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differentkettleoffishalltogether · 4 years ago

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#1 Fan [Part 1/2]

Summary: Spencer knows he’s seen his new neighbor somewhere before.

A/N: This was a blurb request from my sideblog that got completely out of hand so here she is as a full fic! (We’re gonna pretend like I know how OnlyFans works)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff & Smut

Warnings/Includes: smut, graphic descriptions of sexual acts, masturbation (male & female), voyeurism(?), please let me know if there’s anything I’ve missed!

Word count: 2.9k

Request: “Blurb about basically the same fic as the other one except she just moved in and he recognizes her as the person he subs to on OF. She’s describing her hot neighbor- and yeah” from @thatsonezesty13

Masterlist

Read Part 2 Here

The first time Spencer sees her in the lobby grabbing her mail he thinks he’s in a dream. Or maybe he’s seeing things. For a second he’s terrified that he’s having a hyper-realistic, yet somehow mundane, wet dream.

He’s been subscribed to her for a while. To be honest once he’d found her account he didn’t have much of a need to subscribe to anyone else. She was almost tailor made for him, it was sort of scary.

So when he saw her that day, and she smiled at him, giving him a small wave as she passed him in the hall, his heart all but stopped.

That night he checked her page. He compared the pictures of the sweet girl in the hall with the ones in front of him. The photos where she was wearing next to nothing, or sometimes nothing at all. The ones where she had her fingers inside of her panties, or her mouth.

He ended up spiraling that evening, partially forgetting why he was even looking in the first place. Until he was watching videos of her, fucking into herself with a toy until she was squirting onto her bedsheets.

The following morning when he woke up he tried to convince himself that it wasn’t her. How could it be? And if it was, would he have to stop looking? Something felt a bit perverted about that.

So he pushed the thoughts from his head. And that lasted all of 10 seconds because there was a knock on his front door. When he opened it up it was her standing there, the girl from the mailboxes, and the girl from the videos. He knew they were one and the same, who was he kidding?

“Hi!” She sticks out her hand to introduce herself, “I think I saw you the other day, I’ve just moved into the building, Y/N.”

He knows her name already, well he knows her first name, and part of him’s a little surprised it’s not fake.

He takes a moment to consider her hand, he wouldn’t usually shake a strangers hand like this but for some reason he didn’t feel like she was a stranger. The real reason her didn’t want to shake her hand was because of all the things he’d pictured her doing with them. Touching herself, touching him.

But he’s hesitated for too long, so he takes her hand, shaking it gently, “Spencer, Dr. Spencer Reid. Nice to— uh, meet you” he has to force his breaths out or they might not come. Looking at her up close, in person, she was too beautiful. And he already thought that about her pictures.

“Well it’s nice to meet you, I always like to know the folks in my building. And especially you if we’re gonna be neighbors”

“Neighbors?” He tries to stop his eyes from popping out of his head but she doesn’t seem to notice. She just nods happily.

“Yup, I’m right on the other side of that wall” she points to her right and giggles, “knock if you need me” she jokes but Spencer’s breathing stops entirely and he can only nod.

“So um, if you wanted to hang out or anything you know where to find me” she smiles at him and starts to head back to her apartment.

He’s not sure what’s come over him, but it feels like adrenaline is coursing through his entire body as he speaks.

“I’m free right now if you’re not busy?” He asks before she can get too far away but she shakes her head.

“I’ve actually gotta head out for a bit but if you’re free tomorrow do you wanna come over and see my place. I’m sure it’s probably the exact same as yours but—”

“Yes!— I mean, um, yeah, that sounds nice, cool” she laughs at him a little, probably at his eagerness, or maybe at the way he’s blushing, he can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks.

“See you then Spencer, Dr. Spencer Reid” she giggles and he’s smitten already.

— —

He’s pretty much counting down the seconds until the following evening. His mind is completely restless, he’s got no idea what to wear or how to act, or what to say.

She was just so pretty, he could barely have a 2 minute conversation with her in the hallway. How was he supposed to hang out with her for an evening.

She slips a note under his door the following afternoon:

I’m on my way out but I should be back around 8! See you then x

He wishes he didn’t stare at the little ‘x’ on the note for quite so long but he couldn’t help it. Even her handwriting was cute.

He doesn’t want to think about why he knows her already but he can’t help it. He decides that he’s not going to look at her page again, taking a cold shower as part of his preparation for that evening before agonizing over what to wear.

He settles on a purple sweater and he already feels like he’s made the wrong call somehow as he’s knocking on her door at 8pm on the dot.

“Well aren’t you punctual” she smiles at him as she pulls open the door. His stomach drops when he realizes that he recognizes the little dress she’s wearing. He’s seen her take it off before. He tries to steady his breathing but it doesn’t work super well so he just waves hello as she ushers him inside.

“I guess you got my note then” she smiles and he smiles back.

“Yeah, your— um— handwriting is really nice” he wants to slap himself in the face. What kind of complement was that?

“Thank you?” she giggles at him, “no ones ever said that before, you’re a bit of an oddball” she points him to the sofa so he sits.

When she comes to sit next to him she’s holding a bottle of wine and two glasses and he has to stop his eyes from bulging out of his head.

“Would you like a glass?” She asks and he nods his head, it probably wasn’t a great idea, but neither was any of this. She hands him a glass of wine and takes the seat next to him on the couch, turning to face him as she tucks her legs up under herself.

“So Spencer Reid, what kind of doctor are you?” she asks as she takes a sip from her own glass.

“I’m—um— I work at the FBI actually, I— I’m a profiler” he’s already conscious that he doesn’t want to bore her by harping on about work, or by rambling like he does right before people usually roll their eyes. But she doesn’t, she leans in.

“That’s so cool, well it sounds like it is anyway? Does that mean you read people or something?” her eyes look like they're after lighting up and she's smiling at him encouraging.

“Y-Yeah? It’s sort of like reading people I guess. We catch killers by getting inside their heads in a way, trying to figure out why they’re doing what they’re doing, and hopefully what they’re gonna do next so that we can stop it. It’s a little more complicated than that, but that’s the gist” he’s smiling now too, the way she’s looking at him makes him feel like he’s actually doing a sort of good job not embarrassing himself.

“So you said my handwriting was nice” she says, gears clearly turning, “Can you read anything about me from that?” she looks like she's challenging him, if he didn’t know better he might call it flirting.

“Well actually graphology—sorry— handwriting analysis has been deemed a pseudoscience by most, the validity of handwriting as evidence in court has always been dubious and many of the techniques used today are the same as those employed in Renaissance England.” he rambles but she’s still engaged when he stops speaking.

“So you’re smart smart, huh?” she smiles at him, and he nods.

“I don’t believe intelligence can be neatly quantified but I do have an IQ of 187” he feels paradoxically stupid saying that, it feels like bragging or something and he already wants to take it back.

“Wow, a doctor with an IQ of 187” she takes a second to mull it over, “What are you doing hanging out with the likes of me?” she jokes, but his eyebrows knit together, he had no idea what she did, other than that thing he knew she did.

“I wouldn't sell yourself short like that, what do you do?” he asks her, at the very least it’ll stop him from spiraling.

“I work in a vintage bookstore, the one two blocks over?” She motions behind her as she tells him, and he knows it well, in fact he spends so much time there that he’s shocked he’d never seen her before.

“You work there? I’m there all the time, how have I never noticed you before?” she chuckles at him.

“I’ve only just started, I just moved in, remember?” and he wants to slap himself again, something about being around such a pretty face slashed that impressive IQ in half.

They spend another while and the rest of the bottle of wine getting to know each other before Spencer has to call it a night. Part of him wished that she was boring, or rude, or hated him, then maybe he’d be able to quell his infatuation. But this just made it worse, now that he knew her, now that he had spoken to her and she was so sweet, so smart, so funny, and still so damn pretty. He was absolutely fucked.

— —

He swears to himself that the wont look at her page again. Now that he knew her and he liked her more than he even did before, it felt like a real invasion. Part of him still felt bad about it in general, like he should've told her right away, been up front. But the moment for that had already passed so this was his next best plan.

Until he returns home the following Friday. He’s exhausted when he crawls into bed but he’s still somehow restless, the gears still turning in is brain. So he does what he always does when he wants to forget about everything else in the world.

His muscle memory opens it up, and he’s on her page before he even realizes he's done it. And she’s posted a few new videos this week. He wishes he had better willpower, or any willpower at all, but he can’t seem to stop himself from clicking on one.

It begins with her kneeling on her bed, wearing lingerie he’d seen before, it was baby pink and it was one of his favorites. She starts by dipping her fingers into her panties, teasing herself as little moans toppled from her lips. Then she started talking.

“I’m gonna tell you guys about a little dream I had last night, well, I’ve been having it all week really” she continues to tease herself a little, her other hand coming up to grab her breast over her soft pink bra as she speaks. Her voice is smooth and perfect, if he only had the audio he’d still be turned on right now.

“It goes like this. I’m lying in this bed right here, doing something a little like this, when there’s a knock at my front door. When I get up to answer it he’s there, with his shaggy brown hair, and his huge doe eyes, and he’s got these lips that are just so fuckin’ pink. I want them all over me. He comes inside and he grabs me with those huge hands of his and he pulls me right into him before he kisses me.” she moans a little as her fingers brush right up against her clit, but Spencer’s vision has almost gone blurry.

He’s not sure he’s even breathing when she starts talking again. “Then I lead him to my bedroom, and I get him out of those clothes. He dresses like an english teacher and I wish I didn’t find it so fuckin’ hot. Sometimes in the fantasy I take his cock in my mouth, I suck him off until he’s whimpering. Other times I can’t wait, I just need him to fuck me right away.” she takes off her panties then, leaving them to one side, while she grabs a toy from her bedside table.

“I like to fuck myself with this, but all week I’ve just been imagining that it’s him. He’s just so pretty, I know his cock has to be too. I want to know what it feels like when he’s buried inside me, so fuckin’ deep” she continues to fuck herself with the toy, and he’s tuned back in now, he’s achingly hard without even noticing, his hand wrapping around his cock as he pictures the other side of that fantasy.

It doesn’t take long before he's releasing, spilling all over his hand in tandem with the video. She takes a moment to relax, steadying out her breathing before she speaks to the camera again.

“I think I have a crush guys” she gasps out, “I moved, and I think I’ve got a crush on my fuckin’ neighbor already”

Not that he needed any more confirmation, but those words hit him like a fucking train.

It’s already midnight, it’s not so late that he couldn’t go over there, but it sort of is late enough that he shouldn’t. He really can’t bring himself to care though, getting out of bed and cleaning himself up he decides to ride this uncharacteristically confident wave as far as it’ll take him.

He’s knocking on her door before he’s had a chance to second guess himself. When she answers she’s in a little robe, it’s ivory and satin, and he recognizes it too. He doesn’t say anything, neither does she. They just look at each other for a little too long, eyes taking each other in. He wants to lean in and kiss her, just like in her fantasy, but he’s not that guy.

