#and I’m gonna have to draw this man’s brows on for his work meetings

[touyasdoll]

threw a Jenna Marbles themed birthday party for my brother and sister today, which was lit, but my husband shaved off his eyebrows to write HELL YEAH on his face 😭

[katsu28]

ooooo “Making the other person a Spotify playlist with songs that remind them of their relationship and growth” for Lando???

thank you for requesting! hope you like this one <3

lando norris x reader, 1.3k, request something from here!

There aren’t many times you can get Lando all to yourself. His job comes with many responsibilities, as does your own. You understand the time and hard work it takes to do what he does day after day, week after week, and you like to think the two of you have found a way to balance it all. Dinners together whenever you can, texting and calling between meetings; you even have a shared calendar on your phones to keep track of your hectic schedules. 

Racing takes precedence on most weekends, of course. Some of them you’re able to attend, but lately things have been getting busy at your workplace nowadays, which means you’ve been working weekends too. Weekdays are slim pickings as well, with all of the traveling and training and things you have to get done as well. 

With all that’s been happening lately, you haven’t been able to spend nearly enough time with Lando. Late evenings at work, long training days—everything seems like it’s been piling up until the only time you really get to spend with each other on days that he’s home is right before bed. And even then, it isn’t long before one of you inevitably falls asleep first. 

Which is why when you miraculously find yourself and Lando with a totally empty schedule today, free of any work related commitments for either of you, you’re over the moon. He suggests a day trip up the coast, just the two of you and the open road. Honestly, you don’t even care where you go, you just want to be with him. 

You’d think he’d be sick of driving given what he does for a living, but he just presses a kiss to your temple, saying that driving with you is something he’d never tire of. 

That’s how you end up here, sitting comfortably in the passenger seat of Lando’s Miura, fingers intertwined with his as he cruises down the coastline. Crystal clear water dotted with boats and even bluer skies on one side, beautiful scenery on the other, and the man you love sitting right next to you—what more could you ask for?

“Like what you see?” Lando’s teasing voice draws you out of your thoughts, and you refocus to see him still with his eyes on the winding highway ahead. But he’s grinning rather smugly, a grin that only grows bigger when you huff. “It’s alright, you can stare at me all you want. I know how sexy you think I am.” 

“That’s bold. Maybe I’m admiring the view.” 

“Yeah, and the view is called my carved-by-the-gods side profile.” 

“Someone’s a tad self absorbed. You’re voted top three hottest drivers on the grid one time and you start getting a big head, hm?” 

“I beat out Carlos, baby! Carlos fucking Sainz! You’ve seen the man, do you know how that makes me feel?” 

“Is there something I should be worried about, Lan? Are you going to leave me for Carlos?”

Lando snorts, aiming a brief but still effective skeptically arched brow at you. “Please, if I was gonna leave you for Carlos, I would’ve done it already.” 

“Oh, cheers. That’s reassuring.” 

“Happy to help.” 

“Can I play some music? I need to drown out the sound of your complete and utter betrayal.” You grumble, slouching in your seat with crossed arms. Lando laughs and nods, passing you his phone. He knows you’re just being fussy for the dramatics of it all.

You scroll through his Spotify playlists in search of something that looks interesting, but one in particular instantly catches your eye. Labeled “For my love” with an absurd amount of heart emojis after, you can’t help but feel like maybe, just perhaps this one might be for you. Or for Carlos, but you’re ninety percent sure it's you. 

Next to you, Lando inhales sharply through his teeth like he’s just remembered something, hand shooting out blindly. “Fuck, wait, hang on—” 

“Lando…” You say, only slightly teasing. All previous betrayal is instantly forgotten. You shift so his wiggling fingers can’t reach the phone, giggling a bit at the garbled noise that escapes from his mouth. He’s obviously figured out what you’ve just come across. “What’s this?” 

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” He sighs, cheeks already flushing pink. “It was meant to be a surprise.” 

“You made a playlist for me?” 

“Well, yeah. It’s sort of embarrassing.” He mumbles, suddenly sounding bashful.

“Oh come on, don’t get all shy on me now.” 

“Alright, fine! At first it was for me. Just songs I thought you’d like, and I’d listen to it all the times I was away and we couldn’t talk. Or if I was nervous before a race and started spiraling. And then…it just turned into songs that made me think about you. Made me think about us.” 

“There’s hundreds of songs on here, how did you even—when did you even start making this?” 

Lando swallows hard, knuckles flexing on the steering wheel.

“Honestly? The day we met. Call me a weirdo, but from the moment I saw you I knew you were it for me. Took both of us a while to get our shit together, but I never stopped believing it.” He says softly, hastening a glance over at you. He smiles and shrugs, reaching out to thread his fingers through yours once again. “And the songs…I dunno, they’re just my way of remembering how we got here. I meant to save it for our next big anniversary, but you’ve mucked it all up by being nosy, so now the cat’s out of the bag!” 

“You’re so fucking cute, babe,” You coo, leaning across the center console to press a smattering of kisses to the side of his heated face. “You made a whole playlist for me and listened to it when you missed me? That’s the cutest thing anyone’s ever done, you sap.” 

“Yeah, alright. You can shut up about it now,” He grumbles, but he still looks pleased. “Have a look through it. I think I’ve got some good ones on there.” 

The more you scroll through the list of songs, the more you feel like your heart is about to burst out of your chest. It mixes your music taste and his, and in a way, it feels very representative of not only who you are as individuals, but who you are with each other.  

It reads like a letter to you, to your relationship. To who you were back then and who you are now, who you’ve grown into together. 

There’s no doubt that in the years you’ve known each other, you’ve both changed. You’ve had good times and not so good ones too, but one thing that’s always remained is each other. From friendship, to teetering on something a little more, to finally finding love with one another, Lando has been the most unwavering constant in your life. You think that deep down, it was something you already knew, even from the first time you’d met him. 

“I’m gonna fucking cry, Lando,” You whine, emotion seeping into your words.

“Why? Is it bad? Is it too much?” He looks worried, but he can’t exactly take his eyes off the road to see why you’ve had the reaction you did.

“No, no. It’s perfect.” 

His shoulders sag in relief, and the smile returns to his face. “Oh. You like it?” 

“I love it.” You lift your joined hands, pressing a kiss to his knuckles that has him positively beaming with adoration. It goes without saying, but you truly don’t think you could love a person any more than you love Lando. You don’t want to, because he’s it for you. 

“You know what else?” He hums his piqued interest, likely expecting more praise. “Carlos can suck it. I got a playlist, what did he get? Absolutely nothing!” 

“For fuck’s sake, I was kidding!” 

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[fanaticsnail]

Oh, oh, Buggy for the kissing booth please? (And if someone is in line ahead of me could I be tagged for him? 👉👈) Thank you! 🧡🧡🧡 This is such a fun idea!

-rorywritesjunk

(imma just request from main now on)

The Kissing Booth - Buggy for Rorywritesjunk

Word Count: 1,400+

Notes: Thank you so much for your patience, Rory! It's been a little while since I've done one of these! True to his form, here is the fail-forward clown in all his charismatic glory. Thank you for being here, and I hope you enjoy his kisses!

Taking a few final breaths to calm yourself down, ears pricked at the approach of heavy boots crunching gravel beneath the firm leather heels. Jingles of trinkets falling from jackets and belt buckles is what you assumed the twinkling chime sound was, but you knew better than to make an assumption on a stranger.

Laughter and merriment flung from the throats to christen the atmosphere with their joy, unintentionally drawing your own to bubble in your chest at the seriously large influx of unusual laughs. Not so much the content they were laughing at, but the laughs themselves was what had you teetering out soft giggles. 

“The hell is-...?” A nasally voice cut out, as the halt of his feet stood at the path before where you sat, “...A ‘Kissing Booth’? How does that work?” A few voices began to whisper amongst themselves as the boots drew ever nearer. 

Straightening your back, you shook yourself clear of any nerves as your posture became more alert and attentive. The crunch and crackle of boots meeting the floor halted and you felt your nose pick up the first whiff of their cologne. A deep musk and playful fruity scents interwoven with the spray of the sea, alongside something that almost matched the acidity of lemon sweets, met your nose and caused your mind to wander. Before you could make a motion to speak, their voice interrupted your monologuing with the same nose-front resting tone. 

“What do I do? Just sit in front of you and get a facefull of tongue?” the voice asked with confusion laced in their tone. “Are you even any good? No offense intended or anything.” 

You immediately reclined in your stool with your brow furrowing beneath the mask at his questioning. Hooking one leg over your knee, you fold your arms and turn your face from the stranger. 

“If I wasn’t any good, I wouldn't have volunteered for this,” you huff, angling your chin in the air and electing to ignore him. “And no, I don’t give out a ‘faceful of tongue’. If that’s your idea of a kiss, please, by all means, jog on.” 

“‘Jog on’?” He mimicked you, moving towards the guest seat and plopping himself down on the surface, “Crew, you lot ‘jog on’. I’m gonna have words with this one.” 

“You sure, Captain?” another voice asked the man, only being met with a few sounds of claps of hands meeting shoulders and directions for the person to hush. Overlaps of: “We can go on the ferris wheel,” “Boss is letting us of the leash,” “The captain wants some privacy,” and “I want to hit the barbeque,” was released in hushed whispers as footsteps immediately fled the scene unfolding between you and this ‘Captain’.

After the sounds of feet meeting the ground left to a complete vacation from your proximity, a few leaves of paper crumpled into the jar beside you by the hands of your guest. 

“I-... uh-...” they began, slowly scooting the stool closer to you, “I’m sorry about the tongue thing. I don’t know what that was all about. A-And for judging your abilities to kiss. I’m sure you are a fine kisser, and considering I’ve paid my Berry, I mean… If you’re still wanting to… I just… I’m sorry.”

You still angled your face away from him, only now pursing your lips to stifle a rising smile on your face. Slowly but surely, you turned to face him and extended your right hand out to offer him your truce. You felt his shrouded hand meet with yours, noticing a slightly worn fuzz to the leathery material before you felt contact meet with your knuckles. 

Breath warmed your skin before his lips descended to the middle knuckle: pursed in a perfect heart shape to caress your skin. Holding their lips there for a moment longer, they removed them and thumbed over the spot. 

“Forgiven then?” the voice asks you softly. You slowly turn your shrouded face towards him and give him a polite nod. 

“I’m sure your comment was offered in jest,” you smile at him, your hand still placed within his own. “And that was a very unique way to use your donation. Most people go for the lips.” 

The hand wrapped around yours tensed, frozen in place as their breath hitched in their throat.

“That wasn’t-, I didn’t mean-, kiss on-, was that-?” his words all jumbled together like a clown missing each juggling ball on their descent. You chuckled at his words, unlacing your knees and leaning towards him.

“I was joking,” you nod at him, slowly moving your hand up to where you assume his face was. Immediately, his remaining other hand blocked your touch: his thumb in the center of your palm and for fingers circling over your fingers.

“Don’t,” they warned you, moving in closer, “It’s… It’s better if you hold still and I lean in. Uh… In fact.” Their face felt closer to yours, each moment seeming to bob against your face without ever making contact, “If… If you could tilt your head a little…” 

You furrowed your brows, but complied with his request. Tilting your head to the right, giving him more of an invitation, you were unsure as to what you were expecting.

Only seconds pass until you feel contact being slowly pressed against your face. Not your lips, but stamped against your cheek, a round object squished against your skin as they moved their lips ever closer. 

‘A nose?’ you thought to yourself, refusing to question their actions and only tilting your chin up as a response. As you angled your face upwards, you felt his lips meet with yours. Timidity, uncertainty, and a small quiver was found in the lips of this formerly confident captain. Each motion was slow as he opened up more to the kiss. 

Slowly moving his lips against yours, he expelled a breathy sigh as you reciprocated all of his movements. Mouthing at your lips, he flicked his tongue out to playfully brush with your bottom lip, only to immediately whimper as you parted them to accept him. His hands left yours, regrouping to cup your face with his gloved hands. Pinky fingers at your jaw, he held you steady as he added more pressure to the intensity of his kiss. 

His head tilted to change angles, offering you a few more fluttered kisses as he swapped directions, brushing the rotund tip of his nose against yours in the interlude between his deep kiss. The moans from his throat intensified as you drew your hand to his chest and held firm to his collar, never breaking the kiss first for fear that you would pull away too quickly. 

There was no stop to the motions, using all in his power to continue claiming more of you against himself while attempting to breath as much of you in as he could. The way he kissed you was as if you were the last kiss he would ever have before resolving himself to the gallows. The need for air began to tug at your lungs, as was his own, prompting him to break the kiss with a smacked pucker of his lips on yours. 

“I-...” he choked as he panted through the heave of his lungs screaming at him, “...Am Buggy. And that?” you felt his clothed thumb press against your lips, brushing the skin in a smooth swipe, “That was a really good kiss. Hold still for me, starlight?” 

“Hold still-?” your question dies on your lips as you feel him begin to swipe a wet piece of material over your lips and dab at a few key spots on your skin.

“I… I wear paints, and you got a little transferred on you,” he commented with a small chuckle, “Don’t you worry, you’ll be all back to how you were when I clean you up. Just keep sitting as you are, and I’ll be done in a second, alright?” 

You did as you were told, asking no questions while Buggy dutifully cleaned up your features with every slow movement. As he said, it was all over in a quick moment. As he pulled the cloth away from your skin, he took a moment to ponder you as you sat on the booth. 

“When you’re all done up here, ‘shut up shop’ as it were,” he pressed the towel to the tip of your nose and playfully dabbed you, “Let me take you out? Just as an apology for the earlier comment about the faceful of tongue and the judgment on your ability.”

You hum thoughtfully and purse your lips in mock thought. Taking a second to yourself, you smile with your nose crinkled in a playful scrunch.

“I’ll think about it.”

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Guilty as Sin? - Chapter Three

pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader

rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, Derrick shows his true self, Javier comes to the rescue, depictions of SA (minor, though proceed with caution), mentions of alcohol consumption

word count: 4.2k

series masterlist

Friday night marked not only the temporary break from having to see Dr. Peña every single day, but also your stupid date with Derrick. He’d been out of the apartment when you woke up, him and Nina off at the gym. Alondra crawled into bed with you, her laptop in tow. 

“I don’t wanna go tonight,” you grumbled, drawing the blankets up to your face as she got comfortable beside you. “Just tell him I’m sick or something.”

“He’s been looking forward to this all week,” she reminded, pulling up Netflix. “Hell, for the last four years.”

“Yeah, well I’ve been dreading this for the last four years so where does that leave us?” you challenged. “I’m supposed to make myself uncomfortable just to make his little dream come true?” 

“I’m not saying that,” she sighed. “I’m just saying what harm could come from going to dinner with him? He’s your friend, just pretend you guys are grabbing food or something casual.”

“But he won’t want casual,” you snapped, throwing your blanket back so that you could get up. “He’ll want the full treatment.”

“There’s worse men to pretend to like,” she said, closing her laptop as she watched you tug on a hoodie and sweats. “At least he’s good looking and harmless.”

“Harmless as a friend,” you pointed out. “Who knows what he’s like on a date.”

“That’s why you should go,” she urged. “To find out if maybe that’s what was missing—“

“There’s nothing missing!” you shouted. “I don’t want him, not because I just haven’t seen how charming he is, not because I haven’t given him a chance. I don’t want him because I don’t want him. End of story.”

“Then don’t go!” she shouted back. 

“How? How am I supposed to turn him down when I’ve tried that for the past four years and he doesn’t give a shit. He’ll keep trying and trying until I finally cave, so I’ll fucking go tonight, but this is it. No more putting his feelings above mine.”

“Then I don’t know why you’re complaining.” 

You took a deep breath, finding the patience you knew you possessed but seemed so far away in this moment. Out of all people, you expected Alondra to understand your side of the situation. She’d never spent a day in her entire life thinking about what a man wanted, what they were feeling and how she might accommodate for it. And yet, here she was demanding that you not only go through with this but that you shut up while doing it. 

“I just want to be alone for a while,” you said, dejected and hurt. “It feels like the entire world is turning for him and I’m just here. You and Nina love him, I know, but what about me?”

“We love you,” she said, her brows furrowing. “It’s just that sometimes it almost feels like you avoid the things that you know will be good for you in favor of shit that’ll wreck you. We’re just trying to show you that Derrick is a good thing.”

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I’m gonna be at the library until my lab. Tell Derrick I’ll meet him back here at ten.”

“Don’t be like that,” she coaxed, following you into your shared bathroom to watch you brush your teeth. “Don’t be mad.”

Spitting out the toothpaste, you tried to ignore her guilt tripping. “I’m not mad, I just want to be alone.”

“Fine,” she said, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “Text me if you need me?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, watching her leave the room knowing damn well she just earned a spot at the bottom of the list of people you’d reach out to.

Dr. Peña’s lab went by smoothly, the undergrads taking their first quiz of the semester in absolute silence as you got to work grading yesterday’s assignment. Dr. Peña had been taking careful glances at you, his brow furrowed with concern. Not that you could blame him. For the last two days you’d been dressing to impress, or more delusionally, to seduce, but today you’d shown up bare faced and in sweats. 

Setting his pen down, he cleared his throat and walked over to your desk, causing your tired eyes to lift to his. “Everything alright?”

You nodded, giving him a forced smile that only managed to deepen that look of concern on his face. 

“Just tired,” you lied in a whisper, shrugging your shoulders. 

“I know these late night labs aren’t the easiest—“

“No, no,” you assured. “It’s not the lab. Just…personal stuff.”

He lifted his chin in understanding, his fingers tapping against the wood of your desk. “Well, if you’d prefer, you can finish grading those at home. They’re just going to be taking the quiz tonight, so we’ll be fine without our prized TA.”

You smiled at the compliment—or at what you assumed to be one. “It’s fine. Home’s not very appealing to me right now.”

“The offer stands,” he smiled, soft and almost unnoticeable before walking back to his desk. 

Too bad you noticed every single thing he did. 

After the lab, you headed home to get ready for the punishment that was an hour spent at the snobbiest restaurant in Austin with your not-so-friend. Derrick was locked up in his room, no doubt trying to overcome his jitters while you did the same. Only your jitters felt more like tremors, something deep in your soul cautioning you against going. Still, you persisted. 

Slipping into a skirt and your favorite top that gave you the confidence necessary to walk into this situation with your head held high, your makeup flawless and subdued, your hair just the way you like it, you took a deep breath and opened your door to greet Derrick with a forced smile. 

“You look…wow,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. While you smelled his clean scent, there was also a hint of something else on his breath—tequila, perhaps? “No one’s gonna believe you’re with me.”

You cleared your throat, glancing at Nina and Alondra who stood in the kitchen eavesdropping. “Let’s go. Don’t want to be late for your fancy reservation.”

He laughed, nodding as he held out his hand for you to take. You pretended not to notice it and busied your hands with holding your bag and phone, which…

Fuck, you forgot to charge your phone. 

“My brother recommended this place,” he said, brushing off your rejection as he walked you out of the building and to his car. “It’s where he proposed.”

“Mm,” you hummed, still lost in your head. 

“You like sushi, right?” he asked, opening your door. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, slipping into the passenger seat. “We’ve been friends for how long now and you don’t know that?”

He chuckled, buckling his seatbelt. “I don’t pay attention to little shit.”

You stared at his profile with something akin to disgust, the realization that he’d never viewed this friendship in the same light as you finally dawning on you. “Friends usually try to pay attention to little shit like that.”

“Yeah, well we’re a bit more than friends,” he smirked, glancing at you before bravely moving his hand to your thigh. You jerked at the touch, pulling away from him to turn towards the window. “So, uh, how’s Peña’s lab?”

“It’s good,” you managed, counting the streetlights as they passed by. 

“That’s shocking,” he chuckled. “What, he’s not a dick to them?”

“He is,” you shrugged. “But not to me.”

“For obvious reasons,” he chided. “Alondra told me about the whole don’t wear a skirt thing. Sounds like a fucking creep.”

“It wasn’t like that,” you argued, turning towards him. “And you can tell Alondra I’d appreciate it if she didn’t tell you all of my business.” 

“She was just looking out for me,” he said, giving you a frown. “Can’t have your professor trying shit if we’re gonna give this a real shot.”

“Derrick, I don’t—“

“No, just…let’s keep this date free of all that pessimist shit,” he snapped, reminding you of his inebriated state. Fuck, and you were in a car with this shithead? “Tonight I want you to put all that trauma aside for once and keep yourself open,” he demanded, causing your heart to race. 

What would happen if you didn’t? Would he hurt you? Would he shit talk you to all your friends? Would he make something up?

“Fine,” you managed, balling your hands into fists as they rested on your lap. 

After a car ride spent listening to him detail his summer of luxury, the two of you found yourselves seated in the restaurant located on the opposite side of town. You’d only been out in this area once to celebrate your first anniversary with Micah, though that time you were forced to split the bill. Derrick wouldn’t have any of that, not with his trust fund and need to prove himself. 

You didn’t speak much at dinner, not because you had nothing to say but because he wouldn’t stop talking. He’d covered everything from the first birthday he could remember to the day he first met you when you were both frightened freshmen on campus. Perhaps the trip down memory lane would’ve made you smile if it wasn’t for his wandering hands beneath the table. 

When the bill was paid and the two of you were on your way out, you thought the terrible night had finally come to a close. But of course it hadn’t. 

Derrick surprised you by pulling you into a dark alleyway, his hands greedy as he pulled you against his frame. You felt his lips on yours, taking and taking and giving you not a damn thing but a sick feeling of alarm in your stomach. 

“Derrick, stop,” you hissed, pushing against his chest as he continued to lean in, caging you against the stucco wall. 

“You want me,” he rasped, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as his liquor-scented breath flooded your nostrils. “You’re just scared of it ending badly.”

