly painted, vehicle.

“I hope I didn’t go too overboard? I just wanted the first date to be nice. Ya know?” He flashed a small smile, opening the door for you and hopping in himself as you two drove into town. You looked around the area, seeing fancy liquor and wine glasses close to a very clean mirror. The seats were cream colored and it smelled like new leather. Your eyes roamed, seeing Izuku sitting tense with his scarred hands placed in his lap. Maybe he was trying to avoid making you uncomfortable.. He really had been a gentleman.

You scooted closer to him, watching him quickly move his arm up top of the seat to give you room. You lean your head onto his chest lightly. “Where are we going?” You ask, looking at your freshly done nails. He wanted to leave it a surprise, looking down at you with a small chuckle.

“Nowhere too expensive,” He joked, letting his freckled hand slide to rub over your shoulder. You eased into his touch, smiling and looking down at the tight fit of his pants, rubbing a hand over his knee as well to make sure he was alright.

“That didn’t answer my question, Where we goin’?” You laughed, looking up at him to see he’s already looking down at you with the most lovey dovey face he possibly could. Still trying to soak in the sight of you.

“Don’t you wanna wait until we get there?” He faked a pout, holding back a grin creeping onto his face. You faked annoyance in return, huffing and scratching his knee a few times with your nails. “Fine, Fine.. I’ll wait.” You looked through the tinted windows, feeling your heels squish at the carpet on the floor of the limo.

He looked at the mirror, seeing your pretty shaven legs and wanting to run his hands down them. Your skin was just so soft.. But he didn’t wanna be weird, sighing and looking away from your frame quickly. “You like steak? Or are you more of a sushi person?” Maybe he didn’t even know where you two were going, sliding his scarred hand down your arm lower than before.

“Steak is so good,” You laughed, trying to recall if you had even tried sushi. You think you have? You were up to try it again. You shrugged, “The sushi I don't mind trying, I’m probably just going to get something small.” You fumbled with your nails, picking at them slightly. Eating on first dates was always kinda weird. Especially when the person gets too scared to eat in front of you. Then you don’t wanna eat and it’s wasteful..

“You can buy everything in the place if you want. Don’t look at prices. I’m treating you, y/n.” He leaned down to your forehead, giving a small peck before he looked out the window again. You smiled wide as the feeling of the limo moving started to slow to a stop. The valet opened the door for the two of you, ducking his head down slightly and smiling. “Right this way,”

He bowed at the two of you, seeing the pro hero get out and turn to you. The place was lit with warm lights and music coming from the revolving door as people walked in with big flashy outfits and styled hair. You took Izuku’s hand, getting out and letting your heels clink against the top of the curb and onto the carpet leading to the entrance. He pulled you close, moving his hand to hold your waist. “Do you like it? I know we haven’t gone in yet but the lights on the outside look pretty cool, right?” The valet shut the door behind you two as you walked towards the door.

You were speechless, letting out a small but nervous laugh. “It sure is something.. It already looks too expensive.!” It wasn’t like you were poor, but it wasn’t like you were rich either. This place looked like the start off price was 200 a person for a damn drink! You kept yourself close to the hero as you both walked into the rotating door. The carpet from the walk-way turned to fancy tile that made a lovely click noise when you stepped onto it. The interior was more gold than anything with dark wood complementing the hostess stand and the pillars of the building. Gold designs littered the bar area, making it look more than pleasant. Looking to your left, there was the tallest fish-tank that you think you had ever seen. Still not as tall as the ceilings but it sure was tall enough. There had been lots of colorful fish, octopus, starfish.. Everything was in that damn tank.

heres another link to part two if you don't wanna scroll up lol

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mystcldydrms · 1 year ago

Text

LIBRARY ADORATION - FRED WEASLEY

summary: a book isn't the only thing fred weasley wants you to have

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: fluff

notes: you know how much I love books and libraries. I just had to write this one. also please be aware that I haven't written anything for probably 6 months. I'm slowly getting back into it.

You stood in front of one of the many bookshelves of the Hogwarts library, your eyes scanning the spines of the books. The words already started to blur; however, you shook your head lightly, focusing on the titles as best as possible.

You had abandoned your essay, which was due in two days, on a table, alongside two books that had helped you tremendously while writing it, however, you still needed one more that could help you while writing your essay.

For a few more minutes, you kept looking everywhere. You knew exactly which book you needed. One of your fellow students had told you about it. Unfortunately for you, she had forgotten in which section she had found it, hence, here you were, looking at every shelf that was dedicated to the history of magic.

“Where are you?” you whispered to yourself, rounding yet another corner to go and look at yet another shelf. This time, you weren’t alone.

In the corner sat Fred and George Weasley with their friend Lee Jordan. They had noticed your presence right away. You saw them quickly shielding their notes from you. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes slightly. You didn’t feel the need to know what they were whispering about. You didn’t care about their schemes or plans. Well, you did, but not at that moment. You just wanted to grab your book and finish your essay.

Your eyes looked at yet another couple of books until they finally landed on the one you needed the most. You took one more step towards the shelf and tried to grab the book, which, unfortunately, was almost at the top. You let out an almost inaudible sigh. Although you tried to stand on your tiptoes, you couldn’t reach the book with your hand.

You weren’t small. You had an average height for a girl your age. But why couldn’t you reach the book? Of course, you could use your wand and get it, however, your wand was in the pocket of your robe. And that robe was almost all the way across the library.

“Do you need a hand?”

You jumped lightly, and although that voice had talked to you in a whisper, you were surprised to hear it. You turned your head to the right and noticed Fred Weasley standing right next to you, a teasing smile on his lips.

The three Gryffindors must have watched you while you struggled to grab the book. You immediately felt the embarrassment and the heat that was starting to make its way up to your face, turning your cheeks a light shade of red. Another sigh escaped your lips as you nodded your head.

“Which one is it?”

“The one with the brown spine. Magic Mysteries.”

Fred nodded his head before he easily extended his arm and grabbed the book you needed. A proud smile graced his lips as he handed it to you, your fingertips lightly brushing his.

“Thank you.”, you whispered as you pressed the book against your chest, looking up into his eyes.