“Hi” he breathes out instead, “I know it’s late, sorry, I shouldn’t be here—but I— I just wanna say” he pauses to take in a labored breath, “I like you a lot and I think you’re really pretty and funny and smart and would you wanna go out sometime? With me? Maybe?” he doesn't realize he’s closed this eyes until he’s got to pry them back open.

“Well that’s not how the fantasy was supposed to go” she giggles, her eyelashes fluttering as she looks up at him and the blush that’s steadily spreading up his face and neck.

“What do you— I don’t— what?” he’s stammering, doing a god awful job of playing dumb.

“In my video, you were just supposed to kiss me. This isn’t as sexy but it is a hell of a lot better”

“I don’t— I’m not—” he can’t get a sentence out, he’s got no idea what’s happening right now.

“It’s alright Dr. 187, I know it’s you” some part of him genuinely wants to throw up. Why did he think that would be an innocuous username. He was the stupidest genius alive.

“I’m sorry, I should've told you. I had no idea how, I just never thought— how could I have known you’d move in next door to me? And that you’d be even prettier in person but you’d be so cool too” he’s got to cut himself off before he really starts apologetically rambling.

“Spencer stop. It’s fine. I make that content for people to enjoy, you’ve got nothing to feel guilty about. I made that video because I wanted you to see it, that was intentional.” she reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder, and it’s more comforting than it has any right to be.

“Was that—your fantasy—the uh the video—were you telling the truth?” he can feel his heart absolutely racing in his chest as he waits for the answer. And she breaks out in a huge smile, nodding up at him.

“Every word.” he doesn’t let himself overthink it this time, he just leans right in, pressing his lips to hers. It’s soft and gentle, a sweet kiss rather than a heated one, it’s not just infatuation, there are feelings behind it now. He can feel her lips smiling against his own and his heart’s fit to burst now.

When they break apart she looks giddy with excitement, her hands come down to the little bow that holds her robe closed, toying with the ends of the tie. “I’m actually about to make a video now if you’d like to see behind the scenes?” she asks and his breath gets stuck in his throat.

“Fuck” he rasps, “You’ve got no idea how much I want to do that” he pauses, scolding himself in his head already, “But I think I wanna take you to dinner first, if you still want that?”

She’s grinning at him again, “I still really want that, tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night.”

-- --

Comments, reblogs, and tags are always appreciated, I love you all x

Masterlist

Read Part 2 Here

Permanent Taglist:

@pinkdiamond1016

@shadyladyperfection

@catlynhoss05

@ld-1204

@jared-19-cant-reid

@lvndrmenace

@n-ecessity

@aubreyxanne

@spencereidshoe

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ialwaysknewyouwerepunk · 3 years ago

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perfect now - a close reading

only pure and true love for this one. it’s soft and sweet because the one he wrote it for is and needs cheesy uncool romcom soundtrack-worthy affirmations and it’s the most wonderful thing oh my the flurries

some album booklet art for your viewing pleasure

((just a warning for below: while the lyric analysis was kept fairly neutral and close to the words and their meaning, more and more parallels did ensure me larrying out by the time the analysis kicked off so if you’re not into that, you can skip this one!))

⟼ check out @bluewinnerangel ‘s magnificent post with all the parallels to 1d/h&l bc it’s exhaustive and was a source for mine <3 thank you again for your service <3 bc this song really is a fanpiece of every song that has been important to them throughout their career so far, whether they wrote it or not, and it’s honestly kinda impressive

SUMMARY

you’re sad and i love you so much i will do anything to make that undone but while you’re sad know that i sill very much love you and you’re also strong enough to conquer all of this on your own but i’ll be by your side anyway

lyric breakdown ft. the many parallels, incl. little things, through the dark and wmyb

what this says about louis, his partner and the relationship he is in

never gonna dance again frenzy

identity

louis is a marvellous majestic sonofabitch basically <3

walls, track 10

～ little things “you still have to squeeze into your jeans, but you’re perfect to me”

You don’t feel pretty and it’s hard to miss

later lyric: “like a neon sign” - i see through you trying to hide away your insecurities

I wish that you could see my point of view As someone staring back at you

“you” is also staring at him, but perhaps is too insecure to realise how mutual the adoration is

i wish i could get you out of your own negative spiral and give you a look at yourself from my perspective

～ wmyb “everyone else in the room can see it, everyone else but you”

～ wmyb “right now i’m looking at you and i can’t believe you don’t know you’re beautiful”

～ little things “you never love yourself half as much as I love you, and you’ll never treat yourself right darling but I want you to. If I let you know, I’m here for you, maybe you’ll love yourself like I love you”

On Friday night when we’re all out I turn to you and you’re looking down And you don’t wanna dance I know you love to dance You never stop given half the chance

heavy echoes of kmm again, but the opposite: the “nightmare on the dance floor” doesn’t want to dance

when “you” is confident rlly not being subtle with who i think that is, they love to dance <-> tpwk “feeling good in my skin, i just keep on dancing”

“i know you love to dance” = i know what you love bc i love you

“given half the chance”

～ tpwk “giving/given second chances”

given a chance tattoo, making another appearance (see below for more tattoo meltdowns)

Just keep your head up, love, keep your head up

term of endearment <3

～ dlibyh

this album is full of encouragement to keep going and as much as it gives me life it ruins me

Don’t hide away, don’t ever change

“be happy, proud”

～ “just hold on”

“pick someone who’s supportive”

Keep your head up, love, keep your head up Don’t look away, don’t look away

don’t look away from me

～ through the dark “and I can see your head is held in shame”

Cause everybody’s looking at you now, my, oh my

they have the stage to themselves / new career paths they’re doing on their own

could also mean ppl they’re going out with are looking at them, which “you” interprets as sth negative, which makes them self-conscious, while they’re actually admiring them bc they steal the scene

～ wmyb “you’re turning heads when you walk through the door”

I guess some queens don’t need a crown And I know why Even when your tears are falling down Still, somehow, you’re perfect now

“you” is royalty to louis, to put it simply

they don’t need something on their head to make it known to everyone else - they’re a queen and everyone knows it

gendered: female - also used in drag contexts - the only time L has used any gendered word to identify his partner on the entire album (more on this below)

～ steal my girl "she's been my queen since we were sixteen" can't believe i forgot this one thank you @mortalenemiestolovers for reminding me!!!

～ falling

～ through the dark “you tell me that your tears are here to stay”

You never do, but if you asked me to I’ll tell the truth lying next to you

“you” never asks for affirmations directly, but by saying shit like their pants are too tight make it clear enough to L that they do need to hear once in a while that it’s not true

Cause you’re the only one when it’s said and done You make me feel like being someone

Good to you even at your worst

～ always you

i love you so much you are a force of life to me, and even when you hate me i want more

～ drag me down “If I didn’t have you there would be nothing left, the shell of a man who could never be his best. If I didn’t have you, I’d never see the sun. You taught me how to be someone” (sung by louis first, harry second)

～ through the dark “even if you scream and shout, it’ll come back to you and I’ll be here for you

You steal the scene and it’s unrehearsed

reference to working on a stage - their natural presence wins everyone over - that charisma is never manufactured

Don’t you wanna dance? Just a little dance I’ll never stop given half the chance

L keeps encouraging them, will also not pass by any chance to dance with them

Every insecurity, like a neon sign, as bright as day If you knew what you were to me You would never try to hide away

“it’s hard to miss”

L sees through them trying to hide their insecurities, pretend to be strong

～ through the dark “but I know you were only hiding”

SYNTHESIS

Perfect Now is not a fan favorite and I am so not here for that discourse, so please do not pester me with negativity about this chocolate drop of a song.

As others have pointed out, the parallels with other songs written by Louis, Harry or for One Direction are extremely present. Especially Little Things is echoed loudly, but there’s so much more to be read, as you’ve seen. These are songs that are clearly near and dear to Louis, bc he wrote them or bc performing them was special, like with Little Things and What Makes You Beautiful. A lot of the same emotions come back in Louis’s writing, so much so that you can’t help but see the larger story behind it all. Throughout Walls you can hear him singing about not giving up and holding your head high despite hardships, and if you look back at his earlier writing, it’s always been there. Through the Dark is an early and striking example of this style of Louis song: you’re sad and i love you so much i will do anything to make that undone but while you’re sad know that i sill very much love you and you’re also strong enough to conquer all of this on your own but i’ll be by your side anyway

basically through the dark’s chorus:

Oh, I will carry you over Fire and water for your love And I will hold you closer Hope your heart is strong enough When the night is coming down on you We will find a way Through the dark

It is very clear that Louis is faced with a partner - I can freely say it’s Harry now right? are the antis gone by now? i think so - that struggles with his body, with his identity, with how he wants to present himself vs how opinions on that might push him down and dampen his spirit. Louis, always the supportive boyfriend, then tries his best to make him see the light, while keeping that space for his sadness, his struggles, or their joint struggles. Accept the sadness but don’t lose your heart to it.

I’ve linked @bluewinnerangel ‘s post at the start of this post, but I need to stress how good it is once more as I also shamelessly insert a screenshot from it here bc it makes me feel a lot and summarizes perfectly just how deeply Perfect Now is woven into the history of their lives, relationship and especially “you”s/Harry’s personal struggle with their identity/body/confidence...

Because yes, i absolutely think these tattoos are being echoed in the song. “Never gonna dance again” as a lyric and then as a tattoo on Harry’s legs like shackles around his ankles represents the sensation of shame, of being stuck, bc of your desires, bc of your sexuality. Obviously we can never know why Harry got the tattoo, as in what experience pushed him to choose those lyrics or what exactly he recognizes in himself, but it’s safe to say it’s about the struggles of being queer and navigating relationships with that identity and with others.

Most importantly, the sense of shamelessly dancing, dancing like no one’s watching, dancing together with your lover, as a celebration of self, life, love, is the key here. Harry got that tattoo ages ago, at a time when he undoubtedly felt way more stuck. When he couldn’t dance freely the way he wanted to and with whom he wanted to. Perfect Now is a reminder to him, an encouragement to still dance if he wants to, no matter what people say or think. Significantly, then, Harry’s own Treat People With Kindness heavily features that same sentiment, but in an extremely positive light: i have found a place (in life and in myself) where i feel like i have given and was given second chances and now i dance bc i finally feel good in my skin.

Louis has obviously been there from the start, or at least from when or before Harry properly started experimenting with/questioning how he likes to present and how he identifies as. Before he ever dared to consider pulling on a pair of women’s skinny jeans, never mind a ball gown. Louis has seen him limit himself as well as being limited by others ofc and has always seemed to have been there, with a secure hand on Harry’s back, to encourage him. Even at a time when boys wearing nail polish or skirts was unthinkable. Just remember how much encouragement Harry needed when growing out his hair; Louis literally joined him. yes this might make me cry okay i need to stop bc i’m going off track and this is just becoming a larry breakdown while i was trying to hype up this beautiful song.