“No,” you protested, continuing to push him away. “I don’t want any of this. I don’t feel that way for you.”

“Yet you showed up wearing this.” You froze as you felt his cold fingertips graze the outside of your thighs, inching his way closer to the hem of your skirt. “Just…let loose for once. Let your guard down and I swear you won’t regret it.”

“I already regret it,” you hissed, shoving him hard enough to cause him to drunkenly stumble back. “You’re drunk and acting like fucking dick.”

He shook his head, chuckling at your words or the situation, you couldn’t quite tell. “I want you.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“Four fucking years of waiting around, then you finally decide to go out with me, and now…what? You’re just gonna act like a tease?” 

“I’m going to beat the shit out of you if you keep talking,” you warned, though you knew your strength was no match for his. Still, female rage and adrenaline fueled you, coaxing you into not giving a fuck about the outcome. If he pushed any harder, you’d gladly fuck around and find out. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.”

“Stop,” he whined, grabbing your wrist to keep you from leaving. “Don’t be such a bitch.”

“I’m a bitch?” Fuck around and find out, it is. “I’ve been nothing but a good friend to you all these years, even knowing that you didn’t give a fuck about any of that. You’d rather I be in your sheets than in your life, that much is fucking clear now.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not cool to continue to give me hope—“

“I didn’t give you shit!” you yelled, yanking your wrist from his grasp. “How many times have we talked about this? How many times have you made me feel guilty for something I have no control over? I don’t want you, Derrick. I never have, and after tonight I certainly never will. Face it or don’t, but our friendship ends here.”

“We live together,” he reminded, stepping towards you. “You can’t avoid me like you avoid Micah.”

“Can’t I?” you chuckled, shaking your head. “You have no idea how easy it’ll be for me to pretend as if you never existed.”

He let out a huff of disbelief, shaking his head at you as if he had any right to feel disappointed. No, that right was yours alone in this situation. You thought you found a man who you could call a true friend, only to find out he was just as bad as the rest of them. Maybe worse given the way he manipulated you these past four years, all to earn your trust. 

You took off down the street, not caring about the looks you received from passersby. You just needed to get somewhere safe and call—

Fuck. Phone’s dead. 

With fear threatening to take over, you stumbled into the first open shop on the block, a very fancy looking cafe that was mostly stranded on the inside. Tugging down the hem of your skirt, you huffed a sigh in order to rein in the tears threatening to spill as you swung the door open. 

“Welcome in,” the older woman behind the counter greeted, giving you a judgmental once over as your heels clacked against the hardwood floor on the way to the counter. “What can I get started for you?” 

“I was just wondering if there was any way I could use your phone to call a cab? I promise I’ll buy something—“

“I’m sorry, we don’t allow customers to use our phones,” she frowned, a display of mock sympathy that threatened to wear down your last remaining nerve. 

“I understand, and I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency,” you pleaded. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, ma’am,” she sighed. “Phones are for employee use only. Perhaps you can find a payphone or—“

The woman was interrupted by a familiar voice calling your name. Stomach sinking to the floor, you turned to find Dr. Peña sitting in a booth by the window with his laptop. 

Fucking perfect. 

“Dr. Peña.” You greeted him with a sigh and a forced smile, reluctantly heading towards his booth. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, giving you a quick once over before lifting his eyes back yours. 

“Yeah,” you lied, giving him a quick nod. He tilted his head and you and gave you a look as if to say liar. Letting out the saddest, weakest laugh you might’ve ever uttered, you decided to hell with pride. “No, I’m…it’s been a long night.”

He ticked his jaw as he considered you for a moment, leaving you in sickening suspense. “What happened?”

“You don’t want to hear about all that,” you assured, wiping a tear from your waterline. 

“I do,” he insisted, nudging his chin towards the other side of the booth. “Sit down, I’ll get you a coffee.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Sit,” he ordered, that stern voice cutting through the clouds of self pity and anger still looming overhead. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black is fine,” you lied, slipping into the booth as gracefully as your skirt would allow. 

It took him a few minutes to return, that time spent locked inside your head, watching a replay from an eagle's eye point of view. Derrick's hands on your body, his lips on yours, his vile claims and threats sounding over and over. 

“So,” he said, handing you your cup as he sat down in front of his laptop before closing it. “What happened?”

“I don’t…I don’t want anyone to get in trouble,” you prefaced, earning a hesitant nod. “Derrick—

“Mr. Crawley?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “He’s been my friend for years now, we live together…but he has this really bad habit of not taking no for an answer.” Dr. Peña tensed, his jaw clenching. “That’s why I agreed to go out with him tonight, because I was just sick of having to explain that I only saw him as a friend. Thought I’d just get it over with, but that didn’t really go as planned.”

“Did he…try something?” he asked, his voice low and tense. You shrugged, questioning the entire interaction. If you hadn’t stopped him, if you hadn’t been brave enough to tell him no, would he have stopped? Did what he did really constitute assault? 

“I don’t know. Sort of,” you explained, tracing the rim of your cup as you spoke. “Dinner was shit enough, but then he cornered me in an alley, trying to cage me against a wall and…touch me, but I stopped him. Then he turned into this entirely different person than I’ve known all this time, called me a bitch and a tease. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize my phone was dead when I took off down the block, and now I’m stranded on this side of town. And truthfully, I don’t even know if going home is a good idea.”

Javier leaned back in his seat, raking his hands over his face. 

“I have a sinking feeling that if I go home, he’s just going to start shit again, which is the last thing I want right now.”

He nodded, understanding and sympathy in his eyes as he took a beat to think. 

“Firstly, I’m incredibly proud of you for sticking up for yourself. It’s not an easy thing to do, and you did it.” You refused to keen under his praise the way your heart demanded to. “If I’d have just put up with it—“

“Stop,” he said, shaking his head. “You did the brave thing and the right thing. He’s too fucking old to not know the difference between a woman who wants him and one who doesn’t. This shit is on him, alright?” 

You gave him a meek nod, still not able to look him in the eye. 

“I know you said you don’t want anyone to get in trouble, and I’ll respect that, but know that if you decide to report him, I’ll back you,” he offered, his eyes rounding and voice softening. “I don’t think you should go home. I—“ He sighed, lowering his hand to rest beside yours on the table. “I can drive you to a hotel, and if you need me to pay for it, I will. That way I’ll know you’re safe, and you’ll have your own space for the night.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” you assured. 

“No, it isn’t, but it’s late and you’ve clearly been through enough tonight,” he said. “But it’s your choice. I can call you a cab if that’s more comfortable.”

“Isn’t that…sort of against the rules? You giving me a ride?” 

He let out a soft chuckle. 

“It’s not ideal, but I don’t care about that right now,” he confessed, his pinky reaching out to brush against yours. “I just care about you being safe and comfortable.”

You bit your lip, eyes glued to his hand that seemed to be fighting an internal war over whether or not to reach out for yours. “I won’t feel safe and comfortable in a hotel. I’d just feel…alone.”

“I can’t,” he whispered to himself, moving his hand to his face. 

“Can’t what?” 

“Can’t do this,” he gestured between the two of you. “I can’t keep you company tonight.” 

“I didn’t mean—“

“I know what you meant, and I’m telling you I can’t let a student of mine crash at my place,” he sighed, conflict weighing on his face. “I’ll take you to a hotel and you can call a friend to stay with you.”

“I’m not going to let you pay for my hotel,” you protested. “That’s not happening.”

“Then what?” he asked, dropping his hand to the table. 

“I don’t know,” you snapped. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Here,” he handed you his phone. “Call a cab, they’re safer than an Uber.”

You stared at the unlocked screen, debating whether or not you truly wanted to handle things on your own or accept the help offered to you, even if it meant spending a night alone in a foreign environment, stuck with the flashbacks of Derrick’s hands on your body, his lips on your mouth. There was no safety in that, in being prisoner to awful memories you had no part in creating. The truth was that you needed him to distract you from yourself, and you didn’t care if you had to grovel or beg for it. 

“I’m asking you to please just…stay,” you whispered, too close to tears to speak up. “We don’t have to go to your place. We can go to the library for all I fucking care, I just don’t want to be alone. All my friends are his friends and I know what they’ll say about tonight. Everyone loves him, everyone wants to be his friend, and I’m just…around. They won’t believe me, and even if they do, they won’t see it the way I do.” 

Javier looked ready to tell me to fuck off and go find someone else to bother with all my problems, but threw me for a loop when he said, “Fine. Grab your coffee, and…here.” He held out a black leather jacket that smelled like him; whiskey, smoke, and warm spice. 

“Where are we going?” you asked, standing and draping the jacket over your shoulders as he gathered his things. 

“My office,” he said, his tone clipped and sharp. “It’s the only place where people won’t be around to see us. Not that I really give a shit, but you should.”

“You haven’t done anything but help me,” you offered. “I don’t care if people talk. You and I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“They don’t give a shit,” he countered, leading you out of the cafe. “Besides, we’re already breaking rules. Even if we aren’t acting on anything—“

“Is there anything to act on?” you probed, sticking close to him out of fear Derrick was still around searching for you. Dr. Peña shot you a knowing look over his shoulder. 

“There’s enough to drive me fucking crazy,” he admitted. 

You stopped in your tracks, shocked—and twistedly pleased—at his confession. He noticed your reaction, stopping to turn around and look at you with a pleading expression. 

“I didn’t mean—“

“I know what you meant,” you echoed his words from earlier. He ground his jaw and looked down at the sidewalk for a beat before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. You watched his lips mold around the cigarette as he took a deep drag, his brows furrowed as if he was in pain. 

“I’m not…” He shook his head again, looking up at the night sky. “I’ve been teaching now for five years. Never once have I done this shit. Never once have I let myself get involved. Until you.”

“Dr—“

“Javier,” he cut you off. “Call me Javier when it’s just us. It’ll make me feel better about how fucked up this is.”

“What’s fucked up about a woman in her late twenties and a man in his thirties talking?” you asked, stepping closer to him to feel a bit more of the thrill that did such a good job at blocking out all the bad shit going through your head. 

“I’m your professor,” he explained, watching you carefully. “There are rules against me developing this exact infatuation I can’t seem to fucking shake.”

“You’re infatuated with me?” you chuckled, more out of shock than amusement. Though you’d obviously sensed he saw some sort of potential in you that caused him to act like less of a dick than he did with everyone else, you’d have never guessed in a million years that he was interested in you. 

Javier chuckled darkly, stepping closer to you until you could smell his cologne. “Infatuated is an understatement.”

“And what would you say if I told you I was just as infatuated?” you asked, closing the gap between the two of you as you lifted your hand to rest on his chest. Not pushing him away like with Derrick, but beckoning him closer. 

He whispered your name, sending chills down your spin. “We can’t.”

“We’re not doing anything,” you countered, sliding your hand up to the back of his neck just to feel those soft brown waves that have been calling your name this last week. Javier grabbed your hand and lowered it gently, his thumb smoothing over your skin. 

“I’ll stay up with you tonight so that you can feel safe, but that’s it,” he whispered, his eyes darting across your face. “Okay?”

You wanted to frown, to throw a fit and beg him to not be such a stand-up guy, but that would be like asking a fish not to swim, the wind not to blow, a fire not to burn. He simply was a stand-up man and no amount of seduction could change that. “Okay.”

He let out a soft sigh, stepping away from you. 

“You’re lucky I have shit to grade tonight,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood. “You might consider helping me with some of that, TA.”

You chuckled, nodding. “After a nap.”

“Sure,” he chided. “Take it that’s code for hell no.”

“Would you look at that. You’re more clever than you look, Professor.” 

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

For soft/fluffy/comforting prompt ideas, could you do something with Crosshair and his lady, like she's been struggling with high blood pressure and associated symptoms (headaches especially during stressful moments, pounding heart, short of breath) and she's supposed to be taking it easy while they wait for the medications to come in? Just him being sweet and soft and concerned?

Thank you so much for the request, anon. I hope this hits the spot. Writing Soft!Cross is always a good time.

I’m sending you all my love if you're struggling with this. I fell down a little research rabbit hole, and it doesn’t sound fun at all 😔

Equilibrium

When your body betrays you, there’s no one else in the galaxy you’d rather have at your side.

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: reader struggles with high blood pressure and the associated symptoms, Soft!Cross, established relationship, kisses, care and comfort, fluffy sweetness, some playful banter, Cross has some minor negative self-thoughts but we chase those away.

“And another one, kitten.” The slow slink of Crosshair’s voice offered you reassurance, slender fingers drawing soft circles on your thighs as you followed his instructions and took another deep breath.

It was Zhellday night, and you’d been getting ready to head out when the dizziness had started. You’d made it to the edge of the bed, calling out for him as you sat down before you’d had to shut your eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the planet from spinning. The shortness of breath quickly followed, your chest feeling like it was trapped in a vice as your heart pounded. You hated that the most – feeling like you couldn’t breathe.

It broke Crosshair’s heart whenever you went through this. You were so strong and had made it through so much in life, and yet it was your own body that caused you the most grief. “That’s it. You’re doing so well.” He soothed.

“I hate this.” You whine, fingers gripping the bedsheets for dear life as you will away the discomfort.

What he would give to take it away from you or to at least be able to warn you when it was about to happen. Instead, all he could do was watch as the woman he loved the most battled with her own body and be on hand with medication and comfort. His brows furrowed, lips pressing into a line. “I know, I know.” He muttered, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

“We’re gonna be late for dinner.” You sigh, frustration bubbling under the surface. Ever since you and Crosshair got your little place in Lower Pabu, you’d visit his siblings for dinner and games night every Zhellday. It was the highlight of your week.

“We don’t need to go,” Crosshair states, though he knows you’ll protest. You should be taking it easy until the doctor at the island’s clinic can determine the underlying cause of your high blood pressure. Although he bit his tongue whenever it came up, Crosshair couldn’t help but wonder if it was from the years of stress – of keeping him and his brothers alive during the war.

You knew you should be resting, but the thought of missing out on life was frustrating. You’d already lost so many years to the war, and for a while, you’d also thought you’d lost Crosshair. But now you could live normally, back with the man you loved. “I want to go.” You state firmly, eyes still closed as you focus on your breathing.

“Stubborn.” Amusement curled around the word, and Crosshair couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at his lips.

Letting out a small huff at the gentle teasing, your heart wasn’t just pounding now from your condition. It didn’t take much for the magnetic force of a man crouching in front of you to make your heart race – and his teasing had always hit the spot. “Pot meet kettle.”

The low rumble of Crosshair’s laugh filled the room, and your chest no longer felt so tight, breaths coming easier as the medication he’d brought you started to work its magic. Slowly, you opened your eyes, Crosshair’s hawkish gaze locked on you.

The splitting pain in your head had you screwing them shut again quickly, dragging in a quick breath as a noise of discomfort slipped from your lips. Everything had been blurry around the edges, which hadn’t helped the dizziness. “Nope. Not good.” You mumble, sighing in frustration.

“You wound me,” Crosshair replied playfully, knowing full well you hadn’t been talking about him, but he’d take some self-deprecation if it made you laugh.

He was dutifully rewarded. The soft sound of your laughter replaced his in the air, and he soaked up the sound like a dying man in the sands of Tatooine. He’d gone without it a whole year, trapped in the Empire’s clutches. He never wanted to be without it - or you - again.

“You’re still the most handsome man I know.” You insist as your laughter subsides, reaching out blindly to cup his face with one of your hands, smoothing your fingers over the angles of his face. In the four months since you’d rescued him from Mount Tantiss – along with Omega and, surprisingly, Tech - he’d started to gain back a little weight. He was still somewhat gaunt, though, cheeks hollow, but you were both taking it day by day. It was all you could do.

Taking one of your hands with his own, Crosshair lifts it, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it, lips lingering for a moment against your delicate skin. As lovely as your compliments were, he was still uncomfortable accepting them, refusing to believe them regardless of how often you said them.

Gentle fingers sought out your wrist, and more circles were rubbed against your pulse point to offer comfort and as a way for Crosshair to monitor your heart rate. It was still too high for his liking.

Pushing up onto his feet, he moved to lay down on the bed, pulling you down next to him. As much as he loved his brothers and sister – their relationship starting to return to how it had been before Order 66 – there was no question in his mind that you came first. He didn’t care if you were both late. His siblings would understand.

Shifting position, you rest your head against Crosshair’s shoulder, hand pressed to his chest, using his heartbeat and the slow rise and fall of his chest to help anchor you. With his arm wrapped around you, holding you close, his fingers brush against your back in light patterns.

You could feel the meds starting to kick in, the dizziness and headache abating as you rested against your love. Still, you kept your eyes shut.

In the comfortable silence, Crosshair could only watch you rest against him, a smile tugging at his lips. Lifting his free hand, he stroked across your cheek, thumb brushing over the little pout of your lips. As you lean into his touch, warmth coils through him.

His gaze lingers on your face, tracing the delicate lines that tell stories of laughter and tears. The weight of the past had not broken you; instead, it had moulded you into someone he admired more with each passing day. “We’ll go when you’re ready.” He murmured, his voice a gentle promise. “No rush.” Crosshair’s fingers continued offering physical reassurance.

“Thank you.” You whisper, grateful for his care. When you’d joined the boys at the start of the war as their liaison with Command, you hadn’t expected to fall so quickly for the snarky sniper.

He hadn’t expected to fall for you, either.

Snuggling a little closer, you let out a slow exhale. “You’re too good to me.”

“I try to be, love,” Crosshair answers quietly, an ache in his chest at your words. Taking care of you was the least he could do after everything that had happened – the heartbreak on your face as he’d levelled his rifle at you as you’d fled Kamino with his brothers would forever haunt him, as would your tears when he’d opted to stay on that blasted platform after Tipoca City had fallen.

Yet you’d still rescued him from Mount Tantiss, careful hands undoing the bindings that had held him down for far too long, concern on your beautiful face as you’d helped him back to the Marauder and to safety.

He didn’t deserve you, no matter how often you told him he was wrong to think that.

“And you succeed.” You reassure him, wanting to pull his mind from any spiralling thoughts. He’d been getting better over the last few months, snippets of his old self shining through, but you knew the marks from his time with the Empire would never entirely be gone.

As your head feels less like it will split apart, you crack open your eyes a sliver, just enough to see Crosshair gazing down at you, the adoration on his face almost stealing your breath. “Hi.” You whisper, pleased that he’s no longer blurry and the planet has stopped spinning.

“Hi yourself.” He replies, lips pressing to your forehead in a gentle kiss.

Humming happily at the contact, you find his gaze again in the semi-darkness of the room. “I think I’m okay now. We should head out.” You decide. There’s a lingering uncomfortableness – you still feel a little off-kilter – but it’s much better than before, and you know it’ll pass soon. Besides, you’ll always find your equilibrium with Crosshair at your side.

Crosshair’s eyes narrow slightly. He doesn’t quite believe you but won’t outwardly call you out on it. “Another few minutes.” He decides, arms tightening around you.

“Cross…” You protest, trying to wiggle away, a smile tugging at your lips, mirrored by his own.

“Shush.” He admonishes playfully, rolling onto his side so he can drag you closer, tucking you against his chest and under his chin.

You can’t help but laugh, your body shaking a little as you burrow closer to him. You can’t deny that it feels cosy and safe. Content, you don’t argue it.

Crosshair’s small smile turns to a grin as he realises he’s won. “There’s my girl.”  

[amathslutsguidetofandom]

Forced Coordination - 1

PAIRINGS: Joel Miller x Reader

SUMMARY: The harshness of last winter has left hundreds of frozen Infecteds around the safe walls of Jackson. As a strategist from your job before the outbreak, you devised a smart plan. Maria assigns Joel to handle the cleanup work. However, you must work together as a pair to fulfil this task. How will it go with working with the rugged man the whole town has a crush on?

WARNINGS: Mentions of Infected, swearing, slight age gap (Joel is in his mid 40s and Reader is in her early-30s).

WORD COUNT: 1,760

ENJOY!

“You will be working with our strategist,” Maria says, crossing her arms as she leans against her desk. The sun glints through the blinds, reflecting off shiny surfaces and illuminating the semi-cramped space.

 Spring encompasses Jackson with its warmth, seeking forgiveness from the community and offering support with its gentleness after the wreckage of a winter Mother Nature had put them through.

Joel raises a brow from his place on the couch, “strategist?” One of his hand’s rests on the buckle of his belt, while the other is thrown across the arm of the couch. Joel has no idea why his sister-in-law wanted to meet up with him, but he couldn’t deny her request, knowing that Tommy might hand him his ass on a silver plate.

Maria nods, “yes, a strategist.” She walks around her desk and slides open a drawer before retrieving a manila file. “Apparently, the runners that froze over the winter are beginning to thaw, and I need someone skilled to take them out,” she thumps the file on the coffee table in front of the Texan.

Joel reaches for the file and flips through it. He saw black and white pictures of the frozen infected stuck against trees and bushes. “And you want me to sort this out?” Joel looks at Maria with a confused expression, not fully understanding the premise of this meeting.

She nods again, “the number of runners this time around has increased drastically. I can’t just send in a group of men to kill them off; that’s too risky.” And Joel agrees with her; he has seen a lot of them during his patrols over the winter.

Joel nods, “and who-” His line gets interrupted by a knock at the door. “Enter,” Maria says as she goes to sit in her chair.

You open the door slightly and peek your head in, “Maria, you asked to see me?” Maria nods and wave for you to walk in further. You comply, walking in and closing the door behind you, then turned to see another person in the room with you: Joel Miller.

You have seen Joel Miller before, seen him walking around Jackson with some teenager or on a horse at times. You have heard all the women, and some men, of Jackson talk about him and his looks. You have made eye contact with him multiple times, but it had never strayed far from just a nod from either of you.

