#but the shop is probably closed at lunchtime

[servuscallidus]

I don't know if I want to read, draw or study history, and if to read then what to read (I'm currently reading two things), and where, if on my bed (always good to lie down a bit) or in the terrace (there's the midday breeze which is heavenly)

[agroteraa]

Never Be Like You

Felix Catton x f!Reader

My fic masterlist

Summary: AU where Saltburn's ending never happened. Felix lived happily up to 2016 (and on), where he met you at your new job. Meaning he is around 29 here and you are younger.

Yes, a fic based on THAT Jacob Elordi edit

Using the song "Never Be Like You" by Flume feat. Kai

Shout-out to Kasey @kcsvids ❤️

Tags: fluff, implied slow burn, AU.

Word Count: 3,8K

Early August in London this year was quite rainy, but fortunately, the day you had to go around the city with the documents turned out to be surprisingly sunny and pleasant. It was the second month of your new job.

The bell on the door in the coffee shop tinkled as you went inside in search of your senior colleague, whose errands you had been running for half the day.

"Annabel, hi! I’ve signed the documents, made copies and notarized them. Here are the originals in the folder, and here are the copies," you said, sitting down on the opposite chair and rummaging in your bag, taking out all the necessary papers.

"Oh, thank you, Y/N! I expected that you would only have time to pick up the documents, and you have already done everything! Cool, you're doing great!" the girl smiled at you, and then added, "Our new capable young employee."

She said this to a young man in a colored seemingly expensive shirt who was sitting relaxed close to her on the couch and drinking coffee. He looked at you with a smile while Annabel was having a dialogue with you and complimenting you on the work done. God. This was the guy from your job, whom you saw rarely and from afar, but you really wanted to know more about him. You didn't even know his name because you were too shy to ask, and besides, you didn't talk close yet to people in your new place.

"Felix. Felix Catton," he introduced himself, extending his long arm across the table.

"Y/N," you answered a little timidly, shaking his hand. His fingers were no less long than the hand itself, and his palm was warm, "Um... Y/N L/N."

"Okay, I have to run, bye, Ann," the guy kissed her on the cheek, threw some money on the table and smiled at you again, "It was nice to meet you, a new capable young employee."

Young. Not that young, it was your second full-time job after graduating from the university, but of course you were younger than the two of them. Annabel, as far as you knew, was almost 29 years old. Felix was probably about the same age, it was hard for you to tell. It seemed that he could be aged from 23 to 33, given that he looked so youthful and lively.

"So... does he work for our company? It seems that I saw him in the office, but very rarely..." you tried to find out information about this man from Annabel as casually as possible.

"Yes, Felix has... a more of a free schedule. His father is a co–owner of the company. So, he is not particularly worried about being a worker of the year. However, it's not like I live at work either," Annabel began to tell you openly. It seems you had already realized that she was also a pretty laid-back person, "So… What are you ordering?"

Despite your protests, Annabel ordered and paid for you coffee and lunch anyway, and then continued, "We studied at Oxford together. You could say he helped me get a job here later."

Oh. You got it. It seems that the picture in your head had finally begun to take shape. It became clear to you why some people worked hard from early morning till night in the same office as someone came at lunchtime at best and generally behaved as if they had known each other half their lives. Because that how it was. Many of them were Oxonians, and had known each other since the university, and some even from boarding schools. Of course, you also received a decent education, but it was nothing compared to Oxford. But this was also often not only about education, but also about lifestyle in general. Your family was not any close to be called poor, but still it was not comparable to this level of life, and you were able to get a current job only because of your hard work and probably decent amount of luck.

You felt a little sad at the thought that for them you probably were a girl who came out of nowhere and did the paperwork, and it was very possible that you would remain that way in their eyes. In Felix's eyes, in particular. That was how you imagined his life as a golden boy, who was apparently at this stage of his life employed in his own parents' company, where he did not need to make any effort to stay there and at the same time receive a round sum of money. Usually it also led to a certain lifestyle.

While Annabel was stirring her coffee with a spoon, you noticed an engagement ring on her hand, which you didn't seem to notice before or just didn't pay attention to.

"Oh... can I... congratulate you?" you asked, barely hiding your awkwardness, "Is it... Felix?"

"Yes, thank you… What? Felix?" the girl laughed, "No. We used to date back at the university, and after that… Well, now we are not. I can't imagine Felix as a fiancé or husband. To be honest, I don't think he can either. He's a pretty free spirit, let's put it this way."

You exhaled and nodded, on the one hand satisfied with the answer, and on the other hand you were upset and got into thinking even more. Yes, it seemed that you two were different, too different, and it came to be clear in just a half an hour on a lunch.

But that didn't stop you from thinking about him anyway for the whole next month. He still rarely came to the office, but now he nodded and smiled broadly if he saw you. You even chatted briefly a couple of times in the hallway and over a cup of coffee in the office kitchen. You still didn't know what he really was like, but he seemed nice and friendly, even though he was always in a hurry for somewhere else. Or someone else. You couldn't help but still look forward to these short meetings.

And that how the autumn came.

"Well, lucky you, Y/N – it seems that a small anniversary of three months of your work here coincides with our seasonal party," sipping from her cup, Annabel informed you, "Once in a season we go out somewhere with the whole team. Well, to be more exact – with the least boring group of people here. Come with us? We're thinking of going to a club this time."

You willingly agreed, pleased that you were invited to this party. After all, it was not for nothing that you'd been Annabel's indispensable assistant, helping her out all the time. And, to be honest, you did a lot of her own work for her. And also you hoped that you and her began to get closer in personal level, even though you were quite different, it was still quite a fun.

Week later, you were hurrying along the streets while looking at the navigator where exactly the club that Annabel was talking about was located. You were late because you spent a lot of time on dressing up and doing makeup. You wanted to make an impression and you were a little nervous. Nervous because all this time you were wondering if Felix would come or not. You were worried about both scenarios, but you still wanted him to come first of all, even though you had no idea what and how should happen next.

The place greeted you with loud enough but pleasant music and colorful lighting. Your colleagues were sitting on the sofas nearby. Annabel waved cheerfully, "Y/N! We're here! Hi! Yes, you're not even the last one, so make yourself comfortable."

You greeted everyone who was sitting. You felt quite awkward, because you didn't communicate with everyone at least on the same level you did with Annabel, but you hoped that the evening would go well and that you didn't come in vain. And it turned out to be quite alright, but anyway, part of your thoughts was roaming whether Felix would come or not.

"Okay, guys, and now we'll drink to the Y/N! She's been helping me a lot lately. Y/N, I hope this is just the beginning of your work with us!" Annabel toasted.

"To a new young capable employee!" said a velvety deep voice behind you. You turned around. Felix stood behind, dressed in a white shirt and jeans. He had a shot glass in his hand and he had some kind of red cowboy hat on a rope behind his neck and back.

You all clinked drinks together and then started to sit back down on the sofas.

"Hello, Y/N," Felix smiled broadly at you, "Glad you were invited too."

"Oh, Felix, where have you been?" your colleagues began to ask him as he sat down with them and began to tell about being stuck in another club and then getting through traffic jams here to you all.

"Unexpectedly. I thought he wasn't coming, huh," you said softly to Annabel.

"Why wouldn't Felix come to the party? It's not like going to office meetings, you know," the girl chuckled.

You continued to chat with Annabel this evening. Felix, unfortunately, did not approach you, and seemingly had fun chitchatting with all the people on the couch in front of you, although he kept glancing at you, so it seemed to you. But maybe it just seemed, because you had been drinking for the first time in a long time, and your head was already starting to feel a little dizzy.

But over time, your interlocutor talked more and more about her own with her long-time colleagues and friends, until she almost completely forgot about your presence. You began to feel gradually lonely in this company. Maybe you were right. A girl from nowhere who couldn’t even afford too many drinks in this place in central London, who was helping Oxford graduates who were, are and will be fine, with paperwork they weren’t really willing to do. But it was better to splurge on another drink than to sit and think all these thoughts.

Walking through the crowd to the bar, you stood in line and chose what to take for yourself. Something strong, but not very expensive, if possible.

"You have a small anniversary in our company today. It should be celebrated," a pleasant voice spoke softly almost in your ear. Turning your head to the side, you found Felix, who was leaning almost his entire body against the counter. He had definitely had a drink and was even more relaxed and cheerful than usual, "It's all on me, of course."

You protested a little, but Catton quickly dismissed all objections, taking two drinks for you at once and one glass for himself, "And this is about time you tell me how do you find the work here with us, where you came from and generally about yourself."

You headed back to the sofa with drinks. Since the path was laying through the dancing crowd, and you had two glasses in your hands, Felix held you protectively, placing his hand on your back and guiding you through all the people, making sure that no one would touch you. The feeling of his big warm hand on your back, on your skin, half-opened due to the design of the dress, definitely excited you and gave you goosebumps.

Some people from your company, including Annabel, was already gone to the dance floor, so you sat down on an empty sofa together and started talking. It was very uneasy and unusual for you to see Felix so close to you, also in such an informal setting. His big brown eyes looked at you attentively while you talked a little about yourself, about your education, how you got a job at this company, what you were doing here and who you started communicating with. What dark fluffy eyelashes he had. He was so handsome. You blushed a little and got embarrassed, but still, because of the abundance of information that you had to tell him, your brain was a little distracted and calmed down.

"That's great, Y/N. You're so... hardworking. And, apparently, you’ve achieved a lot on your own. That's very cool," Felix nodded with a serious face.

"Well, I haven't achieved anything special yet that I would really like, but thank you for the kind words. It's great that you're interested in your future subordinates."

"Oh, so you know? Well... we'll see about that. My dad is a co–owner of the company, but not the owner. So, it's not at all a fact that I'm going to manage over here," Felix was a little embarrassed and cleared his throat, "And I don't know what's going to happen next, I don't guess into the future for that long… Maybe I'll go abroad somewhere, like I've already done before, huh."

Then Felix began to tell about some parts of his own life - a little about his childhood, about studying at Oxford, what he did there and where he went later. He was quite modest and obviously tried not to emphasize his fabulously luxurious lifestyle, but this was the kind of thing that could not be completely kept to oneself. This manifested itself even in behavior and appearance, not to mention the stories.

But you liked, you really did like talking to him. With all that said, Felix Catton had a talent for making you feel like you were welcome, that you were no worse than him, that your lifestyle was no less boring or less important when he wanted to grant his attention. Even if you were completely different. You were listened to very attentively.

Due to this feeling, combined with his appearance and charisma in general, you were ready to never get up from this couch, if only your conversations would last forever.

But the forever ended quickly when Felix's friends yanked him onto the dance floor. Friends, and maybe not only friends. It seemed that many female colleagues and just a lot of the girls nearby were staring endlessly and smile charmingly at him in the hope of getting more of his attention. Of course, you could understand that oh so well. But all the same, you were upset that your chances were probably much less than those of all his acquaintances in his circle. Even if it was just about a sort of a close communication.

You finished your second drink and went to get another one. While you were standing in line, one of this year's hits started playing in the hall. A gentle female voice began to tell her story:

What I would do to take away

This fear of being loved, allegiance to the pain

Now I fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

I would give anything to change this like-minded heart

That loves fake shiny things

Now I fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

You couldn't take your eyes off Felix, who was having fun in the middle of the crowd – he was giving himself up to the music, dancing to the beat. Green, blue and sometimes purple spots of light slid across his face and his clothes. How graceful and natural he was now, as if he had been born on the dance floor.

I'm only human can't you see

I made, I made a mistake

Please just look me in my face

Tell me everything's okay

'Cause I got it

Never be like you

Felix completely broke up and went dancing at the pole jokingly. You didn't know if he was already so tipsy or just so relaxed naturally to that extent, but you couldn't look away with your mouth slightly opened. He was holding onto the pole with one hand, and with the other he was waving in the air, also swinging his hips.

How do I make you wanna stay

Hate sleeping on my own

Missing the way you taste

Now I'm fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

Stop looking at me with those eyes

Like I could disappear and you wouldn't care why

Now I'm fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

Your heart sank. Even though this song was about trying to bring back an existing relationship, it still somehow resonated especially with you right now. Particularly the line "Never be like you", which seemed to repeat your thought, which you carefully tried to hide from yourself tonight. You would never be like Felix.

The crowd gathered at the bar gradually pushed the gawking and not moving you closer to the dance floor, where Catton noticed you.

"Hey, Y/N, why are you just standing there so lost? Join me," the guy said cheerfully, slightly pulling you by the hand closer to him.

You started dancing together, he put on his red hat on to make you laugh a little. He was smiling widely, swaying from side to side bewitchingly in front of you.

I'm only human can't you see

I made, I made a mistake

Please just look me in my face

Tell me everything's okay

'Cause I got it

Never be like you

His white shirt was unbuttoned now, apparently, he had been hot for a while. Beads of sweat gathered on his skin and disappeared with him in the rays of the strobe light from time to time, which shone behind his back. In such lighting, it seemed as if he was moving in slow motion, and that was all a beautiful movie in which you accidentally fell into the place of the main character. But it wasn't a fantasy, it was your night right now.

I'm falling on my knees

Forgive me, I'm a fucking fool

I'm begging darling please

Absolve me of my sins, won't you

You wanted this moment to last forever. And unlike the conversation on the couch, it really felt like it was happening, like in a dream that no one dared to break. You were drowning in his magnetic gaze and smile, which he was giving only to you now. He was like Prince Charming of the 2010’s.

I'm only human can't you see

I made, I made a mistake

Please just look me in my face

Tell me everything's okay

'Cause I got it

Never be like you

Baby, baby please believe me

Come on take it easy

Please don't ever leave me... oooh

Never be like you

You mentally repeated the last lines of this song until your face itself took on a slightly pleading look. Felix seemed to catch it and touched your shoulder. His lips parted in the desire to say something, but he just stood there for a few seconds in silence, as if considering what to say and do next.

"... by the way, you look great today. I mean, your office looks are cute too, but this… You're full of surprises, aren't you?" he said after a while.

You smiled sheepishly as you continued to dance, drifting back into a musical and slightly alcoholic trance until it was interrupted by several of Felix's friends and your colleagues.

"Buddy, we've going home," the guys shook hands, and then started talking about some of their business. You moved a little to the side, and as soon as you did that, Felix slowly began to be surrounded by familiar and not so very familiar people. You went for a cocktail, and then headed to the couch, where you started talking to a colleague of yours. You kept glancing in Felix's direction at the same time, but he still didn't come up, engrossed in talking and some dancing.

After saying goodbye to your colleague, who also left, you finished your cocktail and finally decided to check your phone. Oh. You didn't know it was so late. You started looking for a taxi, but it costed a lot right now. Confused, you sat alone, staring at the screen and sucking from a straw a mix of melted ice and a cocktail from the bottom of a glass.

"Please pardon me for leaving you for a while," the hot hand laid on your back and then its owner appeared behind it, who plopped down on the sofa next to you. He looked at you with slightly regretful doe eyes, "Are you... leaving already?"

"Yes, it's very late, and there's a lot to do tomorrow… But the taxi is still expensive, I guess I'll wait a little longer."

"What are you talking about? I'll get you a car right now," Felix took out his phone and began to quickly type something on it.

"Oh, come on, don't..."

"Hey. We're celebrating your anniversary at work, our new best employee. Have you already forgotten?" the guy interrupted you, grinning, "Tell me your address, please."

You gave your address, Catton smiled slightly.

Five minutes later, a business class taxi pulled up to the club. You just went outside, and the warm air of an early autumn night pleasantly enveloped you after the hot and stuffy nightclub.

"Is this really my car?" you were amazed. Felix turned his head to the left and right, and then, leaning over, said in a serious tone, "I don't see any exactly the same beautiful girl waiting for exactly the same taxi, and do you?"

You giggled and blushed noticeably. There was a pause hanged in the night air.

"Thanks for your company, Y/N. I'm glad you're with us now. I hope we'll see each other more often from now on."

You looked him straight in the eye, and then nodded slightly and slowly.

"Good night. Please text when you... Ah..." Felix rolled his eyes at himself, "I don't have your phone number."

He looked down, shaking his head and chewing lightly on his lip. A knot tied in your stomach. Felix. Catton. Asked. You. Your. Number. It might had been more of a common courtesy, of course, but your heart started beating a lot faster anyway. Of course, you dictated your phone number to him, which made him full of ill-concealed joy. Having recorded it in his smartphone, he said, as if nothing had happened, "Yeah, great, now I have a place to text to find out how you got home," and put you in a taxi.

He gently touched your shoulders once more when he put you in the car. He pressed his lips almost weightlessly to your ear, "Good night again, Y/N. Thank you for this evening," his mumble was very warm and pleasant, you felt your hair rising on your skin.

Watching the taxi leave, from which window you looked at him back, Felix lit a cigarette. He was smiling widely and contentedly, exhaling smoke and slightly twitching his whole body on the spot from another surge of energy. He was obviously going to attend the work more often from now on.

[queenshelby]

Daddy Issues (Part One)

Pairing: Dominant!Cillian Murphy & Shy!Reader (& Jamie Dornan)

Warning: Smut, BDSM, Daddy Kink, 4-Somes, 3-Somes, Sugar Baby Arrangements

Summary: Through your best friend, you meet actor Cillian Murphy and come to some kind of arrangement involving intimacy in exchange for being spoiled financially.

Written with: my beautiful wife @darkshelbyfiction

Ever since school, Emma had been your best friend and now that you were both in your early twenties, and studied law at the prestigious Oxford university, nothing really changed. 

Your friendship had grown even stronger despite differences in personalities – you being introverted and reserved, she boldly exploring her newfound independence.

Emma was always full of surprises - from her unexpected move to New York City without telling anyone and then coming back six months later, to now referring to herself as Jamie Dornan's sugar baby when you were on your own while, otherwise, keeping it discreet. 

When alone with you, she would often talk about having "intimate encounters" with him and sometimes even others, keeping you amused while leaving you curious about what exactly happens behind closed doors. You were often thinking about 50 Shades of Gray, spiking your curiosity, although Emma assured you that it was nothing like that.

When talking to Emma and her sugar baby experience, it felt like one day she decided to break all boundaries – whether social or moral – as if embracing freedom beyond comprehension. Despite her brazen behavior, deep down inside, she still cared deeply about your opinion which made things interesting when discussing such topics together over coffee late into the night, sitting among the humming crowd of the cozy London Cafe.

The coffee shop filled up quickly around lunchtime, making it harder for Emma to continue sharing stories confidentially.

You eventually moved outside underneath the shade of a large tree, sipping their drinks while enjoying the cool evening air. Again, your conversation turned towards the subject of sex which was something your life was lacking.

To you only, Emma often opened up about her time spent with Jamie, the man who had become what she calls her "sugar daddy".

Their relationship was nothing serious and it was that, just after his messy and rather public divorce, he sought solace in younger women whom he could provide financial stability for. In return, they agreed upon fulfilling his needs discreetly and you knew that Emma was not the only one. 

As she shared more explicit details of their sessions, which she only did with you, the way she spoke became increasingly sensuous. She had fun, it seemed, and it was just last week that she had engaged in her first ever threesome with Jamie and another man.

"A threesome, with two men?" you asked incredulously, gripped with curiosity as she mentioned it for the first time that day. You only ever had sex with one man, and it was nothing short of boring to say the least.

"Yes. Jamie had a friend over, and it just happened. It wasn't really planned. But we had lots of fun and probably too much to drink as well" she giggled seductively, leaning forward slightly as if divulging a juicy secret. The sunlight reflected off her soft skin causing her silhouette to waver rhythmically against the foliage behind her. 

"Uhm, okay..." you began. "So who was the guy? Was he an actor too?" You queried, genuinely intrigued.

"Yes, he is an actor too, but I really shouldn't talk about this." Her tone implied reluctance to share further details.

Curiosity peaked, you probed, "But come on, tell me! Who is he? You know I won't tell!"

 She hesitated before speaking again, seemingly caught between excitement and fear. "His name is Cillian," she finally revealed, and your chin dropped.

"It's not Cillian Murphy though, is it?" you clarified, thinking of the renowned Irish actor who portrayed one of your favourite TV characters, namely Thomas Shelby. 

"Jepp," she replied simply, confirming your suspicion.

"Oh my god...Cillian Murphy? Is he actually single enough to do that kind of thing? Like wow..." you couldn't help feeling shocked. Even considering you hadn't met him personally, there was undeniable respect and admiration attached to Cillian's image as he tried to stay out of the tabloids as much as possible. 