What I’m trying to say is: Louis has always seen all of Harry. He’s always had his back, no matter what. He’s loved every part of him. And now, on a completely gender neutral album, in the sweetest, softest song off of the entire thing, Louis puts in the word “queen”, and that is so very deliberate it makes me want to scream. It’s Louis confirming his love again and again while affirming the multitudes contained by Harry, including everything involving his gender journey. brb crying

It’s a raw Louis, an honest, sweet, kind, loving partner, and both of them are fucking lucky to have each other, and I also wish that all of us end up in a caring and wholesome relationship like that. I truly do.

#wow i thought this one was gonna be easier #i always do why do i think that???#every time i look closer into l's lyrics i see more depth #this is all just a perfect mushy mess so it's on brand for me #perfect now analysis #lyric analysis #my posts #parallels

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221bshrlocked · 4 years ago

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Show Me Your True Colors

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Fem!Reader

Words: 14092 (I swear this was supposed to be a short oneshot but it got out of hand. I'm so so sorry.)

Warnings: 28% smut, 72% plot. Penetrative, unprotected sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong my dudes). Oral (male and female receiving). Fingering and Squirting due to overstimulation. Some dom/sub elements but not full-on. Creampie. Rough handling (e.g. hair-pulling, spanking, hand-binding, some more hair-pulling). I think that's all?!

Inspired by these posts [x] [x] and by this lovely artist. Thanks @danniburgh for humoring me with my thots.

A/N: I came back from my temporary hiatus to post this because I couldn't wait. And now I shall return to my little corner again. Sorry guys these school/administrative issues are taking longer to deal with so I'm for the most part still away. This is not beta'd. Let me know how I'm doing in the comments please and reblogs are always appreciated. Enjoy. And you can add yourself to the taglist here.

It’s such a different atmosphere, from what he remembers at least. It’s been so long since he stepped foot on a university campus, and he can’t help but smile at the spectrum of personalities all around him. While some students lounge underneath the trees and on the grass, others ran hastily to their courses. Those were probably freshmen.

As he makes his way through the campus, he has to look at his phone numerous times to figure out where exactly he was going. That’s definitely one thing he didn’t miss about being in school, the fact that he was shit in directions and how he almost always got lost during the beginning of each semester.

When he does finally find the art history department, he silences his phone and heads to the first office he can find.

“Good afternoon, my name is Nicola. How can I help you?”

“Hi Nicola, I’m here to see Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. I was wondering if you could direct me to her office please?” Marcus smiles as he unbuttons his suit jacket, not realizing that his FBI tag was now visible to the world.

“She’s currently in one of her lectures, you could-” Marcus follows Nicola’s line of sight when she grows quiet and groans when he sees that she noticed his FBI tag.

“Please, she’s not in trouble. I am part of the FBI Art Crime Team, and I’m actually coming to ask if we could get her professional opinion on an artifact. Just need her to consult on something.” He smiles at Nicola and waits for her expression to relax before he continues.

“Do you mind telling me which lecture hall she’s in?”

“Y-yes, she’s in H140. Make a right at the door and it’s the hall all the way at the end.”

“Thank you Nicola, have a good day.” Marcus nods at her before he buttons his jacket again to avoid any suspicious, terrified looks as he makes his way to the lecture hall. He walks quietly, avoiding the students walking past him as they exit the rooms. When he reaches the door, he turns the knob slowly to not make any noise, hoping that he wasn’t being too disruptive once he walks in. As he shuts it behind him and looks around, his eyes almost fall out of their sockets.

There are at least 250, maybe 300 students filling the seats of the room. He awkwardly smiles when some students look to the side and see him standing at the foot of the door. He quickly takes a seat and says nothing as the students return their attention to the large projected screen. Marcus hears what he assumes is your voice through the large speakers but he can’t place your position. As he looks at the projected images, he finally catches you through his peripheral vision as you step off the railing near the exit doors at the front of the room.

“Because of this association with the gods, many amulets used to ward off the evil eye include depictions of mythological figures and deities who are almost, if not always, female. To the Greeks and Romans, the most common fascinations with an evil eye were women in any shape or form. They were thought to have the most powerful and harmful gaze that might kill if eye contact was established. That’s basically me telling you to never look me in the eye or else I will curse the cow of your second cousin twice removed.” Laughter reverberates off the walls at your joke and only grows louder when you whisper, “just kidding...or am I?” Marcus can’t help but smile at your jokes, watching with fascination as you move up and down the stairs of one side of the lecture hall once you continue to speak.

“Now, I know what some of you are thinking...isn’t that a bit sexist? Well, to the ancients, no. And to us, it’s kind of a meh thing. I know that doesn’t sound very feminist of me but it all comes down to the culture and the ancient practices that carried over. Just remember that it wasn’t because they were women, it was because they were thought to be powerful...a glass half-full kinda thing.” Marcus watches you closely as you maintain your focus on the students before you switch the slide and stand in the middle of the stairway with your back towards the projector.

“So, we find goddesses such as Erinnyes or the Furies associated with the evil eye because of their avenging nature. Their heads were covered in serpents and their eyes were always bloodshot and one of the Furies by the name of Megaera was considered in late antiquity as the personification of envy and whose eyes were the most envious and deadly of all the Furies. She was described by poets as baskanon omma pherousa...bearing the evil eye. Naturally, many children in late antiquity constantly wore amulets of stone galactite to protect them from the eyes of Megaera, and sometimes even wore necklaces with her face on it to counteract the evil eye of someone else and have her curse the ones who tried to harm them. Basically, the ancients were playing a game of tag with the evil eye.” You descend the stairs and walk to the other side of the hall, and Marcus feels his chest tighten with how much confidence you exude, not just through your words but with how you carry yourself as well.

“Perhaps the most famous of these dangerous women is Medusa who was one of the Gorgones in Greek mythology. The Gorgones were one of many female beings such as the Harpies, the Erinnyes, the Graiae, and the Keres, who were said to be grim-faced, and who held horrible looks. Briefly, the story tells of how she was one of the most beautiful women to ever walk the earth and later became hateful-looking by Athena as punishment for being raped by Poseidon in the middle of the huntress’ temple. Her hair became serpents and she was so furious that anyone who would look at her would turn into stone...at least that is the version you will hear from the “all-knowing” male scholars within this field. But, and I know I’m going on a rant here, if you’re like me, you’re more likely to argue that Athena pretended to hate Medusa. The serpents were no punishment! The goddess looked at the poor woman and gave her a weapon to use against men because unfortunately, she couldn’t do anything to avenge her...not only because she didn’t get along with Poseidon but also because he was a god as well. Anyway, back to Medusa’s amazing power which I would love to have so I could use it whenever I’m talking to some professors in this department...don’t quote me on that.” Again, Marcus chuckles at your side commentary and notices how calm and enjoyable the atmosphere of the lecture is. If only he had professors like you when he was in university.

“Even after she was decapitated by Perseus, her powers were very much alive and it is said that Athena placed Medusa’s image on her shield, once Perseus returned it, in order to use it when she hunted. This suggests that depictions of her severed head held apotropaic power and like earlier, one could use a creature who held the power of the evil eye against another being who is said to use the evil eye. Following this principle of similia similibus, it is not surprising that most of the amulets found in Greece and Rome contained illustrations of Medusa’s decapitated head on them. What was once the possessor of the evil eye became a protective symbol against the very same thing.” Just as you are about to continue with the next image, an alarm goes off and Marcus frowns in shock at how inconsiderate it was that phones weren’t silenced. But his surprise only heightens when he sees you running down the steps to your desk and picking up the phone sitting in the middle of the table.

“Ahhhh man, we were just about to get to the cavalier. That’s okay. Remember, the second response is due first thing on Friday. If you can’t turn it in during class, shoot me an email and we can work something out with my TAs. Go forth my clever spawns!” Marcus stands up and glues himself to the wall when he sees students emptying the lecture hall, his eyes on your form at the front of the class. He hopes you don’t leave out of the front exit and begins to make his way to you through the multitude of undergrads leaving. When he reaches your desk, he stands to the side until you finish chatting with one of the students and begins to collect your work.

“Dr. Y/L/N?”

“Please, it’s just Y/N. Who are you and how can I help you today?” You almost do a double take when you look up from your bag and see the man standing in front of you. To say that you were starstruck by the man in front of you would have been the understatement of the century.

“I’m Special Agent Marcus Pike,” he holds out his FBI tag for you and watches as you raise an eyebrow at him before you swing your bag across your shoulders and motion for him to follow you out of the hall.

“I would like to put it on record that I do not, in fact, wish to turn any of my colleagues to stone.” You joke, and Marcus senses that you are perhaps nervous at seeing his tag.

“Believe me, I would like to do that to some of mine as well...but no, not why I’m here.” Marcus clips the tag below his jacket as he walks with you.

“May I ask what I have done that caught the FBI’s attention?” You walk ahead of him, and ask him if it was okay for him to head over to your office with you.

“I’m with the FBI Art Crime Team and I’m here on a request. We would like to consult you on an open investigation and I came here to ask what your availability is.” Marcus follows you up the stairs, barely forcing his eyes to remain on your feet instead of elsewhere.

“Oh, me? That’s...wow. Of all the things I thought I would accomplish in my life, that’s definitely not one of them. May I ask what it is you need my opinion on?” You push open the doorway of the staircase and point at your office across the quiet hall.

“Unfortunately, there is a lot of paperwork you need to fill out before we get to work so I can’t disclose anything about the case until you sign in.” Marcus steps into the office behind you and watches as you set your things down before you move to your desk. He can’t help but feel his muscles loosen at the sight of the bookshelves across your room.

“This is probably the most exciting thing to happen to me all year long so yes, hundred percent. I’m available for the rest of the day today as well as tomorrow and Friday after lecture which ends at the same time as today’s.” You beam up at him as you take two books out of your bag and replace them with a folder that was sitting in the middle of your desk. Marcus looks at you quizzically, marveling at how much easier this was going. He genuinely thought he was going to meet with someone who was probably a bit proud and perhaps as much of an asshole as his previous professors but you were so much different than anyone he’s ever met within this field.

“Are you sure? I understand if you need to take a week or two-”

“No please, you’ll be saving me from faculty lunches and two seminars by colleagues that I genuinely cannot fucking stand- oh, sorry. Sorry, didn’t mean to-” You swing your leather bag around your shoulder again and shut the blinds of the windows before you walk to the door.

“Please, you don’t have to worry about that with me.” Marcus chuckles at the excitement rolling off of you and bites his lower lip when he watches you quickly fix your hair.

“I might need to have lunch on the way to your office though if that’s okay?” You take a plastic container out of your bag and smile sheepishly at him as you lock your door.

“Wow...is your bag bigger on the inside or something? And, yeah fine by me.” He pushes his hands into his pockets again and walks next to you, a little corner in his heart gradually filling with hope letting him know that he should be cautious. He didn’t want a repeat of last time.