Maria introduces him to you and vice versa. You nod at him in acknowledgment before turning back to Maria. “I thought this matter would’ve been a little more… private,” you say to Maria. Your hearing caught Joel slightly scoffing at your statement.

“Remember that infected population schematic you created?” She asks, combing through another drawer.

“I, uh, yeah, I do. Why?” You ask, leaning against the door behind you. Maria pulls out a map and pins it to the corkboard next to the couch.

Maria points at a couple of different areas on the map, saying something along the lines of ‘infected’ and ‘area’. Then she looks back at Joel. The man in question snapped out of his reverie, “pardon?”

Maria rolls her eyes, “I said, she managed to figure out an approximate number of infected that are out there around the walls of Jackson. Not only that, but she also figured out their moving patterns too,” she said, demonstrating with your work, drawings, and calculations on the map.

Joel nods, not really getting it, “alright?”

The blonde shakes her head, “I’m indirectly saying that this map is going to be your map. You’re gonna be working alongside her for the entirety of this spring.”

You straighten up, “I’m sorry, what?” You shake your head, “but I’m not in Patrol though.”

Maria nodded in understanding, “I understand. I know that you’re in Sustainability, but your observation and statistical skills are needed here now more than ever.”

You shake your head slightly, “and what about Sustainability?” You care about your work at Sustainability; you help in plantation, but not really in farming. You’re good in statistics, and your work really help in increasing the yield of crops that were grown in Jackson every year. You do good and honest work.

“I can’t just up and leave my position. What happens if-,” Maria quiets you with a raise of her hand. “I understand,” she says sternly. You bite the inside of your cheek to prevent from biting back, inhaling deeply to simmer down your anger.

“You’ll still be in Sustainability; you just have a side task to do. I expect you to not treat this task like any other, but with high importance, understood?” she looks at you, leaning back in her chair.

“Understood,” you reply, crossing your arms and looking away. “Good,” she nods and picks up a clipboard, holding it out for you, “write down anything you both might need on this, and I’ll get it for you.”

You take ahold of the clipboard and thank her when she offered a pen. You write down all the stuff that you might need before ripping the paper and handing your piece to Maria. Then you hand both the board and pen to the rugged man.

“I expect the both of you to start as soon as possible because we want this problem to be solved before we start getting problems from those things,” Maria says, rubbing her temples to soothe her headache.

-----

The sun beats down on your back as you take notes on your clipboard. Merissa yaps beside you about how last night's mac and cheese should've been named "yuck and cheese."

“I mean, we literally make the cheese. And I have it every day for breakfast. What the fuck did they do that was so out of the ordinary to make it taste like diarrhoea?” she scoffs, leaning against her tall shovel.

You wince at the description, “You didn’t have to put that description so graphically.” She gives you a tight-lipped smile, her braid falling behind and back to her back when she looks over your shoulder to see who’s approaching you two.

A throat is cleared behind you, and you turn to see who it is. It’s Joel Miller. “Afternoon,” he nods his head slightly at the two of you. He looks at Merissa, then back at you, “A word?”

You bit your lip and then look back at Merissa, “I’ll see you at tonight’s supper.” Merissa wiggles her eyebrows at you and smirks before practically shooing you into Miller’s space.

“Sorry about her, she’s just-,” he interrupts you before you could even finish your sentence.

“Maria informed me she readied a space in the warehouse and sternly said we get right to it,” he says, not looking at you, but at the workers behind you.

You didn’t understand the deal with this man. Before you were even assigned to this task, you thought that the brother-in-law of the Head of this community would be chill. Turns out he’s not. Is it because he’s old? He seemed to be in his mid-forties. You were formally introduced to the man yesterday, why was he so mean?

You squint at him, thinking about what to say next. “So, uh, do we have to-,” he interrupts you, again.

“We’ll be heading there now,” he says, still avoiding eye contact, and then beginning to move past you.

-----

The basement was chillier than the main level; you slightly shuddered when you climbed down the stairs upon entering.

The office, however, reminded you of your corporate days. Being a former strategist was the highlight of your past life—the life where you didn’t look over your shoulder every five minutes. The life where you had a stable job, enough to get by and live a simple life.

But now, your skills were used to figure out the yield of crops and the population and movement of the Infected.

Joel walks in behind you and sees the blackboard with several pieces of chalk lined on its shelf. “Wonder what that’s for,” he whispers, his accent thickening.

You walk over to it and trace your fingers over the hard surface. “I put it on my list,” you turn to look back at him, “I work better when my work is done on a board.” He didn’t look at you but at the board.

“Right,” he says, thumping his bag on the only wooden table present in the middle of the room. The dingy fluorescent light illuminated most of the space; it was just the corners that succumbed to darkness.

You see the rolled-up schematic of your plan lay behind the rolling blackboard. “You got tape?” you ask the Texan while unrolling the schematic and seeing the mapped-out area around Jackson and all the arrows and circles you made with a red marker.

You hear the scraping of a chair and feel him behind you. “Lemme,” he takes the schematic from your hands while simultaneously ripping a piece of tape from the roll using the other.

He singlehandedly manages to paste the large papers on the wall behind the blackboard. You move the blackboard so it is at an angle; you looked around the room, and you practically stand in the imaginary triangle formed by the map, table, and blackboard.

“Right, let’s get started,” you pick up the white chalk and scratch it against the blackboard.

-----

“I think we can end here for tonight,” you step back and glance at the watch on your wrist, slightly in shock that you had managed to spend five whole hours here, just talking, writing, and planning, while Joel just sat there and watched.

“Did you get what I told you, or did you blank out in between?” you ask, turning to face him.

He sat leaned back against the wooden chair. He scoffs at your question, “I caught on.”

You squint your eyes at him, “I spoke for five hours straight, and you didn’t take any notes?” He puffs air through his nose; you would consider it a chuckle, but you weren’t really betting your money on it. “Don’t need to,” he replies before standing and picking up his backpack. “That it?” he asks, looking at you.

You seriously didn’t know what the deal with this guy was.

You nod, “for today, yeah. But I assu-.” He talks over you, again.

“See you tomorrow, good day,” he nods at you before leaving you alone in the office.

That’s when you realise.

He finally looked you in the eye.

🎀🎀🎀

Here's the first CHP lovlies!!!

Lemme know what y'all think

Till' then

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

[maered613]

Camie's getting married. Estranged from Owen & Beru, Luke goes home for the first time in 10 years. He's not looking forward to meeting their farmhand, the man who’s been living his old life ever since he left. Din isn’t particularly excited to meet Luke either; not when he already hates him for abandoning people who are like family to him now.

They both try to be civil. Fireworks ensue instead.

--

Din hangs his Stetson up at the end of the day, walking into the house, and his first thought is that he’s walked into an active war zone.

"- still doesn’t change the fact that is the stupidest song I have ever heard in my entire life!” Leia says, throwing her hands up.

“What does it matter?!” Luke says back, “-it’s just a song, Leia-”

“I am not going to be indoctrinated into being a person that thinks a song called “She Thinks My Tractor is Sexy” is a normal piece of music!”

“You’re just in time for the fireworks.” Solo says, beside him, “-Luke’s tryna teach Leia to square dance before the big shindig on Saturday.”

Din's gotta hand it to him, he’s still trying to play nice even after Din’s earlier dig.

Din doesn’t say anything, though, just listens to Leia and Luke argue back and forth about ‘insidious hick indoctrination’ until Luke agrees to change the song.

“They don’t play stuff like that in the country bars in New York!”

“Of course not, they only play entry level country music there. You’re gonna have to get used to the real ones!!” Luke says, skipping a track on his CD player, “-does this one pass muster?”

Leia listens for a bit and rolls her eyes.

“Still ridiculous. But fine.”

“That’s not square dancing.” Din says, after a moment of watching Luke guide Leia around the living room; she's picked it up quickly. “-it’s line dancing.”

“What’s the bloody difference?” Solo says, incredulously.

Din looks at him, blankly.

“-in square dancing, your dance pattern is a square.” Din says, slowly, as he mimes a square outline with his index finger. “- in line dancing, you dance on a straight line.” Din also punctuates that with drawing a line in the air.

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” Solo asks, indignant. “-I’m a Yankee.”

“So am I.” Din says, “-Detroit.”

“Motor City!”

“Yeah.” Din says, raising a brow. “-anyway, don’t worry about it. Grogu watched a lot of Sesame Street when he was a baby. I know my shapes.”

Din feels his moustache twitch as he catches sight of Luke’s shoulders hunching together, like he only does when he’s trying not to laugh.

“No wonder the two of you get along.” Solo says, flatly, “-you’re both fucking smartasses.”

--

you all are entirely too nice. I hope you enjoy the ending as much as i enjoyed writing it and interacting with you all. Xoxoxo

@dinlukeweek @stardads

[alizha]

𝗂 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 | 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟥

—Zeke Yeager x Reader | NSFW

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: Now - You invite Zeke to sneak into your room after dark. Then - fourteen-year-old Zeke is visited by the green monster of envy.

❖ click table of contents for full list of tags, CWs, and chapters. 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋: 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖽𝗇𝗂 𝖻𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐/𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍. 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾.

table of contents | masterlist | cross posted to ao3 ← previous chapter | next chapter →

Chapter 3: Zeke

Now

Zeke sits across from you in the cozy dining room of your parents’ apartment, the rich aroma of vegetable pot pie filling the air. Your parents flank you on either side, and your mother appears to have pulled out the nice cream-colored tablecloth for dinner, the one he recalls she likes to spare for her most favored guests.

“Your grandparents must be beside themselves. How long will you be gone, Zeke?” Dr. Faust asks.

The information about his mission to Paradis is strictly confidential, of course. You glance up at him through your lashes, clearly curious about how he’ll respond. But the Marleyan brass have provided him with plausible covers for exactly this purpose.

“Oh, no more than a few months,” Zeke says smoothly.

He meets your gaze, hoping for a flicker of emotion—surprise, irritation, anything. But you’re too practiced, turning away to focus on your dinner. The slightest hint of a smirk touches your lips as you roll a carrot from your crust and cut it in half with your fork.

Your mother sighs, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “A few months? Well, don’t forget to visit when you’re back. It’s a shame Stella doesn’t have more friends around the house these days. With all her work she’s hardly at home anymore.”

She shoots her daughter a pointed look, and though her tone is light, Zeke can tell it’s a frequent point of contention in the household from the way you react. Your fork pauses in mid-air, half a piece of carrot falling from the tines back onto your plate, and your brow furrows just slightly before you smooths your expression.

“Mom, I’m perfectly content with the number of social calls I’ve been receiving,” you say evenly.

“Well, I just worry about you, sweetheart. You’re in your late twenties now, and you’re still so focused on work,” your mother fusses. “When do you plan to relax? Meet someone nice? Give your poor mother the grandchildren I’ve been dreaming of.”

You nearly choke on that carrot. “Mom. It’s taken me this long just to get through med school and residency. I’m not gonna give it all up now.”

Zeke can’t help but find thrill in your discomfort, but it’s tainted when your mother is the one doing it. It needs to be him , drawing out those awkward shifts in your seat, those flustered looks. He leans back, glancing over at your father, who looks torn between agreement and an unspoken wish to avoid the topic entirely. Seeing his chance, Zeke jumps in.

“Stella doesn’t need to rush into anything,” he says, catching your eye. “She’s beautiful enough to have any man chasing after her, and she’s got all the time she needs.”

Your mother beams at him, and Zeke catches the hint of a blush creeping up your neck. There it is, that gorgeous darkening of your flesh that he’s been longing for since that session in your office. You take a sip of water, attempting to hide your embarrassment, but he can tell he’s hit his mark.

“Ah, Zeke, you always did have such a way with words,” your mother says, patting you on the arm. “Zeke thinks you’re lovely, darling! If only he could be a permanent part of the family, hmm? He’d make a wonderful son-in-law.”

She gives a wistful sigh, clearly picturing it. Zeke taps your foot with his own and relishes in your deepening blush. Your fork clinks against your plate, and you clear your throat.

“Mom, please,” you mutter, drawing your foot out of reach beneath the table.

“Come now, darling. You two practically grew up together. It’s just nice to imagine, is all,” your mother says. “And Zeke’s such a gentleman. Maybe he could give you a few pointers on, you know, loosening up.”

You look like you wish you could disintegrate on the spot, but Zeke can’t resist the opportunity to stoke the fire.

“Actually, Mrs. Faust, I’d be more than happy to help her with that.” He leans forward, grinning openly at you. “In fact, I’d say she’s already made some progress.”

Although you’ve clearly been trying to avoid his gaze, you shoot him a furious glare at that. Another thrill shoots through him, this time pure and raw. He wants to drag you back to your dark little bedroom and steal kisses from your pouty mouth until you’re bent over backwards for him again.

“See? I just knew you’d bring out the best in her, Zeke.”

Dr. Faust coughs into his napkin, finally managing a soft, “Dear, perhaps we should let Stella find her own way.”

You barely wait until your father has stopped talking before standing, your forced smile flickering. “Well, it’s been… lovely. But Zeke has to go now. Busy schedule and all.”

Your tone is firm, making it clear as day that this is not up for debate. Zeke allows himself to be tugged out of his chair and toward the door. Your mother looks mildly disappointed, your father relieved, but neither of them argues as you all but drag him into the hall.

As soon as the door closes behind you, Zeke snickers. “Couldn’t wait to get me out of there, huh?”

You don’t dignify that with a response, your heels clicking briskly as you head for the stairwell. He trails behind as you descend the narrow, dimly-lit stairs and emerge outside. The night air is warm and thick, the remnants of summer hanging on despite the late hour.

“Grandchildren, huh?” he remarks, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Your mom seems set on it. Should I be flattered.”

“You know how I feel about that,” you snap, leveling him with another glare. “It’s not a choice I’d make.”

Zeke raises a brow. “Still? No children? Ever?”

“Not in a world where they’ll be hated just for being born,” you reply in a clipped tone.

The conviction in your words gives him pause. Most people he knew paid lip service to ideals, skimming along the surface of their beliefs without delving too deeply. But you had clearly thought this through. You’d committed yourself to your stance as thoroughly as any Warrior.

“You really believe that, don’t you?” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

You stiffen at his tone, as if waiting for him to undermine your reasoning, but he doesn’t. 

“What do you say you spend a little more time with me before I leave? Provided, of course, that your parents aren’t around to spoil the fun?” he says casually.

You narrow your eyes at him. “And what exactly would that entail?”

He grins, pleasantly surprised that you didn’t outright reject his suggestion. “Remember when I used to climb up to your window?”

Your lips part, your gaze dripping with skepticism. “You’re serious? You’re far too big to pull that off now.”

“Where’s your faith?” Zeke retorts, lifting his chin defiantly. “I’m still a Warrior, you know. Scaling a building’s not beyond me.”

You stare at him for a long moment, probably half-convinced he’s bluffing. Then, with a resigned sigh, you relent. “Fine. I’ll meet you up there.”

Zeke’s heart thumps against his ribcage as he watches you head back inside, shaking your head as if trying to figure out how he’d talked you into this. Once you’ve disappeared, he makes his way around to the side of the building perhaps a little quicker than he’d admit. After a quick glance to make sure no one’s around, he climbs.

His muscles coil as he pulls himself up, finding footholds in the familiar nooks he’d used as a boy. The building’s not exactly sturdy, but he’s undeterred. He’s too eager, too hungry to be alone with you within the four walls of your small bedroom. He hoists himself higher, slipping into the same old rhythm as if no time has passed at all.

Your window is still open, the way you left it, and your room is quiet and bathed in shadow. As he pulls himself over the edge of the sill, he hears the faint creak of footsteps in the hall. A moment later, you emerge from the door, slightly breathless as you closes it behind you.

“Still got it,” Zeke whispers, throwing you a lopsided smile. “Did you doubt me?”

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” you mutter, closing the distance between the two of you with a few short strides.

For a moment, he thinks he might have actually pushed you too far, and you might shove him out your window. But then, your hands come up to his chest, twisting into the fabric of his shirt, and you pull him into you. Zeke lets himself get dragged away from the window, falling onto you on your tiny bed, eager for your gentle touch. Except, you’re anything but gentle.

You open for him and delve your tongue past the seam of his lips, plucking and swirling and taking . Your fingers tighten, holding him firmly in place as you give a slow, lush roll of your body against his. Zeke strangles a moan deep in his throat, and you greedily swallow the remnants of the desperate sound slipping past his teeth.

“Quiet,” you command, and it sounds as authoritative as Magath’s barks at a fraction of the volume.

Without giving him a chance to respond, you dive back in, kissing him hard. You taste like the spicy-bitter smoke of his cigarettes and long, hazy summer days. When you dig the hard enamel of your teeth into his lip, you put your spite and your hostility behind it, but you doesn’t draw blood this time. The pain jolts straight to his cock as you roll you body again, the movement languid but far from soft.

Your hips grind against his, and Zeke thrills at the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it shiver that racks your frame when you realize he’s stiffening in his trousers. The mattress creaks quietly beneath you, and your heels clatter to the ground one by one as you maneuvers yourself fully on the bed. Zeke’s got his legs half dangling above the ground. He struggles against your firm grip, bracing himself on his forearms so he can kick off his loafers.

Once you’re both barefoot, you waste no time hauling him up on top of you. Zeke flicks his tongue against yours, shifting his weight to his knees straddling your thighs to move his hands to the front of your shirt. You make a disapproving noise in the back of your throat and grasp his wrists, yanking them off your chest and holding them in place on either side of your head.

Your message is clear. Outside, he might be in control. But in here, you’re the one calling the shots.

“This is dangerous,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak against your lips. He weaves his fingers with yours, pressing your hands into your mattress. “One word from you, my psychiatrist, and the brass could cut my life short before my five years are up.”

“Yeah, well,” you pant, pupils blown wide, “you’re just as dangerous. You sent your own parents to Paradis, Zeke.”

He growls softly and bites down on your lip, luxuriating in the way your face pinches as you try to muffle the sound of your resulting moan. “You know fuck all about that, Stel.”

Oh, you’re gonna punish him for that. Your gaze darkens up at him, and you tilt your head to sink your teeth into his neck. Zeke hisses into your ear, feeling himself twitch in his trousers.

He’s hyper aware that your room sits close to the living room, where your parents like to relax in the evenings. His own room is no better, sharing a wall with his grandparents’ bedroom. If he’d told his younger self he was going to be sneaking around like a teenager again after all these years, he would have laughed in his own face.

You rip your hands away from his and grab either side of his face to angle it further. The searing heat of your mouth devours the length of his neck, from his collarbone to the edge of his beard. Zeke buries a groan in your hair.

“So, Doctor,” he rasps. “Are we going to talk about your taste in company, or are we going to keep pretending this is strictly professional?”

You lift your head to look at him and reach one hand between your bodies to palm the bulge at the front of his trousers. “Don’t talk, Captain. You’re ruining this.”

Zeke curls in on himself, his ears ringing for a moment. Then, he arches into you, or tries to anyway. You’re already withdrawing your touch and settling your hand on his hip.

“If you don’t wanna hear me talk, give me something else to occupy my mouth,” he says with a smirk.

Your thumb digs into his flesh through his clothes. “You’re very confident. You’re sure you won’t disappoint?”

“Certain,” Zeke says, dipping down to mouth against the soft skin of your throat. “Let me taste you.”

The shadow of a moan rattles against his lips, barely more than an exhale from deep in your chest. “Ask me like you actually want it.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, the hand at his hip grounding him. “Please, let me taste you. I’ve been thinking about it for ages— shit , I need it— please .”

You thread your fingers into the hair at the back of his head and mash him deeper into your neck. He lets out a muffled sound against you and sucks hard. Your thighs clench, rubbing and sliding together under him.

“You sound like you want it too much,” you sigh. “I don’t think you deserve it.”

Zeke groans in protest and shoves his way up to look at you. “Bullshit, Doc. Don’t act like you don’t want it, too.”

“What? And have that scruff scraping and scratching down there?” you scoff, your gaze darting briefly to his beard.

“I’ll have you know oil it,” he says, indignant. “It would not ‘scrape’ or ‘scratch’.”

You huff a hint of a chuckle, grinning up at him. Your lips and your neck are flushed and bitten in a way that makes the last of his blood rush south, and he’s suddenly overtaken by the very desperate need to be touched. He tries to grind his achingly hard length down into your groin.

“Needy,” you murmur, shoving a knee between his body and yours.

With a forceful push, you shove him up and roll him onto his back before swinging a leg over his hips. Your skirt flutters with the movement, and you lift yourself up to sit just below the tent in his trousers. Zeke gapes up you, transfixed by the sway of your hair as you toss it out of your face.

“Take those damn glasses off,” you demand, pressing the heel of your palm firmly against his cock.

His hips lift of their own accord as he scrambles to fold up his glasses and set them on the bedside table. You’re undoing the flaps of his trousers, nimble fingers pulling at the buttons. Zeke’s breath comes in shallow as he watches you reach in his underwear, then it hitches as you pull his throbbing length from its confines.

The unconscious way you lick your lips with your eyes locked on his erection makes him twitch in your hand. He’s so hard it hurts, a shiny bead of white liquid already gathering at his tip. You bend forward, close enough for him to feel your breath against his heated skin, and dip your tongue into the slit to lick the precome off his dick.

“Fuck,” Zeke whispers as you wiggle your way down his legs a bit and drop your head down to hover over his cock again. “Oh, fuck.”

You take him into your mouth, slicking up his length with your spit. And then, you’re bobbing up and down, swallowing him down fast and dirty. Your tongue is molten velvet along the underside of his cock, massaging him with each stroke as you take him deeper and deeper. Zeke’s mind whites out like static when you hollow your cheeks and pause to give him one hard suck, popping off with a wet, obscene sound.

“Goddamn, your fucking mouth,” he chokes out as you sink your lips over his cock again. “Fuck—let me lick you, Stel. Please."