"Well yeah, apparently he filed for divorce two weeks ago. Weird timing, right?" Emma said, looking almost surprised herself before you took up the courage to probe her with more questions.

"So, you actually had full on sex with them both? At the same time? In the same room?" 

Your head swam with visions of those three intertwined bodies, imagining the erotic chaos taking place beneath the sheets. "Wasn't it weird?" you then asked. You had so many questions.

"Yes, we had sex at the same time and it was crazy," Emma admitted, smiling mischievously. "And no, it didn't feel weird at all. It was exciting, surprisingly so."

Her frankness startled you somewhat, used to living within societal norms, yet also fascinated by how freely Emma discussed these experiences. Perhaps it was because of your conservative background that she never judged your naïveté regarding intimacy.

"I mean, Cillian Murphy is pretty fucking hot, so I do not blame you," you said, catching yourself off guard with your sudden audacity.

Emma laughed lightheartedly. "You want details don't you?" Emma teased, already aware of your insatiable curiosity. Your cheeks flushed crimson in embarrassment, partly due to her keen observation, partly due to the explicit nature of our conversation.

"Yes, of course," you stammered nervously, clearing your throat. You could barely look at Emma straight in the eye anymore, instead fixating on the ground, afraid that your face might betray you completely.

"What do you want to know about?" Emma continued, unperturbed.

"Everything. All the dirty details," you confessed honestly, unable to suppress your voyeurism any longer. "I mean, did they both, you know, at the same time, you know..." you stammered, wondering whether they simply took turns or penetrated her at the same time.

"Put their dicks in me?" Emma laughed, seeing how shy and embarrassed you were, causing you to nod.

She proceeded, "Yes, eventually. They took turns first but then both of them wanted to be with me at once. At first, I thought it was a bit awkward, but after getting comfortable, it became thrilling and liberating." 

You chin dropped, speechless. How could someone like Cillian Murphy be entangled in such debauchery? 

"You look really shocked right now," observed Emma, watching your expression carefully. "Is it because I told you or because of who it was with?" 

Though you were tempted to ask about Jamie, your mind remained fixated on Cillian. As far as you were concerned, he was practically handsome. To think he was capable of participating in these types of wild escapades was surreal. 

"A bit of both," you responded, half questioning and half affirming, hoping she wouldn't sense your growing interest.

"You know, he is single and I could get Jamie to introduce you sometime, maybe. If you want to meet him," she added nonchalantly, as if suggesting dinner plans. 

This left you stunned momentarily. You considered the possibility, envisioning yourself engaging in similar carnal acts.

"I don't think so, no... I mean, I am not like you," you protested timidly, attempting to regain composure. 

"I think you are thinking too much about moral standards which are absurd concepts, developed by society to control people and maintain certain order," Emma chuckled, referring to your prudish nature.

"Cillian is single and he was clearly intrigued by what Jamie and I have going, because it is simple. There is no hassle. No feelings.��Only pure physical satisfaction. That's the arrangement between us. No strings attached. And he takes care of me financially which is really helpful seeing that I am, just like you, a student with a huge student debt," Emma went on matter-of-factly.

"That sounds nice," you commented, trying to understand why Emma would agree to being part of such arrangements without seeking a deeper connection. "But, don't you find it degrading sometimes?"

Emma gave you a sidelong glance, understanding perfectly well where your concerns stemmed from. "No, because there is absolutely nothing wrong with having sex for personal gain, especially when consent is given mutually. Despite, I actually really enjoy the sex. It's different than anything else, more intense and raw - and I feel closer to myself afterwards. There's just something powerful about it, you know? Sometimes I wonder how long this will go on, but then I remember that as long as everyone gets what they need, nobody gets hurt. This keeps everything simple and fair game, which suits me fine.”

You listened quietly, struggling to process all the information. It was difficult to imagine Emma – sweet, innocent Emma – as someone who enjoyed these kinds of arrangements. Yet somehow, hearing her describe it made it sound logical, even reasonable.

After all, money was tight for students. If consensual adults found pleasure in such arrangements, why should anyone judge them? You understood why Jamie paid for expenses in return for sexual favors – he wanted to compensate Emma for services rendered, plain and simple. Still, you marveled at how easily she glossed over potential consequences associated with such liaisons.

She always had nice, expensive things nowadays, clothes and shoes alike and she spent most nights with him, having fun and enjoying her life.

Their lifestyle seemed enviably easy and carefree compared to yours, stuck with heavy books and a mountain of debts piled high. Maybe it was worth exploring, you mused fleetingly. Still, you knew deep down inside that this wasn't the path you wanted to take. The idea felt morally corrupt, and it terrified you.

Back in reality, however, the fact still remained that you lacked the confidence needed to approach someone like Cillian Murphy let alone sleep with him. You were too scared of rejection and failure.

It was hard to believe that someone like Cillian Murphy could ever give you the attention you desired. Besides, it wasn’t as if you would suddenly become desirable just because you slept with him. Deep down, you worried that you weren't good enough. Your insecurities consumed you. However, the more you talked to Emma, the more curious you grew. How would it feel to be with such a person? What would happen during the act itself? Would they dominate you entirely? Or perhaps be gentle? So many questions filled your mind as you tried to grasp onto reality.

"Maybe dinner would be alright. I mean, nothing bad can come from meeting new people, right?" You countered cautiously, your heart racing slightly. Meeting someone like Cillian Murphy was indeed exciting, yet nerve-wracking simultaneously.

"Right. I will organise it then!" Emma said excitedly and, to you, agreeing to meet Cillian Murphy felt monumental, almost surreal.

You couldn't help feeling excited, hopeful that he would notice you among others and throughout the night, you couldn't stop reflecting upon the encounter with Emma. Her stories sparked countless fantasies that tormented your imagination, leaving you eager to experience pleasures beyond conventional boundaries. Even though it meant facing risks and challenges outside your comfort zone, the prospect of indulging in passionate encounters captivated you.

After all, hadn't dreaming been harmless until it turned into reality? Confronting your fears allowed you to grow stronger. As you sipped on another cup of coffee, lost in thought, Emma noticed your contemplation.

"So, are you really really sure?" Emma asked, seeing how nervous you were already. 

"Yes. It's just dinner, right?" you said and Emma chuckled and agreed.

"Yes, but these things can lead to more. There is no pressure though," Emma reassured you as a mischievous grin spread across her lips.

"Exactly," you nodded vigorously, although doubts crept into your head when you looked up his soon to be ex-wife and the women he had dated before, all of whom were extremely attractive. 

How could anyone possibly compete against those women? Why would he bother with somebody like me? These negative thoughts flooded your brain but nevertheless, you decided to push through these anxieties. After all, life was full of surprises and opportunities. Who knows, you may end up liking each other!

"Alright, we're doing this, then. Let's see where it leads," you confirmed firmly, looking determined despite your lingering insecurities.

Emma grinned broadly, pleased with your decision as she picked up the phone and called Jamie. 

To be continued....

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[chestharrington]

I Think We're Alone Now || Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Set in the S3 Starcourt era... Steve develops a fixation on the shopgirl-next-door.

Couple: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Content Warnings: explicit smut || sexual fantasy (includes oral, f and m receiving, p in v sex) and solo masturbation, kind of a panty/lingerie fetish if u squint or even just stare

Word Count: 2.9k

Whoever was in charge of Starcourt Mall planning was a sadist. That was the only explanation as to why a lingerie store was situated directly next door to Scoops Ahoy. Really, what business did it have in a food court of all places?

It also didn’t help that Steve Harrington was in the sex drought of all sex droughts— caused not just because of his stupid uniform, but probably also owed a lot to the fact that he had no college prospects, had lost his proverbial crown to Billy Hargrove, and had been cheated on with Jonathan Byers. Nothing kills a reputation quite like that. 

So there he was— showing up to work every day, walking past scantily clad mannequins and shopgirls wearing tight miniskirts, none of whom gave him the time of day when he was dressed like that. Well, none of them except you. 

“Good morning, Steve!” You greeted, wearing a tight white button-up shirt with a black pencil skirt. Like a sexy librarian had just walked off the page of a centerfold and decided to work retail. You were lifting the gate from the front of the store and placing a sale sign right between your two shops as he passed.

“You’re opening again?” He asked, pausing in front of his stupid, sticky helljob. You blew a loose piece of hair from your bangs as you stood and nodded. 

“And closing. It’s our summer savings sale,” you explained. “You should probably expect a lot of rollover customers. Stop by if you’re in the market for anything. Maybe a nice gift for a girlfriend?” Before he could respond, you gave him a pretty smile as you disappeared into your dimly-lit storefront to finish opening. 

You’d gone to high school together, though he doubted you remembered him. You were, after all, a senior while he was just an annoying sophomore on JV Basketball. You were on homecoming court, voted most friendly for senior superlatives, and were probably the hottest girl in your class. He didn’t have a chance then, and he definitely didn’t now.

But you always said hello when he passed by, and you would stop by Scoops sometimes after work and buy a cone of the flavor of the month. He wanted to talk to you more— to actually get to know you beyond a schoolboy crush, but you were so far out of his league that he couldn’t bring himself to try. 

When he walked into Scoops, his boss, Allan, had already begun the process of opening. His task of vigorously polishing the glass case of ice cream felt pointless when it was about thirty minutes from being smudged with a toddler’s fingerprints. 

“Steven, you’re late,” He said firmly. 

Steve glanced towards the clock. “I’m five minutes early.”

Allan slung the rag he was cleaning with over his shoulder and sighed. “In my book, thirty minutes early is on time, and on time is late.”

Steve made a face as he refrained from telling Allan that payroll would disagree. Instead, he put on the stupid sailor hat and pinned on his nametag. And, just because he could, he clocked in early.

His morning was hectic. Like you’d said, there were countless rollover customers who wandered in after the sale next door, each clutching a bag of lingerie and giggling with their friends. His wrist was aching from scooping so much ice cream by the time lunchtime rolled around. He would’ve gone back for his fifteen, but there you were, your hair pulled back in a banana clip, fanning yourself as you stepped into the long line for ice cream. 

When you finally reached the counter, you smiled like the two of you shared a secret. “Busy day?” You asked as you fished cash out of your purse. 

“It’s been crazy. You?”

You peered up at him and laughed wryly. “God, you wouldn’t believe the number of women in this town who jump at the chance for discounted racy lingerie. I’m drowning in satin and lace today.”

He managed to smile without looking like a complete idiot as he scooped your ice cream, handing it across the counter as you looked at him with amusement. 

“You memorized my order? That’s so sweet, Steve.”  You handed him a few bills and coins across the counter. “Keep the change, alright? Hopefully I'll see you later.”

His cheeks burned hot. “Yeah, for sure.” He stared dumbly as you licked your ice cream and walked out into the food court. 

He needed to find an excuse to buy lingerie from you... if only to have a reason to see you again that day. 

———

It was late afternoon before he got his first break and darted into the lingerie store to the shock and horror of the women inside. He hip-checked a table displaying hosiery before he stopped in front of you, smiling expectantly. 

You put down the stockings you were folding and looked at him with amusement. “Steve! What can I help you with?”

“Oh, uh… just…” He floundered as he searched for a reason, then remembered your suggestion that morning— buying for a girlfriend. “My girlfriend.”

“Oh? What’s her name? Maybe I know her.”

Steve hesitated for a moment, before saying the first girl’s name to pop into his head. “Her name is Nancy.”

As soon as your brows furrowed, he knew he fucked up. “Oh, I heard you two broke up, or something.” 

He hesitated, mouth open as he tried to find words to dig himself out of the hole. “Oh… no, not that Nancy. It’s a different Nancy. You probably don’t know her.”

You raised your brows, but said nothing to suggest you doubted him. “I can help you find something. What were you thinking?”

He reached back and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. He hadn’t thought this far. “Uh, what would you suggest?”

You considered it for a moment, looking at him carefully. “Well, that depends. Are you buying something she’d like to wear, or something you’d like to see her in?”

Steve blinked dumbly. “Both?”

You laughed lightly and walked towards a table displaying an array of underwear. “So, if you’re going for practical and sexy, I’d recommend panties.” You held up a lacy white pair and his mouth went dry. “A pair like these is pleasing to the eye, but totally invisible underneath clothes.” You stepped back and gave a tiny spin. “I’ve got them on now, and you’d think I wasn’t wearing any. Absolutely no lines at all.” 

Steve swallowed hard. Don’t picture it don’t picture it don’t picture it don’t— “Yeah, I’ll take those.” 

You chuckled and grinned. “Well, you’re an easy sell. Do you want the matching bra and garter belt to go with that?” You gestured to the mannequin atop the table. “The set is absolutely stunning when worn all together.”

He hesitated, knowing he had no use for any of this stuff. Still, the vision in his mind of you wearing the set was enough to make blood rush south and all rational thoughts leave his brain.

“I really can’t afford the full set,” he finally said after a synapse successfully fired in his brain. “I’ll just, uh, grab her size then.” You nodded and smiled. He had to pretend like he wasn’t thinking of you wearing this same pair, imagining what size would be closest to yours. He grabbed blindly at the folded pairs and retrieved the first ones his hands touched. 

“I’ll ring you up! I’ll even throw in our gift wrapping just because I like you so much.” You smiled and guided him towards the register, letting him cut the line of women waiting to pay. After he paid, you handed over a white box with a silky red bow and gave him a conspiratorial smile. “I hope you both enjoy.” 

————

The box sat on his bedside table— the proverbial elephant in the room. 

God, he thought. You probably thought he was a weird pervert who wanted to wear them or something. Well, he probably would if someone hot enough asked him to, but it wasn’t like he was seeking it out. 

His thoughts wandered as they usually did when it was late and he was home alone with nothing (or no one) to do. That night, though, his thoughts were focused solely on you. 

He thought about the professional pencil skirt you wore, of lace and stockings beneath. He yearned to peel them off of you with his teeth and bury his head between your thighs, tasting all you had to offer him. He wanted your manicured nails tugging on his hair, scratching his scalp as you cried out in pleasure above him.

He groaned, almost involuntarily reaching down to palm himself over his sweats. Talk about pathetic— even the tiniest mental image made him swell with desire. Fucking dry spell. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, bucking into his own grip. Just the lightest pressure made him groan and toss his head back, the expanse of his neck bared. He imagined your pretty mouth pressed against his throat, sucking bruises into his pale skin and felt his cock twitch beneath the confines of his pants.

He was quick to strip off the rest of his clothes, not wanting anything in the way. The dry glide of his hand along his hardening length made him hiss. With clumsy impatience, he reached for the bottle of lube inside of his bedside table, almost empty from solo use, sitting beside a mostly-full box of condoms.

Immediately, the slick sounds of him working his length filled the room— desperate and messy with need. Maybe he could’ve been patient— taken it slower, but he was overcome with lust and a desire for release.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Feels so good— don’t stop, keep goin’ just like that.”

As the words mindlessly slipped past his lips, he knew he was well and truly gone. It was an entirely new level of desperate and horny to dirty talk to the girl you were hot for when she wasn’t even there. 

His free hand was splayed across his chest, just resting against the thatch of chest hair where his heart was pounding just beneath his ribs. As his desperation grew, his hand wandered lower, fondling his balls as his other hand squeezed the base of his shaft. A desperate, feral noise escaped his mouth that he’d never even heard himself make before.

He closed his eyes and he could imagine you pulling him into a dressing room, a wanton look in your gaze as you pulled the thin curtain shut, the only semblance of privacy you could get. You’d smile as you stripped off your clothes, only clad in the skimpy lingerie you’d paid for with your employee discount. 

“You’re gonna have to be quiet for me, okay?” You’d say as you pulled down his stupid Scoops uniform shorts. “Don’t want to get caught, right?”

He could feel sweat beading at the base of his neck and around his forehead, on his chest, tummy, and thighs. His entire body was burning up as he touched himself, like he was on fire from the inside out. 

He’d waste no time kneeling before you— tugging your stockings and panties down and hiking up your skirt so he could slot himself between your legs and taste you. There were few things Steve loved more than eating pussy. There was something about the taste, smell, the sounds that he could elicit with a few deft movements of his tongue. You’d pull his hair and tilt your head back as moans escaped your lips. 

He worked his length quickly as he imagined eating you out. His head was thrown back, tongue lolling out of his mouth as short pants escaped him. The slick sounds of lube and the slap of his hand at the base of his cock were pornographically loud. He’d have been embarrassed had he not had the house to himself.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “Wanna make you cum so bad. Wanna taste you.”  He could only imagine the pretty sounds you’d make as you came, the way you’d tremble as your knees threatened to give out. He’d wait until you couldn’t take anymore before finally relenting, meeting you with a kiss.

Your hands would be soft. He knew this not just by looking at them, but also from the few times you’d put a hand on his arm when you passed by him in the service hallways. He liked thinking about your hands on him, squeezing him just the way he liked. 

“You’re so big, Steve,” you’d say from your knees, peering up at him with big doll eyes. Your hand would glide along his cock— slow, teasing. Your tongue would dart out, kitten-licking his tip before you took him into his mouth entirely.

“Mmm, fuck— feels so good,” Steve cried out, his chest heaving as he continued to work his hand along his cock. “Doin’ so good, taking it all for me. Just like that.”

Steve felt himself nearing his finish and slowed down, practically to a snail's pace to keep from busting early. What was the point of having a sexual fantasy if you finished before getting to the best part? 

He returned his attention to the image of you in his mind. How the drool at the corners of your mouth would drip messily, how your eyes would be wet and glossy as his cock bullied its way into your throat. Your free hand would move to cup his balls, heavy and full for you as you kneaded them in your palm. 

He’d bring you up to him and give you a kiss for good measure— slow and messy like you had all the time in the world. But he’d get impatient, like he was then to just give in and make himself cum. 

He’d press your back against the wall and lift your legs around his waist. You’d still be wet from his mouth, dripping with desire. You’d take him with no resistance at all, just a tight warmth like he belonged there. 

He needed more. Just jerking off wasn’t cutting it. He reached out clumsily with his free hand and grabbed the gift-wrapped box from the bedside table and tore at the silky red ribbon so he could knock the top of the box off. He grabbed the white lace panties from within and groaned at the sight.

“Ah!” He got a full-body shiver the moment he wrapped the lace panties around his cock, the fabric soft against his flushed length. They wrap around the head as he sets a fast pace, imagining that they’re yours— the same pair you’d been wearing that day. 

“Fuck,” he cried out, bucking up into his fist and the lace. “Holy shit, ‘m cumming. Fuck— fuck—“ He came with a shout, his spend soaking through the white lace, sticky on his hands and dripping down his shaft, pooling at the base. 

His breath came in soft pants as he came down, his cock still twitching weakly, rivulets of cum dripping from the slit. “Goddamn,” was all he could manage as he laid limp against his pillows. 

He’d made a mess, not just of himself, but of the lace panties he’d spent a day’s paycheck on. He grimaced at the sight of them, completely soiled from his exploits. With more effort than he even felt capable of, he sat up and tossed them into the hamper in the corner of his room. 

Afterward, he looked down at himself— the mess of cum and lube left behind. He stood and stretched on slightly weak legs and went to wash off. He’d deal with the shame of it all tomorrow.

————

You were smiling at customers when he came in for his shift the next day, feeling sensitive from the second round he’d put himself through in the shower the previous night… and the quick session he’d had in the morning. 

Part of him felt like a perv for thinking about you like that, but then you looked up, saw him, and smiled… and he felt the wariness wash away like it was nothing. 

At lunch, he walked into the store, which was far less crowded than it had been the day prior. You saw him and approached with a casual confidence that made him want to crumble to his knees. 

“Hi, Steve! Did Nancy like the gift you got her?”

His brow furrowed. “Nancy? We broke up last year.”

You laughed lightly and shook your head. “No, I meant your new girlfriend. The other Nancy.”

He swore internally as he nodded. “Right! Yes. She loved them, actually. She wants another pair.”

“Great, just meet me at the register when you’re done.” You smiled and departed. Steve couldn’t help but stare at your ass in that tight skirt as you walked away. 

He grabbed two more pairs— black and red— and approached the counter where you stood. You rang him up without further comment and smiled as you passed the bag and receipt over. 

“Come back soon, Steve,” you said with a grin before departing into the back of the store. 

That night as Steve was unpacking the bag, he found a small note written on blank receipt paper. 

“Steve, if you wanted to talk to me, you didn’t have to buy lingerie for a fake girlfriend to do it. XO” Beneath it, in clear print was your phone number circled twice. 

Steve grinned, running his thumb over the note. Maybe his dry spell was going to end sooner than he thought.