“No problem. Why did you need this one?”

You caught a glimpse of Lee and George, who slightly snickered behind Fred until they noticed you looking at them. They quickly looked at their notes again, pretending to write something down. You giggled lightly, shaking your head before you looked into Fred’s eyes again, a smile already on his lips. Did it even leave? You didn’t know, but you liked it that way.

“I have an essay due in two days. I’m almost done, but I still need a few more details. What about you? What are you doing?” you asked curiously.

Yes, you didn’t really care about it when you first saw them scheming something in their little corner, but you didn’t want your conversation with Fred to end so soon. You liked talking to him, always have. It was easy. You couldn’t call yourself friends, however, you were in the same house, and you greeted each other whenever you saw one another in the castle. And sometimes, you even had a conversation.

Did you have a crush on the ginger-haired boy? Yes. But who wouldn’t? Every girl in their right mind could see that the twins were two good-looking boys.

“Oh, nothing important. Just a few notes for a future project.”, Fred explained, snapping you out of your little daydream about him.

“Sounds fun?” you said, grinning up at him.

“Well, I better get back and finish my essay. Have fun. I’ll see you around.”

Before you rounded the corner, you stole one last glance at Fred, who hadn’t turned around yet, but rather stayed where he was, locking eyes with you. You could swear you saw a shimmer of red on his cheeks, however, after looking at books for such a long time, you weren’t so sure of your focus anymore.

After another hour of reading and writing, you had finally finished your essay, but before you could get up and pack everything away, you noticed someone sitting down next to you.

“Fancy seeing you here.”, you heard a male voice say.

A bright smile immediately graced your lips as you turned your head and, once again, looked into the eyes of Fred Weasley.

“I know. I swear I saw you an hour ago just behind that bookshelf over there.”, you said, both of you laughing lightly.

“Have you finished your essay yet?”

“Yes, finally. I can’t write another one for at least a week now. I can’t even focus on words anymore.”

Fred couldn’t help but laugh again. You had that effect on him. You were funny, you knew how to hold a conversation, and you laughed about all his jokes, which was one of the reasons he had started to fall for you. Of course, you were also a beautiful girl.

You saw one another in the castle every day and talked every other day, but for him, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to spend as much time with you as possible. He needed to talk to you every day, laugh with you, hold you … and finally find out how your lips felt on his.

“Can I ask you something?” Fred blurted out, a bit louder than intended. Madame Pince was instantly by your side, staring angrily down at the ginger-haired boy who only shrugged and mumbled ‘sorry’.

You giggled quietly, watching how Madame Pince walked away before your eyes landed on Fred again, who was already watching you, a dreamy smile gracing his lips.

“Go ahead. What do you want to ask me?”

To say that you were curious was an understatement. You were nervous. What could Fred Weasley ask you? Did he need help with an essay? Did he need help with his future project?

“Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this Saturday? Just the two of us, I mean.”

Your eyes widened; your mouth lightly opened as you tried to process his words. Fred just asked you out on a date. And he wanted it to happen this Saturday.

‘Wow’, you thought to yourself, as you nervously started to play with your fingers.

You had no idea how long you were quiet, but you could see the way Fred started to fidget. He kept staring at you, waiting for an answer.

“Yes.”, you whispered. “Yes, of course. I would love to go to Hogsmeade with you.”

The young man that sat next to you couldn’t help but clap his hands together before he stood up and triumphantly put his hands in the air.

“Fred. Stop.”, you said, giggling, taking his robe in your hands, trying to pull him down onto his chair again, but he didn’t bother. He just stood there and looked at you with the brightest smile you had ever seen on his face.

“You just made my day so much better.”, he confessed, leaning down until he was face to face with you, your eyes on one level.

You studied his face, first his eyes, then his lips, the freckles on his cheeks, until your eyes landed on his again. You knew that you were blushing again, but you didn’t care. You were beyond happy.

“I have to get going now. George and Lee are probably already wondering where I am, but I will see you later in the common room. We could discuss our date.”

The only thing you could do was nod your head while Fred sent you a small wink before he turned around and made his way out of the library.

Your heart was pounding like crazy in your chest. You felt the butterflies flying around in your stomach. You and Fred. You and Fred on a date.

Too stunned to do anything else, you just sat in the library for a few more minutes until you regained your strength and started packing up your things, already looking forward to seeing Fred in the common room.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fluff #fred weasly x you #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fic #fred weasley one shot #weasley twins imagines #harry potter imagines

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siddyyyyyyyy · 2 months ago

Note

Hello, how are you? I hope I don't bother you, can I ask for jason+reader freaking out about a book?

Reading Session

Jason Todd x Reader

wc: 0.6 K summary: Jason finds his favourite book at your place and freaks out warnings: none, fluff, no y/n used a/n: this is such a cute idea, thanks for the request!!! i',#m so sorry about this being so short though, hope you'll still enjoy it anyway😭💕

Jason and you are both huge bookworms. It wasn‘t a surprise anymore when you recommended a book to him but he already read it. The same goes the other way, though. Both of your apartments are filled with random books in almost every corner, multiple stacks that are messily organised. It brings a more domestic feeling for Jason and he actually loves the way it looks like. It‘s strangly comforting, having some of the books from your collection resting in his room, a constant reminder that you are in his life.

Even now as he is laying peacefully in your bed, just reading through some random book to pass time, it feels just right. While you are taking a shower after having been on a long walk with him, Jason gives up on reading the amateur written book and places it away, turning to the big stacks of books by your bedside. He reads through a few titles on the backs of them, his eyes skimming through it quickly until he pauses.

What‘s his favourite book doing here? Did you steal it? No… is he just finding out about this? You‘ve been together for several months, been friends before that a few years, why does he only know now? This is insane.

When you walk out of the bathroom, Jason is already sitting up in your bed and keeps his eyes on the stack of books. Deciding not to adress it for now, you continue with your routine before slipping into bed with him.

»Have you read this book?«

He holds his favourite in his hand, looking at you while you apply a cream onto your face. You glance behind your shoulder, scanning the cover briefly.

»Yeah, some time ago. It‘s really good, you should also read it.«

You answer back with a small nod and go back to taking care of yourself, already assuming he read it before and doesn‘t think it‘s a masterpiece.