He half sits up and reaches for you with near-frantic hands on your waist. You squeak quietly on his dick, rhythm interrupted, but let him pivot you around carefully. Once you’re more or less facing away from him, Zeke lifts one of your legs, settling your knee over him to straddle his torso, then yanks your ass up above his face.

His hands smooth the curve of your hips, the soft globes of your ass. He’s already breathless from the almost sloppy way you’re taking down his cock, but the anticipation of exposing your pussy is making his chest painfully tight. Impatiently, Zeke flings your skirt out of the way, letting it bunch around your waist.

The moment he slides a finger under your underwear, he feels the head of his dick hit the back of your throat. He freezes and bites back a moan and feels the rumble of your chuckle around his length. Spurred, he takes the thin fabric of your underwear with two hands and tears.

You lift off his cock to swear at him, but Zeke’s already tossed the ripped garment to the floor, and he pulls you down to his face without preamble. His lips slot against your cunt, and you’re arching your back with a sharp inhale. Zeke curls his fingers firmly around your thighs and drags his tongue through your folds, surrounded by the dizzying musk-salt scent of you.

“You’re so fucking wet. Dripping ,” he whispers into your pussy. “All this for me?”

Your hand squeezes hard around his cock, drawing a whine from his throat. “You’re one to talk, Zeke.”

He huffs a quiet laugh and drapes one arm across the top of your ass to drag you in even closer, until you’re practically sitting on his face. Then, he goes to work. He swirls his tongue around your entrance, gathering the wet arousal there, and slides it up to your clit, delighting in the small twitches and jerks of your hips.

Slick and swollen, he flicks against the sensitive bundle of nerves a few times teasingly before flattening his tongue. You moan wantonly around his cock as he starts firmly lapping at you, focusing his attention on your clit. You shift, hips trying to shy away from the intensity, raw and searing, but Zeke holds you in place, unyielding.

Your squirming titillates him. He tightens his grip on you and slips his lips around your clit to suck. The sheets beneath you shift and rustle as you fist them violently and muffle another moan on his dick. Goaded into action, you redouble your efforts and take him to the hilt, the tip of your nose nuzzling against the satin skin of his balls.

“Shit ,” Zeke hisses.

You swallow around him in response, and the resulting squeeze of your throat around his cock threatens to haul him over the edge once and for all. He can feel his legs shaking, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he holds himself back from the precipice. When you turn to glance over your shoulder at him, there’s a smirk on your wet, darkened lips.

“Good boy,” you whisper. “No coming until you make me finish.”

Your words shoot straight to his dick, and Zeke pulls you in again to groan against your cunt. You let out a sigh of contentment. Instead of licking at your clit again, he drags his tongue past it to dip inside the clenching ring of muscle at your entrance.

“Yeah, that’s—just like that,” you mumble against his head.

He draws back until just the tip is inside you, only to thrust his tongue back in a moment later. The whimper you let out is delicious . Zeke wants to make you scream, but he’ll settle for the frustrated little sounds you’re desperately trying to hold back for now.

When he starts fucking you with his tongue in earnest, your hips move to meet him. You’re sucking his cock again, though your pace stutters here and there and briefly falters altogether when he brings his thumb to your clit. He draws tight circles there in time with the expert movements of his tongue.

Even though you’re clearly having trouble concentrating, Zeke’s already come close to his peak, and he feels it lingering, slowly creeping back toward him. The familiar crackling heat at the base of his spine signals the approach of his climax, and he’s shuddering again. He bucks his hips, seeking the friction of your lips. You pull off him with a hiss and wrap your fingers tight around the base of his cock.

Your grip is a vice, and frustration shoots through Zeke’s veins like prickling ice. He growls into your pussy as his orgasm fades into a dull ache. Every muscle in his body slowly relaxes, but it feels like misery rather than relief.

“Fuck you,” he gasps through heaving breaths of air.

“Seems like I’m the one fucking you,” you murmur. “You want it? Show me you deserve it.”

Without any further prompting, Zeke sinks his tongue into you again. Your hips cant into him, slowly—carefully—but passionately nonetheless. His thumb works your clit faster, more deliberately. You’re panting, humid breaths fanning against his throbbing cock.

Your fingers have loosened, and you’re faintly rolling your wrist, stroking him with frustrating tenderness. It takes a pathetic amount of willpower to keep himself from bucking up into your hand as Zeke spears your cunt with his tongue over and over. Soon, your exhales morph into breathy moans, and your thighs start to quiver, and you take his cock into the wet heat of your mouth again.

You’re close. You must be. Zeke thrusts into you as deep as he can go and presses firmly against your clit, and you choke back a cry with his dick on your tongue. Your hips roll as you ride out your climax, and you’re still shaking when he lets himself follow you over that cliff.

Before he can have the chance to warn you, he bursts inside your mouth, coating your throat with his release. He lets out a half-strangled groan from deep in his chest and thrusts into you, shallow and careful. You swallow around him, gulping down every drop he gives you until his hips still.

Zeke collapses fully into the mattress as you lift off him, sucking him clean until his cock falls from your lips and slaps against his shirt. Wiping your mouth with your sleeve, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and wobbles a little as you stand. Your skirt falls around your legs, and when you smooth down your hair, you look almost as put together as you'd been before falling into bed with him.

“You can leave from the front door. My parents should be in bed,” you say as he’s tucking himself back into his underwear.

“Not so cold that you’d kick me out the way I came in, hm?” he teases.

You shoot him an irritated look, but there’s not much heat behind it. You’re too softened from your climax, still half-drifting through the hazy aftermath of it. Zeke fixes his trousers and stands, bending to pick up his shoes. It’ll be easier to sneak quietly down the hall barefoot.

“I’ll make sure they’re in their room first and signal you to come out,” you tell him, hand on the doorknob.

“Aren’t you even gonna wish me luck on my mission?” he asks, plucking his glasses off the bedside table and unfolding them with his teeth before slipping them back on.

“Please. I’m not worried about you,” you say, glancing back at him. “You’ll have Pieck there with you.”

Zeke chuckles. “Fair. Guess I’ll see you for my post-mission evaluation, then.”

You roll your eyes and push the door open, stepping out into the hall. Your footsteps fade as you head towards your parents’ room to make sure the coast is clear. Zeke follows a few moments later, moving quietly.

You tiptoe after him to the front door and open it for him while he slips on his shoes. Zeke lingers for a brief second as he goes to pass you, pausing to run his fingertips over your cheek where your flush is receding. Then, he heads out and down the stairs, slipping into the shadows without another look.

Then

The streets of Liberio are alive with music and laughter, lanterns strung haphazardly between buildings. It’s hardly grand—the festival looks like it’s been put together with scraps and spare change, stalls slapped together from crates and patched-up tarps. Vendors sell simple fare, the smell of fried dough and watered-down wine filling the air. But Zeke can barely care about any of it. He only has one thing on his mind.

Weaving through the crowd, he scans for you in the throng of people. You’d promised to meet him here, and he’d staked out the spot they agreed on earlier—right by the street musician whose fiddle is scratching out old upbeat folk songs. Zeke wonders if you’d still like them, now that you were practically grown.

But he’s excited anyway. Days away from fourteen. He’ll soon be the same age you’d been when you first met. For a brief, shining few years, you’d been able to run through the streets together and share those carefree days of childhood. Yet today, he’s caught up to you, in a way. You can’t look down on him as a kid anymore, not when he’s shooting up like a sprout and quickly overtaking you in height.

The crowd swells around him as the music picks up, and Zeke catches a glimpse of the familiar flash of the color of your hair, a delicate white bow pinned to the back of it. He surges forward, calling your name, but his voice is lost beneath the clamor of singing. Finally, you appear fully, your dress swinging just above your ankles and your eyes flitting back and forth.

Zeke’s heart does a little leap. You haven’t changed much since turning sixteen, even if you wear your hair up now, and your skirt reaches lower than before.

“Stella!” he calls, and your eyes light up when you spot him.

“There you are,” you say, grinning as you close the distance between them. You look at him in surprise, reaching up to compare your heights. “Look at you, catching up to me, Zeke Yeager. How did you grow this much in just a few months?”

He knows you don’t mean to patronize, but he feels a slight sting at your words anyway. “I’ll be way taller than you soon.”

“Keep this up, and you’ll tower over me,” you tease.

It bothers him that you joke, and he straightens as if he can will himself to prove your jest right, but you’re already leaning forward, captivated by the dancers. The musicians pick up the pace, and skirts fly as people spin their partners. Zeke thinks about nudging you, asking you to join him for a dance, but the thought of putting himself out there in front of so many people makes his pulse quicken for all the wrong reasons.

Zeke shifts on his feet, and before he can second-guess himself, he blurts out instead, “I’ll grab us something to drink. Stay here?”

You give him a quick nod, your eyes still on the dancers with that soft, faraway look he’s only seen you wear at these festivals. His heart thumps as he turns toward the line of makeshift stalls to find a drink vendor. Zeke maneuvers through the crowd, his mind whirling as his thoughts bounce between your words, your laugh, the way you don't seem to notice how much he’s changed—how much he’s trying to change, for you.

It takes longer than he’d like, but he finally finds a vendor selling cups of lemonade. Clutching two in his hands, he hurries back, hoping he hasn’t kept you waiting too long. But as he rounds the corner, he stops in his tracks, his heart sinking.

There you are, laughing and beaming, and you’re not alone. A few boys—three of them, all around your age—are crowded around you, clearly captivated. One of them is leaning a little too close, saying something in your ear that makes the wispy tendrils of your hair quiver. It’s like you’re caught in your own little world, and Zeke’s left outside, watching from the edges.

Jealousy twists in his chest. He stands for a moment longer, fists tightening around the cups as his face grows warm. Without thinking, he strides forward, pushing through the boys with an air of irritation that he doesn’t even try to hide.

“Hey,” he says sharply, shoving one of the cups into your hands with more force than necessary. “Don’t you guys have somewhere else to be?”

The boys look at him, taken aback, until one of them steps forward with a cocky grin. “We’re just talking, kid. Maybe you should take a walk and come back when you’re older.”

Zeke’s jaw clenches. “Yeah? Maybe you should take a walk and not come back at all.”

The smug boy narrows his eyes, clearly considering a retort, but you step in and put a hand on Zeke’s shoulder.

“It’s fine,” you say, your tone light, but your eyes flash with worry. “They’re just being friendly.”

The group of boys exchange glances and drift away into the crowd, muttering amongst themselves. You watch them go before turning back to Zeke, eyebrows raised. He meets your gaze, expecting a smile or a teasing remark. Instead, you sigh exasperatedly.

“Really, Zeke?” you say. “You can’t just drive people off for speaking to me.”

He opens his mouth, but his response falters at first. He glances away and mumbles defensively, “They were bothering you.”

You laugh coldly. “No, they weren’t. You’re just—,” you pause and shake your head. “You’re just being mean.”

Zeke’s stomach turns to lead. He can see it now, how your eyes sparkle with the attention, how you seem to lean into the easy flirtations you get from your peers. You’re not just tolerating it—you’re enjoying it. Maybe, you even look forward to it. He feels as if he’s shrinking in your presence, suddenly too young, too naive. Too small .

He tries to swallow the feeling down, but he can’t ignore it. Without another word, Zeke whirls on his heels and pushes into the crowd, the noise and bodies a blur around him. He hears you calling his name but doesn’t turn back. He just keeps walking, letting the music and chatter swallow him whole until he’s far enough away that he can’t feel your gaze on him.

Anger churns in his chest, but it’s not directed at you. Not exactly. It’s more at himself, for letting himself carry on this childish crush for so long, for foolishly believing you’d wait for him, as if he had all the time in the world to catch up.

But that’s the problem—he doesn’t have time. Not really.

table of contents | masterlist | cross posted to ao3 ← previous chapter | next chapter →

[louloulemons-posts]

Oil At The Coffee Shop V

Eddie X Fem!Reader

Summary : Someone new comes to work at the shop and you see Eddie again.

Word Count : 2.7k

Warnings : Not proofread, no use of Y/N, petnames, sad eddie, wayne comforts him, cuteness, fluff, more eddie x reader in this part.

Fic Masterlist

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Oh uh Hi,” you spoke awkwardly, trying not to stare. “Hi,” he grunted, taking a one step back, then fully retreating to his room. “I uh, I think that’s my cue to leave,” you said to Wayne.

“I hate to admit it, but I think you’re right Honey. Thank you for stopping by and for the treats.”

“Thank you for the tea, it was nice seeing you again Mr Mun-,” he gave you a raised brow, “Wayne.”

“You too Honey, I’ll be sure to stop by the shop soon.” You hummed, bidding the man goodnight and went back to your car, only then noticing Eddies van around the back of the trailer.

Well you had tried to make things better, but could only feel like you’d just made them a whole lot worse.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

His body was screaming, his head was too. He ripped the towel off his body, running to his draws to find clothes. Throwing on a pair of sweatpants he paused in front of the mirror.

They were everywhere. Thick pale marks coated his skin, from his neck to his legs. Completely covered, they hadn’t faded in the last year. He let out a sob.

Falling to the floor he felt arms wrap around him, “It’s okay, Wayne’s got you. Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you again, I got you son, I got you,” the man spoke into his curls.

He didn’t know why he was crying. Maybe because she’d seen his ugliness and her face hadn’t changed. There was no malice. No disgust. Just surprise at him being there.

He’d been so cruel. So horrible. Shouted at her. Hurt her feelings. She just wanted to be kind and he pushed her away. Did that make him a monster too?

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Sunday rolled around, the last sunlight of Summer dancing through the windows. Robin had been right, Steve called her this morning inviting her to a barbecue on Tuesday night. Which she happily accepted.

Opening another box, she emptied out more take away coffee cups and lids, taking the back stock to the storage room. The bell on the door rang, “Sorry we’re closed,” you said, walking to the main shop floor.

You smiled at who you came across, “Max! What are you doing here, it’s your day off!” you playfully scolded. “I have someone I want you to meet, this is El. She’s a friend of mine and is looking for a job.”

“Nice to meet you Honey,” you introduced yourself to the curly haired girl with dark ways. “Wait El? Your Hopper and Joyce’s daughter?” She nodded, a small smile on her face. “It’s nice to finally meet you, so do you have any experience?”

“Uh not really, but I’m a quick learner.”

“She’s a good baker, maybe she could help more with the pastries and cakes. Her and Joyce make the best banana bread,” Max told you.

You noticed how the redhead had decided to wear her glasses today - she wasn’t lying when she said her body needed to rest.

“Well if you’re not busy tomorrow, you’re more than welcome to have a trial morning. Me and Max can show you the ropes.”

“I would really like that.”

“Great I’ll see you both at 8am, now go and enjoy the rest of your day,” you ushered them out of the store, hushing Max when she said she’d stay and help with unloading and restocking.

You had to bake a lot today, things that needed to cool over night and be finished tomorrow. Along with changing up the Weekly Special menu, adding your aunts famous Pecan Pie with Maple Ice-cream.

Tying your hair up, you put on your apron and washed your hands. Preparing to bake cakes, and cookies along with many different fruity turnovers (mainly cherry).

Along with that you made some sandwich fillings, like pesto and put some meets into cook. It was a busy, warm and productive day. You knew Callie would be proud, you knew Scotty and the rest of your family would be too.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

When your alarm went off at 6:30 you whined, not wanting to leave the soft comfort of your bed. Pulling yourself up you headed straight to the bathroom, washing your face, and brushing your teeth.

Sliding on a tighter pair of dark slacks, you tucked in your long sleeved white top, rolling the sleeves to your elbows. Tying your hair up and putting on your work shoes.

Taking a punnet of cherries out of the fridge, you headed down to the shop. Switching on the lights, you headed to the kitchen. The ovens were on straight away and you began finishing off what you began the day before.

Shortly after a knock came at the front door, heading it you were greeted by Max and El. “Morning ladies.”

“Morning,” El spoke in a sing song tone.

“Hm,” Max grunted, you’d learnt she didn’t enjoy an early rise.

You also noticed how she wore her glasses again. “Okay, so Max if you could make a start on getting the chairs down and starting up the coffee machine. I’m going to explain to El and show her the basics.”

The red head nodded, yawning into her hand and walked over to the chairs and tables. “Follow me,” you smiled at El. “So here is the kitchen, Max said you’re good at baking so you may become familiar with it very soon.

“People tend to have fruit and warm drinks in the mornings, so savoury you don’t have to worry about until the afternoon. Where I really need you is the counter - helping Max with taking orders and drinks.”

You picked up a finished tray of cookies, and heading back to the front. “You’ll be shadowing Max for today, mainly writing orders and helping her out with coffees and other hot drinks. I’ll show you how to do the cash too.”

After giving the girl a quick run down of what she had to do she smiled. “I think I can do that,” she spoke, her tone very gentle.

“Good, it’ll be great to have you. If you have any questions feel free to ask. I’m just going to finish up in the back, so you can help Max carry on setting up.”

She nodded and walked to her friend, who was labelling cakes. The pair fell into easy conversation, it was nice to see, the only ‘girlfriend’ you’d had was Diane, but she was an in-law, so you didn’t know if it counted.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Monday and Tuesday went around quickly, El did amazing on her training and started full time later on in the week. She wasn’t lying when she said she was a quick learner.

Her and Max worked great together too, you were a bit scared that they’d stand and chat all day, but they were hard workers. You were now headed to Steve’s for his barbecue.

He had said you’d meet his friends again along with some others. Max and El would be there, along with Lucas. You were looking forward to it, but could only assume that Eddie would be there - your stomach turned at the thought.

You understood why he panicked you really did, his scars weren’t anything to be ashamed off. You knew that, they’re healed wounds, but maybe Eddie was still healing from what caused them.

Pulling up to Steve’s you saw Jonathan’s car, along with Steve’s and Vickies. Eddies van nowhere to be seen. Heading to the door you knocked a few times.

“You made it!” Steve said, as he opened the door and gave you a huge hug. “You knew I was coming!” you laughed, allowing him to lead you inside. “Everyone’s out back, I’ll introduce you.”

The garden was full of new faces and familiar ones. Jonathan waved at you, coming over to greet you. “Hey,” he smiled, giving you a hug. “How’s it going?”

“Good how are you settling in?”

“I’ve jumped right into it so it’s great.”

A voice shouted your name, “Hey Robin.”

She came to you, her fingers linked with Vickies. “I wanted to formally introduce you to my wonderful girlfriend, Vickie.”

“Yeah introduce her before you get over the limit of tipsy,” Steve teased.

“Shut up Dingus,” she said, pinching the boys side. “It’s nice to meet you properly,” you said.

“You too, sorry we couldn’t last time. Bambi legs and all,” she motioned to Robin, which made you chuckled. “Hey Steve who’s this?” a curly haired teen asked.

Steve introduced you, “This is Dustin.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said.

“You’re the one everyone’s been talking about!” he exclaimed.

“Dude don’t make her uncomfortable,” Steve nudged him.

“Sorry,” he said, before turning to his friends and shouting, “Guys come here and meet her!” You face flushed slightly, but you calmed when you saw the familiar faces of Max, El and Lucas.

“Hi guys,” you waved to them. They all greeted you back. There were two more boys with them, one slightly familiar and another you were unsure of. “This is Mike,” El said.

Ah Nancy’s brother. “It’s nice to meet you Mike.”

“And you.”

“And this is my Will,” Jonathan spoke from beside you. “Oh my gosh, no way!” you exclaimed. “You’ve gotten so big!”

“It’s been a while,” he laughed shyly.

“Now all the introductions are done, would you like a beer?” he asked.

“Just the one,” you smiled. “I’m just going to say hi to Nancy and Argyle,I’ll come see you guys in a bit,” you said to the younger teens.

“How’s it going guys.” You say down next to Argyle, smiling at the pair. “Babe! It’s so good to see you again,” the boy gave you a smile, his eyes slightly red. “You too,” you smiled and the thoroughly relaxed boy.

“It’s nice to see you,” Nancy spoke.

“You too, oh my gosh I read your article yesterday. It was so interesting!” You had discovered that Nancy was a journalist for the local newspaper.

Jonathan often took the photos that would appear above her pieces, on the side of his own job. Steve plonked himself besides you, handing you a beer and resting his head on your shoulder.

“How’s Scott?” he asked.

“Good.”

“The kids?”

“Good.”

“Missing them?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” you sighed. Letting your head rest on his own.

“They’ll have to come and visit soon, they could all stay here. I have enough room,” he motioned to the large house. “I’ll tell him next time we talk.”

Steve went to continue talking when you heard more greetings being exchanged. “Munson! My man you made it!” Steve smiled, greeting the boy, you’d been so nervous to see.

Dressed in an old band tee, some jeans, a leather jacket. Your stomach flipped but in a very different way that you didn’t understand. You jumped when someone whispered in your ear, “Did you manage to make up?” Max.

“Well I spoke to Wayne. I need to talk to Eddie,” you told her quietly. She nodded and walked away from you, wrapping her arms around the taller boy. “Hey Red,” he smiled, like actually smiled.

He had deep smile lines near his mouth, dimples that sat perfectly on his cheeks, and slight crinkles by his eyes that you knew would result in crows feet as he got older.

It was beautiful.

Sharing greetings with everyone else, he spoke to you, “Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“I’m doing good, you?”

“Good.” You nodded and he hummed. It was awkwardly silent.

“Well let’s start grilling,” Steve broke the tension. “I’ll come help,” you said, walking to the house with the boy. “What the hell was that?” he asked, raising his brow.

“What was what?”

“You and Eddie in the garden. What the hell?”

“It was nothing.” You began putting peppers, onions and tomatoes on skewers to make kebabs.

“Oh my god you like him!” You dropped a piece of pepper. “N-no I don’t!”

“Okay you think he’s cute at least and don’t even deny it I saw how goo-goo eyed you went when he was with Max.”