[sloancameronspits]

Cold Sloan Creamery

A charming cutie steals your attention at your boring coffee-shop job. Turns out they've got a food service gig as well - a much sweeter one. Modern AU.

Another experiment I did with first-person stuff. Sex is alluded to but not present. Word count: 2253. Enjoy!

Five A.M. Entirely too early to be doing anything, let alone having to drag myself into work for another day; yet here I was, miserably reading the back of a shampoo bottle in the shower. Mornings like this, I would idly wonder if it was worth quitting my job. Technically, I could probably survive college without it if I took out more loans. There were benefits to working at a coffee shop as well. I just had to push through it.

I turned off the water and grabbed a towel. Working on campus was pleasant at least, even on the weekends it felt like I was part of a community. I had a few regulars I knew and enjoyed talking to. I was hyping myself up as I dried myself off, hoping to make the day a little less miserable. It worked slightly, as I was at least able to muster up the energy to get ready and make it there.

The lights were already on, and I mumbled “good morning”s to my coworkers as I kept preparing myself mentally for the day ahead. I made myself a small coffee - one of the perks of the job was a free drink per shift, and I needed it now - and drank it entirely too quickly for something that hot. With that, I was finally ready to start the drudgery of commerce. It was Saturday, so there was no rush of people coming to class, but there were still a few customers. Just get into the groove, it’ll be fine. I thought to myself.

I was able to dissociate and lose myself in filling orders and making drinks, and by the time I looked at the clock again I had made it to eleven. Not too bad so far, just a few hours to go. The next customer came up, looking a bit frazzled, and I couldn’t help but notice how cute they were. Cute brown hair, an eyebrow piercing, a dazzling smile - they had it all. And they would have their caramel latte with extra whipped cream they ordered in that beautiful high-energy voice.

They took their drink and sat themselves on one of our tables, pulling out a laptop festooned with stickers. A few pride stickers, including a nonbinary flag in a cute heart, as well as a litany of representations of historic places. A column from the Parthenon, a pyramid from Giza… this was clearly someone who was well versed in the wonders of the world. Exploring sounded nice right about now, trapped in work. At least it was lunchtime. Maybe I should talk to them? No, that was weird. I took another small coffee - one small coffee plus another still added up to one free drink, right? - and sat down at a table near enough to the mysterious cutie without being so close that I’d be anxious. It didn’t work. I was still anxious, hearing them tap-tap-tap away at their keyboard. I hadn’t had an infatuation this powerful or instant in a long time, and it had me sweating.

“Howdy!” They’d directed their attention to me. I was careful not to get my hopes up, but there was an outside shot that this was my chance. “That latte was really good. You seemed kinda down so I figured I’d uh, swing by?” They had taken their laptop over to my table, and were smiling that adorable chipped smile at me again. 

“Oh, thank you.” I said. Don’t fumble now, I thought to myself. “I was just thinking about an assignment I have due next week.”

They nodded. “Ugh, I feel that. I was actually working on a paper about the classical structures of Rome, which I love, but the writing still gets to me.”

“That sounds unique. What degree is that for?”

Their eyes lit up and they started to ramble a bit. “Archaeology! It’s been one of my favorite topics… well, my whole life! It’s been so fun to study. Still not into the writing though.” They sighed. “I wish I could get out of the classroom and out into the field, but digsites won’t take you without the degree. Lame.”

“Where are you hoping to get to work at once you get the degree?”

They paused for a moment in thought, then continued with their mile-a-minute responses. “I mean my favorite place in the whole world is Cairo, and I’d love to get to find an undiscovered part of the Pyramids, but I worry that staying in one place will mean I miss out on all the other places I could explore! I guess my answer is that I want to travel a lot? It would certainly be better than now, where the farthest I travel is from my dorm to the gym.”

Their figure did look as if they were into working out - not too much, but they certainly looked like an arm wrestling contest with them would not be particularly close. Hot. Averting my eyes, I checked my watch. Three minutes left on my lunch break. “Well, I’ve gotta get back to work. It was really nice talking to you…” I realized I hadn’t got their name.

They realized too. “I’m Sloan! Nice to meet you too! Hopefully I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah! Best of luck on your paper. When in Rome and all that.”

They stuck their tongue out playfully as they packed up their laptop, and left with a wave. I spent the rest of my shift hoping I’d see them again soon. That said, I think I was the only one who was going to drink two coffees in one day, so I guess it’d have to wait…

---

Two P.M. I was finally free from my job for the day. Most of the time, I only worked weekends, so in a way I was already halfway through the week. Despite this, I was still willing to spend a bit to get myself a little treat. A new ice cream shop had opened near campus, and it did sound relaxing to get a cone and relax in the courtyard in the summer sun. 

A small bell rang on the door as I entered, and I heard a surprisingly familiar voice greet me. “Welcome to Lindholm’s Ice Cream, where sweet treats are always…” They trailed off. “It’s you! Hello!” Sloan was there, on the job, dressed in a cute but admittedly somewhat tacky red and white striped outfit adorned with a hat and bowtie.

“You work here? I promise this is a coincidence.” I said sheepishly.

“Aw shucks, I mean you’re allowed to come visit just for me.” They said with a grin. “What can I get ya?”

“Oh, um…” My order was suddenly gone from my mind, lost in their eyes. “Whatever you recommend? Dealer’s choice.”

“Not something I hear often, but I can dig that.” They said, getting a scoop out and taking a hunk of pink dessert. “This one’s a simple combination I like. Strawberry and vanilla.”

“That sounds good. Thanks!” As they took the second scoop and placed it into a cone, I took the treat. “Is it alright if I hang out here? I’m not sure how busy you guys get.”

“Of course you can! As for business…” They put their hands on their cheeks in exaggerated disappointment. “You’re the first customer we’ve had today. I don’t know if the owner doesn’t do any advertising or what, but it gets pretty boring.” They perked back up a bit. “I still get paid the same either way, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“So how long have you worked here?” I asked, taking a spoonful of ice cream. The strawberry flavor was really refreshing after today.

“Like a month. It’s honestly not that bad. Nobody comes in, so I’m not bothered. Plus, they let me mess around with my own uniform for, uh, gender reasons. Let me wear this snazzy bowtie.” They stepped out from behind the counter with their own ice cream and sat down across from me.

“This is good! My compliments to the scooper.”

“‘Course! My taste is always good.”

---

The next few weeks, stopping by the ice cream shop on days when Sloan was working became something of a ritual. It was always nice to give them some company, chat about what was going on in our respective classes, and just… soak in their energy. Their bright smile, their cheery laugh, even down to their regularly changing nail polish, they just exuded positivity and light. Soon, they started coming to get more coffee more regularly, and we spent my breaks there talking as well. It turned my feelings on work around to know I’d get to see Sloan around midway through the day.

It was about a month before during one of our conversations over ice cream that I noticed Sloan was acting kind of strangely. Their eyes wouldn’t quite meet mine, their hands trembled a bit as they served out our desserts, and they nervously tapped their fingers on their side. They sat down across from me, eyes staring straight at their ice cream. There was no one else in the store, as usual - I’d seen maybe two other customers in the last month. 

“You okay, Sloan?”

“Yeah. Yeah!” Their downward gaze still didn’t change. They muttered under their breath. “¡Demonios!”

“If something’s bothering you, I’m happy to listen. Professor being a jerk again? Argument with someone?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” They breathed in deeply. “Could you come with me to the back for a second?”

“I know I come in here a lot, but I don’t actually work here.” I said with a laugh.

“It’s fine, nobody else will come in anyway.” They grabbed my hand and practically dragged me to the storeroom in the back.

“Did you need me to like, do inventory?” I said, befuddled.

“Will you go out with me?” They said, finally meeting my gaze. “I know this is sudden, but I just can’t stop thinking about you.”

I stood stunned for a moment, overwhelmed by what had just happened.

“This was a bad idea. I knew it. I’m sorry. I don’t want to cause trouble-”

“Of course, Sloan!” I interrupted. “I’d love to, I just - I’ve thought about this for so long, ever since we first met. I was just afraid to ask too.”

Sloan smiled, a big grin showing off their chipped tooth, and pulled me into a hug. “Thank you. Thank you so much!” They mumbled into my shoulder. It was so comforting, their frame wrapped around me, the warmth of their body making the momentary anxiety fade away, their eyebrow piercing shining in the light, their goofy paper hat sliding off as they leaned into me.

“Do we need to go back out front? I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Nobody’s going to show up, and I want to go further. I need you.” They cupped my face in their hands.

“Okay. Take the lead then.”

Sloan took a moment to summon their usual optimism and courage, freeing themselves from their earlier fear; then, they pulled my face in for a kiss. Their lips gave in to mine with ease, and I melted into their embrace. I could taste a hint of sweetness on them. They reached an arm around me and gently lifted me, letting me fall deeper in. This was bliss. My tongue met theirs and my mind started to go blank. The rest of the world seemed to fade out; I was focused on them exclusively.

After an amount of time - I couldn’t tell how much - we pulled apart a bit, still in an embrace but not quite as close. “Still doing good?” Sloan panted out.

“So good.” I said. “If you want to go farther I’m willing.”

Sloan thought for a second, then shook their head. “Not here. That’ll have to wait for after my shift. I don’t want to get THAT much in trouble with my boss.”

I laughed, managing to get to my feet. They did as well, and I helped them smooth out their uniform to try to hide the evidence of our little escapade. Their hair was well mussed from my hands grasping through it, so I attempted to fix it. With a few brushes of my hand in a more orderly fashion, it almost worked. 

Sloan took out their phone to look at themselves. They laughed too. “Sloan Cameron, back in action, baby!” They mimed finger guns at me.

Clutching my heart in faux pain, I blew them a kiss and headed back out to the front. Just as they predicted, the ice cream shop was barren. “Looks like your job’s safe, Sloan.”

“Of course! You didn’t doubt me, did you?” They said. 

As the flood of emotions faded from me, I suddenly started to notice one thing that I can’t believe I hadn’t up until now. I was freezing. “How cold is it back there?” I said, starting to shiver.

“It’s an ice cream freezer! I’m just used to it.” They said with a smirk. “I’ve got an idea, though…” They threw their jacket at me. “Just bring it back to me later! I just keep it here just in case, I’m not using it much anyway. It’s hot out.” Grabbing a scrap of paper, they quickly scrawled in messy handwriting a note and handed it to me. It was their dorm room, their phone number, and a heart. “See you soon!”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Grey Zone 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, age gap, bullying, toxic parental figures, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your parents has never been good, and that with a family friend takes a strange turn(goth!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I'm tired of being sick

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

You prefer the opening shift. Finishing early gives you extra motivation to make use of the rest of the day. Yet that morning is slogging by like wet sand. You still have an hour left before you’re free and even then, you have hours of studying to catch up on.

You enjoy your work, short of the occasional unpleasant customer. The shop is slow despite its location in the mall, but that’s expected with its niche catalogue. The New Age collection often attracts curious eyes but few purchases. The candles and jewelry sell most often, more marketable to those in the market for a gift or ‘just looking’.

You lean on the counter, doodling with a pen on a strip of receipt paper. Little stars and a crescent moon. The mall is starting to get busier as lunchtime approaches. You twirl the pen and look up, only realising then that you have a customer.

You drop the pen and quickly flit around the counter. It’s a good thing the manager is only in on evening shift. You approach the man perusing the bucket of discount crystals and slow as you recognise the back of his slicked hair. Really?

“Mr. Hansen?” You sputter in surprise.

He turns and smiles at you, a stone in his hand, “hey, little lamb,” he greets coolly, “fancy meeting you here.” You squint as he laughs at your cynical stare, “sarcasm,” he scoffs.

“Oh, uh,” you go to cross your arms but resists, instead hooking your thumbs into the chains attached to your black cargo pants, “are you looking for something?”

“Besides you,” he winks as he drops the stone back in the bucket, “they don’t have the hair gel I like at Carmine’s. Apparently they don’t manufacture that scent anymore. So I was wandering around and I just stumbled in.”

You nod and watch him reach into the bucket and pull out a small shard of lapus lazuli, “you got any Carnelian?”

“Carnelian?” You furrow your brow, “uh, I don’t know. Probably not in there…”

You turn and stride over to the shelf of labeled stones; those ones with a better natural shape or cut. You search the tags and find a small canister of orangish red stones, smooth and ovular; some opaque and few with patches of translucence. 

Lloyd stops beside you, close. Too close. He tends to do that. He crowds you in without realising it. You hold out the container.

“You like crystals?” You ask with an edge of doubt; you didn’t expect he would be into that sort of thing.

“Eh, I’m intrigued,” he takes the canister and examines it, “you know, after you showed me your cards, I was reading around. It’s kinda neat, this stuff. You know, I don’t really buy into the mystic shit but it’s fun.”

“Ah,” you nod. Most people have that opinion. It doesn’t bother you. You’re more pragmatic than dreamy. You accept that you have no control over the world, but you don’t believe there’s any force around that does.

“You got cards here?” He shakes the crystals as he lifts his chin.

“Uh, yeah, just over there,” you point to the other wall.

You back away and go back to the counter. You just need some space. In such a small shop, it’s easy to feel suffocated. He goes to the shelf of tarot cards and you languish in the silence of his perusal.

“There a difference between these things?” He asks.

“No, not really. Just the look.”

“Ah,” he accepts and spins on his heel. He approaches the other side of the counter and places down his purchases. The crystals and a deck of cards with a Roman mythology aesthetic. “Just these.”

You ring him through and he plays with the necklaces on the small rack next to the till. He tilts his head as he examines a piece of amethyst attached to black cord. He lets it dangle and reaches into his back pocket. He presents his card and you pass over the machine.

“When are you done?” He asks.

“Um, in an hour,” you answer.

“Hmm,” he nods as the machine accepts the transaction, “got the whole day ahead of you.”

“Kinda,” you wait for the printer, ���want a receipt?”

He shakes his head, smiling at you. You take out a small black bag and put his things inside, sliding it over to him. As he takes it, his hands brush yours.

“Don’t work too hard,” he says.

“Er, sure, thanks,” you eke out awkwardly, “have a good day.”

“Going well so far,” he smirks before he turns away and struts to the door. 

He looks back and you raise your brows at him, perturbed. He finally leaves and you let out a breath. You wonder if he knew you worked there or if it’s as deliberate as it seems. 

You take out your phone and lean on the counter as you key in Carnelian. You don’t know much about the stone and you can’t remember anyone ever asking about it. You nearly choke as you read the description; ‘Carnelian is great for increasing sexual energy…’

Is he trying to embarrass you? Your mind lists to a couple nights before when he sat on your bed. It all seems a bit much, a bit too calculated. You just can’t find the punchline to go with the set up. 

🖤

Meghan shows up to take over for the afternoon. You leave her, intent on your mission. You’ll get your matcha to go and head to the library for your study session. Studying at the cafe had proven too distracting last time.

You get in line, flicking through your phone as you shift with the bodies ahead of you. You hear a rabble behind you as a large group enters, clustering at the end of the queue. You tuck your phone away as you recognise a voice and keep your chin down. You shrink down, hoping to go unnoticed in the busy cafe.

“Oh, look who’s back again,” Shania guffaws, “it’s the dead girl.”

You don’t look back. You have as much right to be here as them. You don’t know why she’s so pressed. There are other coffee shops and no reason for her to associate with you. High school is over. This isn’t the cafeteria, there is no cool table.

“Hey, Morticia,” Kaliana comes up on your left-side, “thanks for saving us a spot.”

They try to push in ahead of you but you step up, blocking them. You keep your head straight as Shania jostles you from the other side. At least this time you don't have anything for them to dump on you.

“Don’t be uncool, face paint,” Shania snarls, “know your place.”

“Go away,” you mutter to your boots.

“I can’t hear you over all that metal,” she reaches out and tugs on your nose ring. “Speak up, little girl.”

“I don’t know how you breathe around that snot catcher,” Kaliana chortles.

You shake your head and cross your arms. You step back and wave to the space in front of you, “fine. Go ahead.”

They girls laugh. They sound like hyenas. As they go to step in front of you, Shania cries out and liquid splashes over her shoulders, dripping down the front of her baby pink crop top. She puts her hands up and turns to face the culprit.

“You loser–” She yipes.

“Didn’t see ya,” Mr. Hansen’s voice brings your eyes up, “watch where you’re walking.”

“What? Me? You–”

“Look, I don’t need some knock off barbie shrieking at me so zip it,” he spits.

“Excuse you! You can’t talk to me like that.”

“I can and I am,” he snickers.

“Ew, you creep, get out of here,” Kaliana steps up next to Shania, “No one wants to hear from you or your dirty porn stache–”

“I didn’t ask, pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” She sniffs.

“Flip, flap,” he motions to his chest with a mean smirk, “if you’re gonna go out in a shirt like that, you could at least put a few socks in your bra.”

“Ugh, you perv–”

“Trust me, you’re the last thing that makes my dick hard,” he curls his lip.

“Whatever,” Shania blusters as she pulls the wet fabric away from her chest, “Kal, let’s go.”

The girls stomp off and you stare after them. Hansen puts down the empty cup and chortles. He turns to stand parallel to you, “well, I don’t know who’s drink that was but I hope they don’t mind.”

“What?”

“Oops,” he shrugs, “so what are we drinking, babe? Hmm. You seem like you got a sweet tooth. White mocha? Caramel?”

“Uh, no–”

“Wait, wait, dark chocolate, that seems more your speed.” You shoot him a look and he meets your eyes. He smiles and tilts his head, “kidding.”

“I can get my own drink,” you insist.

“I’m sure you can, but I want to get it for you.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeats.

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re not answering me,” you sigh and move up to the counter.

“I don’t know, you make me wanna do nice things,” he says and faces the barista, “black coffee and whatever she wants.”

You hesitate but take your cue. You order your matcha latte and he taps his card. You clamp your lips together. Does he think you’re pathetic? That you need him to pay for a tea?

You go to wait by the order window and sway impatiently. You grip the strap of your bag and stare out into the mall. Hansen leans into you, brushing his arm against you.

“So, couple of bitches, huh?” He says.

“What?” You whip around to face him.

“Those girls.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. We went to school together…”

“Figured,” he shakes his head, “they’re only jealous. Girls like that, they don’t know how to feel anything else. Always a competition.”

“Hm, I guess.”

“Not like you.”

You glance at him then to the counter. You just want to get your tea and leave. You tap your fingers on the strap of your bag.

“So, the lake house,” he changes the subject, “what do you think?”

“Uh, dunno,” you watch the barista at the steaming espresso machine, “dad didn’t say anything.”

“I’m not asking about dad. You ever been to the lake?”

“Which lake?”

He chuckles, “now who’s not answering who?”

You shrug and cross your arm over your chest, rubbing your shoulder. Your order is up. Before you can move, Hansen puts his hand on your lower back, ushering you with him to grab his cup as you claim your own.

You pull away from him as you leave the shop. He keeps pace with you as you try to figure out a way to nicely get rid of him. You didn’t expect to run into him twice. How reappearance convinces you it’s less than coincidental, but would he really wait around the mall just to bother you?

“I should go study…” you say at last.

“Study. Boring,” he comments.

“Maybe but… I have to.”

“Oh, do you always do the right thing?” He prompts.

You don’t know how to answer. You turn the hot cup in your hand as you walk along the mall corridor. 

“No, I don’t know, I…”

“A good girl like you, always doing what you should but never what you want to do,” he says, “did you ever even ask yourself what you want?”

“I.. I don’t know what you mean.”

“You want to what? Study boring books? Get a boring degree? Get a boring job?” He continues, “all so one day you can live in a boring house with a boring husband? And have boring kids?”

“I– I never… I’m just going to school.”

“Because? Because you never thought of doing anything else. Of anything fun. I’m fun, sweetheart.”

You blow across the lid of your tea and taste it. It’s good but you find it hard to enjoy. Not with him there. Not with your mind racing.

“I like being boring,” you say at last.

He snorts, “sure you do. You're whole look screams boring. Well, let me know when you’re really bored, sweetheart. I’ll give you everything you never knew you wanted.”

You peek over at him. His eyes are on you, his cheek dimples. He raises his cup in a toasting gesture and turns on his heel. 

“I’ll be waiting,” he tosses over his shoulder.

You stop and watch his smooth gait. His confidence is almost intimidating. It’s as if he knows things you don’t. You turn away and continue towards the south entrance. Boring is just fine, boring is safe.

🖤

“Shut your fucking mouth!” Your father’s voice carries through the wall.

“Ah, don’t you get fucking rude with me,” your mother slurs back, “fuck you, Ray. Fuck you!”