You both chat briefly on your way to headquarters and Marcus apologizes every time he looks over and sees you struggling with your food. By the time you make it to the building, Marcus can tell you are a bit nervous and he assures you once more that this was merely a consultation.

“Wait how did you even find me?” You take your jacket off along with everything in your pockets, laying them down near your bag as they go through the scanner. Marcus passes through with his badge and waits for you on the other side, picking up your things as you put your jacket back on.

“I made some calls and a friend suggested to get in touch with you because of your expertise.”

“Oh now we’re getting somewhere. You have a Greek artifact don’t you?” Marcus halts in his steps and looks over to you as he shuts his eyes in irritation. He should have watched what he said.

“S-sorry I couldn’t help it. I’ll stop until I fill out whatever paperwork you have for me.” You take your things from him and walk quietly as he leads you to the elevators.

“I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s not personal, it’s just-”

“Business I know. I know. I’m so used to watching this kind of stuff in movies that I tend to forget it’s all fake and you’re...the real deal.” You hope he doesn’t see the way your eyes trail over his taller form, silently cursing yourself when you meet his eyes and notice how he’s already staring at you with a smile.

“Sorry.” You apologize again and look straight ahead, hands tightening around the leather strap when you realize that he’s still looking at you.

Marcus fists the hands in his pockets to prevent himself from saying anything else that might make you uncomfortable, and he looks at the increasing numbers as they reach his floor. A loud ring signals your arrival and Marcus stretches out his hand so you could walk ahead of him. You wait until he tells you where to go and say nothing when he stops for a second and whispers something to another agent.

When you arrive at his office, you stand to the side and wait for him to tell you what to do.

“What’re you doing all the way over there? Come here.” Marcus calls you over to his desk and smiles, hoping to put you a little at ease. You step towards him and set your stuff on the floor as you sit opposite him on one of the two chairs. He pulls out a couple of files and sets them in front of you in four different piles.

“That’s a lot of paperwork.” You chuckle nervously as you take out a pen from your bag.

“I know, I’m sorry. But that’s why I’m here. These are the building rules and your signature is basically you telling us you’ll abide by all of them.”

“I don’t know any of them.” You respond immediately, and rub harshly at the pen between your fingers.

“I’ll be with you at all times so you don’t have to worry about that.” His smile throws you off guard and you nod before you sign the highlighted areas.

“And these are you swearing that you will tell no one of whatever you see, hear, do, etc. within the building.” You nod and sign through the stapled paperwork before sliding them his way.

“We’re almost done. These two are like the second pile but they have to do with this case specifically. And they extend to outside the premises, meaning that if I or another agent on the case tells you anything that has to do with your work here today while we’re grabbing coffee from across the street, you can’t say it to a living soul.” Marcus points at the four highlighted boxes and tells you to sign the date next to them as well.

“So I can say it to my dead cousin?” You ask as you sign the two papers and hand them to him, unable to hold your laughter when he shakes his head as he pushes the last pile towards you.

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”

“Can’t help it.”

“And finally, these are you swearing that whatever you tell us today, be it an opinion, a fact, or anything else, is the absolute truth. Basically, you’re not fucking with us.” You raise an eyebrow at his choice in words and he shrugs his shoulders as he motions for the empty spaces again. When you’re done, Marcus collects all the files and places them in a folder before he unlocks his desk and pushes them inside.

“I don’t ever want to see my signature again.” You whisper as he leads you out of the office towards a conference room. He holds the door for you and nods ahead, waiting for you to step in before he shuts the door behind him and turns around. You try to ignore the hand pushing on your lower back as you walk in and spot three gentlemen and one woman standing towards the end of the long table.

“Wow, that was quick.” The female agent is first to speak and you say nothing as Marcus introduces you to them.

“Thank you for coming on such a short notice.”

“Of course. This is very exciting for me so I’m happy to help in any way.” You shake her hand and stand to the side as Marcus motions for you to sit down.

“This is Lydia, Ethan, Henry, and Noah.” Marcus points to each member of his team as he pulls out a chair next to you and sits down.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You nod towards them and look at the folder that Lydia hands to you. Marcus says something as you flip open the folder but you can’t respond, eyes almost falling out of their sockets as you take in the large image on the page. You look up at Marcus and everyone else before you return your attention to the picture.

“You recognize what this is then?” Ethan breaks the silence and watches as you move through the pages quickly.

“Umm, that seems like an oversimplification but yes.” You continue to study the images in front of you for another few minutes before you set them down and look up at Marcus.

“Some explanation would really help me out right now.” You tap softly on the papers, and your mind conjures up the wildest possible stories behind the images currently displayed in front of you.

“Oh right yes. We received a tip from the Smithsonian’s acquisitions department about a man trying to sell them this artifact for three million dollars,” Marcus notices your eyes widen but he continues, “but they’re not sure if it’s stolen or not. And he refuses to cooperate.”

“Which is where you come in. Have you seen anything like this before and if so, where?” Lydia stares at you as you return your attention to the pictures again.

“And the Smithsonian can’t confirm this?”

“Far from it. Marcus here is just afraid they’ll eventually get greedy and do anything to get their hands on it.” You look next to you and watch a faint blush take over the agent’s handsome features.

“I mean I don’t blame you. There are a bunch of real assholes in this field.” You laugh when he gives Lydia a ‘told you’ look.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to help you if I don’t see the actual pendant.” You shut the folder and push it away from you.

“That might be a problem.” Henry takes his glasses off and proceeds to clean them as he looks at his co-workers.

“Why? Do you not have it anymore?” Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of the FBI losing such an object.

“Oh no we have it. Our guy is afraid we’ll switch it out with a fake so he refuses to hand it to us unless he’s in the same room.”

“That’s funny. Is there a rule that says I can’t look at it while this man is in the room?” You ask Marcus and he can’t help but notice how giddy you’re being all of a sudden. Your excitement is almost palpable and he wills himself to focus on the question and not how you bite your lower lip as you wait for him.

“I mean…”

“You’re all going to be in the room aren’t you?” You cut him off before he says anything and when they all nod, you turn to Marcus once more and wait for his response.

“I guess it’s fine.” Marcus reluctantly answers before he asks Ethan and Noah to bring the man from the interrogation room he’s been in for the past couple of hours. Lydia and Henry let you in on more details and Marcus watches as you furrow your eyebrows in focus, occasionally cutting them off to ask them a question.

Fifteen minutes later and a knock on the door breaks you out of your haze. You look up just as Ethan and Noah walk in with a man in front of them. You say nothing as they bring him to your side of the room and set him down across from you.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t steal it. I found it!” Your ears perk at his comment but you say nothing as he crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at you.

“May I see it?” You ask before anyone else says anything and the man continues to stare at you before he ignores your question.

“Please, I’m just here to confirm your story. I know for a fact there isn’t a museum out there that has this.” You notice the hardened expression on Henry’s face but he says nothing. A few long moments pass by and the man shifts to take something out of the inside his jacket. You inhale deeply and watch as he unwraps the cloth before he places the small pendant on the table in front of you.

“May I?” You ask again and if Marcus didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re just trying to put the man at ease. If you were nervous around five FBI agents and you did nothing wrong, then his little thief must have been scared shitless.

When the man nods, you bring out a pair of gloves from your handbag and put them on, forcing yourself to remain calm as you pick up the pendant.

“What a beautiful work of art you are baby. Red jasper, my favorite!” Your excited words break the silence and you look up at the man in front of you with a smile, feeling your hands sweat when he slowly returns the expression.

Got you.

“Greek is marvelous...crystal clear, grammatically correct, unique placement.” It’s as silent as a cemetery and Marcus watches you closely as you narrow your eyes and adjust the stone under the light. If he wasn’t dealing with a criminal and a potentially stolen artifact, he would have told you how beautiful you looked when you were deep in the middle of a task.

“Hmm, what is this 6th century-ish spell? Oh my bad, no no no, I tend to mix them up sometimes. It’s definitely a 7th century formula.” You make an awkward face and watch as Lydia shakes her head at your little mix up.

“Now, let’s see what you got on the other side sweetheart.” You carefully turn the amulet around in the palm of your hand and barely hold back from gasping dramatically.

“My god...what a goddamn sight...oh oops sorry, that was probably blasphemous. A perfectly etched crucifixion...cross with 4 sides, with a plaque at the top...and of course, can’t forget the clothed Christ. The detail on this is truly unlike anything I’ve ever seen, down to the ‘Iesous Xristos Theou Yios Sotare’ around the figure. Where did you say you found it again?” You casually ask as you continue to inspect the stone, almost laughing when the man responds immediately to your question.

“Mount Athos.” Marcus turns to his team in shock. You’d managed to get the information out of him so easily while they spent an entire day trying to get him to say anything. It was a little funny how at ease the man seemed now, leaning forward towards you as you flipped the stone around.

“Ohh the hub of Eastern monasteries. Boy is this the most valuable artifact I’ve ever had the pleasure of looking at then.” You set it down on the cloth and wrap it up before taking your gloves off and leaning back on the chair.

“See, told you its one of a kind. No one’s ever found anything like it before.” The man beams at you before he takes the object and puts it back in his jacket.

“Oh yeah it’s one of a kind alright...because it’s the most fake amulet I’ve ever had the misfortune of examining. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been this disappointed in my life. And here I thought another one of these was out there. Did you even bother to do any research on this?” You frown at him and cross your arms in irritation, completely missing Marcus’ reaction and how he turns to Lydia to confirm that yes, you just said that it was a fake artifact.

“W-what?”

“I’d love to know where you got the red jasper because you could have fooled me with that. Let’s break this down shall we? The Greek is perfect, too perfect if I’m being honest. You never have grammatically correct syntax etched on a magical amulet, let alone proper diction. Oh and you should have probably used Classical Greek instead of modern Greek, like were you even trying? Really bad move to use a 7th century formula with a non-altered 6th century spell. The formula didn’t even exist yet!” You tilt your head to the side and watch as the man in front of you begins to fidget. His smile is replaced with a shocked expression and you watch as it slowly becomes angry.

Marcus was speechless. He never saw this coming and was looking at you with a mixture of awe and surprise at the turn of events. He could only stare at you as he took in your energy, the same confidence and intelligence he saw earlier in the day when he walked into your lecture.

“As for the back, you never get 4-sided crosses with these, only three, and the head of Christ makes up the fourth which you don’t actually see because of his head. No plaque, too detailed and non-existent in protection spells. Christ is always nude on magical amulets by the way...yes it’s weird, but it’s a fucking amulet and he was just some extra deity. And finally, never, ever, write out ‘Iesous Xristos Theou Yios Sotare.’ You write the acronym IXOYE.” You flip open the folder that was in front of you and grab a sharpie from Marcus’ file, circling the first letter of each Greek word and holding it up as if he was one of your students and you were trying to lecture him.

“Don’t even get me started on your provenance. Mount Athos? I mean for fuck’s sake, Constanza would have been a better option. At least we actually found amulets out there. How much was he asking for this?” You turn to Marcus and completely miss the starstruck eyes he’s giving you. When you raise an eyebrow at him, he finally realizes that you asked him a question.