“Oh my god shush.”

“It’s true then.”

“This conversations done, go start the fire you shit head.”

“Okay okay, but we’re talking about this again.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever you say.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You were all sat around together, some people on the ground and others on loungers, all happily munching away on delicious food.

“So you’re running the cafe?” Dustin spoke to you. “Yeah, along with Max and now El.”

Everyone smiled at that, proud of the pair of them. “How come you moved here?” he asked, taking a bite out of his food.

“Oh uh,” you began to speak.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Steve said, giving Dustin a stern look. “No it’s okay, I inherited the shop when my Aunt Callie passed, but I could only move recently.”

“Steve said you used to be a decorator.”

“I did. I decorated the whole store with his help.”

“In one week?”

“Mhm.”

“And now two of our friends work with you?”

“They do.”

“Do we get friend discounts?”

“If I say yes will you stop making me feel like I’m being interrogated by Hop?”

“Sure.”

“Then yes, you can have a friend discount.”

“Wicked.” You chuckled at the boy, he had nerve you’d give him that.

Everyone laughed at the interaction between the pair of you and the evening went on. Helping Steve clear up plates and wrap up leftovers you hear and squeal and a splash followed by, “LUCAS!”

“You coming in?” Steve asked, motioning to the water. “Probably not, might just roll up my jeans and dip my feet.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, taking a swig of his beer.

You did just that, sliding off your shoes and socks. Rolling up your jeans a few times, you laughed at the younger kids, currently playing chicken in the water. Max on Lucas’ shoulders and Will on Mikes.

Robin and Vickie were lounging away, smiling at one another. Argyle taking a drag of a cigarette that clearly wasn’t just a cigarette. Dustin and Steve stood in the water chatting. El held onto the side, talking to her big brother and his girlfriend.

Everyone seemed so content.

“Hi,” A voice came from behind you. Turning you head you spoke, “Hi.” It was Eddie, he began to get down next to you. “I um … I was just wondering if we could talk?”

“Yeah of course.”

Meeting the ground next to you, he sat with his knees up to his chest. “Before you say anything, I just want to say I’m sorry,” you said quickly, before he got a word out.

“Y-you’re sorry? What on earth for?”

“Well I didn’t mean to offended you, and then I was rude and then I was just at your home.”

“Sweetheart I was a dick to you. I snapped at you just because I felt insecure. You’ve been nothing, but kind and I’ve taken advantage of that. I can only apologise.”

“You have nothing to apologi-“

“Yes I do, and the trailer. I’m sorry I ran away. I just wasn’t expecting you to get there and um … my scars aren’t the nicest thing to see.”

“There’s nothing wrong with them. They’re pretty fucking cool actually. I noticed your tattoos too. How many do you have?” He seemed taken aback by your reply, “Oh uh, I’ve lost count now, when I remember I’ll let you know.”

“I’m thinking of getting one, right here,” you motioned to a space on your upper forearm. “Oh yeah, what would you get?”

“I’m looking for inspiration.”

“It’s where my first one is,” he said.

“Really?” He nodded, pulling his arm out of his jacket. His shirt was long sleeved so he rolled it up slightly so you could see. It was a demonic looking puppet with a hand controlling it.

“Wow that’s so cool,” you said, gently tracing the line work. You could feel the bumps and dips of scaring as you did so. His breath hitched and you met his gaze. Deep chocolate eyes. “Sorry,” you whispered.

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. Just thought it was really fucking metal.” You huffed a laugh at that, “It is, fucking metal.”

“Hey Sweetheart?” He said, rolling down his sleeve and tugging his jacket back on.

“Hm?”

“Do you think we could start over?” he asks. You smiled, introducing yourself to him. “I’m Eddie,” he grinned.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

A/N: 👀👀👀

Thank you so much for reading 🤍

taglist : @corrodedseraphine @flawiette @witchwolflea @emxxblog @plk-18 @vintagehellfire

let me know if you want to be added 🤍

[thesugarclubs-blog]

Be Mine - Bucky Barnes x OC

warnings: speed dating, strangers to lovers, heavy petty, valentines day special

word count: 5.6k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1424350312-be-mine-hazel

vibe: “Not enough to scare you I hope,” Hazel voiced, a small smirk tugging at her lips as she studied him fingers tapping the base of her glass.

“Quite the opposite,” he declared his hand inching closer to where she had rested her free arm on the back of the sofa.

“Good, I think we’d balance each other out perfectly,” she mused, her hand meeting him halfway like she had read his mind just as she took a sip of her wine.

Masterlist

“Bucky Barnes, man you’re lookin’ good,” Sam drawled, a sly smile creeping its way across his face.

“Shut up,” Bucky mumbled, nervously running his hand over the long scruff on his cheeks.

He hunched his shoulders and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, desperately trying to make his large frame look less intimidating. Dropping his head, he stared at the toe of his boot as he scuffed it along the wooden floor of his apartment.

“Don’t know why the hell I let you talk me into this,” he added, his brows drawing down into a petulant scowl.

“‘Cause I’m your friend and you love me,” Sam replied sweetly, throwing his arm around Bucky and drawing the reluctant super soldier tightly against him. “You gotta get back out there, charm those ladies like it’s 1942.”

“Friends don’t put each other into situations like this,” Bucky grumbled, his jaw clenching tightly as he glared at Sam out of the corner of his eye.

“Quit being a toddler. You’re acting like we’re gonna fight someone. It’s not Madripoor, or Seoul, or that time in Belize…”

“I’d rather be back in Belize.”

Sam threw his head back with a cackle and slapped his hand between Bucky’s shoulders. “Whatever, big guy, come on. We don’t wanna be late.”

Bucky spent the whole subway ride with a scowl etched onto his face, deepening every time he caught a glimpse of Sam’s grin in his peripherals. 

The annoying part of  this was, the longer he’d been friends with the guy, the more that grin wore him down. 

“Stop it.” 

“I ain’t doin’ anything, man. You stop it.” 

Sam’s toothy smile grew two times wider and he nudged Bucky’s shoulder as they shuffled off the train at Prince Street Station. 

“This thing would be in Soho,” Bucky muttered, following Sam out onto the sidewalk. 

“Hey! No more complaining. For all you know you might meet a nice girl or guy… or alien I guess, it is 2024, and then you’ll be thanking me.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, Sam. Sure, Sam. Just run my life for me, Sam.” 

“Someone’s gotta,” Sam replied just as they stopped outside a coffee shop. Bucky eyed the big A-frame sign advertising the Valentine’s speed dating event and sucked in a breath. 

Here goes nothing.

The sound in there alone was enough to have him turning tail but Sam caught his arm when he made an attempt and gave him a stern look that rang out loud and clear, stay put soldier, that's an order.

Bucky watched as a herd of women fixed their dresses and shirts, chatting politely with the people next to them and sipping on drinks as men lurked in corners, with wide eyes scanning the crowd as they downed beers in feeble attempts to find their courage. Bucky wanted to melt into the wall with them but Sam tugged him toward an empty high table and had the waitress grab them drinks before they even settled in. 

An eclectic looking woman in a bright green patterned dress and thick brimmed purple glasses stepped up on the tiny, open mic stage in the corner and tapped the mic loudly to get everyone's attention. The coffee shop dulled to a murmur as she started to explain how the speed dating would work.

Her nasal whine drilled into Bucky’s brain and he downed the remains of his beer, wishing for all the world that the burn of the alcohol would actually stick this time. He was struggling to form a coherent thought so he had no idea how he’d manage to hold a half-decent conversation. As if someone had heard his desperate pleas, Miss Green Dress came unknowingly to his rescue.

“We know it can be intimidating sometimes, to answer questions from strangers,” she droned, “so make sure you pick up one of our handy yes/no paddles before the first bell rings.”

Bucky’s eyes lit up and he began to move towards the table that held the paddles but Sam’s hand on his elbow stopped him.

“Wait a second, tin man, there’s no way you’re getting out of communicating with real life people.”

"If the lady says to grab a paddle, I'm gonna grab a paddle," Bucky countered, crossing his arms over his chest and staring Sam down as if to say what are you gonna do about it?

"Just promise me you'll actually talk to these people, and I mean talk, Barnes. None of the weird little cyborg grunts I've learnt how to interpret." 

On instinct, Bucky flexed and curled the fingers of his left hand. The leather of his glove creaked quietly as it stretched and Bucky sighed. One glance of the Vibranium and his dates were bound to hop out of their seats like their asses were on fire. 

"If you don't want them to see, you don't have to show them," Sam said. He was speaking in his counselor voice and Bucky hated that Sam could read him like a book.

Bucky sighed softly as he looked around the room again. “They’ll either run or ask me a bunch of questions that I’ll never be able to answer.”

Sam smirked and gently nudged his friend. “You have a bit of a following, you know.”

Bucky only grumbled. “That’s what worries me.”

“I’ve seen some of those messages you get, man those people are crazy,” Sam continued, but his teasing was softened by the sympathetic look in his eyes. “Just…give it a shot and if you really need to get out of here we will, ok?”

Bucky let out a world-weary sigh. “OK.”

“Atta boy, come on, let’s go.” Sam handed him another beer and tilted his head towards the line of tables, where a plethora of women were starting to take their seats.

"Remember, if you are sitting facing the coffee bar, you'll be staying in your seats. If you're facing away, you'll be moving on the ring of the bell," the woman called out loudly, making Bucky wince as he found his seat; James Barnes printed on a little card already thanks to Sam signing them up a week earlier.

The tables were decorated for the event; pink checked table cloths and tiny pink paper hearts scattered across the top. Between him and his first partner, a petite brunette woman with thick bangs and a nose stud, sat a small vase with a single rose. Bucky eyed the tattoos peaking out from the woman's collar and sleeves and gulped, feeling way in over his head already.

"My names Cassie," she introduced herself with a sharp smile. 

"Bucky," he swallowed thickly and palmed his beer bottle. 

"So what are you into?" She jumped right into the questions and all Bucky could think about was the bell ringing, how soon would it happen? Could he ring it if he felt threatened? There was an astounding lack of rules happening, "Like in the bedroom?" 

And boundaries. 

"Uh," he looked around for Sam who was laughing with a pretty blonde girl across the room.

Bucky could feel sweat on the back of his neck as he messed with the label on his beer bottle. 

“You’re not a talker, are you?” Cassie grinned.

It was tensely quiet for a moment before Bucky lifted his paddle with the “no” facing towards his partner.

“Ah, I see. The strong silent type. My kinda guy,” she purred.

Bucky jumped a mile in the air and almost threw his beer across the room as her foot began to stroke its way up his shin. He’d never been more relieved to hear a bell in his life.

Cassie blew him a kiss over her shoulder as she moved onto the next table and Bucky shot daggers at Sam across the room, his nostrils flaring as his so called friend laughed and gestured for him to turn around. 

The next woman in front of him looked a little tamer, if he took her ridiculously low cut top out of the equation. His eyes dipped momentarily — he may have been an ex-assassin, but he was a hot-blooded man first — before he caught himself and met her eye with a tight-lipped smile. 

"So, how many kids do you wa—"

Bucky stared at her wide-eyed and took a long pull of his beer.

"Nope. Next!"

"You're Bucky Barnes," The red head sneered before she even sat down at the table. "That's incredible, show me it."

Bucky stared at her for a moment, her green eyes predatory as they roved over his arm and down to his hand. 

"Show you what?" His brows kissed in frustration. 

"The vibranium arm," she leaned over on the table. "There are bets that it's not real, that the government made it up as a fear tactic." She rambled and Bucky tensed, "I mean we all know you're some kind of science experiment," she continued. "Fear mongering doesn't work when you make the poster child for it with thick thighs," the girl looked under the table and winked at Bucky. 

"I..." he was uncomfortable but wasn't sure what to say to her. 

"Excuse me," a sweet voice floated over the table, "you're in my seat."

Red looked up and looked incredulously at the owner of the voice before turning back to Bucky.

"I said, you're in my seat," the voice repeated, the sweetness dropped a notch.

Bucky's attention was now on the curvaceous blonde who grasped the chair from under the red head and tipped her off. "I said this is my seat, now clear off."

The downed redhead crawled to the next chair, picked up her stuff and disappeared through the cafe.

"Hi Gorgeous, my name's Hazel, pleased to meet you."

Bucky felt himself relax for the first time since he'd taken his seat.

He gave the woman a small smile and nodded in thanks for getting rid of the other woman. “I’m Bucky,” he said quietly as he eyed the now torn off label of his beer.

Hazel smiled at him, her blonde hair bobbed just above her shoulders as she flattened down the skirt of her dress. A pink number with puffy sleeves and a full skirt. 

“How have your dates been so far?” Hazel asked. His eyes flicked down to the corner of her lips where they tugged upwards ever so slightly. Heat crawled up his neck as he took a pull from his beer. 

“Do people not know what boundaries are anymore?” He said after a moment. Hazel stared at him before bursting into a chuckle.

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head and making her blonde bob dance around her ears. “That guy in the blue turtleneck offered me $50 to go home with him.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m gonna kick his ass,” Bucky muttered, semi-rising from his chair, only half joking.

A light touch on his left arm stopped him and the amused twinkle in Hazel’s eyes had him smiling back at her without even realising.

“I don’t need a champion, Bucky, but I appreciate the gesture,” Hazel said, holding out her bottle of beer to clink against his own.

“Ok,” Bucky shrugged as he chimed their bottles together before taking a swig. “Let’s get started then. You wanna go first?”

Hazel scrunched up her nose and tapped her finger against her pouted lips a couple of times. Her eyes lit up before turning a little devilish and Bucky found himself eager to hear what she’d thought of to ask him.

“You know, I could really use a recommendation and you’re just the guy to ask. So…what’s your favourite brand of metal polish?”

Bucky surprised himself with the laugh that escaped him and he didn't miss the proud little smile on Hazel's face, obviously pleased that her question tickled him. 

"Y'know, I'm not a fussy guy," he replied, "I'll take anythin' that'll make it shine." 

"The arm or your eyes?" 

"Hello, smooth talker," Bucky chuckled, "you been talkin' to all the guys like that?" 

Hazel shook her head, flashing him a beaming smile. A wisp of her blonde hair fell across her eyes with the movement and Bucky itched to reach out and tuck it behind her ear, only stopping himself when Hazel leant forward, chin resting in her hand. 

"Guess it's my turn again, huh?"

"What's your favorite drink?" Bucky asked her and felt himself leaning into her smile.

"Espresso Martini," she cooed. 

Bucky raised his hand in the air and a waitress scooted around a table where the dates were screaming at one another, "how can I help?" She asked. 

"Can you get my date an espresso martini please?" He asked and the waitress opened her mouth to explain that she may not be here by the time the drink was made. "She'll be here," Bucky nodded. 

The waitress shrugged and ducked back into the chaos around her. 

"Seems I've met my match," Hazel stared over at him.

Bucky smirked at her as the bell rang, holding her gaze. 

"Time to swap," the next dater spoke from behind Hazel.

"Not happening," Bucky replied, his eyes never leaving hers, as Hazel responded, "He's taken."

As the waitress placed the drink beside Hazel, she shrugged to the disgruntled dater and advised her to move past. "I've bigger fish to fry," she muttered, the couple who had screamed through their date were now heckling each other from several tables apart.

"So, where were we?" Hazel asked, raising her glass in toast to Bucky.

Bucky raised his bottle leaning the neck forward to softly clink her glass, taking a swig as he watched her pink-tinted plump lips part as she brought her glass up to her mouth. 

“I believe you have the floor now,” he smiled, watching her blue eyes sparkle under the soft yellow lighting. 

“Okay serious question now, promise” she winked, “how are you finding the modern world?”

Bucky let out a long breath and chuckled to himself. "It definitely ain't the 40's anymore darlin'." 

Blue eyes regarded him as she tilted her head to the side. "That daunting huh?" 

"And more." He said giving her a lopsided smile. "It's not just the technology that's changed, ya know? It's people too. The way people treat eachother. In some ways the world is a lot more accepting and in others..." His voice trailed off. 

"Like we're always fighting each other for someone else's agenda?" She finished for him.

“Exactly,” he agreed.

He leaned back in his seat and appraised her as he tilted back his bottle and swallowed a mouthful of beer. Hazel did the same, winking at him over the rim of her martini glass and he felt himself flush under her scrutiny. He liked it. 

“What made you come here tonight?” He asked.

“Nancy asked me to make up numbers,” she shrugged, nodding her head towards the organiser in the green dress. “She minded my baby for me last week so I owed her one.”

“Oh?” Bucky raised his eyebrow. “What’s your baby called?”

“Trevor. He’s a total asshole but I adore him,” Hazel gushed. “He’ll sulk for days if I leave him with anyone other than Nancy.”

“Yeah,” Bucky swallowed awkwardly. “I guess kids can be funny like that.”

“Kid?” Hazel threw her head back and cackled. “Trevor’s my cat!”

"Oh...OH!" Bucky chuckled, feeling a little bashful over the misunderstanding. But then with Hazel's laugh, Bucky couldn't help the way his own grew louder. 

Hazel's shoulders shook as she tapered off into a giggle and her eyes creased at the corners, lashes glistening with unshed tears. She was gorgeous, her whole personality infectious and Bucky was more than ready to throw caution to the wind, steal her away from this stupid event. 

"I, uh... I like cats..." Bucky said suddenly, voice going up like it was a question, and the laughter started all over again. He hadn't felt this loose, his heart this full of something that wasn't dread or fear, in years.

"You do?" Hazel perked up and her soft smile curled to the side. 

"I have one," Bucky nodded, "Alpine. Sweet little thing. Feisty too."

"Like father, like daughter, clearly." She teased, her finger rolling down the stem of her glass. "Can I meet her sometime?"

"I'd like that," Bucky smiled at her. "You look amazing in that dress by the way."

"What? This little ole thing?" she quoted. "It's fabulous dahling, I was always told 'go big or go home'. The best advice I've ever been given."

"Who told you that?" Bucky asked curiously.

"My Nan," Hazel smiled at the memory, pausing to take another sip from her glass.

“Must’ve been one wonderful woman as well,” he offered with a tender smile. 

“That she was. And, thank you.” Hazel smiled back, eyes glossy. 

“So Mr. Barnes, I think we’ve defeated speed-dating. Very succesfully, if I might add,” she winked at the soft laugh that slipped from Bucky’s lips. 

Hazel moved her hand and rested it softly atop his and he was absolutely certain from the little twitch upwards at the corner of her lips, that she could see the flush creeping up his neck and cheeks. 

“You think your partner back there would mind if we took our drinks somewhere else?”  she asked pointing Sam’s way with her plush lips.

"Wouldn't care if he did." Bucky grinned, taking another swig of his beer, "what about you? Do you think Nancy is gonna flip if you leave?" 

Hazel glanced over her shoulder at Nancy, too busy calming down a woman. "Nah, she's got her hands full." Those same blue eyes flickered back to him and his heart skipped a beat he was sure of it.

“Well then,” Bucky grinned, hopping up and sliding around the table to Hazel’s side because he was nothing if not a gentleman. He held out his warm hand out for her and something lit up inside him, a sparkling, soft glow in the darkness, as Hazel’s fingers curled around his. 

She giggled as she stood, straightening out the skirt of her dress with her free hand and Bucky took a moment to really take her in. 

“Why thank you, kind sir.” 

Bucky shrugged shyly, face warm as Hazel beamed up at him. If only he couldn’t see Sam giving him two goofy thumbs up over her head.

"Okay maybe walk a little faster though," Hazel giggled when Nancy gasped from the left of the room. 

The two of them made their way out onto the street in a bundle of laughs and quickened steps as Nancy yelled from the door of the shop. Hazel's cute pink dress was a mess in the wind from their scurried steps and Bucky couldn't help but laugh when he looked over at her to find her hair a mess around her beautiful face. 

"Here," he angled himself in front of her, blocking her from the breeze and used both hands to push the hair from her face. "Much better," he smiled, unaware or unbothered by the proximity of their lips as she stared up at him with light dancing across her blue eyes. 

"Thanks," she said, her cheeks turning red.

"Any time, beautiful" Bucky voiced as he stroked her flushed cheek tenderly with his gloved thumb.

"Now who's the smooth talker," Hazel laughed, so sweet and melodic Bucky hoped he could hear it everyday. 

"Still got something," he chuckled. "Where to next?" 

"Well, there's a small bar not far from here. Cozy booths we could sit side by side in... or across from each other you know, your choice." Her eyes shifted from his lips to his eyes and back, and it took every bit of willpower in him not to kiss her right there. 

"You really think I'm gonna wanna sit anywhere but right next to ya?" He said, moving his hands reluctantly from her face to offer his hand once more. "Lead the way darlin'."

Hazel grinned up at him. "Do you trust me?" 

He saw a twinkle of mischief in her eyes as he glanced down at her but something fluttered in his chest that made him feel like he could actually trust this woman. "and if I say yes?" 

She smirked and tugged on his hand, leading him further down the street. "Then you'd make my night." 

He couldn't help but laugh as they continued to walk in silence. One that didn't feel pressured or awkward. It was just the two of them enjoying each other's presence. Hazel stopped outside of a small brownstone and looked back at him. 

"This doesn't look like a bar, darlin'." He raised a brow. 

"That's because it's my apartment." Hazel bit her bottom lip softly as she looked up at him. "I figured if we wanted some place quiet that this might be the best spot and besides...I do need to feed Trevor."

Bucky didn't realise he could raise his eyebrow as high as he just did, blinking down at Hazel as his lips curved into a smirk. 

“You’re bold,” he murmured darkly, “I like it.” 

“My God, I thought you were about to run for the hills,” Hazel breathed, smacking him lightly on the arm — the left one. 

“Sweetheart, the day I run from a gorgeous woman like you will be the day I need my brain fixed… again.” 