But no, he stands up, just to stand behind you and keeps his eyes on the book for now.

»You know, that‘s my favourite.«

He casually drops, expecting nothing much in return. Your action pauses and you ignore every other step you have left in your routine. With a quick turn in your chair, you face him. Jason pays attention to you again but keeps the book in his hands.

»No way.« You stand up now, cream still not fully rubbed in on your cheek. Jason tilts his head, confused because of your reaction.

»It‘s also my favourite! When were you going to tell me about this?« Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room spikes up, your excited energy bringing a small smile to his face. He places the book down at the table, shrugging his shoulders.

»Oh, I don‘t know. When were you going to tell me, huh? I saw this book just now, how long has this been here?«

The taller man crosses his arms as if he is actually scolding you about it, his tone playful.

You both end up talking and rambling to each other about specific parts and plot points made in the book, also talking about the the way it was written. You show him the notes and annotations you put into each page, seeing his eyes light up and perk up as he skims through it.

The evening draws out late into the night, just talking and basically fangirling over some silly words that happen to be your favourites.

Laying together in bed, having his head laying over your stomach as he listens intently to you and also shares some thoughts with you. Hand craddling and playing with his hair, you end up doying off together on each other, the book resting somewhere in the bed too.

←MASTERLIST

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loganlermanstanaccount · 1 year ago

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 9)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 8, Part 10

summary: You both come to a realisation.

warnings: smut! f! masturbation, grinding, humping, fingering, (implied) recreational drug use, alcohol, dubcon (-ish! reader is drunk but the interaction is consensual, tagging just in case xx), teeny tiny bit of mutual pining. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: yuhh

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 7.2k

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

all that light lost in gaps

You're gone, in the morning.

…he should've expected it. Miguel stumbles out of sleep, groggy and disoriented. He finds himself reaching out for something in the half-light.

He finds himself reaching for you. And when you're not there, leaving a person sized gap at the crook of his arm, his stomach churns. He pretends it's not disappointment, or the sharp crack of yearning ; settling at his chest like a crowbar, and prying open his ribs. It's worry, he decides resolutely, a perfectly normal, healthy amount of worry. As your roommate; and nothing else, he keeps reminding himself; he's just worried about where you've rushed off to, especially after yesterday.

Senior year. He was assigned a bullshit paper in a Civics class – one he'd usually half-ass for an easy A. He'd wax poetic about morality – amorphous, vague platitudes about duty and societal expectations. By the end of the year, he had it down to a science: a couple thousand words remixed and plucked from lesser known philosophers, videos online, and overdue library books. Either he was getting too good at it, or his teacher was too stupid to notice; but regardless, he coasted through the class right up until graduation. His last paper, and he remembers it distinctly, was on the book of the same name; aptly titled What We Owe Each Other. A plodding, pluralistic read; of which he had only scanned through, anyways. Extra credit, anything to graduate early, and he'd had more than enough on his plate at the time.

And so, he wasn't expecting the B+ underlined and circled in red ink on the front page. It felt like his teacher had handed it back to him face down, slammed onto the desk like the thunderous crack of a whip. And he didn't need that A, strictly speaking. Yet, he had found himself staying over after class, crinkling that piece of paper in hand as he'd asked why.

She sighs. Miss Hunter's glasses slip down her nose, as they are prone to do.

"You're an outstanding student. I hear you're graduating early, and you're off somewhere prestigious in the fall. This is… definitely not a bad grade, and it's nothing, I promise you."

It doesn't work like that, for him. His teacher doesn't get it, but it will eat him up inside-out if he's not able to understand.

"Was it my referencing?" He fumbles with the strap of his bag.

"No. Not at all–"

"I did the extra reading…the article you mentioned in class, and–"

He's cut off by the scrape of a desk chair. Miss Hunter gets up to close the door, before settling on her desk.

Arms crossed, she seems tired. Worried, maybe, but it doesn't register with Miguel. The thought doesn't even cross his mind, that there are others with the capacity to worry about him.

"Technically, it's well written. As usual, Miguel." She gives him a weak smile. "It just… lacked heart."

His brows jump up. "...heart?"

"There's not really a narrative voice, here."

He taps at the paper on the desk, frustrated. "You didn't ask for a narrative voice, though. You didn't ask for… for heart. I read the book, I did the extra reading, and I wrote a report. That was the brief."

"Not quite." She says it gently, but it still sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him. "The brief was vague, intentionally so. 'What Do We Owe Each Other? Discuss.' I gave examples, sure: excerpts from the book we touched on in class, articles, academic papers, etcetera. They were… suggestions."

"...suggestions." He's incredulous.

She nods. "You followed it to the letter, Miguel. You gave me a summary, with a few key links. Fully referenced, yes. Well-written, yes. But this feels like a sum of parts. It doesn't tell me anything about you; your perspective, your angle. Your voice."

He's biting back choice words. It sounds like bullshit to him, for lack of a better word. Flowery, hoity-toity BS; served up to him on a steaming platter. That's it?

Maybe it shows on his face, because she's asking, as delicately as possible,

"Is everything okay?"

Instinctually, he seizes up.

"Yeah. Yes. I'm good."

"I know you don't take this class as seriously because it's not an AP, or an elective, or maybe not as challenging as you need it to be. And that's okay, Miguel. I'm happy for you to use my class as a break from all the other stuff." She swallows thickly. "You're not from our usual feeder schools. The Academy is particularly rigorous. But considering your… situation, we can make exceptions. If there's anything I can do–"

"There isn't a 'situation'."

"Right. Of course, I'm sorry. But if you need a couple days off of school because of…" She pasues, saying the next part softly. "Because of the baby… I mean, you're already acing my class–"

"No." He says it firmly, eyes trained onto the wood grain peeking out from underneath piles of documents. He wants to ask how she knows, and how he's always the last to find out that rumours have spread, and–

"Miguel." Her voice cuts through dense fog. She repeats her previous statement. “If there's anything I can do–”

“If you want to help, you can give me that A.” It's bone dry, said with the kind of sarcasm he's grown accustomed to. He wears it over his shoulders, sometimes; draped to keep out biting cold, or unfamiliar warmth from a stranger - it all feels the same, now.