It’s not unusual. You’ve heard the same argument over and over. It doesn’t matter what starts it, it’s always the same. They yell until they’re hoarse, they slam doors, and in the morning, they act like nothing happened at all.

You put your earbuds in and turn up your music. You know how to tune them out. If you’re good at anything, it’s at shutting out the world around you.

You lay down and close your eyes, holding your phone against your stomach as you mouth the lyrics. You just want to fall asleep but the anxiety of knowing they’re fighting keeps you awake. You just need to wait it out.

Your phone buzzes but you ignore it. It’s probably just an email or another notification trying to make you spend money. You focus on the layers of the music; the strings, the percussion, the vocals. Your phone goes off again.

You raise it and open your eyes, the screen fuzzy as your eyes adjust to the darkness. You tap the speech bubble that signifies a new message. The number is private.

‘Getting packed?’ The message reads. You have no idea what it means. You send back, ‘wrong number’. Three dots pop up immediately.

‘No it’s not.’ The answer comes swiftly. You return a question mark and nothing else.

‘You’re going to need a good jacket for the lake house.’

You rub your forehead and sit up. You key in, ‘Mr. Hansen?’

‘The one and only.’ He confirms. How did he get your number? ‘If you don’t have one, we can take a shopping trip.’

You don’t get it. What does he want from you? You know the way he is, you’ve heard the way he talks about other people, you hear the stuff he says to your dad. Their friendship at most is acrimonious. Is this a ploy against your father?

‘I have a jacket. I’m sleeping. Good night.’

You lay down and turn onto your side, keeping the ear bud from slipping out as you put your phone beside your pillow. It lights up with a new message. You close your eyes. You lay in the storm of your nerves. You have to check. You reach for your phone and read the screen.

‘No you’re not’.

You don’t understand. How would he know? He’s bluffing. You won’t entertain his little games, he’s just messing with you. Just like everyone else.

[thetriumphantpanda]

Cruel Summer | Javier Peña (Chapter One)

Javier Peña is back in Laredo, this time for good. He hadn't banked on you still being there, especially not with a wedding ring on your finger. A complicated shared history and plenty of unresolved feelings between the two of you should make for an interesting summer.

Pairing | Javier Peña x reader

Warnings | angst, fluff, swearing, alcohol consumption, eventual smut in future chapters, verbal and slight physical domestic abuse (Not from our boy Javi) but nothing else at this stage.

Word Count | 2.9K

Authors Note | So, Cruel Summer by T Swift has me in a chokehold right now and my boy Javi is getting the multi-chaptered fic he deserves from me. I wanted this to be different to what I've written before, there will be some tough reading but I want to challenge myself with this fic. Please let me know whether you like this - I've got a few chapters written and I can't wait to share them with you. Likes, reblogs, and messages in my ask box help keep me going so please do share your thoughts.

Bad Bad Boy, Shiny Toy With A Price, You Know That I Bought It.

The heat was stifling in Laredo. June had hit hard and no matter of the fact that you’d spent your whole life living here, you’d never quite got used to the summer heat. You could feel a bead of sweat pool at your collarbone as you leant over the sewing machine. Without looking up, you swiped the handkerchief sitting on the side of your worktable and dabbed at it, not wanting it to fall onto the material of Gabriela’s wedding dress that you were currently altering. 

The tinkling of the shop door hitting the bell alerted you to someone in the front of the shop. Sighing that someone had broken the concentration you had been using to focus on the seams of the dress in front of you, you stood up and went to see who had come to visit. 

“Hola Gabriela.” 

Gabriela had been your friend since school. The two of you had been inseparable, even when she’d traded small town Laredo for the bright lights of Austin to get her degree, you’d visited every weekend. As much as you’d always wanted to get out of town yourself you knew no matter what happened you’d be back so you’d decided against signing away your parents life savings and decided to open up a small tailoring shop in town. 

“Hola, querida niña,” She replied, “How are you doing today?” 

“Ah, I’m fine,” You replied, “Apart from melting in the back of the shop altering your dress.” 

“I still can’t thank you enough,” Gabriela gushed, holding a hand over the growing baby bump, “I still can’t quite believe I’m going to be one of those pregnant brides.” 

You chuckled, reaching out a hand to squeeze her shoulder, “You’ll look beautiful regardless,” You reassured her, “You’re already glowing.” 

“You’re too kind,” She replied, “Listen, I only came by to let you know a few of us are heading to the bar tonight if you wanted to join us?” 

“Ahhh Gabriela, I’m not sure, I think Ethan probably wants me at home.” 

She raised her eyebrows at you, “It was actually his idea, so no getting out of this one.”

You sighed but relented, agreeing to meet your friend at the bar once you’d closed up shop later that afternoon before giving her a hug and sending her on her way with a promise that she could come and try the altered dress on next week. 

*** 

The bar was packed by the time you arrived from the shop. People had filed in throughout the afternoon to seek shelter from the stifling heat outside. With whiskey and beer running through their veins, many of them had failed to leave after lunchtime. Standing at the bar whilst you waited for the bartender to open your beer you scanned the room looking for your friends. 

You’d found them huddled in a booth in the corner. The number of empty bottles that littered the table let you know they’d been drinking for some time. You hated it when Ethan drank too much. His short career as a college football star boosting his ego enough to make him quite possibly the most unlikeable person you’d ever met, even if you had married him. 

“Can I get a whiskey as well please?” You asked the girl behind the bar once she placed the open bottle of beer in front of you. 

She nodded and was back quickly with the whiskey which you shot in one, placing a couple of notes on the bar to cover the cost before reluctantly joining your friends in the corner. 

“Baby!” Ethan exclaimed when he saw you, pulling you down by the arm to sit on his lap, “What took you so long?” 

You took a long drag of your beer before answering, “Sorry, I was trying to get as much of Gabriela’s dress done as I could.” 

In front of everyone he pushed the hair away from your neck and placed chaste kisses behind your ear and down your neck which caused a shiver to run down your spine and not in a pleasant way. 

“Ethan please, not in front of everyone.” You chastised, standing from his lap to sit on the open chair opposite it, next to Gabriela. 

You watched closely as he shot a glare your way but was soon distracted by Gabriela’s fiancé and the rest of his friends and moved on. 

“You know, I heard some interesting new today.” Gabriela spoke into your ear so you could hear her over the music. 

“Hmmm?” You mused, turning to look at her. 

She paused, looking at the door of the bar, “Well, speak of the devil.” 

Your eyes followed her line of sight at your breath hitched in your throat. Javier Peña. Javier fucking Peña, in the flesh, back in Laredo. You, like most people in town, hadn’t seen him in years. There had been a rumour he’d been back a couple of years ago but had disappeared as soon as he’d arrived, but there was no denying he was here now. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” You murmured, “What the hell is he doing back here?” You asked. 

“Mamá heard from Chucho that he’s back for good,” She spoke, “She doesn’t know the details but something happened in Colombia and that’s all I know.” 

You watched intently as he walked to the bar and ordered a drink. Folks who were sat at the bar or standing around it turned and gave him a welcome, some of the men clapped him on the back or shook his hand, obviously congratulating him for a job well done. 

“Aren’t you going to go and say hello?” Gabriela spoke, lower this time so no-one else on the table could hear her. 

You turned to her with open eyes, panic flooding through your veins. You lifted the bottle of beer to your lips only to find it was empty, your brain had obviously been subconsciously telling you to drink it to keep your anxiety at bay. 

“Looks like you need another, go on!” She all but pushed you from your seat into a throng of people. 

You sighed; she was right. If Javier fucking Peña was going to be in your periphery for the rest of the night you were going to need more alcohol and if he was staying around for a while you needed to rip the band aid off instead of slowly peeling at it. 

You tried to hang back from the bar as much as possible, trying to hide yourself amongst the crowd but it was just your luck that the spot that opened in front of you was right next to him. You stepped forward, leaning against the bar to wait for the bartender to notice you. You turned to face Javier who had his eyes trained into the glass of whiskey. 

“You know, it’s usually tea leaves you read for visions of the future, not whiskey.” 

He lifted his head at your voice, clearly as taken aback by your presence as you were to his. You watched as his eyes looked at your face before the spark of recognition washed over him. 

“Well, I’ll be,” He spoke, “Of all the people I thought that would still be here, you were the last person I would have guessed.” 

You shrugged, “I could say the same for you, last I heard you were gone for good.” 

He shrugged back, “Things didn’t work out.” Was all he offered. 

“That’s not what I heard.” 

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t believe everything you hear or read.” 

The bartender stood in front of you, you handed her the empty bottle and asked for another, dropping the notes required to cover the cost on the bar as she walked away. 

“Are you back at the ranch?” You asked, attempting to steer the conversation somewhere that wouldn’t lace his voice with venom. 

“Yeah,” He sighed, “Pops needs help and it’s a good enough distraction right now,” He drained his glass of whiskey, asking the bartender to refill it when she’d placed your beer in front of you, “What about you, what’s keeping you busy?” 

You snorted through your nose, “Nothing grand, I’ve got a little tailoring shop in town, it’s small and most people tend to go to the bigger shop a few streets over but it suits me.” 

He smiled at that, “You were always creative,” He spoke, “I remember that dress you made for the summer party at school, it was lovely.” 

“Thanks,” You said, “I have to admit I’m much better now, Gabriela has entrusted me with altering her wedding dress, it’s probably the biggest responsibility I’ve ever had.” 

“I’m sure you’ll do a great job.” He shot a smile your way. 

“Well, it’s good to see you Javier,” You spoke, picking up your beer, “Don’t be a stranger.”

He placed a hand on yours that was resting on the bar and gave it a soft squeeze before you turned and made your way back to your table. You sat back down next to Gabriela before glancing at Ethan who had a face like thunder. There was no doubt he’d watched your every move when you’d left the table and you knew you were going to pay for that when you both got home. 

***

“Who were you talking to at the bar?” 

You’d barely walked into your house when Ethan started on your interrogation. 

“His name is Javier,” You replied, dropping your bag by the front entrance, “Gabriela and I knew him from school although he was a couple of years above us.” 

“Peña?” He asked, “Laredo’s resident hero?” You didn’t like his tone. 

“If you’re going to say something Ethan, then just say it.”  

“You know how I feel about you talkin’ to other men,” He started, turning away from you to pour himself a glass of whiskey, “You’re my wife.” 

“But talking to your friends is fine?” You asked, knowing that antagonizing him was probably a terrible idea, “Because you chose them, right?” 

“Don’t fuckin’ test me tonight,” He warned, “I saw the way he touched you.” 

“He touched my hand for all of two seconds Ethan, for crying out loud!” You exclaimed, “He was my friend and I’d not seen him in years.” 

You watched as Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose to calm himself down before draining his glass and pouring another one. 

“I want you to stay away from him,” He spoke lowly, the voice you knew was a warning to you to not push him any further, “Chris told me you weren’t just friends so don’t fucking lie to me.” 

“Well Chris is full of bullshit, he didn’t know me then and he sure as hell doesn’t know me now, Javier has never been more than a friend to me, but go ahead, believe whatever you want.” 

You turned on your heel to walk down to the bedroom before feeling a hand clamp around your upper arm and drag you back. 

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” He spat right into your face, “You stay away from him, do you understand me?” 

“Yes, I understand,” You relented, “Please let go of me Ethan, you’re hurting me.” 

He did as you asked, turning away almost immediately to let you walk away. It was the same as always. You’d do something to upset him, he’d grab you, put pressure on you enough to hurt you and then let you go once you turned on your sickly-sweet voice to tell him you were hurting. Then you’d wrap yourself up in bed, pretend to be asleep when he came to bed and lie awake all night wondering what the hell had gone so wrong with your life. 

***

It had been a busy few days following the weekend. Gabriela had come in for her fitting and had decided the arms on the dress needed to go. It would be too hot, and she would be too pregnant to handle the lace sleeves she’d chosen originally so you’d been pulling long hours in the shop basically constructing her a an entirely new gown. You’d be lying to yourself if you weren’t also avoiding spending too much time at home with Ethan and trying to avoid Javier out in public. 

It was just after lunch time when the door of the shop opened, pulling you from your job of dressing the mannequins with some of the dresses you’d made a few weeks ago and to your dismay, Javier was standing in the doorway with an armful of clothes. 

“Oh, Javier, nice to see you,” You spoke politely, “Just give me a minute to button this up and I’ll be right with you.” 

“Take your time, Querida.” He responded, walking over to the counter to set his items down. 

You quickly fastened the buttons of the dress and placed the mannequin in the window before heading to the counter. 

“What can I do for you?” 

“I’d forgotten quite how ranch life worked,” He admitted, “I’ve popped the buttons off two pairs of jeans since I came back but there’s still life in them, do you think you can replace them?” He asked. 

You unfolded the jeans he’d put on the counter; it would be a simple fix for sure, “Yeah of course, it shouldn’t take me more than a few minutes if you wanted to hang around, I can do them now.” 

“If it’s not too much trouble?” 

“Not at all,” You smiled, taking the jeans in your hands, “If you come back here you can sit whilst I work.” 

You led him into the tiny workshop in the back where you kept your sewing machine. Motioning for him to sit on the chair you kept for customers you took your own chair and rifled through the drawers to find suitable buttons. 

“So, apart from ruining your jeans, how is the ranch treating you?” You asked as you picked out a needle and thread. 

“It’s the same as it’s always been,” He replied, “I guess ranching never changes and Pops has done a good job in keeping it going on his own.” 

“Chucho never fails to amaze me,” You mused as you threaded the needle, “I’m sure he’s glad to have you back.” 

Javier scoffs lightly, “I think mostly I’m a hinderance, I’m not as young as I was and all those cigarettes are finally catching up with me,” You didn’t reply, instead focusing on situating the button before you began sewing it onto the material, “And how about you? Pops said you got married a few years ago?” 

Your hands stilled as you looked up at him, “Uh yeah, it’ll be two years in September,” You forced a smile, “It happened pretty quickly but then most things do down here.”  “What’s he like?” Javier asked, you could feel his eyes boring into you as you tried to concentrate on sewing without stabbing your fingers. 

“He’s nice,” You replied simply, “He runs a sales business with one of his buddies from college which managed to buy us a house last year.”  “Nice, huh?” You knew he could see right through you, “Well I’m glad, you always deserved someone… nice.” 

Another moment when you stilled your hands at their work, this time refusing to meet his gaze that you could tell was still fixed on you, “And you?” You asked back.

“Marriage, me?” You could sense some tension in his voice, “The first time I got near I realized I could never be that man for someone, and I knew Colombia wasn’t forever, so no, I’m not married.” 

“Well, now you’re back I’m sure you’ll find plenty of willing volunteers.” 

He chuckled, but didn’t respond, “And your family, how’re they?” 

“Mamá is the same as always,” You mused, finishing up the sewing of the first button, deciding to look at him this time, “But dad died last year.” 

You watched his features soften a little, “Ah hermosa, I’m sorry.” He offered and you can tell there was genuine sympathy, he’d lost his mother many years ago but must know the pain that comes with losing a parent. 

“Está bien, Javier,” You replied, slipping into the small amount of Spanish you had, “He was sick for a while, so it was more of a relief than anything else.” 

“It’s still never easy,” He offered, “And he was a good man, I’m surprised Pops didn’t say anything, they were close.” 

You shrugged but didn’t say anything opting to focus on finished his second pair of jeans. You worked in silence and were done in a few minutes. 

“There, all done now.” You smiled, folding the two pairs of jeans and handing them back to him before leading him back to the front of the store. 

You handed him the jeans back and watched as he fished into his jeans for his wallet, “Oh don’t worry about it, it was a five-minute job, treat it as a welcome home gift.” 

“Don’t be silly, Querida, let me pay you.” 

“Honestly Javier, put your wallet away.” 

He looked at you and finding the serious look on your face he put his wallet back in his pocket, “Well, thank you, I really appreciate it.” 

“No problem, drop in anytime you need anything.” You called as he turned to walk out of the shop. 

He stilled for a moment at the door and you stared at his back, wondering what was stopping him from leaving before he turned his head slightly over his shoulder to speak to you. 

“I’m sorry, hermosa.” 

And then he was gone. 

PREV | NEXT

[yelenasdiary]

Hi hi hi! Can I request Flufftober Scarlett x Reader romantic? Maybe falling asleep in Scarlett’s arms after a hard day? Or attending a party where Scarlett wants nothing more than to be by your side always?

Thank you 🙏🙏🫡

Feels Like Home

Pairing:  Scarlett Johansson x GN! Reader

Summary:  After a long, long day at work, Scarlett makes the afternoon super relaxing.

Warnings:  None | 0.8K

AC: Thank you for requesting this, I hope you enjoy it! x

October Special Masterlist

Your legs, arms, neck and back all ached as you walked through the front door of your home, greeted by the smell of a home cooked meal causing you to sigh in relief. Scarlett was home, after being away for two days, you were glad to have her home, especially after today. Working in childcare has its ups and downs, the downside is how tiring it is by the end of the day. 

Covered in all sorts of things, the first thing you do is kick your shoes off and sneak off to the bathroom. A warm shower helped relax your body, thank god it was Friday and you had the weekends off. Being so close to Halloween, the children were busy making all kinds of different Halloween decorations to take home to their family. 

After your shower, you wandered into the kitchen, smiling softly when you locked eyes with Scarlett. "Welcome home" she walked over to you, wrapped her arms around you. "I could say the same about you" you replied with a chuckle before letting your body sink into her hold. Scar placed a kiss on the top of your head, "rough day?" she asked seeing how drained you looked. 

"Long, just a long, long day" you replied as you kindly pulled away to look into her eyes, "I missed you a lot" you added. You always did miss her when she was away but even more so when you were exhausted. "I figured the last few days were tough, I'm cooking your favourite, and it should be ready in the next 20 minutes. Go get yourself comfy on the sofa, I've already placed a hot coco on the coffee table and your favourite blanket is waiting for you" Scarlett replied, placing a kiss on your lips. 

"You're the best" you complimented before making your way into the living room. 

Netflix was already waiting for you to endlessly scroll through until Scarlett joined you on the sofa, your favorite fluffy blanket was calling your name as you sat down and pulled it over yourself, reaching for the mug of fresh coco to warm your hands. You weren't even bothered that you left your phone in the bedroom or the fact that you still hadn't gone grocery shopping like you planned too after work, but then again, you knew Scarlett probably had already covered that as well. 

"Here you are my love" Scarlett smiled as she handed you a dish of your favorite meal that smelt amazing, she always was able to cook it to perfection. "Thank you, baby! It looks amazing!" you replied, suddenly remembering just how hungry you truly were having last eaten at lunchtime. 

The two of you ate over small talk before finally deciding on a movie to watch, The Mother. Scarlett was more into the movie while you struggled to stay awake, especially when you were cuddled up with Scar and her fingers running through your hair. You were more focused on the sound of her heart beating and feeling the way her stomach moved against you as she breathed in and out, she was like a natural relaxant. 

Soon enough you felt your body drifting off into a slumber, you tried your best to stay awake to finish the movie, but you couldn't fight the fatigue and eventually Scarlett heard soft snores coming from you. She pulled the blanket up to cover you more and placed another kiss on the top of your head, "I love you" she whispered even if you couldn't hear her. 

Falling asleep in the arms of somebody you loved so dearly was a feeling of home in itself. You felt safe, loved, valued and seen. All things Scarlett never failed to make you feel, even with her celebrity status, she always made it clear that nothing ever felt like home than being at home with you. 

By morning, you woke up in your shared bed, Scarlett still asleep beside you. She had carried you to bed shortly after the movie had finished but you were so tired, you didn't even feel a thing. You couldn't help yourself but kiss the blonde's cheek softly before slipping out of bed and making your way to the kitchen. You were right, Scarlett had taken care of the grocery shopping, you grabbed all the ingredients you needed to make some French toast and freshly squeezed orange juice. 

You were squeezing the juice when you felt two arms wrap around your waist, "good morning" Scarlett's raspy voice pulled a smile from your lips. "You were supposed to stay in bed" you chuckled, "I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed!" you added.  

"I'm sorry, I missed you. I went to snuggle you, but you were missing, I thought I lost you" She joked, making you both chuckle at her poorly made joke. 

"Well, act surprised, breakfast is served" you turned in her arms and smiled softly before holding up some French toast to her lips, she took a bite and hummed at the taste, "best French toast I have ever had!" she complimented. 

"The chef only takes compliments in kisses" you smirked with a raised brow. Scarlett pulled you closer and kissed you softly. This was home, to you and to her.