Hazel’s cheeks turned a soft pink as she chuckled quietly and Bucky couldn’t help himself as his fingers found her jaw again,  the pad of his thumb gently stroking the apple of her cheek. 

“Last chance to back out,” she offered but Bucky shook his head. 

“You promised a cat,” he grinned.

“That I did, soldier.” She unlocked the door and led him inside. Locking it behind them as she entered. 

The place was cute, decorated in more color than Bucky had ever seen in his entire life. Completely out of place, the most scraggly cat he had ever laid eyes on. Trevor looked like he had gone five rounds with a wood chipper. 

“He was an alley cat,” Hazel set her purse on the long teal hallway table between a hot pink vase full of fake flowers and a funky looking bowl for her keys. “Believe it or not, Trevor is in better shape than he’s ever been.” 

“I’m sensing a theme,” Bucky teased, squatting before the cat and offering his hand. 

“I promise I don’t make a habit of bringing home strays,” Hazel laughed and her fingers ran through Bucky’s hair as she passed. The sensation curled his toes and forced his eyes upward to where she was disappearing around the corner. Nothing but pink tulle and long gorgeous legs.

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath and almost crawled after her until he managed to gather enough of his wits about himself to clamber to his feet.

He padded after her into a small kitchen, careful to keep his steps heavy so as not to startle her with his usual light-footed gait. The orange and hot pink accents in the room should have clashed but somehow they didn’t. They were perfectly Hazel. She turned to face him, a bottle of white wine in one hand, a bottle of whiskey in the other, and a cheeky smile on her beautiful face.

Bucky nodded his head towards the whiskey and stepped further into the kitchen as she busied about, pouring them both a glass. Handing him a cut glass tumbler with a healthy measure of amber liquid inside, she raised her wine glass in a wordless toast before taking a sip. Bucky was mesmerised at the way her tongue darted out to capture the stray droplet of wine that lingered on her bottom lip.

Before he even took a sip of the whiskey warmth filled his chest. He hadn't expected to take away anything from the ridiculous spectacle that was speed dating but here he stood, bashful and anxious before a beautiful woman who was anything but those two things. 

She set her wine glass down and pulled out a tiny can that had Trevor sounding off like a fire alarm as she struggled to open it. Bucky moved forward in an offer to help but her blue eyes flickered up to him in warning. Eventually she got the lid popped and fed Trevor as Bucky stood and watched her care for the mangled, scruffy looking alley cat. 

"You stand out like a sore thumb in here," she teased, looking up at him again before moving around the counter and ushering him through the house. 

"I'll confess I feel like one," he said as she sat across from him with her legs tucked under her. 

His tongue darted out over his bottom lip, saddened that she had curled away from him. Desperate to touch all of sudden. Like a love sick puppy, touch starved and wanting.

“Not enough to scare you I hope,” Hazel voiced, a small smirk tugging at her lips as she studied him fingers tapping the base of her glass. 

“Quite the opposite,” he declared his hand inching closer to where she had rested her free arm on the back of the sofa. 

“Good, I think we’d balance each other out perfectly,” she mused, her hand meeting him halfway like she had read his mind just as she took a sip of her wine. 

Her delicate fingers traced along the leather of his gloves and her eyes followed like she was lost in thought before she spoke again. 

“You know, you don’t have to hide with me.” Her blue eyes found his once more as her fingers curled into his. “I’m not saying you *have* to take them off if you don’t want to, just wanted you to know you were, safe." She finished with a smile so tender and genuine that he thought his heart was going to burst right out of his chest.

Bucky smiled and looked down at his hands. He always kept his gloves on unless he was in his apartment or on a mission if he needed to use the arm for strength. Licking his lips, he flexed one hand. "Thank you..." he told her. It was tempting to show her, to relax the worry in his mind. But he didn't want to frighten her either.

She continued to talk, her voice soft and lilting, and Bucky found himself mesmerised by her animated features and expressive hands. A rogue strand of hair was the only thing that interrupted her monologue as it flopped insistently over her forehead. Hazel crossed her eyes endearingly and pursed her lips to blow it out of the way with a chuckle of laughter that turned into a huff as it immediately returned.

Without a second thought Bucky reached forwards and stroked it gently out of her way, tucking the blonde strand behind her ear. The feel of her warm skin against his fingertips was heavenly and then he stilled with the realisation that he’d taken off his gloves. 

“There you are,” Hazel murmured, a smile of pure delight on her face as she leaned into the touch of his hand.

He can’t remember the last time he’d used his hands for such a soft gesture, for someone to see him so metaphorically naked and not be fazed in the slightest. 

“Hi,” he breathed, fingers still lingering on her cheek. 

“Hi, handsome,” Hazel whispered and then, “can I?” 

She gestured for his other hand and Bucky nodded, letting Hazel lead as she slid her palm along the vibranuim plates of his, her thumb stroking his wrist as if she’d feel a pulse there. And then he was cupping her cheeks, metal and flesh framing her perfect face.

"Do you feel anything?" She asks him and oddly enough he had never been posed with such a question. He had to think about it. 

Could he feel the softness of her skin, the warmth, the realness... or was it just his mind playing tricks on him. 

"It's not a trick question?" Hazel whispered, her eyes flickering back and forth over his expression. 

"I'm sort of sick of those," he leaned forward, their lips ghosting and breath tangling as he worked up the nerve to kiss her. "Questions are messy," he said. 

"You know what's not?" Hazel smiled and it made all the lines around her face crinkle, "kissing."

"I feel like-" Bucky started to say that it was messy, in fact kissing was the epitome of messy but Hazel was done conversation and her lips where colliding with his before he could protest further. They were delicate as she leaned into his touch and dragged her teeth over his bottom lip sending a thousand tiny shivers rolling through him like a wave. It had been a long time since he had been kissed, and even longer since anyone had turned him into knots the way Hazel was.

Bucky sighed softly as his eyes closed. He focused on the softness of her lips, the taste of her cherry chapstick. It wasn’t long before one hand moved to rest on the side of her neck, caressing her smooth skin with his thumb.

Hazel’s lips parted in a soft gasp as Bucky let himself get lost in the kiss. He licked into her mouth, deliberate and tentative all at once. He didn’t want to get this wrong, didn’t want to fuck up the first piece of human interaction to coax out the butterflies that had been hidden, scared away and buried away for the last 80 years. 

Hazel’s fingers skimmed along his jaw, scratching over the scruff of his stubble before they tangled into the fluff of hair behind his ears. 

Bucky’s breath hitched and someone made a keening little sound, muffled by lips and soft breaths. It wasn’t until Hazel moved in a little closer, kissed him a little softer, that he realised it was him.

His entire body was vibrating and he never wanted to let go of this feeling, to let go of her. He wanted to be here for as long as she would let him. 

His flesh hand found purchase in her hair, caressing her blond strands as their tongues danced together while he let his vibranium one travel down her neck. His metal fingers danced along her collarbone and arm as the sweet sounds of her muffled moans took over all of his senses. His hand stopped at her waist, grasping softly as he spoke into their kiss. 

“Need you closer, please.” He whined.

Hazel pulled away just enough to where she could speak. “Closer how, handsome?”

He couldn’t put his feelings into words; he was so intoxicated by her, as if the whiskey had actually overpowered the serum that ran through his veins. Sliding his hands lower he cupped her ass over the yards of silky chiffon and pulled her gently towards him.

Hazel laughed, a joyful, tinkling sound, as she let him guide her into straddling his thick thighs.

“Better?” She murmured, running her nose along the length of his jaw before ghosting her lips lightly over his.

“Much,” Bucky hummed as his palms dipped under the hem of Hazel’s dress, caressing the soft skin of her thighs. “Now, sweetheart… you and your gorgeous legs just sit pretty and let me love on you.” 

“Well, I know I can do that,” Hazel replied and Bucky could feel her smile, hear the quickening thud of her heart as he kissed her pillow-soft, dewy lips. 

There was nothing tentative about the kiss this time, he was determined to make Hazel feel good, to draw out every breath and gasp and moan like it was the only thing that mattered.

"I like you Hazel," Bucky huffed against her lips, needy for more but wanting to play every move carefully. "You surprised me."

"Is that a good," she tensed as his fingers tickled her thigh, "thing? You sound unsure."

"Oh darlin', it's a damn good thing I'm sure."

Hazel giggled softly as she ran one hand slowly through his hair, watching as the man beneath her practically melted. “You’re a little bit like a cat, yourself, you know that?” She smiled. “You practically vibrate when I touch you.”

“How can I not when you feel so good?” He rumbled, adding an extra purr to his words just to hear that laugh of hers again.

It worked. The peal of laughter she let out had his chest blooming with a warmth he’d not felt in years. His hands left her thighs, sliding up and around her back so that he could draw her close.

Hazel fit against his chest as if she’d been made for him, humming contentedly when he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Thank you, Bucky,” Hazel murmured softly, tilting up to press a series of sweet kisses along his jaw. Bucky sighed, warmth flooding his belly. 

“What for, pretty girl?” 

“I know you didn’t want to be at that event but you took a chance, you let me see you.” 

“Couldn’t really say no, Hazel. You had me from the moment you kicked that girl out of her seat.” Bucky chuckled, kissing her again. He couldn’t stop, didn’t *want* to stop. 

“You mean *my* seat,” Hazel replied, flashing him that cheeky grin.

[mikhailwrites]

Waiting for Connection 8 / Ghost x Soap NerdAU

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

This is a bit of a mid-chapter, there will be a full chapter today as well - Soap and Ghost finally meeting face to face - but this was just... way too fun to write not to share.

Previous chapter | AO3

“Sooo,” Gary drags the chair closer, causing it to screech on the floor, earning several annoyed grunts from the other soldiers in the rec room. Soap looks up from his sketchbook, eyebrow questioningly raised. “Gonna confess, or do I have to work for it?”

“What are you on about, Roach?” Soap puts the sketchbook down before reaching for the mug on the table. He takes a sip, grimacing at the taste of the coffee.

“Ghost,” Roach clarifies.

Soap sighs; he should’ve seen this coming. “What about him?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gary stares at him in disbelief, “how about you being totally smitten with him? Or the fact that he seems to be equally smitten with you?”

“What the hell? What are you talking about?” Soap straightens, brows knitted together and posture clearly defensive.

“Mate…,” Gary shakes his head. “Alright. Let’s not address your obvious crush on a man you’ve never even seen.”

“Gonna see him on Saturday,” Soap says and belatedly realises he just gave Roach a bloody bazooka.

Gary stares at him for a second, wide-eyed, before his face blooms into a shit-eating grin. “Are you, now?”

Soap runs a hand through his mohawk. Well, in for a penny and all that, he thinks. “Aye. It’s along the way to Glasgow. We’re just going to grab a pint or two, and I’ll be on my way.” He doesn’t mention that he usually takes a plane to Glasgow. He is actually going out of his way to see Ghost. But Roach definitely doesn’t need to know that.

“John…,” Gary leans to John, suddenly much more serious, “when was the last time you had friends outside the military?”

“He’s ex-military,” Soap objects.

“Answer the question, Sergeant,” Roach presses on.

Soap squirms a little, gaze dropping on the table. “Before I enlisted.”

“I’m not trying to talk you out of it, mate, just… be careful, alright?”

“I’m SAS, Roach,” Soap says a little defensively. He doesn’t need Roach to babysit him.

“I’m not talking about your physical safety. Anyway… we should also talk about that callsign of his.”

“It’s just a nickname for the game,” Soap shrugs.

“Jesus wept… remind me never to let you have my six again! You would probably shoot me in the back yourself, what with how daft you are! Look, I’ve spent one evening playing a stupid game with him to see that he owns that callsign. So either he’s a pretentious prick who took a callsign of only one of the fucking legends of SAS, or…,” Roach trails off, gesturing for Soap to draw his own conclusions.

“Yer not serious… he’s not…,” Soap shakes his head, “he can’t be…,” then he looks up at Garry with something akin to panic in his eyes. “Can he?”

Lieutenant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick was enjoying his book in the rec room in peace. Until he heard a single word uttered that dragged his attention from the words on the paper to words spoken not far from him. That word being, of course, Ghost.

Gaz doesn’t want to eavesdrop on his men, but it’s hard to let go once the callsign registers. And so he listens, and the more he hears, the harder it is to keep quiet and low-key. When Ghost asked to meet, Kyle knew something was up, especially since he was willing to come to London.

At first, Gaz thought it was just Ghost being paranoid and overly cautious about someone he had spent more than ten minutes with, which was pretty normal for Ghost. But the glint in his eyes when Gaz confirmed Soap is SAS? The momentary panic when Gaz implied Ghost likes Soap? Knowing what he knows now, Gaz can barely keep his face straight. Oh, this is going to be so much fun.

When John pauses to think whether Ghost can really be The Ghost, Kyle gets up and leaves the room. Gaz is really proud of himself because he manages to get all the way outside the building before he breaks into laughter. A bunch of recruits and some lower officers look at him with some bewilderment before scurrying away.

[sirowsky-stories]

The Old Prince

Part 3

Author's Note: I'm truly proud of this one, I love how it came together and I'm so excited to keep going! (I haven't forgotten about Collision, I'm just slightly addicted to Oberyn right now. You're just gonna have to forgive me.)

Description: Oberyn works to uncover the mystery of your survival, but when the time comes to go home, you find yourself conflicted.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, AU fic, eventual romance, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses, reader gets a nickname, this one is mostly Oberyn's pov and he thinks a bit more old-fashioned. Small time jump. Angst. Word Count: 5740 Author's Masterlist

   His fingers are deft and practiced as he draws samples of your blood, but the silence between you is awkward, and you’re not sure why.    Maybe because of how shocked he’d been at your embrace earlier. It makes you wonder how long it’s been since he was touched by someone. Even just platonically.    You’d been too distressed to notice your own reaction to him this time, but it had been there once you’d pulled back. The same inexplicable heat.

   “How much do you need?” you ask, mostly just to break the tension.

   “Four vials should do for now,” he replies in a tone much more neutral than what fits with his expression.

   “I’m sorry about… before,” you try, but he doesn’t get the vague reference.

   He looks up and meets your eyes with a silent question in his brows.

   “The hug,” you elaborate, averting your gaze before the two small words have even finished leaving your lips.

   You’re not really ashamed to have needed comfort, that much no one would judge you for after the last twenty-four hours of your life. What bothers you is that you don’t understand why you felt safe to seek it from him.    No matter who (or what) he is, you shouldn’t be this at ease around him, it goes against every grain of reason and common sense. The man is holding you against your will.

   “Don’t apologize to me, young one. I have you at a terrible disadvantage,” he says, and he sounds entirely unamused by his own words.

   “Okay, can you start calling me something other than that, please. No matter how much older than me you might be, it sounds so wrong when someone who looks to be my age calls me that. It makes me feel like a schoolgirl.”

   He looks somewhat perplexed at that.

   “What would you prefer?”

   “I don’t know, just make up a nickname for me that has nothing to do with age.    I’d tell you my real name, but you have enough power over me already.”

   Finishing up the blood-draw and placing a small band aid on the punctured skin, he seems to ponder that, and something about it amuses him.

   “How about Kaivalya? It means freedom,” he suggests, and you raise a brow in scrutiny.

   It’s a mouthful, but kinda beautiful too. Still, if he’s gonna name you something with that implication, he’d better own up to it.

   “I’ll consider that a promise.”

   “As intended,” he agrees, smiling slightly while he inclines his head at you in a little bow.

   Why does that tiny indication that he respects you, make your stomach flutter?

   “Let’s shorten it to Valya or Val, though,” you suggest, trying to kill the highly inappropriate butterflies with bland conversation. “The whole thing is too cumbersome.”

   “Well then, you’re all done for now, Valya. Thank you.”

   “How long do you think it’ll take to analyze it?”

   “That’s hard to say. It all depends on what I find,” he says and then gets up to put three of the vials into a fridge, leaving one for him to get started on right away. “But you have my word that I will keep you informed.    Until then, as I said, you move around the castle at your own risk.”

   “Will the dragon come back?” you ask, only slightly less frightened of the prospect, now that you know that he has some sort of relationship with it.

   “Yes. But not for a while yet.”

   “How do you know?”

   “He brought you here after he had tried to feed on you and failed. And he stayed for a while to find out if you would mutate, after noticing that it had not happened as quickly as it usually does.    But he had still not fed, so he had to hunt again. That’s why you saw him leave the castle.    He was successful this time, though. Which means he’ll be laying low for a while now.”

   “Oh. I didn’t realize that he was the one who’d brought me here. But I guess that makes sense. Dragons fly, after all,” you ponder, and you’re starting to feel quite ambiguous about this beast.

   On the one hand, it tried to eat you, but on the other, it also tried to help you.

   “If something should happen… I mean, if I should start to feel strange or anything, how do I call for help?” you continue after a moment.

   “Scream as loud as you can for as long as you can. If your door is open and you’re facing the stairwell, the sound will travel with the stone.    But I really don’t think that you’re at any risk of that kind of mutation, at this point.”

   “I hope you’re right, and I’m sure you are, I’m just trying to navigate being here. You are keeping me furthest away from absolutely everything, which seems kinda unnecessary.    Wouldn’t it be easier if I just stayed somewhere down here?”

   “I’m not keeping you away from everything, I am trying to keep everything away from you.    You’re safe up there, where the pull from the creatures in the basement cannot possibly reach you, and nothing else is going to find you,” he explains, while he works on taking a first look at your blood through a microscope.

   For a second, you wonder what the hell he means by “nothing else finding you”, but you quickly decide that you don’t wanna think too closely on that.    You get up and start slowly moving towards the door of this makeshift little laboratory of his, somewhere on the second floor of the main body of the castle.

   “Okay, um… Before I go, is there any food?”

   “Of course,” he answers immediately, looking up from the microscope with an apologetic set to his features, as if only just now realizing that you do need food to survive. “The kitchen is at the end of the main hall. That’s the same corridor as the one to my study and the main stairwell you take to get to the tower. Just follow it to the end.    Do you think you can find it?”

   “Yeah, I think so. That’s the one hallway I’m beginning to feel familiar with.”

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   What he had hoped would only take a few days, remains unsolved even after two weeks. He is not skilled enough in genetics, nor does he have the right equipment to try and find anomalies within your DNA. All he can do is visually analyze your cells and the levels of vitamins and minerals in your blood, hoping to find something deviant, as that might indicate where changes have been, or still is, taking place.    But he has yet to succeed. Thus far, every test has come back normal.

   If not for the extremely rapid healing of the bite, he would not have thought that anything about you had been affected, but clearly, something has been.    By rights he should take your samples to a lab and ask that they run a full diagnostic on it with more advanced technology, but he’s afraid that they might discover something about his own genetics, and the thing within him that is responsible for so much death and suffering.

   He has spent thousands of years trying to avoid humans as much as possible, and to do that, he has had to study their psychology rigorously, so he knows what they would do if they ever learned what he is and what he is capable of.    The few sightings of him that have occurred over the millennia, have generated an entire mythology surrounding dragons, and he would much prefer that it remains nothing but stories.

   Still, to his astonishment, you seem to tolerate him quite a lot better than one might think that a victim of assault and kidnapping might. After that first tumultuous day, you have apparently decided that things could be a lot worse, choosing to focus instead on the fact that you are alive and doing very well, despite the worry of mutation.    You insist that he join you for dinner every evening, to keep yourself from going stir crazy with isolation, and he finds that he is increasingly intrigued by your character.

   You are kind and considerate, but only when you feel that it’s justified. You like to be useful and you’re clearly accustomed to handling yourself and whatever problems you face, but you will ask for help if you come across a task that is too difficult for you.    Pride seems to be something you take only from knowing your own strength, not necessarily needing to show or prove it to anyone else. Which is an attractive trait for anyone to have, but especially someone so attractive in other ways as well.

   The monster that he is, he has always refused to take a partner, for fear that he would end up eating them and then having to live with that regret.    You are the first woman to test his resolve in this matter for at least two thousand years.    Before then, he had still tried to hope that he might not have to live all alone for eternity. A hope that had died for good after he had turned a young woman into a creature like those in the belly of this castle right now, forever poisoning him away from the allure of the fairer sex.

   Or so he had thought.

   There are moments when he is around you, when your gaze seems to shift into something warm and inviting, sparking a heat within his chest the likes of which he has never before known. It sets a blush to his usually so tempered skin and triggers a craving in his blood that has nothing to do with sustenance.    It is a frightening feeling to him, something forbidden and dangerous, so he tries to quell it whenever it awakens, but he knows that you notice it and that it makes you curious.

   Today, he awaits your arrival at the dinner table, ready to finally announce the results of his efforts, but he knows that they are unsatisfactory. He has failed to provide the answers that you seek, that you might need in order to lay these horrible events to rest in your soul, and this shames him.    So, when you walk in, smiling at the sight of him having beaten you to the table once again, he does not reciprocate, and you’re instantly on edge.

   “What’s wrong?” you ask, as you take your seat opposite him at the narrow table, and you look more worried now than he’s seen you be since that first night.

   “I have reached the end of my knowledge in my analysis of your blood. I can’t learn anything more than I already have, which, as you know, is unfortunately not much.    You have my sincerest apologies, dear Valya, but I’m afraid that I have no concrete answers to show for it,” he explains, bowing his head to you in the hopes that you will be forgiving.

   Even though you know nothing of the transformation which he may undergo at will, and which is the worst deception he has yet committed against you, there is still more than enough cause for you to despise him.    But instead, your eyes soften at his words.

   “Maybe that’s good news. Maybe it means that there’s nothing wrong with me,” you shrug, and he wants to say that to his eyes, there is absolutely nothing wrong with any part of you.

   But he refrains. Flattery will not do your impressive character justice, and he has every intention of protecting you from his own misguided heart, no matter the pain it might cause him.    Fifteen days. That is all he has had of you, and yet, you seem to have crept into every carefully concealed crevice of his being, entirely without effort.