She gives him a rueful smile. “Need more than that, m'afraid.”

Heart. Voice. What We Owe Each Other – and he doesn't know why that phrase sticks in his throat. It's been drilled into him since childhood; family and community, helping each other out of the starting blocks; and beaten out of him during adolescence. The creaking and cracking of bones after each step, where out in the world it's a different matter entirely.

His mama has bad taste in men, and he finds himself picking up the pieces. Gabi is more sensitive than he'll ever admit, trying not to cry amongst broken plates and chicken-wire hidden in a bouquet of peonies: prickly words that cut and hack, and it's Miguel that wipes the tears from his brother's cheek. That devastatingly gentle sigh when he had told his mama what he had done - how he had fallen for a soft bed and even softer lips at the ripe age of 16 and a half - and Miguel carries that weight. What We Owe Each Other – and he's only ever fed entitled egos. Not his family, of course, but he's been burned. He's had more than his fair share of it.

He doesn't owe the world shit, he thinks.

He doesn't owe you shit.

It doesn't help that he's been stuck in place, grasping at cushion covers and a raggedy blanket. Trying not to drown in the heady scent of you, he's been dragging thick fingers over the fabric as if in a trance. You don't owe him anything, either. Nary an apology, an explanation; so much as a sorry spilling from pretty lips in that way where they quiver like a gentle flame.

He's touched them, felt them drag across his skin like the finest silk, and dropped to his knees in search of something you've never given him. It doesn't matter if you don't; kiss him , that is; the swirling, desperate sort that leaves him heaving and creaking and begging for more. He thinks he'd still scuff up the denim at his knees if you asked, regardless - he'd do anything , if it was for you.

It's not realistic to expect anything from you. You don't need to tell him where you've gone or why you've left so early. You don't need to, and yet he finds himself reaching for his phone.

Miguel sends a well placed message; deft fingers tapping away at the screen. Before he changes his mind, it's sent; and he's chewing his lip whilst waiting for a steady three dots. Lyla is slower than usual, but she comes through. She doesn't ask questions - because she knows him better than he knows himself - and gives him a thumbs up.

They'll call each other later, that much he's sure of, but for now he reads between the lines. Short bursts of text, like firecrackers flashing across a night sky, and only through nonsensical emojis and odd slang can they understand each other.

This part, he can do. And he'll do whatever he needs to, not what he owes.

~~~

You make it to Pam's just after it opens.

At 7 o'clock sharp, you've made the journey; in an empty subway car, spilling out onto the streets like treacle left in the neck of a bottle. It's not quite a squeeze, passing by only a handful of people, with nothing but a jacket thrown over last night's clothes. In a daze, you realise too late: it's Miguel's. A dusty, worn thing; brown leather crackling at the sleeves and heavy on your shoulders. It feels like a hug, and it feels like him : warm and stiff. It smells like him too, and you bury your nose in the collar on the subway, sleeves kissing your palm like his hand is in yours.

It's a feeling that takes you all the way to the doors: past the slats bolted shut and down a familiar alley. You push past them, sneakers on slick tiles, and give a weak smile to the woman that perks up from behind the counter, kicking away the mop and bucket.

"Hiya, welcome to Pam's! How can I–"

"Oh, God , no." You wave her off. "Take your time. I need a minute, if that's okay."

Settling on the barstool, you watch as the young woman smiles, picking up a rag and wiping at the counter. You sit in it, for a while.

Dregs drip in through the front. The bell at the top of the door chimes, tinny and cheerful in the relative gloom of a quiet morning.

It's cold , outside. Autumn, biting at your fingers and nose. Eventually you opt for a coffee, piping hot to stave off that chill. Bitter, the aftertaste lingers at the back of your throat. You find yourself picking at the chipped mug, chasing away that taste with fluffy pancakes. The combination doesn't feel quite the same – not after many a morning with your roommate.

You settle into the seat. You wrap that old jacket around you. You sip at tart coffee and pick at your nails. A quiet morning, one to yourself, one to keep hidden at the crook of your chest. Some semblance of peace , wrapped up in the spindles of a dandelion. That is to say; delicate and fleeting, whipped away by the breeze.

You've decided not to think too hard about it. That kind of thinking ends dangerously, you've realised: with long, hot nights spent tossing and turning. It ends with a head full of cotton, and a pounding at your chest. With blood, with tears, with a stranger in your bed. And so, you go for the cleaner option. The safer one, all things considered, that's less likely to end in a broken heart.

You float around for a while. Walking without a real destination, trying to ground yourself. Eventually, you end up home, opening the door to an empty apartment. There's no traces left of a night spent in Miguel's arms. Good, you think, slipping your shoes off at the door. It doesn't feel good , but if you say it enough times you just might believe it.

The cleaner option; the one with less gristle and bone; is a familiar one. You settle into a shower; steamy and soapy, taking your time to clean out the blood from under your fingernails. The grime, the dirt ; you watch it swirl into the drain, hands running across soft flesh. You try to do it like Jamie did, once upon a time. It doesn't feel right, and has you leaning onto the cool tile. The shower head sputters, a shaky pressure on your back but you lean into it and close your eyes. You rub a hand at the crook of your chest, and then down, down, down, circling your breast and then following the curve of hips to the apex of your legs. Tipping your head, letting the hot water stream through your hair and then your back; and you touch, feel , and you can almost taste him ; sweet and saccharine Miguel, at your lips.

With two fingers flat against your clit, you rub little circles at the nub, dipping into your hole for much needed wetness. Your other hand travels up soft skin, pads of your fingers grazing collarbone, and then they curl around your neck. With a little pressure, your thumb grazes your jaw. Like he does, except your hands aren't as deliciously rough or as large. You slip a finger in, and then two, water pounding your back and eyes screwed. You push past that initial tightness, searching for a little give. When it comes, cunt clenching around your fingers, just shy of that sweet spot as you press your clit with the heel of your palm; you're imagining it's your roommate. He'd wrap those thick forearms around you, press his cock to the crest of your back and touch you like you deserve.

You do it like Miguel would, reverent , touching you as if you were clay at a potter's wheel. In the hands of God herself, you cum; falling, falling, falling; tumbling down white water rapids and spit back up into the rushing water. You're panting, now, out of breath.

When you sink onto your bed, you realise it's not quite enough. Still in a fluffy robe, steam curls from your skin like clouds – ones that smell of cheap body wash and shampoo. Before you know it, you're reaching for your phone, sending two quick messages to a certain somebody.

[Sent: 15:32]

hey mig

[Sent: 15:32]

where did u go?

You don't expect a quick reply - he's never been much of a texter. But those three dots pop up in no time at all, much to your surprise.

[Received: 15:33]

Out.

[Received: 15:33]

Running errands.

It's succinct and to the point – of which you expect nothing else from Miguel. Your thumbs fly to the screen to reply but another message tugs the rug out from under your shaky legs.

[Received: 15:35]

Is everything okay?

[Sent: 15:35]

yeah

[Sent: 15:36]

all good

When that provides no response, you're left chewing on your lip, anxious. He's seen the message, he's read the message; but for some reason, several minutes go by and there's no response.

You're ready to give up and chalk it to your roommate's hot-and-cold nature, when your phone rings.

Immediately, you pick up.

" Don't believe you." His voice rings out, tinny, nestled amongst the covers.

"Hey, Mig." You settle down on the bed, putting him on speaker and placing it by your ears.

" Did you hear what I said?" His tone is deep and intense, making you shiver. It's not quite the same, of course, but you're reminded of nights spent with his lips tucked close the shell of your ear.

You swallow. "Yeah. I… I did."

" You sure? Because you suck at lying."

"Don't be an asshole."

" Think I get a free pass when you disappear for the whole day."

You roll your eyes. “You didn't call–”

“ Would you have answered?”

Ouch. He sounds frustrated, the quiet chatter of his background bathed in heavy silence. Silence thick with tension, and you almost choke on it.

He breaks it with a heavy sigh. “ You okay? ”

“No. Not really.”

“ Okay. ” He lets it sit for a while, before saying, “ I'll be home, soon. There's leftovers in the fridge, and you should eat, sweetheart. You want anything from the store? ”

His voice is so, so soft. It crackles like kindling on a fire: warmth that blooms and spreads to your chest. Like slipping off frozen gloves to thaw off in front of a heater, and he just makes you feel impossibly warm.

“Not really, thanks.” You mumble it, and hear a satisfied grunt from the other end. Before you change your mind, you say, “Sorry. M'sorry.”

Miguel gives a light chuckle and you think you can hear him smile, the kind you always chase after a stupid argument: one that tugs at the corners of his pretty lips.

“ You've got nothin' to be sorry about .”

He gives you a moment to feel the weight of his words, and ends the call. That heat at your chest blooms.

If Miguel O'Hara is the Sun, then maybe you don't mind being pulled into his orbit; bathing in steady light and warmth.