“Uhhh 3 mil.”

“Oh boy...yeah, this is worth jack shit. Wouldn’t even do it’s intended job if you actually wore it as a protection pendant.” You watch as the man’s expression changes from anger to outrage and you barely have any time to push away your chair and hide behind Marcus before the man tries to jump on top of the table towards you. It takes Ethan and Noah approximately five seconds to tackle him down before they take him out of the room. You watch as they reach for the amulet in his pocket and give it to Henry just as they push him out.

You’re still coming down from the adrenaline rush when Marcus turns around and asks you if you are alright. As soon as you see the gun in his hands, your hold on his jacket tightens and you gulp nervously when you meet his eyes. He apologizes quickly once he sees where you’re looking and quickly puts the gun back in its holster.

“You okay?” Marcus holds your wrist and rubs his thumb over your pulse point until you begin to relax. You fix your jacket and take a deep breath before you meet his eyes, almost gasping when you see how dark and oddly calming they are.

“Didn’t think a consultation would get this exciting but uhh, yeah I’m good. I think.” You try to laugh it off but looking at the object in Henry’s hand makes you realize that the last five minutes did really happen and you actually managed to piss off someone to the point where he tried to attack you.

“And we were worried it was stolen…” Lydia shakes her head when she takes the amulet and swirls it around in her hand.

“I might be wrong but I think you should try to find out who made it, especially because of the red jasper. This came real close to a fake. And you should also try to date it as well...there might be more of these out there.” You smile when Lydia agrees and collects the folders on the table, thanking you on her way out.

“My pleasure...apart from that last bit.” You laugh it off and watch as she exits the conference room with Henry.

“So…” You turn to Marcus and whisper a quick thank you when he hands you your bag.

“So, this definitely wasn’t what I had in mind when I asked you to consult on this case. I- I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that this happened. It’s not always like this, I promise. The exciting stuff usually happens when we find guys like him in abandoned warehouses.” Marcus continues to word vomit as he leads you back to his office.

“It’s okay really. My advisor always warned me about this.”

“About working with the FBI?”

“No no, about rambling so much that I piss off someone to the point where they try to kill me.” You’re taken aback by Marcus’ laugh and can’t help but giggle along with him as he leans back in his chair and continues to laugh.

“I hope that doesn’t mean you won’t work with us again?” There’s something in his voice that doesn’t ease the butterflies in your stomach and you place your hand on your chest dramatically as you bat your eyes at him.

“Why Agent Pike, are you trying to recruit me to the FBI?” You ask sarcastically and watch as he shrugs his shoulders before shutting off his computer and standing up.

“Just a consult here and there, should we meet another Greco-Roman artifact? Or...a fake one I guess.” You swallow the lump in your throat when you see the way he’s looking at you and hope that you’re not misreading any signs.

“Can I take you out to dinner? As a thank you and an apology for putting your life in danger?” Marcus is reluctant to ask but he takes the leap of faith and hopes that you wouldn’t reject him.

“I- actually...in all honesty, I don’t think I’ll do well in public after that whole thing.” You gesture towards the outside offices, and Marcus nods in disappointment and contemplates on whether he should ask you to dinner some other time. You never give him a chance to follow-up though.

“How about take-out at my place?” You stand up and smile when you see his eyes beam with excitement as he fixes his tie and motions towards the door.

“Lead the way doctor.” You flush under the title and walk ahead so he doesn’t notice the obvious effect he’s having on you. You glance at Marcus every now and then as you make your way out of the building and towards his car.

You chat about random things as he drives through the busy streets, and you feel your heart skip a beat when he says something scandalous about your favorite Impressionist artwork, not because of the comment but because of the way he winks at you as he slides his hand to your thighs and nudges them to let you know he was just joking. You hope that Marcus asks for your number by the end of the night, maybe even invite you to dinner again, because if you’re being honest, it’s been a while since you met a decent guy and he’s been checking all of your boxes all day long.

Kind. Intelligent. Hard-working. Funny. And of course, attractive. There was something about the way he smiles and you kept on replaying the moment he hid you behind him and continued to ask if you were alright.

“What do you mean you don’t like Bal du moulin de la Galette? It’s one of the most magnificent paintings out there. Best of Renoir’s if you ask me.” You unlock the door and switch on the lights, throwing your coat and bag on the wall before telling Marcus to make himself at him. He takes his jacket off and hangs it as well, turning around to continue his argument.

“Listen, I’m just not a crowd kind of guy. I’m more of a Paris Street, Rainy Day man okay so-”

“Why am I not surprised by that?” You laugh as you bring him a cup of water, hoping you were being subtle as you continued to check out the gun resting in his holster. Shaking your head, you take your phone out again and tell him that it’ll take you a few minutes to order pizza since neither of you can make up your mind.

Marcus looks around when you walk away to place the order, his eyes taking in the three bookshelves behind your couch. It’s almost as if the office space wasn’t enough so you had to make more room for all of your textbooks and novels. Maybe it was the other way around…

He takes a sip of water and glances to the side, instantly choking on the liquid when his eyes zero in on the three watercolor paintings hanging above your television. Marcus blinks rapidly and rubs his eyes to make sure that he wasn’t seeing things. He approaches the wall and looks between the three artworks, unable to tear his gaze away. He notices new details every time he focuses on a different corner of each painting, and his pants suddenly feel uncomfortable when he shifts closer.

“Pizza will be here in thirty-ish minutes and-” You almost drop the phone when Marcus jumps back and almost trips over his own feet. “Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” When you walk closer and see the blush creeping down his neck, you can’t help but giggle and glance at your paintings, almost as if you were taunting him into commenting on your choice in decoration.

“These are...interesting.” Marcus avoids looking at them when you stand next to him, merely pointing to the side as he looks at you.

“Oh no...here we go. I know what that means. You don’t like them?” You tilt your head to the side and hold back from smiling when he takes a long sip of water before he sets down the glass.

“N-no no, that’s not...I didn’t mean- I just...it’s a bold choice.” His stutter makes you laugh even harder and you apologize when his blush deepens. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. It’s always really funny when people come over because I get all kinds of reactions but you’re definitely the first guy that doesn’t call me a slut because I have pornographic paintings hanging in my living room.”

“Why not? The Dutch lords and the Italian merchants did it, why can’t you?” Marcus is almost offended by the remark and he forgets all about the awkwardness of the paintings when he sees you nod aggressively in agreement.

“Exactly!? Why is a guy allowed to hang an Odalisque in his home but I can’t hang some BDSM scenes?” You take the glass from the table and ask him if he wants more. Marcus shakes his head and quickly attempts to fix himself through his pants before you return.

“So you like them then?” You lounge on one chair and wait for Marcus to sit on the couch before you ask him.

“It’s a different aesthetic I think, and it somehow goes well with your bookshelves. Something about textbooks and nude paintings depicting sex just goes together...can’t explain how. And kudos to the artist too! The brushstrokes, the layering, the complementary colors...the scenes and positions are so natural. They’re perfect combinations. Did you pick them or did you commission them?”

“Oh I commissioned two of them. The third was just too good to not order. I’ll ask you this then, which ones do you think I commissioned?” Marcus glances to the canvases again and grows quiet for a few moments, his eyes switching from one painting to another before he meets your gaze.

“I think you commissioned the two on the left.”

“Why?” You try to hide how impressed you are by how he correctly figured you out, almost cringing when the question leaves your mouth before you could stop yourself. As much as you enjoy where this conversation was going, you really hope this wouldn’t lead to some misogynistic response on his part. Just as Marcus is about to respond, the doorbell rings and you tell him you’ll be right back.

Marcus thanks the heavens that the pizza arrives because he isn’t sure how he could respond to that question without accidentally giving his train of thoughts away. When you come back with plates and napkins, Marcus thanks you and proceeds to separate the pizza slices.

“It was the closest I could get to owning something that resembled the area I study.” You say through chewing and Marcus furrows his eyebrows, silently asking you to elaborate on your comment.

“Nudity I mean. I can’t afford sculptures so I settled with these.”

“They are beautiful. And the positions are-” Marcus stops abruptly when he realizes that his inner monologue just rolled off of his tongue.

“Go on, what were you going to say?”

“I- uh, I just think that the positions are intimate. And they become more intimate the longer you look at them.” He chews faster when you nod and take another slice of pizza.

“You have a favorite?” You ask and pretend you aren’t paying attention to every single word he says. You get the sense that he has a lot to say about the paintings but is choosing to hold back so you don’t get the wrong idea about why he is having dinner with you in your apartment after only knowing you for a few hours.

“Definitely the middle one.” His answer surprises you, especially because the one on the right has handcuffs and you genuinely thought he’d be into that because of his line of work.

“Really? Why?”

“Oh...I- this might sound weird but I think the scene is intense and- and close? Private? I’m not sure what it is I’m trying to say but the fact that she’s completely nude except for the panties around her thighs while he’s fully clothed and is focusing on her pleasure is- it’s intimate. And the hand on her back is a mixture of dominance and care, like he’s letting her know that she has his undivided attention but she has to behave for him.” You’re not sure when exactly you stopped eating and you clear your throat when you realize that Marcus was looking at you to gauge your reaction.

“Y-yeah that...ahuh.” Something about the way he says the word ‘behave’ twists your insides and you immediately stand up and head to the kitchen, whispering something about needing to wash down the food with something. Marcus eats quietly and hopes he hasn’t just made things even more awkward. When you come back and hand him a glass of red wine, Marcus relaxes and continues to eat.

“Have you ever drawn something like this?” You shake your head as you take a sip of the wine, laying against the back of the couch and crossing your legs.

“I wish. Human anatomy is so fascinating I think. I sometimes get this adrenaline rush when I look at the far right one and I tell myself that I’ll sketch all the risque and open positions I can think of but then I remember how long it would take me to finish one piece and I- I don’t have time for that sadly.”

“You can always start out with simpler ones? Maybe solo pieces, and move up from there.” Marcus mirrors you and sits back with the wine glass in his hand.

“Yeah, but I just love this kind of genre so much. It needs to be passionate, and sexy and out there you know.” Marcus smiles at the energetic response, feeling much more relaxed now that he’s had a cup of wine and found chatting about your choice in decoration less awkward.

“I get you. It’s why that lifestyle is interesting to so many people. The whole dynamic, whether we’re talking about the figures in the scene or actual partners, is based on that trust. You- you have to create that sense of trust and comfort for the scene to be enjoyable...pleasurable. It’s not as easy as some think it to be. As a Dom, you have to be aware of your partner at all times and the effect you have on them. And the same goes for a Sub too. You need to ensure that your Dom knows how much trust you put in them and the level of dedication that’s going into the scene. Both parties are depending on each other and it’s- it’s amazing.” Marcus smiles when he notices the intensity swimming in your eyes and he gives you a few seconds to collect your bearings before he asks his next question.