   “I’ll bring you back to your home later tonight,” he replies, unable to fully mask the sadness that the thought of the castle once again echoing of emptiness, brings him.

   He is, however, most surprised to look into your eyes and see that same sadness within. Surely, you can’t be sorry to finally be free of this haunted and terrible place.

   “Why tonight?” you question, and even that smallest hint of defiance is enough to make him want to change his mind and ask you to stay.

   “I kidnapped you. And while I’m not proud of this, I wish to remain a free man despite my actions. So, I can’t very well return you in broad daylight, as anyone who sees us might grow suspicious,” he says, the last part being yet another lie.

   The real reason is that he needs the cover of night to conceal the span of his wings, the glimmer of his scales, and the size of his claws and teeth.

   “Right, of course,” you say quietly, turning your gaze back down to your plate, before you remember to add something, and look up once more. “And just to ease your mind, I’m not gonna report you to the police, or anything. You may have kidnapped me, but you haven’t mistreated me in any way.    Quite the opposite, really. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so well cared for.”

   He lets his head fall slightly to the side as he considers your words, but your own resolve seems to falter then, and you return your attention to the dish before you. Either to avoid his gaze, or perhaps the thought that you will likely never see him again once this night is over.    The meal passes in silence and the clock seems to spin so much faster than usual, as though time itself is rushing to end this unnatural coupling.

   “It has been my pleasure to have your company in these weeks, Val. It’s been a long time since I had company for so long.    Aside from the living nightmares of the basement, that is,” he tells you, already dreading the rapidly approaching goodbye.

   “I don’t like to leave knowing that you’ll be all alone here,” you reply, surprising him.

   He wants to say that you may visit him at any time, but he holds his tongue, offering only a grateful smile in return.    Because aside from the fact that you don’t know where the castle is, he also desperately wants you to be free of him. Even if his lonely heart screams entirely different things through the dungeons and catacombs of his being, to which he has condemned all thoughts of romance and passion.

   “We should get ready for your departure,” he says softly, sidestepping your concerns as gracefully as he can, before he rises and steps away from the table, gesturing for you to accompany him.

   You follow without protest, and a part of him wishes that you would rage against the lack of choices you have been afforded. But he is also relieved that you don’t.    There are no possessions to pack, you will leave his house as poor as you entered it, save for the clothes he has given you, so there’s no need to delay.    He brings you back to the lab where he already has a syringe filled and waiting.

   “Please, don’t be alarmed,” he asks when he sees your expression turn wary with the sight of the unknown clear substance behind the needle. “It’s a strong sedative. I’m afraid I cannot let you see the journey back, as this place needs to remain as hidden as it can be.”

   “Oh…” is all you say, but the sadness in your eyes grows deeper with the realization that you will never be able to return.

   You step closer while shrugging of your jacket, the garment returned to you already on your third day here, as he had learned by then that you would not run from the answers you sought.    There is no hesitation or questioning in your frame. You roll up your sleeve, trusting this stranger not to kill you, or cause you harm in other ways, and he wishes so dearly that you had never crossed his path that night, so that he could have been spared this ending.

   “It will only take you a few minutes to fall asleep once the injection is done. But you may start to feel unsteady within seconds, so I suggest you take a seat,” he cautions.

   Defiant on this matter, for reasons which evade his understanding, you remain on your feet, holding out your arm as you wait for the unknown substance to be administered into your blood.    He is not going to fight you, so he merely gives you the injection and then quickly puts the syringe away, preparing to catch you if you should grow dizzy.

   But the moment that he steps closer to you, so that he may reach you should he need to react quickly, you raise your hands to his shoulders, holding him steady as you steal a kiss from his lips.    It’s brief, but not rushed. Your lips are soft and the pressure moderate, but there is curiosity and desire within the touch. A wish, perhaps. Much like the one that burns his own chest and is responsible for how he responds to your affectionate gesture, kissing you in return as soon as your lips have left his.

   Then your legs wobble, and the moment ends. He catches you, pressing you against his upper body to prevent you from falling, as you already struggle to keep your eyes open.    He worries that he might have given you too strong a dose, but he needs you to be completely unaware of the journey back.    Only moments later, you are beginning to doze off, but you stubbornly keep your eyes open for as long as you can, as if trying to commit his features to memory.

   When you go limp in his arms, the image of your seemingly lifeless body on the ground in that forest, flashes before his waking eyes, and all at once, tears are gathering in them.    You should not have suffered such a fate. You should have been spared from ever knowing of these monstrous things, and he can only hope that your paths will never cross again.    He swoops your legs up and carries you outside, the strength of the beast making the burden easy to bear despite the distance.

   Once out on the courtyard, next to the prancing white horse, so noble and proud, he sets you down and steps away to let the transformation happen. He knows the feeling so well, and yet it never grows any less unsettling.    The dragon and him are one and the same, but the beast has a different mindset. A primal and largely thoughtless existence. It knows what the man knows, and if need be, it will think rationally, but that is not its default manner.

   It is an animal, still. Despite the many centuries of life that it has shared with the human. It feeds, sleeps and repeats the process as needed, nothing more. And as that mindset takes over, Oberyn fades into the background. Conscious and aware but drowned out by the sensory input of the much larger animal and its superior senses.

   However, even the beast is enchanted with you, recognizing your scent at once and having no adverse reaction to it.    Instead, he feels only protective over you. He doesn’t think unless he has to, but his heart is no less sensitive within the body of the beast.

   He gently picks you up in his front paws, cradling you to his chest for warmth, as his body will remain quite hot regardless of the temperature of the air, the fire within always stoked and ready.    Leaning back to rest heavier on his hindlegs, he leaps off the ground. His wings are long, wide and powerful, easily taking up the extra strain as they bear you both into the skies, heading south and away from the snow.

   There was a time when all the heavens belonged to him. When he was the largest, fastest, and strongest creature up there. But no more.    Now, when he flies, he must always keep a watchful eye on men, as they jump from city to city in their metal birds. Airplanes. What a terrifying way to move, locked in a box, thousands of feet above the ground, having to trust the skills of a complete stranger to operate it.    Oberyn will never set foot in such a thing, of that he is most certain.

   There is no such obstacle in your way for this journey, however. Concealed by the night, he lands softly in the still green grass on your backyard, before instantly shifting back to his human form, so that he may fit through the door.    Your scent around this entire place is so strong that he could sense it even from the air above, so there is no question, he’s found the correct address.

   Rounding the little cottage, he finds the front door and shifts you over into his left arm so that he may unlock it.    During dinner eight nights ago, you had asked him about your personal belongings, and he had confessed to taking your keys and the small mobile phone which he had found in your pockets, only the first of which he would be able to return to you.

   The fire in the ballroom, where you had sat to warm yourself on your first morning in the castle, he had set in order to burn that phone, not trusting even the outdated model to not be traceable somehow.    But you had explained that you only had the phone with you for emergencies, as there are many ways to get yourself hurt in the mountains. Beyond that, you do not like to be too reachable, apparently.

   You work in a store which specializes in holiday themes, such as Halloween, Christmas and Easter, which is perhaps why these ordinarily festive seasons appear to have lost their charm for you. You had spoken of them only briefly and with a great sense of emptiness.    Listening to you, he had often felt a great loneliness behind your words. But perhaps not the obvious kind. Something deeper, to do with unfulfilled dreams, maybe.

   It was only when you had spoken of working outdoors, chopping your own wood or tending to your horse or your vegetable garden, that he had seen peacefulness in your frame.    You’re not a typical modern person, drawn to various forms of digital media, preferring instead to work with your hands and be rewarded for your efforts with things that are useful to you. Things you can not only see, but touch and experience in real time.

   He steps inside, finding a quite large and inviting living room directly to his right, decorated to feel warm and somehow intrinsically you. As well as he knows you, at least.    To his left is a small kitchen and straight ahead is a short hallway with two doors on the left. The closest leading to the bath, easily discernable by the smell of scented disinfectants, and the other to your bedroom.

   He can sense a lavender fragrance from your sheets. Not the concentrated fabric softener that most people use, which is filled with chemicals, but something natural and clean. Probably your own concoction, created with lavender grown in your own garden.    It’s a pleasant fragrance to his sensitive nose, as is most of the scents he feels from this house. Your home.

   He brings you to the bedroom and sets you down on top of the covers, noting that your bed is large enough to comfortably accommodate two adults, but then quickly wrenches such thoughts from his mind.    You look peaceful in your unconsciousness. Unlike when he had flown you to the castle. You’d been restless then, twitching and trembling as your body had attempted to adjust to whatever foreign process had been taking place within you.

   Had he known how wonderous you would turn out to be, how tolerant and kind and patient you are, he might not have been so frightened as he had waited by your bedside, dreading having to watch another mutated monster emerge from another innocent soul.    Even if he will never know how you survived, he will forever be grateful to have been given the chance to know you. And… he will greatly miss your company, for however long he may remember you.

   He puts a thick quilt over you and steps back to leave, but then decides that there can be no harm in stealing a kiss of your forehead before he walks out of your life entirely.    Your skin is exactly as warm as it should be, which feels quite cool against his own, since he runs at a much higher base temperature than humans. Your heartrate is steady and strong, your breathing even and deep, so he feels certain you will recover from the sedation without any problems.

   As he walks back through the house, he steps into the living room and over to the fireplace. The autumn chill has found its way into the half-timbered building, and he does not want your first day back to start with you feeling cold.    The heat within the dragon’s chest is still there in his human form, so a little huff of superheated air is all it takes to ignite the dry wood. He waits for another minute, just to be sure it will not go out, and then he slips back out into the night, never to return.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   You come around slowly, feeling drowsy and heavy at first, in a more than natural way. Your brain is sluggish, leaving every movement feeling like a mountain climb, but your bladder has woken up and is demanding the rest of you do as well, so you climb.    First into sitting, which results in your tumbling forwards out of bed, only just managing not to hit your head against the floor. Then your nerves start to feel more responsive, perhaps with the slight rush of adrenaline at the fear of getting hurt, and you’re able to rise to your feet.

   Every step gives you back a little more control, and by the time you’ve reached the bathroom, you don’t need to hold onto the walls anymore.    Once done in there, you walk over to the kitchen to run the taps for a few minutes, which ends up being the longest minutes of your life because you’re suddenly absolutely fucking parched.

   You down two full glasses and you’re working on filling a third when there’s a knock on the door.    Startled, you nearly drop the glass in the sink, because who’s gonna show up here when it’s barely even light out? Who even knows that you’re back already?    Irrationally hoping that it might be Oberyn, you walk to the door and open it.

   “Good morning, miss,” officer Park of the local police greets you, and you’re momentarily stunned.

   Not that it isn’t your much too desired former captor, but that the police would be the first to come knocking. You haven’t had anything to do with them in your life at all, you’ve always been very well behaved. So, naturally, your mind jumps to the thought of crime, wondering if you could’ve committed any without realizing it.

   “How nice to see you alive and well. We’ve been looking for you for two weeks and then someone reported seeing smoke rising from your chimney this morning,” the officer helpfully explains, easing your worries, but creating new ones at the same time.

   Since you haven’t lit any fire, your gaze is automatically drawn to your right and the brick fireplace at the middle of the far wall, where there is indeed a fading flame.    He must’ve lit it before he left, to make sure that the house wouldn’t be too cold when you woke up, and the thought tugs at something both painful and wonderful within your gut. No one has ever shown you that kind of consideration.

   But you’d expected to have at least a few hours to come up with a plausible story to tell anyone who asks where you’ve been, not being slapped in the face with it the first damned thing after you’ve woken up.    Of course, you have played with an idea or two, loosely, while still at the castle, but not enough to have a solid plan ready and waiting.

   “Yeah, um… I’m sorry that you’ve wasted your resources on me. I fell off my horse in the dark and ended up getting completely lost during the storm. By the time daylight broke on the next day, I couldn’t recognize anything.    Has anyone found my horse, Casper?” you ask, hoping to buy a few seconds to think but also genuinely worried about what happened to him.

   “He came right back here, safe and sound. We found him grazing in the backyard when we came to check on you after you hadn’t showed up for work the next day and no one could reach you. He’s over at the Mackey farm.”

   “Oh, great, thank you so much.”

   “Sure. But I’m a bit confused,” the officer starts, clearly wanting to bring the topic back to you, so you try to stay cool and think fast. “If you’ve been lost in the woods for two weeks, I’d expect to find you in a lesser state.    Honestly, miss… you look fresh enough to have just came from a beauty salon.”

   Shit. You haven’t looked in a mirror, so you have no idea how you might look, but you do know that you definitely don’t look starved or dirty enough to have been living rough for that long.

   “Actually, I was helped by a stranger, if you can believe it,” you say, deciding to weave as much truth as you dare into this lie. “After several days of wandering in the wrong direction, he found me and let me stay with him for a bit. And once I was fully recovered, he brought me back here. It was a long trek, which is why I didn’t get back until the middle of the night.”

   “This guy have a name?” Park challenges, years of experience making him skeptical of such an unbelievable story.

   “No. I mean, I assume he does, but we didn’t exchange names. I just called him the good Samaritan.”

   “He saved your life, and you didn’t ask for his name?” the officer asks, raising his brows in disbelief, but you’re not even really lying about this.

   After all, he’d said that his name is Oberyn, and you don’t think that he made that up, but you also remember him telling you that he doesn’t recall his own mother’s name, so there’s every chance that it’s just a name he’s heard at some point over the years and liked the sound of it enough to take it for himself.    And if he’s as old as you were made to believe, then his identity is highly unlikely to exist in any records anywhere in the world anyway.

   “He’s a recluse and a hermit who’s put himself as far away from people as he can get. Saving me was an inconvenience to him, but he still did it. He didn’t want to tell me his name because he doesn’t want anyone to come looking for him, so please, let him be.”

   You keep your tone a bit sharper for that part, to let the officer know that you have no intention of helping him pursue that lead, and he seems to get the message.

   “Alright, well… so long as you’re sure everything’s okay with you.”

   “Yes, sir. I am very grateful for your efforts, and again, I’m sorry that it was all for nothing, but I’m fine.”

   He nods politely, somewhat gruffly wishing you a good day, and then he leaves.    You close the door, exhaling deeply in relief that you managed not to panic. But then his words about you looking like you could’ve just walked out of a beauty salon pop up in your mind, and you head back to the bathroom.    There were no mirrors in the castle, at least none that you saw, so when you now see your own reflection in the one over your sink, you momentarily lose your breath.

   The wrinkles around your eyes and mouth have smoothed out. In fact, there isn’t a single visible flaw to your skin. And… has the color of your eyes shifted slightly?    Your hair is both shinier and much less damaged overall, and it seems to have changed color. Not drastically, but the tone is fuller, richer, and the shine has a distinct shade of orange, which is far from what it’s ever been close to before.    Even your teeth have been altered. Each one sitting perfectly aligned and each one apparently now flawless in shape and size.

   “The bite…” you whisper to yourself.

   The mutation which had turned those creatures in the basement into the worst things ever concocted for a horror story, seems to have turned you into the perfect version of yourself.    Just like Oberyn has looked to your eyes, ever since you first saw him.    Oh, god… Does that mean you’re becoming whatever he is? But no, that makes no sense, it was the dragon that bit you, not Oberyn.

   For a moment, the room disappears, as your brain is suddenly laying a puzzle you didn’t even know existed, and a series of images are displayed before your eyes.    The green coat, exactly the same color as the scales. The golden embroideries on the cuffs and lapels, in the exact same shape as a classically depicted serpentine dragon.    And when he’d talked about humans, he’d used the words “them” and “you” instead of “us”. He’d even said that he was tethered to the dragon…

   You droop to the floor as the unthinkable becomes an inescapable truth, gasping for air while you try to find rationalizations, anything that could make it explainable in some other way, but it all fits too well to be coincidence.    You probably put these pieces together even from the start, but chose not to see them because you liked him. Because he was sweet and kind.

   But he’s a monster. A viper lurking in the dark.    It was all a lie.

Part 4

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! If you wish to be notified when this story is updated, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications, or just ask nicely, and I'll tag you.

@joelswritingmistress @pedrostories

[venture-through-the-mist]

Tennotober 2024

My collection of works based on the Tennotober 2024 prompts.

Hi all! I wanted to take part in Tennotober 2024, but I also knew that I wouldn’t be able to draw 31 art pieces, so I’m doing some fics instead!

The Warframe Tennotober 2024 Prompt List can be found here: https://forums.warframe.com/topic/1412660-official-tennotober-2024-megathread/

Day 28: Flip Phone: Why Are You Like This?

Operator Mag is getting real annoyed with the constant ringing in her Orbiter. The person responsible doesn’t seem to care at all.

TW: None for this chapter.

Also, as with my other Operator POV fics, this is in first person POV.

With that out of the way, the fic begins under the cut.

“Gods fucking damnit, Lēna. Did you really need to steal someone’s Kinepage and then leave it in my damn Orbiter?!” I stare at the Drifter, annoyance flitting through my mind as she smirks. 

“Eh, why not? Isn’t it fun? You’ve got a cool relic from the past, or wherever the old man’s gonna send me.” I sigh, rolling my eyes as she laughs.

“No, it’s not fun when I’m trying to sleep and it starts ringing because whoever you took it from is trying to find the damn thing. Did you know they’ve been going through a list of people trying to figure out who took it?” She shrugs nonchalantly, clearly unfazed by the whole issue.

Of course she doesn’t care.

She isn’t the one having to live with the thing.

I huff, glaring at her.

“How about I bring it here and you can deal with the consequences of your actions?” She grins, shaking her head, a gleam crossing through her eyes.

“Nah, I don’t think so. I think it’s perfectly suited for your Orbiter.” I reach over and smack her shoulder lightly, and her eyes widen in mock-surprise.

“How dare you.” She grins and I roll my eyes.

“That’s what you get for leaving me with that stupid thing. It’s annoying as hell. Plus, the poor person you stole it from really seems to want it back.” I notice her shrug.

“If you really want to blame someone, blame that ugly Kavat that led me to it.” A laugh escapes me as I picture the Kavat she’s talking about.

“Don’t let Loid catch you calling Kalymos ‘ugly’. He and Albrecht were pretty attached to her. Plus, it isn’t like she told you to steal it. You’re the one who decided to do that. Who does that?” Lēna smirks, her head tilting, her voice filled with false innocence.

“But it was ringing. She wanted me to take it, I swear! Plus, I’ll give it back if I ever meet the person it belongs to. Probably.” I raise a brow, a silent ‘really?’ hanging in the air between us. 

“In the meantime, you’ve got a one-of-a-kind decoration, courtesy of your lovely Drifter friend.” I snort in amusement, rolling my eyes as I respond.

“You’re an idiot.” She nods, not disputing that fact. As she changes the topic, talking about how Duviri’s out to get her—again—, my annoyance melts away—was it ever genuine in the first place?—, and I simply enjoy hanging out with her.

It’s nice to be able to joke with someone. 

[lambkiin]

Late Nights at the Diner

Roach (Trailer Park of Terror) x AFAB!Reader

Tags; Roach 😳, quickie, two uses of degrading name calling, mutual masturbation, p in v sex, in the back of a car, a few minor timeskips because I’m insane

I will fix the “read more” formatting when I have access to a PC.

AN: First attempt at writing a fic for Roach, I think it turned out fairly well. If some sentences look weird I powered through writing this with a awful crick in my neck, have mercy. Enjoy and have fun!

I’ll also mention that the character and I are both from the deep south, so the dialogue won’t always make a whole lotta sense sound wise unless you’re aware of all the different ways we pronounce “you” down here.

Dawn was drawing close, it was nearly 3:30am. You parked your Mustang near the front door of the joint, climbing out and shutting the door with a metallic click. Sighing softly, you checked the pockets of your stained work apron. You looked around at your surroundings after locating your cash, checking out all the vehicles in the lot.

One car in particular caught your eye, it…was certainly something along the lines of junker. There was a skull and crossbones spray-painted to the side, as well as some words you couldn’t exactly make out in the dark. “Promisin’ crowd…” You muttered, sluggishly making your way to the entrance.

You were somewhat of a regular here, being thrown an excited wave by the waitress, Fiona. Knowing by now you could sit where you pleased, you returned her wave and went to sit at your usual spot- well, this isn’t going as planned. Speechless, you were completely frozen, your shocked eyes locked onto the man before you.

He sat with an arm thrown over the booth, and a cig hanging from his lips. He was also aware of his surroundings, you wanted to pass out as he turned his head towards you.

“Need somethin’ darlin’?” He quirked a brow, subtle smirk pulling onto his face. Geez, for a man who looks like he’d just changed the oil in a car…he was- very attractive. You opened your mouth, but he beat you to it. “M’ I in yer spot? Sorry ‘bout that. Why don’cha join me? I don’t bite.” He gave you a toothy grin, gesturing to the booth across from himself.

It was something about the way he spoke to you that just went straight down- oh shut up. You don’t even know his name! Fuck it, you’ve got nothing to lose. You gave him a small smile, sliding into the booth he’d offered.

“Thank you, er…?” You tilted your head up to the man, taking in his features proper.

“Names Roach, no it’s not a nickname either.” He put out his cigarette in the tables ashtray, having noticed your nostril twitching.

“Roach, I like it…rolls off the tongue.” You grinned, genuinely finding charm in the mans off the wall name.

“Ya gonna tell me yer name? Or am I jus’ gonna have’ta call ya beautiful all night?” He was far too good at these lines, it was doing its job in making you blush. You let out an embarrassed cough, composing yourself.

“Y/n, do ya do this with everyone at the diner?” You snorted, leaning towards him with your chin resting against your palm.