~~~

He comes home with flowers. A beautiful bouquet; delicate and balanced, featherlight wildflowers and brush, interspersed with sprays of blue and purple and pink. It's wonderfully dense, reminding you of the tangles of colour a child might decorate a picture with in wobbly crayon. Simply put, it's nothing short of a vision, and you notice how delicately he places it on the dining table.

With the rest of the grocery bags, Miguel clatters in, and you can't help but be curious. You're poking through the bags, sitting on the counter as he puts them away – after offering to help, of course, but he bats you away easily. Your bare legs bristle in the chill brought on by the window cracked open, and he just breezes past.

The cabinet opens with a thud , and your roommate busies himself with putting away food. Carefully, you watch the way the muscles of his back flexes this way and that - cut and lean under that thin sweater. He’s otherwise occupied, and so you take the opportunity to stare, playing with a loose string at the hem of silky shorts. And so, it makes you jump when your phone buzzes beside you. Innocuously, you glance at the notification, and your eyes go wide.

“Who’s that?” Miguel asks, voice light. With that freaky sixth sense of his, he doesn’t need to turn around to know, it seems.

“Lyla.” You murmur, reading the rest of the message.

“ ...And? ”

“Uh. Well…” Blinking, you can’t quite believe what she’s asking. “ Girl’s Night . I-I mean… she’s asking me to come with her for a Girl’s Night.”

“Really?” His tone is surprising, and you can hear how he beams by its lilting nature. Maybe he’s laughing at you, maybe he’s not, but you snap back regardless.

“ ... don’t act so surprised.”

“ You sound surprised.” He laughs.

“It’s different when I do it.” You say simply. “I just… I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even know we were close enough to–”

“Bullshit. You text her all the time.”

“A couple of times, Mig.” You correct him, trying to pin down a suitable response to give Lyla. You draw a blank. “I don’t want her to feel like she has to, or anything.”

He turns around, sleeves still rolled up. The look he gives makes you wither: one that could say about a million things. You think it means cut the crap , but he could just be constipated: you haven't quite mastered the art of reading Miguel O’Hara.

“Do you want to go?” He gets closer, hand flat on the counter next to your thigh.

You nod, and his hand creeps up and up.

Giving you a little smile, he shrugs. “Then go.”

It makes you shy. Bashful , even; and you’re wriggling as he squeezes the flesh. A hand on his forearm, and he’s close; so much so that all you can feel is the press of skin, and feel gentle breath fluttering past your cheek. You’re stuck underneath the gaze of his pretty lashes, and entranced at the way he licks his even prettier lips. A sudden thought seizes you - so heavy it makes your chest tight and leaden.

Oh. You want to kiss him.

In a moment, it’s gone. A broad palm nudges your thigh aside, and you’re shifting so he can reach the drawers just by your legs. You oblige, falling back into familiar routine.

Life moves on. Like Miguel said it would, and you find yourself entwined with the idea of time passing. Lying awake each night, picking out sand from underneath your fingernails, after clawing your way out of the hourglass. Steady, slow dregs; and it's tipped over each morning, restarting the clock.