“Would you draw something as intimate as that?” He breaks the silence and watches your train of thought come and go.

“Would you?” You throw the question right back at him, holding in a breath when you see him lean forward with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“I would...but only if I have the right model.” Marcus doesn’t know where all of this is coming from but he can’t find it in himself to break whatever bubble the two of you found yourselves in. You’re silent for a few moments, long enough for Marcus to think that maybe, just maybe, he’s crossed the line.

But then you’re smiling at him mischievously, chugging down the rest of the wine before standing up and heading towards the hallway.

“I have an easel and some 16x20 papers lying around...I hope you don’t mind working with chalk.” You throw back at him before you walk down the hallway and Marcus has to give himself a quick pep talk before he follows you. He slowly makes his way into your bedroom and stands at the doorstep until you allow him to come in.

“I think the lighting is best in this corner but you’ll be the one working so sit wherever you prefer.” You bring over a chair and set it in front of the easel before you grab the large box of supplies and pull out all the chalk sticks that you have. Marcus nods in silence as he pushes the easel closer to your bed and begins to choose which of the chalk sticks he wants. There is a variety of shapes and sizes, and he’s not sure if he should start out bold or if he should ease himself into this. It’s been a while since he’s drawn a model and he really doesn’t want to screw up, especially because it is you.

Marcus is so busy preparing his workstation that he doesn’t notice you stripping off your clothes. You keep your eyes on him and find the little scrunch he does with his eyebrows when he focuses on something endearing. Taking a deep breath, you take off your bra and panties before laying on the bed and getting in a comfortable position. Your movements are minimal, and you stretch out your legs in wait for him. You fight the part of you that’s yelling at you to cover yourself and keep your focus on him to gauge his reaction.

“Pose however you want and we can work on the postures once we-” The words die in his throat as soon as he looks up from the easel and sees your state of dress, or lack thereof. The thick chalk stick he’s holding between his fingers snaps in half and breaks the blanket of silence that fell on the room. He visibly gulps and doesn’t try to hide the way his eyes trail down your form slowly before they return to look into your dilated ones. Marcus knows for a fact that the image of your heaving chest and hardened nipples will forever be etched in his mind.

“I- uhh, are you...c-comfortable?” He hates how much he’s stuttering and you smile at him when you notice how he is focusing on the wall behind you and not you.

You look around for a few moments, grabbing a couple of pillows and placing them behind your back before you stretch out one leg and bend the other one to your chest. Marcus almost chokes on his breath when he sees how open you are being with him but he says nothing and turns his attention to the blank piece of paper underneath his hand.

“I’m ready.” Your voice brings him out of his stupor and he nods briefly as he tries to reason with himself. He cannot draw you unless he looks at you. But he is well aware of the hardening predicament he’s currently suffering from and he’s sure you probably noticed by now the effect you were having on him.

“I won’t tell you how to do your job Agent, but artists usually have to look at the models they’re drawing to...you know, draw them.” Marcus rolls his eyes at the teasing remark, briefly glancing at you with a raised eyebrow before he begins to softly outline the shape of your shoulders. His cock twitches in his pants and he tries his hardest to not squirm too much in his seat. But every time his eyes move towards your nude form laying not five feet away from him, he silently curses himself and pretends he’s fine and that he isn’t imagining pushing you down and shoving his tongue deep into your wet cunt.

“Are you usually this quiet when you’re sketching, Agent Pike?” Something about the way you’re addressing him makes him clench his jaw tightly and he unintentionally whispers a little louder than he intends in response.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Your giggles let him know that you heard his remark and he is sure his face is growing a deeper shade of red but he shrugs his shoulders and ignores your obvious amusement. Marcus swallows the lump in his throat as he shifts his focus below your neck, parting his lips when he notices the tilt of your head from his peripheral vision as he ceases all movement and continues to stare at your chest.

“Oh sorry, is my arm in the way,” you lower your arms and move them behind you to support your weight, never breaking eye contact with him as you rock your bent leg back and forth and give him a full view of your most intimate parts.

Marcus is almost shaking in his seat at the sight of your breasts, unaware that he’s harshly rubbing the chalk stick with his thumb the more your leg sways to the side and reveals the outer folds of your pussy.

“P-perfect, thank you.” He whispers and returns to the sheet in front of him, biting into his lower lip as he rolls the chalk across and sketches the curves of your breasts. For a moment, he forgets what he is doing and narrows his eyes at the shapes in front of him before he smudges the black material across to shade in the skin. He looks back and forth for a couple of minutes until he’s happy with the shading of your body.

You marvel at how he’s managing to keep it together for this long when all you can think about is begging for him to fuck you into the mattress. You thought it would be easy for him to break but ever the gentleman, he takes the task seriously and tries his hardest to not dwell on your skin for longer than necessary.

A thought comes through your mind and you smile to yourself as you shift your bent leg to the side and move the other one until it falls from the side of the bed. You stare at him and hope this is what finally does the trick. And you don’t have to wait for too long because the next time Marcus looks at you, he takes a double-take and doesn’t bother to hide how he’s only focusing on the skin between your thighs.

“I thought it would be easier for you, you know. Easier access and everything.” You’re not sure what you’re going on about but you can tell that it’s taking every ounce of control in his body to not pounce on you. You hold your breath when Marcus stands up and meets your eyes, and you think this is it. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.

But then he’s freeing the paper from the easel and moving towards you, his expression never once giving his plan away. You gulp when he kneels at the foot of your bed and sets the paper between your thighs.

“You’re right, easier access,” Marcus says as he brings the chalk down on the paper and sketches your thighs, not bothering for propriety as his eyes zero in on your slit. You know you’re wet and you can feel slick easing down your folds but you don’t move a muscle, watching him as he expertly outlines your skin before he rubs the chalk with his thumb to shade the area again.

“It’s not quite how I want it…” His remark makes you shiver and you’re about to beg him to forgo the sketch when he leans forward and nudges your legs apart, perhaps a little carelessly, before he collects your arousal with his middle finger and swipes it across your folds. You’re shocked by the turn of events and barely hold back from moaning as he dips the clean finger into your pussy and rubs your walls for a few more seconds, his soft brown eyes turning dangerous as pushes his finger a little deeper and bites his lower lip when he feels you clenching around him. Marcus turns his attention back to you, his jaw tensing when he sees sheer bliss etched on your expression. Your little gasps are music to his ears and just as he feels your hips moving against him, he pulls his hand away.

You watch him like a hawk as he inspects his finger, gasping when he smudges at the chalk on the sketch to create darker shades around your center.

“Hmm, that’s more like it.” Marcus turns to you and smirks when he sees your parted lips turn into a frown.

“Do you not like it?” He feigns ignorance and raises an eyebrow when your frown deepens as you move back into your pillows. You lean back but continue to hold his gaze as you part your thighs and lazily stroke your cunt. Marcus slowly puts down the paper and chalk onto the floor and stands up just as you begin to pinch your nipples.

“Please…” Your whispered plea shoots straight to his cock and he laughs when it turns into a whine once he makes his way to the bathroom in your room. He says nothing as he quickly washes his hands and dries them before moving back and standing next to your bed.

You don’t stop touching yourself, hoping the needy sight of you is all the push he needs to take what he wants.

“What’s your safeword doctor?” Marcus keeps his hands in his pockets as he trails his eyes down your shivering body. He’s itching to touch you but he remains still and waits for confirmation that you do, in fact, want this as much as him. A part of him knows that the two of you should probably slow down and perhaps discuss whatever this is before you go any further. But it feels right being here with you. And he doesn’t want to give it up just yet.

“J-Jasper.” Your voice breaks when you see the hunger swimming in his eyes and you shift to the center of your bed as Marcus kicks off his shoes before taking off his socks.

“Hmm.” Marcus hums as he takes off the holster from his belt and quietly places the gun on your nightstand. When he turns back and sees you watching the gun and increasing your movements, he groans down at you before walking around the bed.

“Maybe another time baby...when you and I are a little more acquainted with each other.” You flush at the implications behind his words and nod at him. You watch as he begins to roll up his sleeves and your anticipation grows with each inch of skin he reveals.

“You look so pretty sweetheart, all needy and desperate for my touch. Do you want to cum baby?” Marcus asks teasingly and you nod frantically as you begin to push two fingers into your cunt.

“Nuh uh, use your words. I’ll let it go this time but from now on, you use your words if you want something from me.” His tone is less gentle and your inner walls spasm at the thought of hearing that same commanding voice telling you to get on your knees for him.

“S-sorry yes...yes please. I- I want to cum, please.” Marcus smiles in amusement as he steps closer to the bed until his knees touch the mattress.

“Good girl. Now, if you really want to cum, then you better come here and suck me off. Be a good girl for me and show me what that sweet fucking mouth of yours can do.” His chest puffs out proudly when he sees how quickly you’re moving to please him. You lay on your stomach and palm him through his pants, moaning along with him when you find him hard and ready for you.

“May I undress you?”

“Go on sweetheart, take what you want.” Marcus caresses your cheek as you excitedly unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. He doesn’t dare look away as you shove his pants down his thighs before leaning forward and nuzzling your nose into the bulge of his boxer briefs.

“Fuck baby, are you trying to kill me?” You giggle and shake your head in response, purposely rubbing his length with your nose just before you feel his fingers combing through your hair and tugging on it.

“Remember sweetheart...bad girls don’t get to cum. Stop your teasing before I shove my cock down your throat.” Marcus pulls on your hair harshly and groans when he sees you smiling up at him.

“Is that a promise Agent Pike?” You know you’re pushing his buttons and don’t hold back from gasping his name as he rolls you onto your back and aggressively pushes his boxer briefs down far enough to free his cock. He’s not really a vain man but seeing you lick your lips and inch closer to him as you stare at his hard dick makes him just a little cocky.

“Go on baby, open your mouth. Part those pretty fucking lips for me.” Marcus pats your lips softly and shivers when you respond to him right before you shut your eyes and wait for him to give you his cock.

“Yes sir.”

His knees buckle for a second the moment you take his tip into your mouth and suck on it. Marcus is torn between throwing his head back to enjoy the softness of your mouth and keeping his eyes on you as you suck on his cock. He leans forward and bites his cheek when you relax your throat and take more of his cock down your throat.

“P-part your legs for me baby please. Let me- oh fuck, your mouth is made of magic sweetheart. Let me- let me see how wet that pretty cunt is.” Marcus is already breathing heavily and he furrows his eyebrows in focus, not wanting to end this night early. You swallow around him a few times and hum when you feel his hand cupping your breasts while the other rests around your throat.

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you try to take him down as deep as possible just as you part your thighs and begin to play with your pussy. Marcus groans and swears above you as you work him expertly and he can’t hold back from pushing the palm of his hand a little harder on your throat. He can feel his cock passing across your pharynx and moans your name over and over again when he looks down and sees drool rolling down your cheeks.