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[ahockeywrites]

one

link to main masterlist pairing: lila rogers (ofc) x arber xhekaj warnings: none in this chapter authors note: chapter one is here! let me know how you guys are finding it :)

Lila didn’t speak French. Well, not much French. Not enough to hold a conversation with patrons so in the bakery, she was the one creating the baked goods. Bread, croissants, doughnuts, brownies. You name it, she made them with their traditional flavours following family recipes but each week there was a limited-edition delicacy that the shoppers loved. The role in the back of the store allowed Lila baking creativity and freedom that she had never had before.

The Montreal sun basked down on Lila as she made the short walk from Jessica’s house to their bakery. It was an early start for Lila, but she didn’t mind as her finish time was earlier than her aunt’s. A travel mug was a staple in her hand, and she sipped the coffee, savouring the hot liquid as it travelled down her throat.

Her morning routine was always the same. One: heat up all the ovens. Two: make a batch of sourdough, white, rye and wholemeal bread, shape them and leave them in the proving oven. Three: defrost the doughnut dough and start making the filling for them. Four: take out the pre-shaped croissants and other buttery items and put them in the oven to bake for the early morning visitors to the shop. Five: clean out the coffee machine and the front of house so that when her aunt arrived, they could open their doors immediately.

By the time Lila had wiped down the coffee machine and refilled the beans, Jessica arrived through the employee entrance at the back. It wasn’t really an employee entrance because only two of them worked there but that’s what a proper restaurant or bakery would call it so that’s what her and Jessie called it.

Jessica was only a few years older than Lila and were more like close cousins or friends than a traditional aunt and niece. They both shared their family’s blonde hair, green eyes, and shortness with neither of them being taller than five foot three. Lila just pipped Jessica by half an inch and the older woman refused to accept it, even though she knew.

The women worked in tandem until both of their alarms went off to signify that it was seven am and time to open the store. Jessica started welcoming in the early customers and making various types of coffees for the commuters who were on their way to their jobs on the centre of the island. Lila took the opportunity to hide in the back and begin preparing dough and batter for the following day.

The phone rang, probably someone requesting a custom cake or a supplier who wasn’t able to get something they usually requested, and Lila popped out to the front with a fresh tray of bread and doughnuts to restock up the counter. It was almost the lunchtime rush so Lila was pretty sure that it would be quiet as she sat on the stool in front of the cash machine. She made herself a cup of peppermint tea and sipped on it, hoping no customers turned up.

Her phone buzzed and she noticed that the latest post on the bakery’s Instagram had been posted on a travel account and now the following on that account had started going up by the minute. An idea popped into Lila’s head, and she quickly went through her photos to find one she took outside the store with the opening times on the outside. It was perfect because it would give all the new followers information of when the bakery would be open and should increase the profits.

The bell above the door rang and Lila jerked off the chair, almost dropping her phone onto the floor but very thankful that she didn’t as the bakery didn’t make enough for her to replace one just yet. She would need to save for at least another two months to be able to afford that.

“Bonjour,” Lila’s limited French was coming in handy, but she didn’t know how much more of the conversation she could hold up without changing to English.

“Anglais, merci,” the customer asked, and Lila sighed audibly. A chuckle escaped the man’s lips. Thank the heavens that this customer didn’t want to speak French or that they noticed how bad her Quebecois accent was, they felt bad and spoke English to her. One or the other, Lila didn’t mind, it calmed her anxiety down tenfold.

The customer was tall, had shaggy, dark hair paired with chestnut-coloured eyes. His chin and upper lip were dotted with a sparse coating of stubble but not enough to fully cover his light skin, but enough for him to go a few days without shaving before he needed to sort it out.

His face looked familiar to Lila, but she couldn’t place it. She welcomed the customer in English and took his order. Vanilla latte, two apple fritter doughnuts, two croissants and a loaf of sourdough. He didn’t look like a sourdough type of man, but who was Lila to judge.

She was thankful for the regulars who came in every other day for a bread restock, the couple who came in every weekend to get two americano’s with cream and two croissants before going on a walk in one of the local parks, the tourist who had found her Instagram account and wanted to try a speciality doughnut. Lila was thankful for every person who walked through the door and took a chance on a family bakery.

Lila packaged up the items for the customer and even gave him one of their branded tote bags for free. She hoped that by him carrying it, he might become a walking billboard and inadvertently advertise the small family bakery. He was attractive, so it wasn’t an impossibility, Lila thought.

Her body moved across to the cash register and started ringing up all his items as his large hands wrapped around his reusable coffee mug. That reminded her that she needed to put the one-dollar discount that they ran for not using a disposable cup. Save the environment and all that jazz.

“That’ll be twenty-two dollars,” Lila said, feeling more comfortable speaking English than French. The customer’s lips curled into a smile as he reached into his jacket pocket to collect his wallet and bringing out a credit card. He tapped it on the reader before wishing Lila well and waving before he went back outside into the Montreal weather.

That was one customer that Lila wouldn’t mind seeing again.

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 17 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: time for a reckoning.

words: 9.5k

chapter warning: angst. bitter feelings.. description of a shooting.

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whomp. hurt/comfort. s*xu*l situations. spousal ab^se. family trauma. dr^g use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don't remember when TVs were square, you should not be here.

Back to Part 16.

Part 17

Twelve hours after she last saw Peter, she emerged from her bedroom for the first time. It was already past lunchtime, but she didn’t have much of an appetite. Wearing a comfortable athleisure set with a soft fleece half-zip pullover (with plenty of pockets), she took only a glance down the hallway at Peter’s door. The door to the primary bedroom was closed, shrouded in shadow.

“If you’re lookin’ for ‘em, he’s not here,” a feminine voice called from downstairs. It was Felicia. 

Honey followed the sound and padded down the stairs to see the other woman standing next to Rex’s terrarium. With her long, silver hair flowing down her back, she leaned down and curiously watched Rex chase after a tiny swarm of crickets. Her eyes were focused with morbid curiosity, tongue poking slightly out of her lip as she studied how the lizard moved. He darted around in the blink of an eye, gobbling up the tiny insects and crushing them in his jaws. He was so much faster when he had something to hunt.

“Didn’t know you were here,” Honey said, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “Got a meeting or something?”

“Nah, I’m on my lunch break,” she smirked. “Mafia stuff works up an appetite.” She straightened her back and let out a long sigh. “Wanna go do somethin’?”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“Well,” Felicia explained, “I was thinkin’ we could hang out. Just us girls. Get some lunch. Go get our nails done. Do some shopping. Stop by the hospital and snap a few x-rays?”

Honey’s shoulders slumped, her face falling flat. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Felicia replied teasingly. “I heard you almost took a flaming bumper to the face. Pretty close call. Then again, I’ve had worse dates, though—”

“What did Peter tell you?” Honey asked sharply, her lips pressed together.

Felicia furrowed her brows. “All he told me was that you should probably see a doctor,” she frowned, disappointed at the hostility. “Nothin’ else.”

Honey rolled her eyes. “You ever get tired of doing what he tells you to do?”

Felicia blinked her long plush lashes several times, then replied calmly. “I’m not here because he told me to be. I’m here because I thought you needed a friend.” Honey swallowed hard, glancing away toward the bright windows and letting the light burn her eyes. “But if that’s not something you need right now, I get that too. Just say so.”

She sighed, and when she faced Felicia again, her eyes were red-rimmed. A lump settled in her throat, and her voice was a weak murmur. “It’s not the pain that bothers me. It’s the fear.” 

She bit down on her jaw to steady it, attempting to ward off tears with her loathing. She looked over at Felicia to see the woman watching her patiently, brows pinched together with concern. 

“For a second there, I thought I was gonna die,” she explained grimly. “I saw the flash... and I felt the heat— and I-I thought I was already dead.” Her eyes misted over, and she brought the back of her hands up to rub them angrily. She sniffed. “I was going to die and couldn’t do anything about it. I’d rather break every bone in my body than feel that again. I’d rather die, th-than feel...”

She couldn’t finish the sentence, biting down on her tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. She flung out a million curse words in her brain, admonishing herself for crying in front of Felicia. Self-loathing bubbled up in her chest. A cruel, bitter chuckle escaped her throat as she reminisced over her suggestion to ‘embrace her power.’ It was a joke to think she had anything of the sort.

“Helpless,” Felicia supplied solemnly. 

Honey glanced up at her. Blinking with surprise, she observed how the other woman held herself. Arms crossed tight in front of her chest. Whatever difficulty Honey had with eye contact, Felicia had it worse. The taller woman pressed her lips together, grimacing.

When the two women finally met each other’s eyes, Honey was perplexed. It wasn’t pity on Felicia’s face—not like she’d feared. Instead, there was a painful solidarity between them. 

As Honey opened her mouth to speak, Felicia strode up to her, arms extended. Then, too quickly and perhaps too awkwardly, the taller woman hunched down and pulled her into a tight embrace.

Honey gasped at the action. She was hugging her. Honey wasn’t tall enough to place her chin on Felicia’s shoulder. Instead, she leaned into the hug, resting her chin against her clavicle. 

Awkward as it was, it was a very pleasant hug. The smaller woman returned it as best she could, despite the throbbing ache in her side. At that moment, she could look past that pain and allow herself to feel the embrace. 

Felicia gave good hugs, she decided.

Tears welled up in Honey’s eyes, and she allowed herself to feel those, too.

Thirty-six hours after she last saw Peter, she curiously poked her head into the empty primary bedroom to see it untouched. Sheets were pristine and smoother than glass. His toothbrush and toiletries were missing from the bathroom.

Peter had granted her wish. Both of them—it appeared, including the request she made before their shoot-out at the arcade. She wanted space, and now she had it. 

Not only had Peter not made an appearance, but every faceless guard had strangely vacated the penthouse. It was quiet in the morning haze. Peaceful.

She spent the day alone with Rex on her shoulder. They found plenty of things to do. After all, they were in a million-dollar home. They had endless hours of TV to watch. They had access to a full home gym (which she hadn’t bothered to enter until now and wasn’t going to while icing a hairline-fractured rib, no matter what Rex said about accountability). She had a library of beloved novels to read, a heated infinity pool on the roof, and a $5,000 coffee maker. 

What more could she possibly need?

Thirty-seven hours after Peter, she noticed no more lights coming from the camera in her bedroom. Or in the hall. Or in the primary bedroom, or the great hall, or the terrace entrance, or the kitchen, or anywhere else she looked. 

Thirty-eight hours after Peter.

Thirty-nine hours after Peter.

Forty hours after Peter.

Forty-six hours after Peter, she tucked herself into the covers of her own bed. She was exhausted, and the doctor-prescribed 4-6 hour pain medication had worn off. 

She embraced the pain like it was her child. It was grounding and balanced the self-righteous anger that burned in her chest. 

Peter wasn’t coming back tonight. It’s probably best, she thought. 

He’s probably fucking someone else, she thought.

Probably best.

The third day without Peter brought a pleasant surprise. Hearing a knock at the front door, she rushed into the foyer with Rex on her shoulder. The knock itself was odd since no one ever knocked. No one asked for her permission to enter. The place wasn’t ‘hers’ to grant people entry to. Or was it?

Curiously, she pulled the door open, and her heart filled with joy. “Miles!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around the teen. Rex skittered around almost up on her head, displeased with the lack of personal space.

“Hey,” he chuckled, surprised as he returned the embrace, “whassup? I mean, I know I’m a sight for sore eyes, but—”

Grinning wide, she pulled back. “Hell yeah, you are! I’ve missed you so much! How are you? What are you doing here? What have you been up to?”

“Whoooaa,” he replied, hands outstretched. “We’ll get to all that later. First, can I come in?”

Honey flexed a brow. “Can you—you’re asking me?”

“I was asking Rex, but he doesn’t have thumbs.”

She blinked, stunned. “Ye-yeah, sure. Come in!”

“Cool! Alright, second thing—I’m hungry.”

Honey and Miles sat together on the floor in the TV room with empty boxes of Filipino takeout around them. Miles took the last lumpia roll after Honey insisted that she was stuffed. She had yet to learn where the skinny kid was putting all the food.

They spent several hours catching up on the latest teenage drama. Miles did most of the talking. He filled her ears with everything from his college applications, an opportunity he received to paint a mural at a local Boys and Girls Club, to the pretty girl he ran into (literally) while leaving a bodega. She was amused and engaged—and overall honored that he would share his stories with her and allow her to be a sounding board. She lamented not being able to do the same with her sisters.

On her part, Honey didn’t have much to say about her recent experiences, nor did she really want to. However, a question kept prickling the back of her mind.

“So. Um.” She cleared her throat, wiping her hands with a napkin as the hour grew late. “Have you, um, talked to Peter lately?”

Miles pressed his lips together, glancing at her briefly before his eyes fell to the ground. “Nah. Not directly.” Several moments of silence passed. “Haven’t seen ‘em since—” He bit his tongue. “For a while.”

She hummed in acknowledgment. “Probably a good idea,” she said. 

Another pause. Miles watched her curiously. “I miss him.”

A bitter laugh she couldn’t contain burst from her lips. “I can’t imagine why.”

He raised a brow. “He’s not a bad person.”

She turned towards him accusingly. “How can you say that? You know what he is.” She connected the memory of Miles storming out of the penthouse after accusing him of being ‘on something,’ and the horrifying picture of Peter sticking a needle in his arm and becoming—something else. “You’ve seen what he’s done.” 

“I have,” Miles nodded knowingly, although his tone didn’t suggest that he agreed with her. He shifted his position and gazed down at his shoes, losing himself in thought. “I’m worried about him, y’know.”

Honey rolled her eyes. “Miles. Seriously. You need to worry about yourself.” She connected with his eyes, imploring. “Peter is dangerous. The life he lives is dangerous. You need to stay as far away from him as you can.”

Miles fixed his gaze on her, studying her reaction. “I’ve known Peter since I was a kid.”

“You still are a kid—”

“I mean it,” he declared. Honey observed the resolve in his expression and silenced herself, allowing him to speak without interruption. “I’ve seen him when things are bad, yeah. But I’ve also seen him at his best. There’s good and bad in him. In everybody.”

Sighing, Honey listlessly nodded. “Two wolves. I know. I know.”

Another long silence filled the air, prompting her to look over at him. There was a darkened expression in his eyes, mouth in a tight line, as he gazed at the wall.

“Did I tell you I almost went to jail?” he asked. A crease formed between her eyebrows. She shook her head in confusion. “Yeah,” he added, nodding sadly. A dark cloud rested over him. “It was, um—It was a few years ago. Not long after my mom got hurt.” He crossed his arms tightly. “It was when we moved from Brooklyn. Things sucked that first year. I was in a school I didn’t like. Didn’t have any friends. My dad had to start dropping me off at the front because I didn’t want to go. It was embarrassing.”

The slightest glimmer of amusement tweaked his eye, and Honey grasped at it with a warm smile. Then, just as quickly as the light appeared, it went out again like a flame in the wind.

“I got into fights a lot,” Miles said without pride. “I was angry, y’know? A lot.”

With solemn eyes, she bit her lip, nodding. Violence was still somewhat new to her, at least from the perpetrating side. Anger she knew intimately.

“Everyone tried to talk to me about it. My counselors at school told my dad that I needed to see a therapist. But how was I supposed to talk to anybody? I couldn’t even tell them who I was, or what happened—”

His voice clipped. He swallowed hard. Her brows furrowed with concern as she watched tears well in his eyes. 

“This one day, I don’t know. I lost it. I was walking home from school, and this kid from my class saw me. He was older than me, like 17 or something. This dude... sucked. Just not cool. Always messin’ with me. But on this day, I-I guess I wasn’t havin’ none of it. And I hit him. He went down, just one hit.” A smirk formed on his face. “It felt kinda good to shut him up.”

His half-smile faded, eyes darkening. “And then I hit him again. He was on the ground, and I-I just couldn’t stop.” 

His voice was wracked with shame. Honey reached out and grabbed his hand, wrapping her fingers tightly around his.

“Next thing I know, I feel hands pulling me off,” he swallowed dryly. “I’m tryin’ to fight all of ‘em. I don’t know, I guess I thought— Like, I was back there? Where they took me.” 

Tears welled in her eyes, as she sadly nodded with understanding.

“I kept fighting. Everyone. I wanted to hurt everyone—”

“Miles,” she said, heart aching. “None of that was your fault. You were probably having a flashback, you weren’t yourself—”

“Let me finish.” 

She silenced herself, stowing her pity.

“Pete was the one that stopped me. He stopped me. He hugged me. Told me to go home. So I did what he said. When the cops came, they weren’t lookin’ for me. They were looking for him. He told them that he was the one who beat up that kid. Said he was a punk that needed a lesson.” 

She sat motionlessly, stewing over the information. Miles looked up at her. “He took the fall for me. I asked him why. He saved my life, he got my family outta New York. Why do more than that? He said he believed in me. He saw what I did and believed I could be better than that. But if I had a record, no one was going to see past that.” His voice sounded tenser, stretched thin with emotion. “He saw me at my worst, and still—he tried to protect me. All he’s ever done since he got me outta that warehouse is try to protect me. Protect the people he cares about.”

Honey glanced away, her brows furrowed. Then, gently, she replied, “I understand why you feel that way, Miles. But he’s not just doing all this to protect us. He’s not keeping us safe.”

“Nah,” Miles nodded, shrugging with a half-smile. “Pete does what he does because he’s crazy. He’s messed up. Seriously.” She smirked back for a moment, the gesture failing to reach her eyes. “But I love ‘em, too. He’s family. That’s what families are for.”

Her heart cracked at his admission. She felt an overwhelming sense of pity for the teen. He was so pure. So naive. 

Carefully choosing her words, she gently replied, “Miles, I’m not sure you fully realize what Peter’s capable of.”

He nodded, then said, “I am, though. He saved my life. That’s what he’s capable of.” He added thoughtfully. “That’s the Peter Parker I believe in. The kinda guy that’s gonna make a good dad someday.” 

She observed him quietly, biting her tongue. The image of Peter holding a baby branded itself into her brain. She pictured him taking a hike near the mountain retreat with a small child sitting on his shoulders. 

Was Peter a boy dad or a girl dad? 

He was great with Miles in the moments that she saw them together. Peter had a knack for teaching. He gushed with enthusiasm when he’d explain a concept to Miles, whether nuclear fusion or chemical bonds. He made it sound interesting—even to her.

She could imagine Peter taking his boy by the hand and guiding him through the woods. Through adolescence. Struggling with the need to show them the world and all of its wonder and simultaneously wanting to shield him from it.

Then Honey remembered how Bella clung to Peter at her mom’s apartment. The child tugged on his pant leg, and he’d crouch down to meet her eyes. He didn’t patronize her when he spoke to her. He gave her his undivided attention, and Bella lit up inside to have it.

The memory of Bella pierced her heart, leaving a pang in her chest. “I don’t know about that,” Honey replied to Miles, her tone darker. “This is the same guy who has my niece hidden in a bunker somewhere.”

When she glanced over, Miles stared at her like she’d grown an extra arm. “What are you talking about?”

She sighed, eyes misty. “My niece, Bella. I miss her so much. Peter has her hidden somewhere, and he won’t tell me where.” Her brows furrowed in pain. “She’s just a baby.”

Miles blinked at her. Several times. “It’s not safe to know.”

She groaned with frustration. “Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

“No, you don’t get it. Peter can’t tell you where she is because he doesn’t know. No one does. That’s the whole point.”

Her head snapped towards him, eyes wide. “What?”

He shifted his body around, turning his shoulders towards her. “Only one person knows where your family is, and they’re not talking.”

She gazed at him, perplexed. 

“They’re not gonna say anything.” He wore a knowing look. She stared at him, her mind spinning. When she opened her mouth to speak, Miles raised his hand, silencing her. “That’s enough heavy stuff for one night. Let’s get back to the game.”

With that, he turned towards the OLED panel in the room and grabbed one of the two Nintendo controllers next to them. Waking up the Switch, he navigated to a new screen, pulling up a character selection.

“I got Bowser this time. You wanna be Yoshi again?”

Honey stared at him, deeply confused. Miles turned to her, picking up the controller and putting it in her hands when she didn’t reply. “C’mon, we gotta get started. My neighbor’s gonna play us online.” He poked her in the arm to get her attention, then nudged his head towards the Mario Kart selection screen. 

Confused, she glanced over at the characters. There was a Third Player.

“Cat Peach,” Honey said, staring at the Third Player’s character selection. “Bella loves Princess Peach.” When she looked back at Miles, he was a brick wall. Complete silence. Face neutral. Staring straight ahead at the TV screen, waiting for Honey to pick.