The flowers disappear from the dining table. Miguel retreats into the folds and dark corners of your apartment; you see him less and less. Passing ships in the night, you seem to miss each other by a fraction of a second. All of a sudden he's busy , and all of a sudden you're swamped with work. You only see each other at night, looking out for the bits and pieces left as proof of life: sometimes he'll leave a hot flask out for you in the mornings, and you'll greet him with a cheesy soap in the evenings. If he's not leaving later and later after work, that is.

He looks tired, you note. Exhausted; prone to little yawns as you turn to him every now and then whilst watching on the couch. It's sweet, the way his frown has made way to a dopey smile, but it's frayed at the edges, tinged with something you can't quite place. You let him sleep that night, bringing pillows to lay his head on, and wrapping him up in that old blanket.

Girl's night creeps up on you. It shakes you by the shoulders when you collapse on the sofa after a long day – and you're rushing to get ready. There's no Miguel to make sly remarks or prod you into action, this time. You wonder what he'd say about what you're wearing; a leftover dress buried in boxes from your ex's apartment.

Short, tight, snug; it has you feeling glamorous – but you hope it doesn't look as fanciful as it feels. Too much; yet again, you're worried about being too much. Even though you're running a little late, you take the time to carefully apply makeup; something shiny on your lids, a dab of blush, and gloss slathered onto your lips. When you sling on little heels, and snatch a petite bag from the hooks near the door, there's barely enough time to catch that last glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Down and out you go, into a dusky night.

~~~

“I had to go through her manager– and wait, can you believe this girl has a fucking manager, now?” Lyla bats at MJ's shoulder, and the redhead laughs good-naturedly.

“It's not– she's exaggerating! My manager's just my mom, I swear.”

“It's a good thing, no?” You smile, taking a healthy swig of a brightly coloured cocktail.

“It means she is booked, and–” Lyla hiccups, raising an unsteady glass that threatens to tip. MJ straightens her elbow instinctually, before raising her own. “ – very busy .”

It's your turn to laugh, glass held high in the air. With a clink , there's a clash of crystal that's all but drowned out by the chatter in the upscale bar.

Somewhere fancy, courtesy of Lyla. One of those places that serves tiny portions in big, empty plates, a fusion of cultural food with white, upper class owners. No-doubt the result of summering somewhere in the ever-broad global South , Lyla had said slyly, under the lip of a menu.

There's powdered sugar on the rim of your flute. It dissolves on your tongue. You down the rest. Sickly sweet, and you wipe what drips onto your lips.

It has you checking your phone. Miguel hasn't called, not that you were expecting anything. Whilst Lyla and MJ talk, you scroll mindlessly through his chat; a smattering of one word answers. Missed calls. Unanswered messages.

" –what about you, babe?"

Your eyes snap back up to meet Lyla's, expectant.

"Uhhh…"

"Nevermind." Sharp eyes travel to your phone, and there's a flash of recognition. "Miggy said you're in school. He said you're gonna graduate early, this year."

"He said that?" You're confused. "I mean… I'm trying but it's not looking like that, right now."

She wags a finger, shaking her head like she's trying to remember something. "No, no, he seemed adamant. Said you're working hard, doing well."

"Doing better ." You correct her, shyly.

" Bullshit. " She says it the way Miguel does, and it makes you laugh. You see it now; he's the product of the people he loves. A kind of Frankenstein's monster, he's stitched together those bits and pieces; he's made himself beautiful. You wonder what piece of you he carries. If he even holds you that close to his chest.

"I bet you're doing amazing. " MJ finishes. Her smile is warm, and copper-coloured; it feels hazy and ambered in your little corner. "Better than me, anyways. I would rather die than go back to college."

"Back?" You ask.

"Oh, of course! You don't know." She giggles, leaning in like she's about to say something scandalous - the drink is clearly doing its job. Her next words are an exaggerated stage whisper. "I dropped out."

" Seriously? " You play along, with faux shock.

"...damn right she did." Lyla gives a drunken wave to a nearby waiter, asking for another glass of wine. Something expensive, she whispers, giving a deceptive smile.

"It just wasn't for me, I guess. I went because everyone around me was going, even Pete. Uhh, English Lit, or something. And it didn't… I–I mean it just wasn't–"

"It didn't click."

" Right!" She snaps her fingers. "It was too much. I didn't know what I was doing, I was 18, for God's sake. Think I stuck at it for a bit too long, honestly."

"...and the world didn't explode." You breathe.

MJ answers with a knowing nod. She chugs the rest of a crisp Mojito, raising the empty glass once more.

"To doing better ."

You're quick to follow. "To doing better."

Lyla frowns, looking for a glass that's tucked into the corner. The room must be spinning already, with the way she pats around for it. You nudge it towards her with an elbow, and she's raucous; crumpling into a fit of giggles.

One drink turns to two, two turns to three, and then four ; until you're ready to spill out onto the busy strip. When the waiter places a slip of paper into the centre, one with so many zeroes it makes your eyes bulge, you don't even have to pretend to reach for your wallet. Gleefully, Lyla picks up the bill, sliding a shiny Amex card onto the dish.

She's generous, you note, as she buys a bottle of wine to go when MJ picks up her bag. She's perceptive, too. You see it when MJ wrings her hands, still tipsy and stuttering in her heels as you pile onto the street. She's making apologies already - I've got an early start and need to see my May - but Lyla intercepts. There's the gentle clink of a bottle thrust into her hands, something expensive, and she kisses the apples of her cheeks before sending her off in a taxi.

Her own cheeks are ruddy, rosy with drink and she splits into a wide smile. The back of her hand comes up to your neck. Warm , she whispers, before linking arms with you like a schoolgirl off to do something they shouldn't.

Eventually, with shaky legs, you end up in a nightclub. She knows someone who knows someone, apparently, and you're ushered into a packed place just off 76th. Lights and pounding music, a flurry of limbs; you let the crowd take you in. If this is what it means to be a part of a whole; some writhing, heaving beast, to be more than your hand in someone else's and theirs in yours; then you could live here forever, you think. Forever, for the night, for the next ten minutes; you blink , and time passes.