“Ahh fuck oh god, s-sweetheart you’re a fucking dream. W-where have you been all my life?” Marcus continues to kneed at your tits, but when he gets a little irritated when he sees your fingers rubbing your clit. Without warning, he leans forward as far as he can and slaps your hand away, replacing it with his own and biting his cheek when he finds you soaking.

“Shit baby, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?” You hum around him and twitch in surprise when you feel two of his thick fingers pushing past your wet folds and into your cunt. You’re already so close to coming from his teasing and you whimper when he nudges your thighs apart aggressively.

“Keep those legs open for me baby. Shit, the smell of you is fucking intoxicating. Fuck, that it’s, get on your hands and knees for me.” Marcus moves away and silences you with one look when you start to whine and reach for his cock.

“Unless you want to call it a night, you’ll get on your fucking hands and knees for me. Shit baby I’ve wanted to shove my tongue in that pussy as soon as you stripped for me.” He never breaks eye contact as he kicks away his pants and briefs before he makes quick work of his shirt. You quickly turn around and bite into your wrist as you get on all fours and try to look at him through your elbow. You reach down and ease two fingers into your cunt as you take in his broad shoulders and lean form. You swear his muscles flex the longer you stare at him and when you finally look at him, you’re a little embarrassed at being caught openly ogling him.

“Look at you, like a bitch in heat.” Regret rolls off of him as soon as he registers what he just said. An apology is on the tip of his tongue but then you’re arching your back and shifting closer to him, giving him a show as you curve your knuckles to try and hit that sweet spot inside of you.

“Oh aren’t you the prettiest sweetheart in the world.” You moan his name when he caresses your back and kneels behind you, laying soft kisses across your back as he palms and lightly smacks your ass. Marcus removes your hand away slowly but not before licking your fingers and humming around them as the taste of you fills his mouth.

“Marcus please...I- I need you inside me.”

“What do you need from me? You want my tongue and fingers? Or do you think this cunt is ready to take my cock?” Marcus nips at your skin and pushes a hand on your lower back when you try and move away from him.

“W-whatever you want...just- need to feel you inside me. I don’t care, please. Oh fuck...please.” You squeal when Marcus spreads your cheeks apart and spits on your slit right before licking across your cunt. You fist your hands into the sheets and bite down on your wrist when you feel his nose nudge at your entrance as his tongue flicks your engorged clit.

“Good answer sweetheart,” you hear him whisper just as he kisses across your folds and dips his tongue into your core. You’re already shaking with need and rock back against him, hoping he’d end your agony and give you his fingers as well. Marcus is losing his mind and he tries his hardest to focus on pleasuring you. But it’s so hard to hold back when you’re whimpering at his touch and shoving your pussy in his face to get more friction.

“Stop moving,” Marcus growls against you, and you cry out his name when his palms land on your ass cheeks three consecutive times before he rubs the reddening skin.

“Oh god, your tongue feels so good Marcus. D-don’t stop, please. I want to cum, l-let me cum. You’re so fucking- ahh s-shit.” You think you feel him smile against you as he pushes two fingers into your pussy but you can’t be sure because you suddenly feel full. Fuck, and it’s only his fingers.

“Jesus Christ sweetheart, you’re so fucking tight. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.” He slowly parts you with his fingers and groans when he feels you squeezing his fingers. When you try to move against him again, Marcus slithers his hand across your back and grabs your neck, pushing your face into the bed as he leans over to whisper in your ears.

“You’re being such a bad girl tonight. I won’t give you another warning baby. Move again and I won’t fuck you.” You shiver when you hear his hoarse voice on your ears, grasping the pillows as hard as you can when he pushes his fingers as deep as possible and curls his knuckles.

“N-no please...I’m s-sorry- ahh gahd I’ll stop. I’ll stop.” Marcus is pleased with the effect he’s clearly having on you and almost gives in. But he wants you to cum before he takes you. From the looks of it, you aren’t looking for anything gentle, and with how hard he is, has been for the entire day, he doesn’t have the self-control to be anything but rough.

“Good girl...sweet fucking girl.” You force yourself to remain immobile as you feel him reaching deeper and applying more pressure on your spongy walls. The hand on your neck moves to your back and massages your heated skin. It takes you a while to realize that he’s reenacting the paintings in your living room and the thought shakes you to your core. Before you can even warn him, you feel a familiar pressure growing in the depths of your stomach and your heart hammers in your chest as you lose yourself to the sudden swelling sensation. You gasp his name over and over again as you cum around his fingers, and Marcus fists his hand in your hair when he feels you shuddering beneath him.

He’s shocked at how quickly you unravel at his ministrations and he doesn’t look away as he brushes his thumb against your clit and watches your body fight to not move away from him.

“M-Marcus wait- I...too much.” You can barely form a coherent sentence, let alone a thought, and you bite into the sheets when you feel his scruff scratch your skin deliciously as he licks off your juices.

“Use your safeword sweetheart and I’ll stop. But you came without asking so now I have to punish you...fuck, you taste as good as you smell baby, shit, maybe even better.” Marcus slows down but continues to move his digits across your tightening walls and when you say nothing, he sits up and twists his hand, waiting for your breathing to slow down before he begins to fuck you with his fingers.

“Oh oh f-fuck I- Marcus M-Marcus oh god...yes please fuck ahh I- I’m…” You try to warn him but he doesn’t slow down once, continuing his assault on your abused cunt until he feels you tightening around him again.

“Beg!”

“Can I- oh god, can I cum? Please fuck, I- I can’t s-stah ahh fuck.” You reach around and dig your nails into the hand fisting in your hair. You try to warn him again of what’s about to happen but he doesn’t give you a chance, picking up the pace just as he curves his digits and rubs at your sensitive spot.

“Drench me baby.” It’s all you need to fall over the edge again and your vision whites out as you convulse around him. Marcus smiles proudly when you listen to his command but his expression changes to one of awe when he feels you gush around his hand and wet his arm and thighs. He doesn’t stop once, completely captivated by the sight of your juices flowing around him so easily. When you try to move up the bed, Marcus lets go of your neck and pushes down on your lower back to keep you still. The damp spot beneath you is growing and something primal takes over Marcus. He wants nothing more than to soak the entire bed.

But he snaps out of his haze when you cry out his name and beg him to slow down. He looks at you as he gradually comes to a halt but keeps his fingers in your pussy. Marcus massages your muscles as he eases his wet fingers out of you and carefully maneuvers you until you’re laying on your back. You hiss at the sudden feeling of emptiness and almost jump away when you feel his tongue passing across the skin of your thighs. When you finally have enough mind to look at him, you’re taken aback by the sheer bliss written on his face as he closes his eyes and cleans you up. Your eyes widen in horror and embarrassment when you look at his glistening skin and you call for him shyly to grab his attention.

“I-I’m so sorry...I- I’ve never-”

“Don’t you dare apologize. That was the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen and the fact that I’m the first to make you squirt...best feedback I’ve ever gotten.” Marcus cuts you off as he licks at his forearm and fingers before he sits up behind you. You find his gaze much more intense than before and you hide behind your arm to avoid it.

“Marcus, stop.” He laughs at your sudden shyness and leans over to pull your arms away from your face.

“Please baby, don’t hide from me. Please.” You feel exposed underneath him and it’s a stupid thought considering what the two of you have been doing so far. But something about the way he’s staring at you with those deep, brown, soulful eyes makes you want to hide under the sheets. But instead, you take his hand and pull him close until he’s flush against you.

“K-kiss me.” You watch as his expression intensifies just as he leans forward and molds his lips with yours. You expected him to be rough but the way he parts his lips and allows you access to his mouth leaves you breathless. His scruff and mustache heighten the sensation and you instantly shove your tongue in his mouth when he melts against you. You hum when you finally taste yourself on his tongue and Marcus growls as the kiss grows more desperate. Just as you run out of breath, Marcus pulls away and holds back from smiling when you chase after him.

“Sweetheart, c-can I have you?” You’re amazed by how he’s still asking you if you want to do this even after the events of the past hour or so.

“Yes, please.” You respond as you push him off to resume your previous position again. Marcus feels his cock harden at the sight of you on your knees for him. But the moment shatters into a million pieces when he looks down and realizes that he doesn’t have any condoms.

“Fuck.” He hisses and begins to move away when he feels your hands reach for his thighs to stop him.

“What? What is it?”

“I- I didn’t think this would...I don’t have any condoms baby.” You stare at him for a few seconds before you break the silence and hope he doesn’t think any less of you. “I was tested after the last time and I’m clear. A-are you?” Marcus pins you with his eyes as he nods along. “I’m clean too...and, it’s been a while.” He hates to admit that last bit but he wants you to know that this, whatever it is, is serious.

“Same.” Your answer surprises him and he’s about to ask how that’s possible but forgets the question when you shift closer to him and dig your nails into his thighs to grab his attention.

“Fuck me.” The vulgar request sounds so pure rolling off of your tongue and Marcus pushes your knees wide open and settles between them. You continue to stare at him with hunger in your eyes as he strokes his cock a few times before he slides it across your wet slit. You’re already so sensitive from earlier but you can’t care less because you’ve only wanted to feel him inside you for the better half of the day. Marcus bites his lower lip and grasps your hips with one hand as he positions himself against your entrance and slowly pushes past your wet folds. He feels your walls already clenching around him and he hesitates for a moment as he moves his hands across your back to try and get you to loosen up.

“F-fuck...relax sweetheart. Relax for me please. I- I don’t- oh god, h-how are you this tight?” Your walls flutter around him when his hoarse, almost pained voice sounds through the room. “You’re doing so good baby, taking my cock in that pretty little cunt. Fuck, that’s it. Let me in sweetheart...could make you feel so good. Shit, that’s it.” Marcus cooes above you as he feels you slowly sucking him in. You sigh heavily when he finally sheathes himself completely inside you and it’s not until a few moments later that you realize he hasn’t moved a muscle.

“Marcus, m-move. Fuck, just- move.” Your impatient groans make him twitch inside you and the two of you hiss when his hips jut forward at your gasped requests. His hands hold onto you a little harshly, squeezing the skin of your hips and making you giddy at the thought of seeing those bruises the following day.

“Just wait...please baby I- I don’t want to hurt you. You feel so fucking good around me and- and I...oh fuck, f-fuck...squeezing the shit out of me. Please I-”

“Fuck. Me.” You turn your head around enough to look at him and find the sight of his sweaty forehead and furrowed eyebrows intoxicating. He can sense your eyes on him and reluctantly looks down at you when you pronounce those two words, watching as you pierce him with a harsh gaze as you roll your hips against him.

“I- are you…”

“Fucking please...take what you want.” The desperate tone of your voice breaks him and he pulls away until the tip of his cock is nudged in between your folds before he snaps his hips forward aggressively.