She curled her brow upwards, glancing at Miles, then back to the Third Player. Tears welled in her eyes as she observed the avatar on the screen. Her niece’s avatar. Her niece. Miles’ neighbor. Miles—mostly likely with his father’s help—had hid Bella and the rest of her family.

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she turned back to Miles, her jaw agape. He avoided looking straight at her, taking a sip of his third Mountain Dew. “C’mon now. Some of us have an early bedtime.”

One week after she last saw Peter, another surprise guest appeared. Because Felicia had been by every day, that’s who she expected to find at the door. Honey gasped with delight when she saw who it really was.

With twinkling eyes and hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie, Eddie smiled back. “If it isn’t Nancy Reagan.” 

They spent the next half-hour catching up. Honey profusely apologized—unnecessarily—to him for being the cause of another fallout. He rejected her apology—repeatedly— but accepted her offering of two-thirds of a strawberry cheesecake. 

Honey eventually got around to addressing the splinter under her skin. 

“So. Did Peter send you here to spy on me?” she asked, unsure if she wanted the answer.

“Nope.” He shook his head. She couldn’t help the strange way her heart sank at his answer. Eddie peered at her suspiciously. “But it would be nice to know what you want me to tell ‘em when he inevitably asks about you.”

She pressed her lips together, eyes suddenly interested in the granite of the countertop. She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say. She wasn’t even sure of what she wanted.

After an hour passed, Eddie explained that he was sent to the penthouse for a reason. To deliver a package.

Her eyes bulged, heart tripping, as he handed her a smartphone. The only thing that kept her from fainting was that the device was much smaller than the one she was hiding in her pocket. A model at least ten years old. It had a simple case with one of those artist-drawing stickers. A red spider. She looked up at him, eyes full of confusion.

“For emergencies,” Eddie said, shoving his hands back in his pockets. “You’re a big girl. I’m sure you’ll be fine. But just in case.”

Three weeks after she last saw Peter, she reached for the spider phone for the first time.

It was shortly after lunchtime at a chic, New American restaurant off of West 51st, adorned with a crystal chandelier, neon lights, and lush botanicals. Honey and Felicia were seated at the bar finishing up lunch (and a bottle of champagne) when the silver-haired woman excused herself to the restroom. 

Being left alone was no longer strange. In the past three weeks, Honey had experienced more freedom than she had in the last four months of living with Peter Parker. She was permitted to travel wherever she pleased. Just as long as she had the emergency phone. And guards to scope the area ahead of time and transport her. And Felicia or Miles as an escort. It didn’t feel like she was being escorted. After three weeks of lonely days in the penthouse, she longed for companionship. 

After the incident at the arcade, she tried to stay vigilant when left alone. But when she looked up to see Felicia return to the bar, a strange man sat on her stool instead. 

She’d never seen him before. He was at least sixty, but the expression lined in deep trenches on his long face made him appear centuries older. The scent of stale cigarettes enveloped him. With graying, auburn-sand hair and intense eyes that seemed to radiate disappointment, he fixed a hard gaze on her.

“I know who you are,” he quietly declared in a bitter tone.

Every muscle in her body froze, and she fought the urge to scream for help. Instead, she kept one hand on the bar near her nearly-empty plate, resting over her steak knife.

He glanced down at her hands, unimpressed, and he gave her a sardonic smirk. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help.” 

She remained nothing more than a statue, lips pressed tightly together.

“More importantly, I know who you’ve been with.”

She swallowed hard. Eyes wide, she flicked them cautiously toward the corridor Felicia had disappeared through as violent images filled her mind. The food began to creep up her esophagus. 

She shook her head. “I-I don’t know what you—”

“Don’t lie,” he sneered, light as a feather, while his eyes screamed in a fury. “I know you’re Peter Parker’s new girl.”

Her heart thrummed in her throat. She opened her mouth.

“If you make a scene, I’ll throw Miss Hardy into a jail cell so deep under this city she’ll be in New Amsterdam,” he glowered. Honey snapped her mouth shut while piercing sirens rang out in her head. “Did I mention I’m a cop?” he added with a cruel casualness. 

She felt dizzy, her heart sinking in her chest. Her brain ping-ponged between John Walker, and Wilson Fisk, and whoever planted the car bomb, and the corrupt officers that cut down Peter’s aunt and uncle in a spray of bullets. 

A long list of enemies. And by the look in this man’s eye, he wanted to be at the very top.

“My name is George Stacy,” he muttered, eyes dark. “Peter Parker killed my daughter.” 

Something inside her shattered as she connected the distraught rage emanating from the man seated next to her to the angelic face in Peter’s photo box. 

“Did he tell you about her? Did he tell you about Gwen?” His voice made a sound like glass breaking as he said her name. Grief and anger swirled in the blue depths of his eyes. A deep crease formed between Honey’s brows. 

“Excuse me.” Felicia’s biting tone caught their attention. “You’re in my seat.” They looked over to see the silver-haired woman glaring daggers at the older man, fearless in her stance. Honey had never felt so envious of her courage in her life.

George fixed her with a disgusted sneer. “Well, well. If it isn’t the Black Cat. Parker’s still your favorite place to sharpen your claws, isn’t he?”

Felicia didn’t flinch, crossing her arms. “Aww, Georgie. Didn’t know we were already at pet names. Get out of my chair.”

Anxiously, Honey glanced back and forth between the two heavyweights. George stared up at her through narrow eyes. “You’re lucky I don’t throw cuffs on you right here,” he said.

Felicia rolled her eyes. “Kinky. Got probable cause?”

“You’re a thief who gets on her knees for a murderer.” He side-eyed Honey. “You both are.”

“I don’t really like your accusations, Georgie,” Felicia snarked. “‘Specially the criminal kind. Got proof?”

George’s jaw clenched. His eyes were black with rage.

“Didn’t think so,” Felicia answered, then turned to Honey. “How ‘bout we get outta here? I’m sure Georgie here can settle our tab.”

The man suddenly came to a stand, his full height bringing him to eye level with her. “You disrespectful little smartass.” He leaned in close, pouring venom into her ear. “You’re trash. Standing behind a man who pushed his wife off the Brooklyn Bridge. She was going to leave him! And he killed her for it.” 

Wild-eyed, George turned to face Honey. “Y’know what she looked like when they pulled her body from the river?” His eyes welled with tears as he ground his teeth together. “Y’know what she looked like when I had to identify her? I couldn’t do it! The fall crushed every bone in her face!”

“That’s enough,” Felicia declared with a cold tone. “We’re leaving.” 

She took Honey by the shoulder, guiding her from the bar. She could feel the tears running down her cheeks once they stepped out into the frosty air.

“You’re protecting a monster!” George shouted after them, his voice, heart, and soul obliterated. 

Honey was quiet in the back of the car as they sped home. 

“Was he telling the truth?” Honey asked with a mouse-like whimper, unsure if she wanted the answer. Unsure if she wanted Felicia to lie.

The woman’s gaze darted over, appearing shocked even behind the giant, black lenses of her Givenchy sunglasses. “Are you kiddin’ me?” Felicia snapped with indignation. “Of course not!” The woman sounded offended at the accusation.

Honey stared at her in silence, trying to decide which version of the truth she wanted to believe.

Twenty-three days after Peter, Honey sat across from Miles at a bistro table in front of a streetside cafe. To her right sat Bella—wearing a princess dress. Delightful as she sketched out a cat on a piece of paper. Black crayon was smeared everywhere. Miles leaned over, giving her pointers on her cat drawing, showing her his sketch of a spider.

Honey wanted to say something. She really did. But couldn’t find the words. 

She couldn’t speak. 

Her eyes filled with terror as she recognized the tall figure stalking towards the table, wielding a shotgun in his hands. 

She couldn’t scream. 

John walked up to the table, pointed the shotgun at Miles’ chest, and fired.

When she awoke, she was screaming. Her chest landed hard against a warm, firm body. Her mouth was open and dry, and her eyes were clouded with nightfall, and her throat was raw, her skin sweaty, and her face was wet with tears. 

“It’s okay! You’re okay! You’re okay. It was a dream. I gotcha.”

She shuddered with relief, her heart still racing with terror. She gasped in short breaths, grounded only by the warmth on her chest, the sturdy oak branches around her body, and the soothing hum of Peter Parker’s voice.

“Shh, s’okay,” he cooed at her.

Honey buried her face in Peter’s neck, full-body sobs overtaking her. She squeezed his shoulders tight, digging her fingers into the fibers of his shirt. The scent of cinnamon and cedar filled her nostrils. Like some magic spell had been cast, she felt her muscles melt, cradled in the warmth of his hold.

“It’s okay,” Peter whispered, rocking her gently. “You’re safe. You’re okay.”

Another cry ripped through her chest at the idea. “M’not,” she stuttered over hiccups. “I’m not okay. Nothing is okay...”

She felt his fingers glide down her spine, smoothing down the tank top on her back. He softly replied, his breath tickling her ear, “It was just a bad dream—”

She was incoherent, crumpling in a pile of broken ‘no’s’ and ‘I can’ts’ and ‘I’m sorrys’ and ‘it's my faults.’ He chased away the shadows, his fingertips alternating between rubbing her back and running through her hair.

“‘S’not your fault, Honey,” Peter murmured, resolve in his voice. “None of this is your fault...”

Trembling with tears, she pulled away slowly. Hesitantly, Peter released his grip, handling her like an origami flower left out in the rain. 

The scruff of his beard had grown back in, and he wore a black pullover sweater that made him appear soft and gentle in a way she was unused to. She looked up at the golden-flecked, whiskey hue of his concerned gaze. Her own eyes were bloodshot and bleary. Her heart swelled and ached at the sight of him. Distressed, his eyes flitted over her face.

The spell wore off. As soon as Honey’s body heat left Peter’s hold, they both mourned the loss. He dropped his gaze to the comforter, his cheeks flushed disconcertedly. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, pulling his fingers away from her. “M’sorry, I-I wasn’t tryin’ to—I wasn’t watching you or anything.” 

His eyes darted around, hands fretting. “Of course not,” he muttered under his breath. “Who says that? Th-That’s stupid.”

He looked back at her earnestly, “I-I didn’t want—didn’t mean to intrude, I didn’t... I-I know ‘m’not supposed to be here. I just... I came by for some stuff, and... And I-I heard you scream, and I... I thought— Uh... I, um... I’ll-I’ll leave you alone now.”

Tears spilled in rivers down her cheeks. “Why are you protecting me, Peter?” she whimpered. “Can’t you see I’m not worth saving?”

He paused, eyes going wide.

“You can’t love me,” she wept. “You don’t know who I am. You don’t know what I’ve done.” She shook her head, racked with grief. “I keep trying to protect everyone, but-but I can’t—I... I’m killing them. I’m gonna get them killed.”

“What are you talking about?” Peter whispered. He squeezed his hands together, fighting the urge to cradle her face in them.

“‘M’not a good person, Peter. And I keep waiting for you to throw me away.”

He was dumbstruck into silence, shaking his head. Brows pinched together in horror.

“Don’t say anything,” she sniffed. “Please... don’t say anything. Just... just please. I need you to hold me.” He gazed at her blankly, as she closed the gap between them, pulling him into a kiss. 

Both of her arms circled his shoulders. She nudged her chest up against his. She pried open his mouth with her lips, slipping her tongue through. His breath hitched at the taste of her, his hands outstretched safely away from her body. 

She pulled her lips away with a heated smack, “Please, Peter. Please just touch me.” When she leaned in to kiss him, she felt the expanse of his broad hands on her lower back. He scooped her into his embrace, letting himself sink beneath the depths of her kiss. 

He could feel her heart beating up against his own, both of them like rabbits darting through prairie brush. She paused only briefly for air, resting her forehead against his before dragging her wet touch across his tongue. 

He could feel her everywhere. In every artery. In every cell. Drifting within his lungs. Swimming through his brain until he was dizzy. Whenever he felt himself floating, faint with desire, she snatched him tighter. Crushing their bodies against one another.

She emerged from the shell of her bedding, crawling into his lap. Threw her leg over him, pressing her heat against his belly. The sensation drew a gasp from his lips, and he seized her hips gently. He held them steady in place.

“Stop,” he breathed. He felt her go still. He squeezed his eyes closed, pulling his lips away. “We can’t.”

His words twisted a knife in her belly, her soul bleeding out. 

“I can’t,” he muttered apologetically.

She found his eyes, hers full of dismay. A punishment for her cruelty. She was afraid to ask. “Why not?”

His eyes glistened in the city lights outside of her window. He stared at her, the corners of his mouth downturned. “Because if you push me away, it’ll break me, Honey.” He swallowed heavily. “And I don’t have anything left to break.”

She squeezed her eyes closed, tears breaking through her lids. She lowered her head, grieving the innocence of when they’d first met. She’d give anything to go back to that moment. 

“Stay with me,” she whispered urgently. She met his eyes again. “Just stay here,” she said, softly begging. “Please. Just hold me.”

She nudged the tip of her nose against his. He gazed up at her with somber adoration and mourning, eyes achingly tender. 

“Just for tonight,” she pleaded. She wore a desperate expression, like she would perish if he let her go.

It hurt to look at her. It hurt to touch her, almost as much as it hurt not to touch her. Pain was a mutual friend. 

Tears shimmering at his eyelids, he nodded softly. 

Wordlessly, she gripped him tighter. As if she could physically hold on to the tiny bit of relief. She wanted to hold on for as long as she could.

They hung on to each other, curled up together beneath the darkness. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, her hand resting above his heart. Fingers outstretched, she studied the slow rise and fall of his chest. He buried his fingers in her hair, rubbing tiny circles on the nape of her neck. The sound of their hearts beating in sync soothed him, like rain pattering on a rooftop. 

Just for tonight. They slept in peace.

Her limbs felt heavy, but she was warm. She snuggled against a firm body toasting her like a furnace, as tendrils of daylight pulled her from slumber. Her eyes blinked open. Curiously, she lifted her head.

Peter dozed softly with her body nestled against his side. Her eyes softened as she gazed at the way the light danced across his freckles. She studied his image, memorizing each aspect of the moment. His hair was puffy and wild. She observed flecks of amber and gray in his chestnut beard. His lips were chapped with a plump cherry pout. And while she was mapping the lines of his face, she realized that this was the first morning she’d ever woken up next to him.

Like he could hear her thinking, his hand twitched, tightening his grip on her lower back as he stirred awake. Coffee eyes wandered quickly and found hers, lighting up with warmth. A sleepy, half-smile stretched across his features.

“You’re here,” she said dreamily, returning the smile.

“I am.” His voice was thickened by deep sleep. He watched her with fondness for several moments, before adding worriedly, “Did you not want me to be?”

Her smile dimmed for just a moment. She shook her head. “It’s nice.”

It was the truth. They gazed at each other, silent and starry-eyed and lost in a pleasant peace. He brought his hand up slowly to brush a piece of hair from her face. Her skin hummed at the brush of his fingertips. A shadow darkened her eyes. “I saw George Stacy yesterday.”

She felt his muscles tighten faintly, and his eyes fluttered shut. When he opened them, he drew a measured breath. Concern dimmed his gaze. “What’d he say?”

She pursed her lips. “He told me that you pushed Gwen off a bridge.”

A sharp pain flickered on his face like the sting of a wasp. A cold shadow fell across him, like the dark side of the Moon. “You believed him.” It wasn’t much of a question.

“I don’t want to hear it from him,” she said gently. “I want to hear it from you.”

His vision drifted. Melancholy and grief swallowed him, pulling him under a dark tide of painful memories. She felt his hands release her as he shifted to a sitting position. Her heart ached at the loss of his hold, and she hopelessly tried to seek comfort by wrapping her arms around herself.

“Gwen and I—we met in high school.” The hoarse creak of his voice startled her. He sat with slumped shoulders, leaning over a bent knee. “She was the only one that knew me, before my aunt and uncle died. She stuck with me after. Even when she saw what I was becoming.”

Bitterness accentuated his tone. Delicately, Honey sat up in her sheets, leaning enough to be able to see his gloomy profile. “She tried to save me,” he said. “But what happened, happened. I told her what I had to do. And that I am what I am. She couldn’t stop me, and I told her not to try.”

He swallowed hard. “I pushed her away, tried to break it off. But that just pissed her off more. Made her double-down. She was so damn stubborn. So she tried to help me.”

A pang contorted his features for a moment. She saw a faint tremor in his lower lip. He bit down on the flesh to still its movements. 

“Her dad, though,” he continued. “He was a cop. He already hated me, even before I was a criminal. It was only a matter of time before he found out who I really was.” He sniffed, lifting his chin with a rueful look. “I knew he’d protect her, but he could only do so much. Eventually he was going to find us out, and if he wanted to protect her, he was going to have to pit her against me.”

The last part of his sentence cut through him like a razor. He paused for a moment, wetting his lips. Shoving his voice out of his pained chest. “So when she turned 18, she asked me to marry her.” 

The sharp lines in her forehead faded at the revelation.

“She said if we were married,” he said, haunted by grief, “she couldn’t be forced to testify against me.” He gulped again, and by the look on his face he was swallowing rusty nails. “I didn’t care that it was part of a plan. It was the happiest I’d ever been since... even since before, I think.” 

He went quiet for a while, before adding grimly, “I tore her family apart. He never forgave me for that.” A dark bitterness contorted his features, the familiar echo of self-loathing returning to his voice. “And I looked that man in the eye and swore that I would protect his daughter. But I failed.” 

His eyes fell closed, and for a moment she thought his memories were tattooed on the insides of his lids. 

“She fell,” he ground out, tears welling up. The dam was in danger of breaking. “I tried to catch her in time.” The breath sucked out of his lungs. “It was a matter of inches. Milliseconds. But it wasn’t enough.”

He slowly turned to face her, eyes shimmering with tears. “You asked me who was responsible for her death. I didn’t push her. But I’m the reason she was up there to begin with.” A pained flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips—a cruel impersonation of acceptance, of resignation of his guilt. “She died because of me,” he declared. “I let the woman I love die. I can’t let that happen twice.”

Eyes misty and red, he let the statement rest, as if dictating words he wanted written on his tombstone. 

With a heavy heart, she replied, “But I’m right here, Peter. I’m not dead. Why wouldn’t you tell me the truth? Not just about Gwen, but Bella, too? Why would you make me think you knew where she was?”

Peter looked away, gazing down at his hands, pinching his lips closed. A false light returned to his tone. “My uncle used to say that one of the two keys to success was never telling everything you know.”

He didn’t follow up with anything after that. Her face slumped in disappointment.

“Bella means the world to you,” Peter explained, meeting her eyes again. “And I’d never put her life in the hands of just anyone.” He swallowed painfully. “Not even myself. I can’t be responsible for destroying someone else I love. I won’t.”

“Destroying me—you-you really thought the solution was pushing me away?” She sounded frustrated and betrayed. “That didn’t work with Gwen. Why did you think it would work with me—?

“Because I’m afraid I already have,” Peter affirmed. She fell silent as he gazed at her mournfully. “I know what rage does to people. I know what it looks like. That night, when we were fighting—I saw it in your eyes. Saw it when you looked at me. Hatred is... it’s a flesh-eating parasite. Never satisfied.” He gazed at her, eyes grim. “That’s all me, Honey. I did that to you.”

She sighed as regret seized her lungs. “Peter,” she pleaded, “let’s go back to the mountains.” His brow furrowed with confusion, as she explained more urgently. “Let’s go away. With Miles, and-and Felicia, and Bella, and everyone, and just—just hide?”

He shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“I’m scared, Peter. I’m scared that something awful is going to happen.” She felt the thick serpent crawl up from her belly again. “I’m-I—I don’t feel safe here anymore. Between the bomb, and... then George Stacy walked right up to me in broad daylight. What if that had been someone else?” His gazed at her worriedly, and she implored, “I’m... I’m afraid someone’s watching us. Watching me.”

She swallowed hard to keep the bile from spilling out of her mouth. Her skin felt clammy. Reptilian. Lying to Peter now made her physically ill.

“You’re gonna be okay, Honey,” he replied with gentle affirmation. “You and Miles, your family—I’m gonna protect you. You don’t need to worry.”

“Please, stop telling me that,” she declared firmly. “We both know it’s not true.”

He studied her silently with a frown, eyes flitting over her face. “I’m not good with flashing lights and loud noises.”

She blinked at him, brows pinched.

He met her eyes, as if continuing a confession, “Too much stimulation has always been an issue with me. Sorf of a-a weakness, I guess.”

“What does that—?” 