You're having fun, you think. Letting the blood rush to your head, hips swaying to the music and you don't push away the quiet snap of a phone camera, nor it's red recording light. Dancing, singing, many seem to be pulled into orbit around you. This is how it works , pushed into an ebb and flow of people held together by broken lyrics and a thumping bassline. You let it wash over you, all-consuming, dragging yourself into murky depths.

You're in a booth, now, anchored by a dainty hand around your wrist. Pupils blown, she cups your face to inspect you, to figure out where you've gone. Someone's bought you a drink, there's a stranger's arm around your shoulders, but Lyla pushes them both away. Too much? It's a question, of which you shake your head firmly - lolling and with a distinct lack of fine motor skills - no. Not enough.

You blink. Bitter liquor hits your throat, and you chase the taste of somebody else's lips. A stranger, and even under the influence you know it doesn't feel right. Bile rises, and you're gone, clamping onto your stomach and trying not to hurl.

You blink. You're on the sidewalk, with a heavy head on someone's shoulder. The strap of your heels dig into your ankles and you fumble with it, trying to stop the road from spinning. Lyla holds you up, not much more up to task than you are.

A car pulls up, and at first you don't recognise it; entranced by shiny rims coming to a stop. You look up, still buried in Lyla's thick jacket; and you see it. You see him.

Miguel's wearing glasses. That's the first thing you notice, stumbling to your feet. Immediately, your face cracks into a dopey smile, leaning onto the lip of the open window. He gives you a once over, swallowing thickly, brows drawn.

Quiet chatter flys straight over your head. Lyla arguing, Miguel wagging a finger at her; but all you can see is him. It's like you've got blinkers on, tunnel vision making you focus on the curve of cheekbone, and the way his eyes scrunch up around black rims and glass.

You clamber into the backseat.

“Get in, Ly.”

The other woman seems resolute. “ M'not –”

“Did you take something?”

“Fuck you.” Flashing a middle finger, she wraps up her coat like a robe, walking away down the road.

He's adamant, driving up next to her. You keep your head on the glass where it's cool.

“Let me take you home. Please. ”

Frowning, she stops. When he leans over to open the passenger's side, she slips off her boots, and sidles in.

Their voices feel like a blur. You can barely register, only picking up half of the words hissed under their breath.

“... I called you, you can't give me a lecture…”

“...not fair, Lyla…. can't keep babysitting…”

“... fucking hypocrite… not the only one… I'm going through some shit…”

“...too far…. always taking it too…”

He drops her off outside of the apartment. From the backseat, you're sobering up; able to catch his heavy sigh as he watches her through the window. It's only when he sees her walk in does he turn to you, passing bottled water kept in the console.

“You want to come out to the front?”

You like the way he says it, for some reason. Any anger or frustration he had towards Lyla dissipates. He doesn't bring that into a quiet conversation with you.

He's too solemn, too serious, and so you clamber into the front over the console; limbs and legs everywhere, as obnoxiously as you can. A slight elbow to his chest, a hand clutching his shirt; you want to make him laugh. As you settle onto the seat, you see it: huffing dramatically, he gives you a small smile.

Miguel reverses back out onto the road.

You blink, and you're home. Legs still shaky, he helps you up the stairs, settling you onto the sofa. Car keys clink onto the dish by the door, and he slips off his coat – that brown one, your favourite, you think.

Fumbling with the strap of your heels, it must be too painful for him to watch as Miguel settles by your feet. His big, strong hands are surprisingly deft when he undoes the dainty buckle.

“Are you mad at me?” Meekishly, you watch and he shakes his head, not making eye-contact. Maybe it's the alcohol, but you're staring; looking for that light in his eyes amongst the dark room.

Now, he looks up. “What?”

“M'just looking.” You say, chewing the inside of your cheek as one shoe slips off. “ I'm not allowed to look?”

The other one comes off, and he hisses when he spots a little cut where the strap dug into your ankle. He can't help it, rolling it gently in his hands, trying to ease the pain with a massage.

“You wear glasses.” You say it softly, more to yourself than to anyone else. Giggling now, you cradle his face and he sits up. “I didn't know that.”

“ That's not – I've always worn glasses. You're just not paying attention.” He shrugs lazily, but he's smiling.

“Not true , Mig. I would've noticed.”

“You're drunk–”

“When it's you, I always pay attention.” Absent-mindedly, your hand curls into his hair. He keens . “Like… your hair's getting longer.”

Gently, he shakes out of your grip, getting up. “I know, I know. I need a haircut.”

“I like it.” Starry-eyed, you look up at him. “You're so pretty, Mig.”

It makes him heave. Still tipsy, your legs spread ever so slightly, hand taking his and pulling him closer. Placing his hand on your thigh, you let it trace up, up, up, catching at the hem of your short dress.

He practically caves in, collapsing next to you on the couch.

“You should–” His eyes are glassy as you ease yourself onto his lap. “ F-Fuck . You should go to bed, sweetheart.”

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you roll your hips, watching as he groans wantonly.

“But I'm not tired.” His hand ends up on your waist, applying just the right amount of pressure. Underneath, you can feel him stir, increasingly hard under loose sweats. “And you haven't touched me in weeks. ”

You're exaggerating, but it goes to his head anyway. He buries his head into the crook of your shoulder, whispering into the bare skin.

“I know, I know…”

“Just the tip, Miguel.” You're grinding your clit onto him, pussy barely covered by a thin thong. Whispered into the shell of his ear, you're a siren, honeyed words dangerously close to breaking him down. “Just the tip, and I promise , I'll let it go. Please , baby.”

Your dress rides up, and his hands come down to palm at your ass.

“ Please…” You're pleading, lips on his neck as he squeezes, forcing you down to hump directly over his cock.

“Oh, shit.” His hips jump once, twice; and then he stills, hands at your hips and ass to stop you.

Desperate, you whine, trying to fight against it. He doesn't let up, hand cradling your chin so you can look him in the eye.

“ Bed .” He says, shakily. “Not like this.”

He slips you off, noticeably adjusting his pants. Legs spread wide, head tipped back as he sighs; he looks delicious , and you're fighting off the urge to let him take you right there and then.

You stumble through the little hallway, pushing past some doors. Something clatters into your thigh, and you hear a dull thud as another thing falls to the floor. Frustrated, you strip down to your underwear, something light and lacy and it leaves very little to the imagination.