“Don’ think any of them truckers are as pretty as you, hm? I’ll blame it on luck I ran into ya tonight.” His eyes drifted to the side, then back to you. “Ready to order?”

~

Somehow it hadn’t been long between your arrival and his, you ordered together. You were now finishing up your coke, picking up one of the remaining fries to eat.

Fiona walked over once again. “One ticket or two?” She asked, unsure if you had been meeting him here or if it was chance. Roach spoke up right before you could, that award-winnin’ grin spread across his face.

“Just one, thank ya.” Fiona nodded in response, walking away to get the ticket squared away. Roach pulled out his wallet, ready to pay for the meal.

“You don’t have to do that, let me pay my part.” Your brows turned upwards, reaching for your folded stack of tips.

“My mama taught me better’n that, darlin’. Hell, ya could get any man to pay yer way with looks like that.” He sent you a wink. Lord almighty, you weren’t usually one for a quick fuck- but maybe you’ll indulge. Fiona brought your one ticket, accepting the cash from Roach. She turned to you, offering another wave of goodbye.

~

You and Roach stepped out into the cool nights air together, stopping for a moment while he lit up another cigarette. “Which one is yours? Vehicles- I mean.” You asked, watching as he took a deep drag off the cig.

“Mine? Oh- that one there…towards the side.” Of course the one from earlier was his, it matched him far too well.

“I suppose everything about ya is eye-catching, huh? Doin’ anything after this?” You boldly asked, one and obvious intention in mind, it was 4am. Roach nearly choked on smoke, eyes darting towards you and as wide as dinner plates. He regained his cool just as fast as he’d lost it, ready to throw down more of his smooth-talker lines.

“What for? Wanna see the interior?” He smirked, letting his cigarette hang from his mouth like it had been a half hour ago.

“Somethin’ like that. God, you look so good like that.” You muttered without even thinking, drawing closer to him for warmth in the wind.

“Well come on over then, darlin’.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and walked you towards his car. You’d just realized how tall he was, at least a foot taller than yourself, you fit so wonderfully into his side. It didn’t take too long to reach the edge of the parking lot, taking in the somewhat endearing sight of his beater. “The grand tour…” His arm left your shoulders, pulling the back door open. He gestured for you to get in, taking the cigarette from his lips and stomping it out on the gravel.

You slid into the back seat, kicking a few bottles as you did so. The interior was in shockingly good condition for what the outside looked like. Roach followed in after you, shutting the door behind himself. “This what ya wanted, baby? Takin’ ol’ Roach in the back of ‘is Buick like a whore?” The car was perfect for you, but he looked just a bit too tall for it.

“Doesn’t sound too bad.” You turned towards him, crawling forward. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you pushed him against the same door he’d just closed. “Bet you’ll be the whore beggin’ fer more when I’m done with ya.” You muttered, pressing your lips to his very much exposed neck.

“Bold claim, darlin’, but I like yer enthusiasm.” He complied as you pulled his unbuttoned shirt down his shoulders, grabbing and prodding at his arms along the way.

“Oh you’ll see, sweetheart.” You whispered quietly to him, taking his jaw into your hand. You tilted his head back, your glossed lips pressing into his rougher ones. Roach hummed into the kiss feeling your other hand tugging at his tank top. He removed his arms from the holes, breaking the kiss so you could pull it completely off of him.

“Angels above…” You muttered to yourself, taking in just how beautiful his body was. You moved your head down, leaving faint kisses from his jaw to his chest. “You are just…somethin’ else.” The compliments came so easily when it came down to it, you were absolutely letting yourself fall in love with this smooth-talking stranger. Your hands brushed over his ribs, sides, his softer torso…committing every bit of it to memory.

Roach was becoming putty in your hands, he’d expected you to get straight to business. He didn’t know what to say to all this seemingly genuine affection he was receiving. “You’re jus’ sayin’ that ta butter me up.” He chuckled, pushing a stray hair from your eyes. He was bricked into oblivion with the gentleness, and the situation all together.

You brought your head back up to eye level with him, cupping his cheeks and staring for but a moment. “I’m not ‘jus’ sayin’’ it, I mean it. Ya may as well be the mos’ gorgeous man I ever did lay eyes on.” You raked your hands through his sandy brown mullet, going in to steal another one of his gentle kisses. “Do you still want this?”

“More than ever, darlin’. How could I deny ya anythin’ with how sweet yer bein’ to me.” He showed off that toothy grin again, making your heart flutter.

You reached down, undoing the silver buckle at his hips. Surprised at this point he hadn’t asked you to remove your own clothing, he seemed to be entirely distracted by your face. The expression on his face was damn near lovesick, suppose he was letting himself get invested just like you were.

After successfully getting his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, you tugged them down a bit bringing his undergarments with. Your face reddened upon catching a glimpse of his hardened cock, not having expected it look that…fulfilling.

“Damn, pretty boy. Like I said before, everythin’ about ya is eyecatchin’ as can be.” You untied your apron, grabbing it and the hem of your dress to pull it all off. Thankfully it was a day you’d chosen not to wear one of those horrifically uncomfortable things called a bra. You watched with a small giggle as Roach’s eyes dropped to your now exposed chest.

“Ain’t tha’ somethin’….shiyt.” That was probably the most emphasis you’d ever heard anyone use on the word shit, he was awestruck- thats for sure. You lifted up one leg at a time, figuring out the least awkward way to remove your own undergarments. “You are right beautiful yerself, darlin’. I ain’t seen nothin’ like ya before, and I’m hopin’ ta see ya again…” He admitted, reaching out to touch on your hips and thighs.

“See me again? Of course, sweetheart.” You settled between his legs, your own draped over his thighs. “Give me….jus’ a second.” The angle would be somewhat awkward if you didn’t do this part yourself, may as well give the man a show out of this. As much as he’s already getting.

He watched your lowers with wide eyes as your own hand trailed to it. “Oh, mama.” He whined, his cock twitching with anticipation.

You ran a few quick strokes over your clit, reaching back further to push two of your own fingers into your entrance. Your face contorted with desperation as you stretched yourself open, fingers slipping in and out.

Roach huffed a breath, reaching for his strained hardness and grabbing at the tip. “Ya just know exactly what yer doin’, don’cha?” He chuckled, that noise turning into a soft moan as he dragged his hand down his length.

You continued for a moment longer, removing your hand and looking up. Roach met your gaze, he’d stroked himself at the same pace you’d been working. “You…ready?” You asked breathlessly, receiving a quick and violent nod in response. “Alright…”

One hand met his shoulder for stability, the other was grabbed by him. “Not gonna let this go ta waste, right?” He brought your fingers towards his face, the same ones you’d just used on yourself. Your face darkened by shades as he took those two fingers into his mouth, pressing his tongue against the underside of them. You could feel the furnace inside yourself well up again, the hand on his shoulder moving to line him up with your entrance.

The moan Roach let out was guttural, the depth vibrating the fingers he still had in his mouth. You removed them, planting the hand over his chest. You sank down onto him slowly, really just making sure the preparation was good enough. Low and behold, that- along with the ocean down there was plenty enough. “You have been far too good to me tonight, darlin’.” He whined, resting his grip comfortably on your hips.

“It’s the sweet talk, and those devilish- good looks.” You stumbled over your words, his cock finally bottoming out inside you. “Oh, Roach. Fuck-“ You moaned out, raising yourself up again and sliding back down.

“Shit, baby- you feel s’good.” His large hands clung to your hips, not quite bruising but not gentle either. “D’ya need help?” He asked, feeling your legs shake against him.

“Maybe, christ.” You tried to continue the pace yourself, the sensation of Roach joining in the efforts reaching your core. “Oh god.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a messy kiss.

Your bodies moved in succession, all you could hear was his loud moans, your own, and the cars suspension squeaking away. “Y- Yer fuckin’ me so good, doll- ain’t never felt nothin’ like this.” He held you comfortingly close as the pace got sloppier and sloppier.

You buried your hand into his hair, tugging at it ever-so-slightly. “Roach…sweetheart- m’gonna…oh fuck.” A curse cut off your words, you ground down on him as well as you could. “M’gonna cum…” You muttered into the crook of his neck.

“M’too doll, feels so fuckin’ good.” His head leaned back into the window, heavy breaths and whimpers escaping his throat. “Jus’ a little longer-“ He near pleaded, still thrusting his hips in tandem with yours.

Your moans got more frantic as he reached deeper and deeper within you, that feeling in your stomach coiling up.

“Faster! Faster-“ You breathed out, feeling him speed up beneath you. “Fuck!” He could feel the building coil himself.

“S’it okay if I- cum-“ He was having trouble with his words, you knew what he was talking about.

“Yes, yes- cum inside me, sweetheart.” You were on the pill, you wanted that intimacy with him. As soon as you’d said it, his pace picked up furiously. “OH baby-“

You both moaned out loudly as he thrusted one last time, your orgasm hit you like a bag of rocks. You could feel the warmth of his own orgasm seeping inside of you. There was a moment of silence as you both rode out your endings, heavy breaths being the only noise.

You rested your forehead against his, making eye contact as your bodies shuddered in ecstasy.

“Think’m in love with ya, doll.” He muttered, squeezing your hips. His face was flushed, and he looked as beautiful as always.

“Me too, sweetheart. Y’got a landline number? An address?” You asked, leaning your body fully against his.

”I got an address, got somethin’ to write it down?”

“Oh I’ll remember.”

“Good memory, huh. I like that in’a person.”

[the-writing-blog69]

Transformers Scrapyard: Night-In

A meet the cast sort of thing

Kip was sitting on Optimus’ leg, looking up as the first star blinked into sight as the sun lowered, dipping down over the horizon. Dusk settled slowly, night encroaching, creeping forth with its blanket of darkness and starlight. She’d have to go home soon, or her mom would worry. But for right now, she’d stay, petting the Raccoon that laid in her lap.

Optimus was careful to hold the books that Kip had brought from the library, his digits so much bigger than the literature he was reading. The words were almost too small for him to properly make out, but his one optic that wasn’t flickering was able to make them out. Reading, it was one of the few things that he could do without being in unbearable pain anymore. The crater that had been shot into his chest made sure of that. The faint glow of the Matrix was visible, just barely covered by the melted metal that had cooled and congealed and fused together, blue light emitting from the hole.

Ted was doing what he did best. Car stuff. Taking apart the engine of one of the scrap cars in the yard with almost surgical-like precision. Ironhide was tasked with flashing the light under the hood so Ted could see what he was doing. Ironhide made a couple of less than pleased noises as he looked upon Ted’s work. As he watched Ted pull the pistons out of the truck’s engine, he looked away, casting his flashlight elsewhere. “Light.” Ted spoke the one word command. Ted was never a man of many words.

“You can't blame me for being squeamish. Ain’t a pretty sight for a bot.” Ironhide tried to plead his case to the human. Ted looked at him for a moment, but relented.

“Robin!” Ted called out, earning an exasperated groan from the teenager from the rooftop of the trailer. Robin and Brainstorm were doing… something with pieces of the crashed ship, energon, and fireworks. Ted furrowed his brow. He’d lecture Brainstorm on the importance of not blowing up his trailer later.

“Why can’t someone else do it? Me and Brainstorm are doing something important.” Robin rebutted, but Ted just looked back at her with that same expression he always had.

“Admittedly, I do not require your assistance with this particular project.” Brainstorm loosened another bolt on the piece of the control panel that they had found, getting access to the insides. He could refashion the internal positioning system into a tracker, and that would get them one step closer to finding the Allspark.

“Fine.” Robin drawed out the word, before carefully descending from the rooftop, and joining Ted. She pulled out a flashlight from her hoodie pocket, and pointed it towards the engine. The light bulb shined its radiance onto the metal, and Ted continued his work. Ironhide would’ve heaved a sigh of relief if he had lungs.

Near the back porch, Finley flipped another piece of fish, turning the raw side down onto the heated bars of the grill, listening to the sharp hiss that emitted from it. Pretty much anything and everything about fish was something that he loved. Fishing, studying them, eating them. Right now, he is cooking them. He and Seaspray spent a long while out in the sea that morning, one of the benefits of being in a coastal town. He didn’t need to spend anything to get fresh fish. Bumblebee was seated nearby, watching intently.

“So, why do you have to make it hot first? Why not just eat it as is?”

“To make it taste better. Though, there are a few types of fish that don’t need to be cooked.”

“What types of fish?”

“Well- ow!” In Finley’s distraction, his hand had drifted over and his wrist grazed against a piece of hot metal on the grill. He held his wrist, looking at the small burn that had already begun to form on his dark skin. “Yikes.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Can you make sure that the food doesn’t burn? I’m gonna head inside and look for a band-aid.” Finley looked up at the giant robot.

“Yeah, no Problem!” Bumblebee assured, giving a thumbs up to the marine biologist. Finley thanked him, and headed inside, the door shutting behind him. Bumblebee looked at the grill.

Wait, how would he know if it was done or not. Well, Finley had said that cooked fish tasted good, so… He picked up one of the filets of the fish from the grill, and promptly ate it. He processed the flavor for a moment. Another problem arises from this, another question. Was it supposed to taste like that? Bumblebee had only ever consumed energon, oil, and the occasional human snack before. And cheesecake, he did eat cheesecake that one time. Sure, it tasted good to him, but what if he was simply inexperienced in fish tasting? So, he waits, unsure of what else to do.

“Hey Bumblebee!” Kip spoke, getting up and off of Optimus Prime, walking over to the yellow Autobot.

“What’s up, little buddy?” Bumblebee smiled, his attention completely off of the fish that was currently burning behind him, strolling towards her, meeting her half way.

“I have to go home. Can you drive me?” Kip tilted her head to the side, her one remaining eye blinking. “Oh, uh, can you please drive me?” She corrected her manners.

“Yeah, I can deliver you back to your abode!” Bumblebee ruffled her short black hair with a single digit, before swiftly transforming into his alt mode. A yellow Volkswagen Beetle, with black on the hood of the car.

Robin punched Ted in the shoulder. “Punch buggy yellow!” She called out, though maybe she had put a bit too much force in her punch, as Ted staggered and hit the pole that was holding up the hood of the truck, and it collapsed onto him, covering his upper body up to his elbows. This earned a short yell from the mechanic. He flailed, trying to lift the piece of metal off of his head and back. “Sorry! Sorry sorry sorry!” Robin lifted the hood, allowing Ted to stand once more, who shot a short, annoyed glare at Robin.

“Finley!” Ted yelled out, looking back towards the grill. He saw no Finley, but he did see something else. He gasped, eyes widening as he saw the fire that had grown and used the charcoal-black burnt fish as fuel for the flames. It was steadily and rapidly consuming the grill. “FINLEY! THE GRILL!”

“Dang, I really wanted to eat that fish.” Robin muttered nonchalantly as she looked at the flames.

Kip gradually inched towards Bumblebee as Ted rushed towards the grill, yelling profanities as he tried to put out the flames by any means possible. “Should we uh… Bail?” Kip muttered, looking back at Bumblebee, who was still in his alt mode.

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” Bumblebee responded, opening his passenger door, allowing the girl to crawl in. She buckled up as Bumblebee drove off from the scene of his crime.

[soulofapatrick]

Closeted Confession - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Tommy gets sick of you and Joel dancing around your feelings for each other and takes things into his own hands

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: none really

Y/N’s POV

I’m not gonna deny to myself that I have a massive fucking crush on Joel Miller and have had it ever since he and Ellie got back to Jackson about five months ago. Every time I see him I feel my heart try and escape my chest, my palms get sweaty and it’s like I’m a teenager again with a stupid crush not a twenty four year old woman. 

It’s not just his ruggedly good looks that make me swoon. No, it’s the way he moves, the way he talks, the way he seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s seen things most people can’t even imagine, yet he’s still here, still fighting and still living. 

I see him around town sometimes and all I can do is stare from a distance, a hot blush burning my face whenever he feels me staring and those strikingly warm honey eyes shift from whatever he’s doing or whoever he’s talking to, to me. He’s like a magnet, drawing me in with his quiet strength and piercing gaze. Every time Joel catches me staring, I feel like such an idiot. Here I am, a grown woman, and I can't even control my own emotions around him. But then he smiles that crooked smile of his, and my heart melts all over again. 

We’ve had a few small interactions, mostly just polite ‘hello’s or nods of recognition. Each time we've spoken, I've felt a connection between us, a spark of something deeper. I know that he's been through so much, and that he's not looking for anything romantic right now but that doesn’t still my heart and I can't help the way I feel. Tommy, Joel’s younger brother and my best friend, has begun picking up on my feelings towards Joel and has been pushing me towards him, telling me it would do both me and Joel good if we got together. He’s complained about how much sexual tension there is between us whenever Joel bumps into us or vice versa and he’s getting frustrated with the dancing round each other. 

There are moments when I feel like maybe, just maybe, Tommy’s right and that Joel does like me back. Like the time we were both working in the garden for this lovely older woman and he reached over to brush a leaf from my shoulder, his fingers lingering there for just a moment longer than necessary. Or the time we were in the Tipsy Bison and he offered me a hand to help me onto the stage to do karaoke after I had had one too many drinks and it was karaoke night. His touch had sent shivers down my spine and later that night those large hands and thick fingers were the forefront of my fantasies about the older man. But then again, there were other times I was just so sure I was just imagining it all, like accidentally hearing him talk to Ellie about his past and how he still wasn’t over the loss of Sarah. Or the time I saw him staring off into the distance, a haunted and lost look on his face as if being swallowed by memories that were more like nightmares. 

I think Tommy finally hit his breaking point one afternoon while we were having lunch with him; Maria and Ellie. Joel and I were sitting across from each other, all five of us chatting and laughing but I couldn’t help but feel that spark I always feel between me and Joel. There’s just something about him that just captivates me and every time he looks in my direction my heart skips a beat. We talk and talk and subconsciously I’m leaning forwards, closer to him as if enthralled by his every word and every time our eyes meet I feel myself flushing. 

“Hey Joel, there’s something in the closet for you,” Tommy’s speaking, breaking the trace I didn’t realise I was in having been so captured by Joel’s storytelling and only able to look away when he breaks eye contact first to look at his little brother, “Actually Y/N, would you help Joel please?” 

“Uhh sure,” I’m standing, pushing my chair back and following Joel towards the hallway closet, brows furrowed as I try to picture what could Tommy want that needed both me and Joel to get it. Joel steps into the small space first and I follow to have the door abruptly slammed behind us, sending us into darkness and a sound of surprise and panic escaping from me when we hear the familiar click of the lock and Tommy’s sing-song voice the other side, “You two can come out once you’ve sorted out all that sexual tension.” 

I barely hear Tommy, my hear pounding in my chest and rushing through my ears as I feel a sudden surge of panic at the thought of being trapped here in the dark but strong hands are gripping my jaw, rough pads moving soothingly over my cheeks and I’m calming a little. My eyes are adjusting to the darkness, being able to just see Joel’s outline and features. His jawline is sharp and defined, beard thick and hair a messy mop on his head all soft and fluffy by the looks of it. His eyes are the most striking feature, even in the dark ,as they’re a warm honey brown so full of depth and emotion. I can feel his gaze on me, intense and unwavering and it sends shivers down my spine. There’s a sense of power and strength radiating off of him, both terrifying and exhilarating. He’s leaning closer to me, his breath hot against my cheek and I feel a rush of desire coursing through me. 

”Sexual tension, hmmm" Joel teases, voice deep and gravelly, his southern drawl peeking through with a teasing undertone. It’s also warm and comforting, his words having a way of calming my nerves and making me feel totally at ease. He’s waiting to feel me nod or shake my head against his large and calloused hands that are still holding my jaw reassuringly. 

I can’t stop the small, nervous laugh at his teasing as some of the tension dissipates from the room. He waits, an equally nervous chuckle escaping him until his breath hitches when I finally nod in response to his question. His hands are moving from my jaw, one resting on my shoulder and the other on my waist as he steps closer. 

“Seriously though sweet girl,” Joel’s voice drops to a low murmur, breath warm against my cheek, “I think we need to talk about what has been going on between us.” 

I don’t get an opportunity to respond as Joel’s lips press against mine, the kiss full of all the pent up desire and longing it turns out we’ve both been feeling for months now. It’s like a shock of electricity runs through me and I can’t stop the soft moan that escapes in response. I feel as if my body is alive for the first time in a long time, as if all the worries and stresses that had been weighing me down just melt away in his arms. His body feels so strong and solid, pressing me up against the door and I feel his broad chest against mine with his arms wrapping tightly around me to pull us even closer to each other. 

He’s pushing one of his thick thighs between my legs, pressing against me in just the right way and suddenly I’m oh so aware of just how much I want him. It’s like everything else fades away and there’s only Joel and the way his touch seems to set me alight. Our kiss becomes more urgent and intense, my hands coming over Joel’s back, feeling the muscles flexing beneath his shirt. His own hands are exploring my body, running over every dip and curve as if trying to memorise it. 

Before we can get any further the support of the door on my back gives way and I’m breaking the kiss with a surprised shriek as we both go tumbling. Joel’s hand instinctively moves to the back of my head as we hit the ground with a harsh thud and it feels the wind has been knocked out of us. 

Tommy is standing above us, a triumphant grin on his stupid face that I wanna smack but instead I’m grabbing his ankle and pulling, watching the smug smile slip from his face into surprise and shock as he’s suddenly on the floor as well. All three of us looking at each other before we’re bursting into laughter, the tension broken by the absurdity of the situation. I feel so alive, so grateful to have this new and long time coming connection to Joel that goes beyond words. Even if Tommy had interrupted us and is so smug and proud he got his grumpy older brother a girlfriend I know everything will work itself out and we’ll all find a routine. 

As we pick ourselves up off the floor, I can't help but feel a sense of anticipation for what's to come. Joel and I have finally admitted our feelings for each other, and I can't wait to explore this newfound relationship with him (and Ellie). 

----------------

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