“The cops could tear this place apart, but they wouldn’t find anything. It’s not here. It’s in a place underground. We call it The Bunker. It’s in an abandoned subway station that nobody knows about. Roosevelt. That’s our fallback position, a strategic planning base. Weapons, cash, files on every corrupt bastard in this city. It’s all there.”

Her brain was spinning with confusion.

“Inside a bank in Queens off of Woodhaven,” he added, casual and matter-of-fact in a way that made her feel unsettled. “There’s a safe registered under the name Ezekiel Sims. Inside, there’s $63 million in cash. Unmarked bills. Untraceable, clean money. It’s my cut. Nearly fifteen years’ pension for my sins. But it’s not for me. It’s for Miles and his family. The combination to the safe is his birthdate.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she blurted, overwhelmed.

Peter stared at her, eyes soft. “Because I’m done hiding. I’m through with hiding who I am. Especially from you.” Her brows furrowed as he explained, “If you wanted to turn me in, to drain me dry, take Bella and run—you have everything you need to know. As long as you and Miles are safe. Felicia. Johnny. Everyone left alive that matters to me—all I care about is that they’re safe.” 

He swallowed hard, gazing at her solemnly. “Nobody can hurt me, Honey. No one but you. If that’s what you want.”

She felt the sting of tears brimming her eyes, her heart sinking in her chest. In under a minute, he’d given her the key to her freedom, to everything she could have ever wanted. It was also the key to his destruction. The nail in his coffin. Diametrically opposed to what she could ever want. 

Why her? 

That’s the only thing she could think about. It was a record running on repeat, slowly driving her insane. Why trust her? Why choose her? Why risk his life and legacy for her? 

Not just material things—but his family was on the line. Secrets had already been divulged. Blood had already been spilled. Why would he love her when the weight of her betrayal made her want to die?

She cast her eyes downward, unable to meet his gaze. In her mind, she wanted to scream at him to run away. She wanted to scream at him for being so blind. For foolishly choosing her, when he could have anything else. Or anyone.

“Were you with someone?” she asked, as timid and quiet as a mouse.

His eyebrows pinched together. “With someone?”

“Someone else,” she replied, a little clearer. Again, she was conflicted at whether or not she wanted the answer. “Another woman. Or man.” He was silent as she stared down at the black polish decorating her nails. “You were gone for days,” she said, idly. “I mean, n-not that I expected you to just... y’know.” She took a deep breath. “It’s okay, if you did.” 

When she looked up at him, Peter was staring back at her like she had grown an extra head. “Are you asking me if I’ve had sex with anyone since I left?”

Her eyes went wide, embarrassed by the bluntness of his question. “I mean, I’m not—” She stuttered, struggling. “No, I mean, I am. I just—”

She cleared her throat. It was like wet cement surrounded her vocal cords. “I get it,” she stated, her eyes darting from his face, to his chest, to the blanket, to the wall, and back around again. “You’ve got—your-your face is, it’s nice.” She was flailing. “And your rest of you, is, um, is—”

A heat wave traveled up her neck, making her feel faint. Her breaths were coming out short. “It’s okay,” she explained apologetically. “If you did. It makes sense. I just… you can tell me.” She met his eyes, trying to steal herself. “Please. If... if you don’t mind.”

Peter stared at her for a long time. He was quiet. Contemplative. He could have grown moss. Just when she was about to pass out from the anticipation, he shifted in his seat. His umber eyes fixed on her. “Honey. Since I met you, I haven’t looked at anyone else.”

She pressed her lips together, chewing on the inside flesh. His words were like a glowing, hot blade, slicing her open. Tears rimmed her saddened gaze. Her voice came out as a whimper. 

“You don’t have to lie.”

His brows furrowed. A dreary expression leveled him. He turned his shoulders towards her. 

“There’s not anybody else,” he softly declared. It felt like a whisper that only she could hear. “There’s not another woman. Or a man.” 

His hand came up, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Not another sunrise or sunset, no fancy car, no drug trip...” 

The warmth of his lungs ghosted over her face like a warm mist. “No cute puppy, no breathtaking waterfall, no flower, or beach or mountain—not a single moment of joy on this Earth—that compares to how you make me feel.”

Her muscles seized, eyes wide. Tears brimmed that she was unaware she could even feel. Added to that, was the rough touch of his thumb brushing at the edge of her mouth. He stared down at her lips like he could read lines of poetry written on them.

“I was in the dark,” he murmured. “After Gwen, I was asleep. Thought I was already dead. Until I saw you. Thought it was a crush. But then... I met you.” His warm gaze heated into a small smile, thawing out his features. “I watched you sing and dance and make food, and play games with Miles, and talk about animal facts, and tell stories to Rex, and apologize to the house plants when they didn’t get watered.” 

He chuckled softly, like a candle flickering on a winter night. “I listened to you talk about everything like it was—like it was a gift. Like no matter how dark it was, there was gonna be a sunrise. Like you could already see it.” 

She met his gaze as her eyes welled up. No one had ever looked at her like that.

“Bringing down Fisk was always endgame for me,” he murmured. “Didn’t ever see past it. Figured I didn’t need to.” Timidly, he leaned closer, as if sharing his biggest secret. “When you touch me, it’s like I can feel the sunrise. Like I can reach out and touch the future.”

A tear trailed down her face before he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. Her lip wobbled and she felt as if he was holding her upright. Like her life had been a perilous journey and she’d finally found rest.

“You once told me that you had all the power,” he said with a coy smirk. Embarrassment kissed her features, before he soothed it away with his hands. “That’s not the half of it,” he said. “You’re my tomorrow. You have the rest of my life in your hands.”

They gazed at each other, eyes shimmering, hearts swelling with emotions they couldn’t begin to describe. 

“How could I look at anyone else?” Peter said with a profound wonder. “You’re the first and last thing I wanna see every day. There is no tomorrow for me if you’re not in it.”

His hands were holding onto the sides of her face, but inside, she was buckling. Her walls crumbled. She searched his eyes through her own blurry tears. Desperately looking for a catch. Seeking a reason not to believe him. 

But she was right about another thing—she knew what it sounded like when he lied to her. And in every cell of her body, she knew that this was not it.

“Peter,” she breathed, with a wary tremor in her heart. It was like she was standing on shaky legs at the edge of the Earth, ready to dive into its core. “I think—” Her voice shook timidly, until she willed it to be steady. “I… I think... I’m in love with you.”

His eyes glowed, momentarily weakened by a fleeting helplessness. He closed them for a moment, as if to steady himself. “No,” he softly replied. Opened his eyes to stare at her like she was the answer to everything in the universe. “You’re not.” A gentle smile played upon his lips. “Not yet.” 

Her insides melted for him. She wanted to fall into him and be consumed by the blaze.

“It’s okay, though,” he whispered with a subtle, teasing grin. “I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it happen. To be worthy of it.”

The cheekiness of his smile triggered an even wider one from her. She breathed out a small laugh, tears falling. He gazed down with eyes that spoke louder than his words. It left no doubt in her mind.

Peter Parker loved her.

It hurt to look at. 

Her smile dimmed. “Peter.” She swallowed hard, mustering the strength to crawl across a mile of flaming coals. “I... I have to tell you something.” His light never flickered. He gazed at her, half-entranced, half-heartedly listening. “I’m... I’m not the person you—”

A phone buzzed.

Her heart seized in her chest. A full stop. It felt like the touch of death.

Peter flinched nervously, snapped out of the spell. He dropped his hands to his pockets, digging the buzzing device from his slacks. 

She sealed her eyes closed, withholding a silent scream.

Peter gazed down at the screen with a frustrated sigh, looking up at her apologetically, and put the device to his ear. “What is it,” he answered, quietly seething. As he listened to the muddled voice on the other end, Honey was dizzy with conflicting emotions. She wanted to curl up and die. 

“What do you mean he’s here? We’re supposed to meet in Brooklyn.”

That was the last straw. She needed to say it. She needed to come clean. She needed to tell Peter the truth about everything. To bare her soul and confess her sins the way he had. The only problem was that her heart was stuttering in her chest, shaking her stomach so much that she was going to vomit on her bedspread.

“Fuck,” she idly heard him mumble. “Alright. Let ‘em in. Make ‘em wait. I’ll be down in a minute.”

She was drowning in sorrow as he ended the call. Oblivious to her distress, he shoved his phone back in the pocket of his jeans. He looked back at her, disappointment twisting his face. He read the look on her face as frustration at the interruption.

“I’m... I’m sorry,” he winced. “I...” His eyes darted to her door. “I... I have to—”

He didn’t need to say it. Duty called. Her opportunity to resolve herself was slipping away. Maybe it never even existed.

He cupped her face with his hands, gazing at her tenderly. “You get cleaned up, okay? And I’m yours the rest of the day. We’ll go anywhere you want. Just gotta take care of this one thing. It’ll take me less than an hour.”

Less than an hour. 

She had less than an hour until her world crumbled. Until she revealed to the one person that ever really loved her that he was wrong about her. She was never worthy of his love.

“I promise,” he repeated with soothing tones and gentle touches. He leaned in slowly, as if requesting permission, and pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead.

She responded with something that sounded vaguely like words. He removed his hands. His touch. His warmth. Finally, he removed himself from her presence. 

Dread filled her, along with a cold fear that she’d never see it again.

She followed instructions with an empty brain. A hollow heart.

When she emerged from her room, she was clean. Her stomach was empty of its contents. The color had faded from her skin. She was an apparition, walking aimlessly among the living in the waking world.

Rex. She went down the stairs to check on Rex. Maybe he needed his terrarium cleaned. Maybe she could clean it. Maybe she could scrub the whole penthouse with a toothbrush while she waited for the sensation to come back to her fingers and toes. 

Her feet guided her closer to Rex’s tank, and she stopped suddenly. Aware that someone was blocking her path. A tall, beefy figure leaned down over the terrarium.

They turned to face her. 

Her eyes went wide. 

Her heart jumped.

Her breath seized.

John Walker fixed her with a pleasant smile—cheeks rosy, shark-blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

“So, this is what you’ve been hiding away, eh?” he grinned snarkily.

The world was spinning. The earth was shaking. She thought the whole building would come down on top of her.

“I don’t think we’ve had the chance to meet,” John said.

Her brows furrowed. She was frozen stiff, barely registering Peter as he walked up into her view. Stood shoulder-to-shoulder with John.

“No, I, uh... I was saving it for a special occasion,” Peter replied. He glanced over at John with a fond expression, then faced her. 

A rat caught in a trap.

A snake stretched between the fangs of two wolves.

Torn apart.

“This is, uh, an associate of mine,” Peter told her. “A friend, really. I'd like you to meet Steve Rogers.”

Continue to Part 18

[back to masterlist]

a/n Thank you everyone for your patience and support! Things are going to heat up and move very fast. I appreciate your positive feedback.

[trans-odyssey]

Getting There by Jojo Via Flickr: A misleading title as you probably think I mean something else, but when I say getting there it's about how difficult it is now to get to Wolverhampton from Stafford by bus. It took just over an hour and even though the Arriva 76 service and Nat Express West Midlands 54 ran fairly close together there were two hourly and right into late in the evening. Now there is no direct service at all and one has to use Select whose service meanders seemingly aimlessly down the country lanes and has to go right into the hedge to let passing cars go by and takes almost two hours if you are lucky, and sadly there is no return bus at all after lunchtime. Also on a Saturday there isn't a service from Wolverhampton to the large villages of Coven or Brewood any more and it makes me wonder what the world is coming too! The other alternative is to go via Cannock changing buses but that takes even longer. Fortunately I have a car and what's more it only takes about fifteen-minutes on the train but you know me I like to use buses. So the once weekly trip to spend time with my friend Nat in her antiques shop is a distant memory and now I just go over there a couple of times a year. At least the sun shone for us on this occasion and I think I looked rather stylish in my bright flowery Debenhams dress another long time hold.

[thistransient]

Today I was not feeling so hot after yesterday's exertion, but improved somewhat with breakfast and hauled myself back to the tour agency to let them arrange the necessary permit. They took my passport and told me come back in the afternoon. I wasn't feeling on the verge of collapse this time, so I went to a museum full of local artefacts and also a lovely view from the 4th floor. I still had some hours to kill after that, and decided to test my lungs (and courage in the face of street dogs) going up the hill to the old palace via little alleys. Another splendid view awaited, as well as a foreigner-price ticket (I can only hope it goes towards conservation efforts). The structure, already atop an outcropping, had a grand 9 storeys with terraces where one could take many photos, and in the process also get a distinct sunburn.

By the time I'd perused all of them and watched the informational short film, midday (and thus lunchtime) had rolled around, so I prepared my retreat. By sheer good fortune some other tourists were picking their way back down the path I'd come up and was afraid of not finding again. They offered to let me pass, I said no thanks I'm following you so I don't get lost! We got to chatting, they were from southern India and this was the last frontier for them since they'd already covered the rest of the country. We parted ways at a fork in the road and I went to a second floor cafe overlooking the main bazaar road for food and people watching. Oh, there were people to watch! Certainly befitting of this passage from Reflections on Ladakh, Tibet, and Central Asia which I picked up from the guesthouse bookshelf:

Sure, it's not 1929 anymore but somehow something of the sentiment remains. Or perhaps I'm just accustomed to the relative homogeneity of Taiwan, and seeing all sorts of humans, outfits, hairstyles, and mustachios all at once was simply a thrill of its own. I could have sat there for a long time but the sun was shifting and eventually I got roasted out of my seat.

Still feeling adventurous, I went for a stroll around the town center, looked for postcards at the post office ("they're just for display, can't buy"), successfully bought some from a souvenir shop and had a chit chat with the proprietor who suggested if I could not find tour-mates, to take the public bus to Nubra Valley myself. I'm starting to consider it, to be honest, as the tour office guy made no mention of any developments when I finally collected my passport and permit.

I managed the walk back up the hill this time (albeit sweatily), and wearing my face mask again to mitigate the dry air, dust, and car exhaust probably saved me from an even worse sunburn. It was then time to have a go at the bucket bath- the guesthouse bathroom had a showerhead, but, having lived previously in water-conscious situations, I decided the bucket and scoop was both economical and reminiscent of couchsurfing in Sumatra. It got the job done, and there is something satisfying about squatting for a bath. Or squatting in general. My Slav genetics at play, perhaps.

Last but not least, today I also survived being amicably sniffed at close range by a stray dog. It's the small victories sometimes.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

leave (stay)

prompt: "leave me alone"

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hello here's another sickfic for my beloved illya :) it's sort of pre ship napoleon/illya sort of not idk. what is romance even. hope you enjoy!!

“Leave me alone,” Illya mumbles into his folded arms, before Napoleon has even said anything, before Illya has even so much as glanced up to discover who is behind him. (From the tone of his voice, it’s abundantly clear he knows it’s Napoleon, anyway).

“Well, good afternoon to you, too, Peril.”

Illya does not move an inch, does not reply. Napoleon does not bother to attempt to fight off the instinct to tease him. 

“Sleeping on the job?” 

It is rather odd to find Illya like this, head pillowed atop his arms and a half-complete mission report in the typewriter. It’s something that Napoleon has done on…say, a few occasions, but Illya? He’s far too much of a rule-follower for something like this. 

“Go away,” is the only response Napoleon gets, and, well, if he insists. 

It’s lunchtime, anyway. Napoleon grabs his jacket and heads out to the street, making his way directly to his favorite sandwich shop a block and a half away. 

He eats at a small table by the window, watching the people on the sidewalk hustle by. The holiday season is fast approaching, and already many of them are carrying large department-store bags, surely laden with gifts. 

He muses, idly, on the topic of holidays and whether UNCLE might host - or be open to hosting, upon his gentle suggestion - a party. He wonders whether Illya would be opposed to receiving a present. Probably. 

He barely makes it back to the office before his allotted lunch time is up. He bumps into Waverly in the hall, who says nothing, merely raises an eyebrow. 

Napoleon flashes him a grin and gets the barest hint of a smile in return. He’ll count that as a strong success. 

He is expecting to return to business as usual in the office, but he discovers that Illya has not moved in the time that he has been gone, or, if he has, he’s come right back to the position Napoleon had left him in. 

He must really be tired, Napoleon thinks. After all, he’s seen Illya take out five men in two minutes after not sleeping for three days. Now, even a simple mission report seems to be too much. 

He stands behind Illya for several seconds, hoping for some acknowledgment of his presence. But nothing happens. 

I’m asking for it, he thinks, but goes ahead and jostles Illya’s shoulder anyway. 

He expects Illya’s head to snap up, perhaps for a punch to be thrown his way, or, at the very least, some strong words. 

Instead, Illya slowly lifts his head and turns around, docile as anything. Weird. 

He blinks at Napoleon, rubs a hand across his eyes. 

“Were you actually asleep?” Napoleon asks, not quite willing to believe it. 

Illya’s face morphs into what could be very charitably deemed a glare. 

“No.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

Illya shrugs. “This is not my problem. Go away.”

Undeterred, Napoleon presses on. “What did you get up to last night, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Sleeping.” Illya looks away from him. He’s angry, which is understandable, but - well, now Napoleon is really curious. And a little worried, not that anyone needs to know. 

“Is something the matter?”

“Yes. You will not leave me alone.”

With this, Illya stands up. He is presumably going to stalk away and slam a door behind him. At least, this is what Napoleon expects.

But this is not what happens. Instead, as soon as Illya’s on his feet, he raises a hand to his head and then sinks right back down into his chair. 

Napoleon is now a lot worried, and no longer in a jovial mood. 

“What’s wrong?”

Illya does not say anything. He’s closed his eyes and he’s breathing very deeply and very deliberately. 

Napoleon has an idea. He takes a step into Illya’s space, reaches out a careful hand. Illya’s forehead and cheeks are hot beneath his palm. Ah. 

“You’re sick,” Napoleon says. 

Illya does not say anything, but Napoleon knows that he’s right. 

“For how long?”

Still nothing. 

“Okay, look. You simply can’t sleep here. It’s far too uncomfortable, and sooner or later, someone a lot less caring than me is going to come by and kick your chair.”

Illya opens his eyes a little. He looks exhausted, now that Napoleon really considers him. And miserable. It makes something in his chest feel as though it is being squeezed.

A solution enters his mind. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing, and he knows Illya will not complain. “Come with me. When you’re feeling up to it.”

He waits for a few seconds before Illya very slowly pushes himself up. Napoleon wordlessly offers his arm, and Illya briefly grips it, closing his eyes. When the dizziness seems to have passed, he lets go and looks at Napoleon. 

“Right. Well. Follow me.”

They go to the break room. It’s a rather forlorn space - the UNCLE agents, by and large, either do not have time to use it or would rather spend their free time anywhere else. The room is dark and has no windows. There is a rather sad bookshelf, a table with two mismatched chairs, and a couch that Napoleon firmly refuses to sit on. 

But it’s a quiet space, and the couch is a better place to sleep than a desk. 

Illya takes it with no protest. He does not bother to undress even slightly, tie and jacket and shoes still on. His eyes slip closed almost immediately, and Napoleon allows himself the simple indulgence of staring at his partner, just for a few seconds. 

“I can feel you looking at me,” Illya mumbles, without opening his eyes.

“Sorry.”

He expects to be kicked out - needs to be, actually, so he can get back to his own work before someone realizes he’s not there. 

“Will you…” Illya mumbles, on the verge of falling asleep. 

“Yes?”

Tell me to leave. Please, ask me to stay. 

He doesn’t get an answer either way. Illya has already fallen asleep. 

He lingers a few seconds more. Wishes for a blanket to drape over Illya’s sleeping form, settles for his own jacket instead. 

He turns off the lights, pulls the door shut behind him. 

“Sleep well,” he whispers into the darkness, and then he gets back to work.

thanks for reading!!! love u all <3

[thedemoninmywalls]

10 for the nsft kink prompts!! :3

- @freakkisser

10: Humiliation Fic under the cut! <3

After a long day at work, Aro was looking forward to coming home and making dinner. She hadn't eaten a thing since lunchtime, not even a snack. On her way home she was already thinking about what food she had and what to cook.

So she was pretty surprised to find, upon entering her apartment, that her kitchen was completely empty.

The shelves were bare and the fridge was all cleaned out. The whole kitchen was as empty and clean as the day she moved in.

Aro blinked, rubbed her eyes, and then looked again. She ran her hands over the counters and the shelves in the fridge. There was simply nothing there. She turned on the sink to get a drink of water, but even that wasn't working.

Her kitchen had been quite full this morning, but now there wasn't a speck of food or water in the whole apartment.

Of course, there was only one possible explanation for this. Predictably, Rire was sitting in the living room, sipping tea.