There's a bed, and you collapse on it; swimming in the silky sheets. It smells like him - musky and oaky and gentle - and you think you must be dreaming already. And then, you sit up, realising too late - this isn't your room.

Miguel wasn't too far off, hearing the thumping and clattering; hesitant as he opens the door. You're wrapped up like a present, spilling out of lingerie on his bed. He swallows, turning away to dig into his wardrobe, intending to pull out a baggy shirt for you.

“ Miguel .” You croak, but he ignores the want in your voice, so heavy it goes straight to his cock. “Miguel, please. ”

All his shirts blend together. He can't concentrate.

“Do you think I don't want it? Because I do, fuck, I need it. So bad, baby, please.” Your body heaves with a half sob.

Heart splintering, he turns. Finally, you meet his eye. You spread your legs.

“ Here. Right here .” You tap your clothed cunt with shaky fingers, pulling your thong to the side. His eyes drink it up, the way you glisten when your cunt eats up the fabric. You know he's watching, and you take advantage of it, circling your clit with the pads of two fingers. “Like this . When I touch myself, I think of you… d-did you know that?”

Swallowing roughly, he can't take his eyes off of you.

“What… What else?” He croaks.

“I think of your tongue, a-at my pussy. And your fingers… God. ” You slip a finger in, and he watches as your cunt clenches around it; gushing and sloppy. “Your l-lips. Meant it, before. When I said you were pretty. Want to sit on that pretty face and watch you melt– oh-h- fuck- ”

He wants to lick it up, all that slick that sluices from your hole. His mouth waters, just thinking about it.

“Put another one in, for me.” He says it low, sinking to his knees to watch you fuck yourself.

Nodding, you oblige.

“Does it feel good?”

“ Yes. ” You don't hesitate.

“Can you fit another one? Want to see how good she looks when she comes, sweetheart.”

Three fingers in, now, and he slides your thong a little further aside; reaching up to press his thumb to your clit. Light streams in from blinds cracked open and highlights your thighs perfectly. Nevertheless, he adjusts his glasses to make sure he doesn't miss anything.

The twitch of your leg, the way your hand cramps up, the way your lips curl into a delicious O - he sees it all, commits it to memory.

“ Faster , please.”

“ Doesn't –” You're frustrated, clearly chasing something that refuses to surface. “Not the same. Can't fucking reach. ”

He titters, nipping at your thighs and soothing the bites with the flat of his tongue.

“Poor baby. Will you let me help?”

Fervently, you nod, slipping out your fingers as he takes off his glasses. They're discarded, too foggy to be useful right now.

“Did I tell you to take them out?” He sighs and gestures for your hand. Wrapping his lips around them he sucks them clean, humming lightly. He pats your clit with a wet slap, content. “Put two fingers in, sweetheart.”

Doing as he says, your head feels full - cotton wool and bubble wrap, only able to focus on the pleasure building behind your clit. And when he slots two fingers in next to yours , it rips out a gravelly moan.

“ Here? ” He says dragging himself deeper, curling his fingers up. “Or is it… here? ”

You groan, limp against his hand as you feel impossibly full. It reminds you of the stretch of his cock; creaming around the base of his two fingers and yours. That wonderful curl as he pumps himself in and out, cupping your hand in the process to make sure you match his pace. He can feel your walls spasm around him, impossibly soft and velveteen.

“Can't say no to you,” His eyes are low, grunting as he palms himself roughly. “Even though… fuck … even though I should.”

It's wet, the slap slap slap of skin against skin echoing in his room. Miguel sits up, pressing his lips to your neck, and you take the opportunity to slip your other hand into his sweats. You start pumping, in time with his ministrations, eyes blown as you swipe your thumb over his weeping slit.

You know he likes it rough, and you jerk him into your palm; fast and hard and you watch as he matches your pace. Even now, you're competing, trying to catch the him up; to see who can make the other cum first.

You push back on his fingers, hips slotting against his, whispering nonsense into his neck. You're too fucked out to care; confessions you never thought would see the light of day. All the little things you like about him, things he says, things he does; and you don't even register the ochred flush smattered along the ridge of cheekbone.

He spills into your hand, and you're quick to follow; cumming around him as his fingers stutter in and out. It feels good , dangerously so, and has you pressing shaky kisses around his mouth, and nipping at his bottom lip.

He stills, but you're greedy, aching for more. You want him in you; seating his thick cock deep inside, painting your walls with hot cum, and pushing it back in with deft fingers. Every part of you is on fire, barely satiated by your heated foray.

You tip back onto the bed, and he joins you; caging you in with thick forearms, looking at you like you've stolen all the stars in the sky. That feeling , again, slams into your chest like a bullet. Messy hair, ruddy cheeks, hand gently tracing your jaw; he looks gone, and oh so soft. You want to kiss him ; and it's a thought that sticks, embedding itself somewhere you can't reach to dig it out.

“ Miguel .” You whisper, enough alcohol at the edges of your mind to stop thinking and spill your guts to him, unfiltered. “Are you sleeping with someone else?”

His eyes flit over your face before answering and he shakes his head.

“No. No. Just you. Only you.”

“ Don't believe you .” But you want to. So, so desperately. “Promise me?”

“I promise, sweetheart.” He swallows. “Are you?”

“No. Don't think I could if I tried.” It comes out watery, stuck at the back of your throat.

He just looks, for a moment, cradling the back of your head.

“I want to kiss you.” It spills out from your lips.

“I know.”

“Then why won't you kiss me?”

“Not a good idea.” He strains, kissing your forehead, and then each cheek. Hesitating, he places a gentle peck to your chin. “Ask me tomorrow.”

He says it simply, too easily; and it makes you want to sob. When Miguel slips away, and you hear the sound of a light turned on in the bathroom, you can't move. Catatonic; you blink, and he's cleaned you up, and slipped a shirt over your shoulders. Laying back in his bed, you watch as he lingers by the doorway, shrouded in shadow.

Goodnight. Y ou think you say it out loud, but it echoes in your head.

He says back, but not really. Instead, he leaves that goodnight hanging by the doorway like an old coat, and you wrap it over your shoulders.

It keeps you a little warmer through the night.

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