“What the hell did you do to my kitchen?” Aro demanded, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.

“What? Don't you like how clean it is?” he smiled, feigning innocence.

“Where is all my food?” Aro asked in an exasperated tone. She could tell he was going to be difficult.

“Somewhere safe,” Rire assured her. “You’ll get it back if you behave.”

Ah. She should have known. He was gonna hold her food hostage until she did what he asked.

“What do you want?” she demanded impatiently.

Rire smirked, confident that he had the upper hand, as usual.

“Get your collar,” he ordered.

Aro made a face. “I hate the collar.”

“Then you won't eat tonight,” he replied decisively.

Groaning in frustration, Aro dragged her feet to the bedroom. She fetched the collar and its leash from the nightstand and returned to the living room.

“Just don't make it too tight, please?”

“Kneel.”

Aro kneeled, staying obediently still while Rire clasped the collar around her neck. It wasn't tight enough to choke her, but tight enough to press against her throat. With the leash tightly wound around Rire’s hand, it would only take a little tug to restrict Aro’s breathing.

The collar had a little metal dog tag that read “pet” and jingled whenever she moved. It was humiliating to wear, which was probably why Rire liked it.

“Now what?” Aro asked, pulling at the collar to loosen it.

“Now we will try something new,” Rire’s yellow eyes brightened with mischief. “I saw it online today and thought it would be just perfect for us.”

“What is it?” Aro was wary. Rire's new ideas were usually not very pleasant for her.

“It's better to show you,” Rire dug into a plastic shopping bag and pulled out two foam balls.

“Hold these and squeeze tightly,” he instructed, placing a ball in each of her hands.

Aro obeyed, unsure what he was getting at. Rire took out a thick roll of duct tape and wound it around her closed fists. Long strips of sticky tape, all around her fingers and almost up to her wrists. When he was done, she couldn't move her fingers an inch. Her hands were nothing more than useless balls of tape.

“Um…” Aro stared at her tape mittens bewilderedly.

Rire opened Aro's laptop and navigated to the sketchy dark web video site where he watched Ren’s livestreams.

“Come here,” he ordered gently, pulling Aro onto his lap.

She sat and watched as he pressed play on a torture porn video. By now she’d been forced to watch enough of them that she was starting to get desensitized. Now she hardly flinched when the killer onscreen smashed a woman's leg with a sledgehammer.

While they were watching, Rire’s hands sneaked under her shirt and began to play with her nipples. He pinched and rubbed the soft nubs of flesh until they were erect and stimulated.

From where she sat on his lap, Aro felt Rire’s erection beneath his pants, poking against her ass. He liked to make her needy and aroused while watching torture porn, so that she associated the pleasure with pain.

“Mmm,” Aro moaned softly, leaning into his touch. Unconsciously, she went to touch her sex - and remembered the tape around her hands. Without the use of her fingers, she couldn't get her skirt off.

“Mph…Rire…” Aro grinded herself against his lap, hoping for some friction.

“What is it?”

“I-I can't…” she lifted her tape mittens, humiliated by their uselessness.

“I want you to touch me…please,” Aro mumbled, red from embarrassment.

“Of course,” Rire effortlessly slipped his fingers under her skirt and entered her.

“My poor little pet can't touch herself when her hands are all taped up, hm?” He snickered in her ear. “How pathetic. You need your master to do everything for you, isn't that right, little one?”

Aro started to respond, but then Rire’s fingers rubbed against her clit and she gasped instead.

“Nngh - fuck -” Aro moaned louder, shifting her hips against his hand. He tugged on the leash so the collar pressed hard against her throat.

“Good toy…that's my good toy,” he breathed into her neck as he fucked her with his fingers.

She came after only a few minutes, her wetness spilling all over Rire's hand.

“What a mess,” Rire tsked. “Did you ever taste yourself?”

He poked his fingers into her mouth and made her lick his whole hand clean. The taste of her own cum was strange and reminded Aro that she was thirsty. She longed for water to wash the taste away.

“You humans are just too easy,” Rire teased as he turned off the video. “Just a few touches is all it takes to make you melt. So weak and worthless. You're good for nothing except pleasing your master.”

Aro slipped off his lap and turned to face him.

“I-I did everything you asked,” she whimpered. “Please, I need water…and food…”

“Of course,” Rire snapped his fingers. “Everything has returned to the kitchen. You may help yourself…”

He grinned evilly. “But you may not take the tape off your hands. If you try to take it off, I will hurt you.”

It was at that moment, of course, that Aro’s stomach growled quite loudly. Her insides felt pinched from hunger. If she wasn't starving, she might have defied Rire and marched into the kitchen, tape mittens and all.

But now hunger had eroded her dignity. It was humiliating to depend on him, but it would be even more humiliating to try getting food and water without the use of her hands.

Her vision blurred, and Aro realized that hot tears of frustration and embarrassment were running down her cheeks.

“Please,” she begged. “I can't do it by myself. Please help me…I’m so hungry. I just need a little food and water. I'll do anything.”

“Anything?” Rire's eyebrows raised in amusement. “What can you possibly offer me that I don't have already?”

“I don't know!” Aro sobbed. She tried to wipe away her tears with her useless tape mittens. She hated crying in front of him, but now that she started, she couldn't stop.

Rire watched her cry for a while before he finally felt pity. He stood up from the couch and led her away with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Come, my pet…let's get you something to eat.”

[shadowcatzone]

<3 day w venti

-pov it's valentines day ignore the fact that i'm late-

Your day started very early. You got dressed, had a quick breakfast and headed out, grabbing a basket on the way. You probably wouldn't return until around lunchtime, but that was fine. You had a few things planned for the day but none of them needed you to rush things.

You made your way past windrise to get to starsnatch cliff. Later, you would surprise your favorite bard and - hopefully - spend the day with him. But for now, you started picking cecilia flowers. You knew the flower shop would soon run out, and if you had any flowers left, you could sell them there.

When your basket became full with them, you stopped picking, instead making a flower crown. You spent quite a while working, occasionally humming or even singing. Once you were done with the flower crown, you picked up the basket, which was still half-full, and made your way back to mondstadt.

As you had expected, the girl selling flowers had ran out about an hour ago. You had picked some windwheel asters on the way back, so you sold her the flowers. Which really means you forced them on her - a normal occurrence on this specific day.

After bringing your basket home, and eating a little snack, you set out for the bard. You found him rather quickly too, after following your ears, you saw him sitting on the railing of the plaza out in front of the church.

He gathered quite the audience, people dancing in front of him while he simply enjoyed playing. While his eyes were closed, he played his lyre expertly, as expected. You quietly went up to him and sat down next to him. He didn't seem to have noticed you, and if he did, he hid it perfectly. But you weren't here to play around. Looking at the flower crown in your hands, you simply had to try. So, you started reaching for his hat, quietly, carefully, and when you almost had it-

"Don't do that now, windblume." He hadn't even opened his eyes.

So you pouted. "how do you always notice me even with your eyes closed?"

He chuckled softly, "Well, i have good ears. And somebody just mentioned you a minute ago. Wait until i finish the song, please."

Then you leaned back and looked towards the people dancing. You would also love to dance to the songs of the best bard in mondstadt, unfortunately, that would be impossible unless he split in two. After he stopped playing, another bard started. Seems like he organised himself a group this year.

After watching on for a few notes, he put away his lyre and turned his attention to you. "What is it?"

"Oh," you held up the flower crown for him to see, "i made you a flower crown!" Although you thought you saw him flinch a little, he reluctantly removed his hat and leaned forward a bit, so you put the flower crown on his head.

Then you held his face, with one hand on each side. "You are really pretty you know that? And i don't mean just average pretty, you're borderline beautiful." Upon which he sighed overly dramatical - you reacted with an eyeroll - "oh! I am hurt! Am i just a pretty face to you, windblume?" "Don't say that," now you chuckled. "You're downright angelic, venti. You really are! Looks, personality and all, my angel."

Though, he didn't seem particularly pleased with the statement, so he pouted. "Just angelic? You know, i could be more."

But you simply leaned in and whispered, "oh, i do apologize, my lord, my archon! Let me right my wrongs by emphasizing, with these people as my witnesses, how truly divine you are! Lord barba-!"

You didn't get much further, as the former had already silenced you in a kiss.

Afterwards, he looked straight into your eyes, with a hint of ire, "you're bold, aren't you? Cute little windblume... i wonder how far you're willing to take this." And you decided not to test him any further.

"E-either way, i prepared a few bottles of wine, as well as some apple pie... would you like to go on a picknic?"

Then you returned home, having decided to meet with venti about an hour later, to pack your basket with wine, apple pie and some other things. Meeting with venti at the city's gate, you went to windrise together.

And spent the rest of the day together. You listened to venti playing his lyre, he would braid dandelions into your hair, and consume a suspiciously low amount of alcohol. "I thought you'd drink more of the wine." "But i want to be sober while i spend time with you! At least, today." You chuckled at his response. He was really adorable.

After you watched the sunset together, he accompanied you home. Naturally, you would offer him to sleep in your home rather than outside, which he accepted. As you often did when he was over, you shared your bed.

But, today was slightly different. After you both were ready for the bed, he rolled over, now lying above you, his lips hovering above yours. "Oh, windblume. You didn't think that was it, did you?" He chuckled "we're just getting started."

[mikaela-granger]

The Long Wait (Season 3) Chapter 23

Synchronicity Part 1 (Sean & Lorelei’s POV)

Fandom: Grimm

Pairing: Sean Renard/OFC

The Long Wait Masterlist

A/N: Lorelei is back on bedrest.

***Lorelei’s POV***

Dr Brody had been concerned about Lorelei feeling isolated. That wasn’t even close to being true. She was constantly being contacted by someone. Thankfully, most were doing so by phone. Angela had come over the day after she was release from the hospital, bringing food with her to give Sean and Lorelei one less thing to worry about. Melody and Katie came over a couple of days after she had discharged to keep her company. They left as Sean was arriving home from work.

Sean and Lorelei were eating dinner together when Sean’s phone rang. Lorelei looked in interest as the one he pulled out was not his usual one. Must be the one he used to contact those who worked from him. Lorelei was a little surprised when Sean answered it in front of her. “Is it done?” He asked, before letting the person speak. “Anyone hurt?...Who was the contact?...She?” Sean asked, sounding surprised. He was silent for a moment, before glancing down. “Have we heard from Sebastian?...I think it would be best that you disappeared from a little while….”

Sean ended the call before looking at Lorelei, who wasn’t even trying to hide her interest. This was the most exciting thing she had seen all day. “So…” She said slowly, giving him a chance to decide if he would tell her or not. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me.”

Sean smiled at her. “No, I want to. The only way to earn your trust back is by being honest.” He told her. He let out a breath. “That was one of my contacts in Europe, Meisner, he was responsible for getting Adalind and the baby out of Vienna. He was calling to advise me that they had met up with a plane I had arranged to get Adalind and the baby out of Europe. It had just left with Adalind, the baby and a woman sent by the Resistance.”

Lorelei nodded. “Sounds like it wasn’t smooth sailing.” She commented.

Sean shook his head. “No, they were met by Verrat agents, who were dispatched by the woman. I don’t know who she is, but she took out six Verrat agents.”

Lorelei whistled. “Wow, that’s kind of badass.”

Sean laughed. “Yes, very…badass. Good thing she is on our side.”

“Where are the Resistance taking them?”

“I’m really not sure. And it’s probably best I don’t know.” Sean replied.

Lorelei reached out and took his hand. She felt empathy for Sean. Who knows when he would be able to meet the baby. She also felt empathy for Adalind; the woman would have to live life looking over her shoulder, wondering if the Verrat were going to find them and take her baby. It was a fear that Lorelei had. Would the Royals want her baby as well? Sean believed they would be aware of her pregnancy but had been unable to ascertain if they were even aware the child was his. For now, all they could be was cautious and hope for the best.

By the next day, Lorelei was bored, trying to find things to keep her occupied. Bud’s wife Phoebe had stopped by around lunchtime to make sure the younger woman ate an adequate meal. As Phoebe was leaving, she heard the voices of Juliette and Rosalee at the front door. Lorelei sat back up. They were supposed to be picking up Rosalee’s dress. Less than a minute later, the two entered the bedroom.

“Hey, I thought you guys were at the bridal shop.” Lorelei said.

“We were but we felt bad that you couldn’t join us.” Juliette told her.

Rosalee held up a white garment bag. “So, we brought it to you.” She said, smiling widely at Lorelei.

Lorelei was touched that they were making an effort to include her. As Rosalee stepped into the bathroom to change, Juliette joined Lorelei on the bed, sitting back against the pillows. “How are you going?” Juliette asked.

Lorelei shrugged. “I’m a little bored, a bit antsy, but I need to follow my doctor’s instructions, so I don’t get worse, have be hospitalised, go into premature labour or all of the above.”

Juliette looked at her sympathetically. “I’m sorry you’re going through this. But, no, we don’t want any of those things to happen.” She said, wrapping her arm around Lorelei’s shoulders and giving her a little squeeze. “Anything we can get you? DVD’s, books, puzzles.”

“Hmm, maybe something crafty. Katie and Melody gave me a drive with a whole bunch of movies and tv shows to watch, but I wouldn’t mind something to do with my hands.”

“Done. We’ll hit up the craft shop later.”

At that moment, Rosalee stepped out the bathroom wearing her wedding dress. “Oh my god, Rosalee. You look so beautiful. That dress is perfect.” Lorelei told her, feeling tears building up.

“Are you sure it’s not too old fashioned?” Rosalee asked her.

Lorelei shook her head as she wiped away a tear. “No way. Besides ‘old fashioned’ as you call it, is back in fashion.”

Rosalee ended up getting changed back into her regular clothes. The older women stayed though, keeping Lorelei entertained with the latest happenings, including the wesen carnival case Nick and Hank had just wrapped up. Rosalee also advised Lorelei that they had come up with a solution that would allow Nick and Lorelei to attend hers and Monroe’s wedding. “How can you tell we’re Grimms?” Lorelei asked. She had shifted back to laying on her side. Juliette was still leaning against the pillows while Rosalee was sitting crossed legged at the end of the bed.

“It’s your eyes. When we woge and look into your eyes…it’s like looking into infinite darkness. And we see ourselves reflected in that darkness, our true wesen nature. It’s very unsettling.” Rosalee explained. “So, you guys just have to wear sunglasses. We checked with Nick and sunglasses stop us from seeing that.”

Ok. Lorelei was surprised they had never thought to ask before, but it was interesting to know. A thought suddenly occurred to her. “Do you see it every time you woge around us?” Lorelei asked.

Rosalee nodded. “Yeah. It took a while to get used it.”

“But you still see it, even now?”

“Yeah.” Rosalee suddenly looked at her suspiciously. “Why?”

“Sean’s uh…never mentioned it.”

“You’ve seen him woge?” Juliette asked curiously.

Lorelei nodded. “Well, yeah. Of course.” She said, suddenly becoming very interested in the bedspread by her head.

Rosalee gasped. “Oh my god. He’s woged during sex, hasn’t he?” She asked. “That’s why you want to know if it happens every time.”

Juliette looked at Lorelei. “No…really?” She seemed to think about it before looking at Rosalee. “That happens? Woging during sex?”

Rosalee nodded. “It does.” She looked at Lorelei. “And it doesn’t…bother you when he woges?”

Lorelei shook her head. “No, why should it?”

Rosalee shrugged. “It’s just…zauberbiest…aren’t exactly…the nicest to look at.” She said slowly.

“Well, Sean is half. His whole face doesn’t change.”

“It’s not a turn off?” Juliette asked.

Lorelei shook her head again. “No. I’m attracted to him. All of him.”

At that moment they heard the front door close and footsteps approaching the bedroom. Lorelei sat up as Sean appeared in the doorway. Thank God he hadn’t heard that conversation. “Hey, you’re home early.”

Sean smiled at her. “I thought I’d work from home for the afternoon.” He looked at the older women. “Hello Rosalee, Juliette.”

They greeted him, although Lorelei noticed they couldn’t quite hide the awkwardness from almost being caught having that particular conversation. They left not long after that.

***Sean’s POV***

After spending some time in the office, Sean decided to spend the afternoon working from home. Although Lorelei insisted, she was fine, and he knew she would have company throughout the day Sean felt a strong desire to be near her. Upon arriving home, he opened the front door quietly, in case Lorelei was sleeping.

As he approached their bedroom, he heard voices coming from inside and he paused just in time to hear Juliette’s voice say “That happens? Woging during sex?”

Rosalee’s voice was heard next. “It does.” There was a pause. “And it doesn’t…bother you when he woges?”

 “No, why should it?” Sean heard Lorelei say.

It’s just…zauberbiest…aren’t exactly…the nicest to look at.” Rosalee’s voice again.

“Well, Sean is half. His whole face doesn’t change.”

“It’s not a turn off?” Juliette asked.

 “No. I’m attracted to him. All of him.”

Sean snuck back down to the front door, his heart feeling light. He knew that Lorelei was physically attracted to his human side and encouraged him not to hide his woge when they were intimate but hearing her tell her friends that she was attracted to all parts of him…he couldn’t describe how it made him feel. Sean opened the door and closed it loudly before returning to the bedroom.

He entered the room. He could see Lorelei sitting up, facing the door. Juliette was leaning against the pillows beside her while Rosalee was sitting at the end of the bed. All three women looked at him, almost mortified, no doubt wondering if he had heard their conversation.

Lorelei seemed to recover from his sudden appearance quickly. “Hey, you’re home early.” She said, smiling brightly at him.

Sean returned her smile. “I thought I’d work from home for the afternoon.” He looked at the older women. “Hello Rosalee, Juliette.”

They greeted him; however, he noticed neither seemed to be able to look him in the eye. The pair left not long after that and Sean came to sit on the edge of the bed beside Lorelei greeting her with a kiss. “How was today?”

“It was ok. Phoebe stopped by and as she was leaving Rosalee and Juliette arrived. They felt bad I couldn’t go to the bridal shop with them, so they brought the dress here and Rosalee modelled it for me.”

Sean smiled reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “That was nice of them.” He said. “What did you ladies talk about?”

Lorelei’s expression changed. “Oh my god, you heard.” She said, covering her face.

Sean laughed, before removing her hands from her face. “I did. At least the ending anyway. What led to that particular conversation?”

“Oh, um. Basically, Nick wasn’t sure about us attending Monroe and Rosalee’s wedding because most of the guest list include wesen. He had a nightmare that the wedding turned to chaos when someone realised, they were in the presence of a Grimm.” Lorelei told him. “He spoke with Monroe and Rosalee who told him how wesen can tell when someone is a Grimm and apparently, sunglasses will be able to fix the problem.”

Sean raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really. Monroe and Rosalee checked. Anyway, Rosalee was describing how wesen could tell. She said that looking into a Grimm’s eyes while woged was like looking into infinite darkness that is unsettling because it shows a wesen their true nature.” Sean nodded. “I asked if it happened every time and Rosalee said yes, but that she and Monroe had become used to it. I told them you had never mentioned it and Rosalee realised that you had woged…while we had sex. They wanted to know if it bothered me when you woged and, well…I guess you heard my reply.”

Sean nodded. “I did.”

“How did you not…um…loss the ability to perform…if you’re seeing something so unsettling?” Lorelei asked, her cheeks now bright red as struggled to maintain eye contact.

God, she was so precious. “Because I don’t see that in your eyes.” He told her.

Lorelei looked at him. “You don’t?”

Sean shook his head. “No. I mean, I’ve seen it in Nick. But never yours. I figured it had something to do with the soulmate connection.”

“Oh…ok.” Lorelei said slowly.

There was a moment of silence, before Sean asked his next question.  “Do you really find my wesen side attractive?” He asked tentatively. Sean had wondered, but figured it was more of a case of overlooking it.

Lorelei reached out, cupping his face in her hands. Her eyes locked on his. “I do.” She said, smiling tenderly at him. She bit her lip. “Will you woge for me?”

Sean searched her eyes for a moment before nodding. After a moment, he woged. Lorelei’s hands returning to his face, gently stroking it and the areas that had changed. Sean kept his eyes open as she pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth and then the area beside his eye. “I am attracted to all of you. Woged or not.” She finished by pressing her lips against his own, her arms wrapping around his neck.

Sean pulled her close, returning the kiss. After a moment, he pulled back pressing his forehead against hers. “Thank you.” He said quietly as his face shifted back.

Eventually, Lorelei pulled away, patting his cheek. “You mentioned you still had some work to do, so you better get onto that.”

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