You shut your eyes and cry into your pillows as Marcus lets go and pounds into you. He’s no longer trying to hold back and you feel proud of the effect you have on him. Thinking back to the past hour, you realize that Marcus was going out of his way to control himself and not hurt you. But with every brush of his cock against your inner walls, with every groaned swear word and whispered affirmation, you can’t help but beg for him to fuck you harder. To take you like a crazed man. Because now that you’ve had a taste of what he’s capable of, you don’t want him to ease up on you.

“Shit baby, you’re perfect. Fucking perfect. Your cunt is begging for my cock sweetheart. Can you feel how deep I am? How deep this tight pussy is sucking me in?” Marcus nudges your knees a little farther apart as he plunges into you over and over again. You’re a moaning mess beneath him and as you try to reach back to hold onto his hands, Marcus lets go of your hips and grabs your wrists, using them as leverage to fuck you deeper.

You scream his name as his thrusts become relentless, the resonating sound of skin against skin reminding you of how sore you were going to feel for the rest of the week. You can’t really pay attention to what he’s saying anymore, choosing to focus on the way his dick fills you up completely and hits your special spot with precision. The thought of knowing that you’re at this man’s mercy and that he’s using you like he owns you makes you shudder and Marcus doesn’t realize you’re coming around him until he feels a pressure push out of you. He looks down and watches your cunt gushes on his cock and thighs again, the sight somehow even prettier the second time than the first.

He waits until you’re no longer convulsing in his arms before he thrusts his cock back into your pussy. Marcus leans down and wraps his arms around your front to bring you flush against his chest. Marcus brushes your hair aside and nuzzles into your neck as he begins to roll his hips against your ass, trying to drive his cock into you even further without hurting you. You reach around and pull on his hair when he bites on the juncture of your neck.

“You’re amazing, sweetheart.” The confession feels more intimate than anything he’s said to you thus far and you throw your head back and smile when his hands roam your front and settle on your navel.

“Marcus...please.”

“What do you need, baby? I’ll give you anything. Tell me...oh god, I- I’m so close.” Marcus kisses across your shoulder as one hand cups your breasts while the other descends to your clit. He feels you convulse around him but he doesn’t move his hand away, wanting to feel you cum one last time around his cock.

“I- I need you to cum for me...cum inside me. Fill me up baby...wanna feel you so deep inside me. Make a mess of my cunt. Please.”

“C-can you give me another?” He’s breathless, his pace faltering when he feels your walls squeeze around him tightly with every pass of his cock against your heated core.

‘I- I don’t think I can...too much baby.”

“Please, for me. Cum for me o-one last time...oh god, I’m close sweetheart. B-but I wanna cum with you. Please oh fuck- oh god, I- I’m fucking coming.” He growls into the crook of your neck as he rubs at your clit harshly, crying your name like a prayer as he feels you milk him dry. His thrusts are desperate and you pull on his hair harder than you intend when you feel his cum fill you up. Marcus can barely breathe as he shoots his seed deep in your pussy and feels you pulse around him. He continues to buck against you, the caveman mindset telling him to breed you and fill you up until you can’t take it anymore.

He stays motionless for a few minutes before he finally registers that you probably need to rest. As carefully as possible, Marcus pulls out and cradles your body against him as he lays you on your back. He looks down at you and smiles when he sees the mess he’s made between your thighs. He tries to get off the bed to bring you a cup of water and grab a wet towel when you reach out and pull him by his wrist.

“I need to clean you up sweetheart.” He tries to reason with you but you shake your head and pull harder on his hand so he could sit next to you.

“No just- come here. I need you. Please.” Marcus doesn’t have to be told twice. He lays down next to you and kisses your forehead when you cuddle into his arms. He draws circles on your shoulder and back when he feels your fingers play with his chest hair.

“Are you alright baby?” Marcus asks and pulls his head back when you hum a soft ‘yes.’ He searches your expression for any sign of discomfort, and when he finds none, he rests his head back again and lets you explore his skin.

“Hmm...did you know that hair was used in some ancient spells to ensure that the desired outcome occurred?” You break the silence after a while and Marcus furrows his eyebrows at you when you look up from his chest and meet his face.

“Uhh should I be worried Y/N?” He asks almost immediately and laughs when you panic and try to retract what you just said.

“Oh god sorry that- I didn’t mean...Jesus, I still need to work on my bedside manner.”

“I was kidding sweetheart. I actually enjoy listening to people talking about their interests, it’s a little calming. And no, I didn’t know that. What kind of spells are we talking about here?” You’re surprised by his response but say nothing and continue to follow the soft trail of hairs down his chest.

“Well, there are lots of curses that didn’t need hair but it was better if they were added...for efficacy and such. But the most common spells that required little curls like these were love spells, which technically are also curses but it sounds better when you say that it’s just a spell.”

“Are you trying to tell me something doctor?” Marcus can’t help but tease you again and he snorts when you sit up on your elbow and try to justify what you just said. He pulls you back into his arms and brushes your hair aside to take a better look at you.

“Oh no no, I just- I tend to think about this stuff at random times. Sorry. I swear I’m too much of a wimp to actually try anything. You never know if the desired outcome has any side effects...”

“No need to apologize baby. Besides, I don’t think you’ll ever need love magic with me.” The admission is out before he can stop himself and he cringes at himself, hoping that you don’t misunderstand him.

“Oh yeah, and why is that Agent Pike?” The hint of amusement in your tone lets him know that you didn’t mind teasing him back and he blinks a few times at the ceiling before he turns to gaze into your eyes.

“Well, you’re doing fine on your own being this amazing human being. You’re mesmerizing when you’re lecturing, you’re confident in your skills and knowledge, your intelligence is- I’m sure I’ve only scratched the surface with the case today. And you’re the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen...we could work a bit on your art choices but-”

“Hey!” You slap his shoulder and try to slither away from him but he’s too quick and wraps his arms around you before you can get off the bed.

“I’m kidding, I'm kidding...your art choices are the cherry on top.” Marcus nudges your nose with his and leans down to kiss you. He smiles when you moan beneath him. But the kiss is cut short when you push him away suddenly and narrow your eyes at him.

“You never told me how you knew which ones I commissioned.”

“Ugh no please, you’re going to think I’m a pervert.” Marcus falls back on the bed and tries to hide behind his arms.

“Oh yeah?” You slowly trail your hand down his stomach and wrap it around his cock. It’s all Marcus needs to lower his arm and look down to where you’re touching him. He shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back when you lean forward and nip at his jaw.

“B-baby fuck...oh god, please. I- I need a few more minutes and-”

“Tell me, please.” You cut him off with a bite to the shoulder, giggling when he thrusts up into your loose hold to get more friction.

“I- I was picturing the two of us...fuck, re-reenacting those scenes and those two jumped out more...more than the third.” He can barely speak through the haze you’ve put him in, and moans your name when you reach down and fondle his balls just as you whisper in his ears.

“How scandalous of you Agent Pike!”

“Sweetheart, please.” Marcus whines for you, the arm around your back pulling you flush to him and giving him perfect access to your breasts. He wraps his lips around one nipple and softly sucks on it as you continue to stroke his cock.

“Hmm, I like the sound of you begging...baby. Tell me, do you by any chance have your handcuffs on you?” The question catches him off guard, and he pulls away to look at you, finding a different kind of fire dancing behind your eyes.

“Fuck…I- uhh, they’re in the car. W-wait where are you going?” Marcus regrets his answer as soon as you let go of him and jump off of the bed. He watches as you run to the bathroom without answering him, only to return a few seconds later with bright red handcuffs clanking between your fingers.

“To get my own set Agent. Like you said, you and I need to get acquainted.” You unlock them as you walk back to the bed and straddle his thighs. Marcus looks at you with adoration and softly nods at you when you silently ask him if you could cuff him to the headboard of your bed.

“I’m yours sweetheart, take what you want.”

Taglist (some aren't working):

@pastel-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @freeshavocadoooo @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @purplepascal042 @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @tati-adventures @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @vibin-hippie @marsplsstop @fan-of-encouragement @evelynseventyr

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike/reader #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal #yall don't understand how much I love this fucking character #he's literally the softest #and he deserves the world #ugh #anyway

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thedaredevilsgirl · 3 years ago

Text

Dear Teacher - Part 2

warnings: teacher and student relationship (The reader is between 19 and 25 years old and please don't get involved with your teachers) angst,fluff, smut (fingering, unprotected sex -Please use a condom- dirty talk)

Word count: 3342 (surely the most I have ever written)

N/A: Hey, many people were asking, so I brought you part two of dear teacher, I hope you like it.I am creating a taglist, message me if you want to be added 💖💖

Part 1

When Tom woke up on Saturday morning he was disappointed to realize that you were no longer there, for a moment he thought that maybe it had all been a dream or just his imagination playing with him, but something inside him knew that no, that the incident had really happened.

"Incident" was how Tom was referring to the whole of Friday night. It had been a bad idea, he knew, meeting you at that bar, inviting you to sit with him, kissing you, taking you to his apartment, and everything that happened after that. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help it.

MONDAY:

Tom was nervous. It was the first time he had seen her since Friday and he still didn't know how to handle it.

You walked into the auditorium that morning and it seemed that fate loved to play with you as the two of your gazes met almost instantly, he swallows dryly and you blush before quickly looking away and running to your seat at the back of the room.

"Good morning everyone" He says starting his class, everyone in the room answers him quickly.

"Good morning Mr. Holland" Cindy, one of your students, says cheerfully "Looks like you had a great weekend" she points to a small purple spot on your neck, all the students start laughing as soon as she notices it. You sink into your chair, wanting to hide, mortified with embarrassment, remembering very well that you made that mark on Tom who was blushing in front of everyone's eyes.

"Anyway" he huffs loudly taking the students' attention back to class "I've corrected your Brontë sisters' papers, I'm happy to say that we got very good grades, but only one got a top grade, I'll give it back to you Wednesday" he says before continuing his lesson.

•─────✧─────•─────✧─────•

The class passes slowly, like torture for both of them, they just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. They needed to talk about what they had done, but they were more than happy not to do that today.

"That's all for today, remember to turn in your next paper on Monday and get ready for the debate next month, see you all on Wednesday" he says to everyone as his class ends. Slowly the room starts to empty, but you can't get out as a hand grabs your wrist making you turn to see who it was.

"Y/N" Mike, the boy who had missed your date on Friday was standing there holding your hand "I just wanted to apologize again for not coming on Friday, I didn't mean to ruin your weekend kitten" he apologizes.

"It's okay, really, you didn't ruin my weekend" you answer politely.

"If you want" he says getting closer to you "We can reschedule, I promise I won't cancel this time" he gives you a conquering smile.

Tom settles back in his chair, moving his hands nervously across his lap. He didn't want to hear your conversation, but as soon as he heard no names being called he started to pay attention, he had no right to be jealous, you weren't his girl, but he hoped you wouldn't accept it, you deserved much better than that boy in front of you.

"Mike, I'm sorry, but I can't accept it" You say, trying to be polite and pulling away from him a little.

"Just a date kitten" Tom rolls his eyes from where he was sitting, did he not understand what no was?

"We better just be friends" you dismiss yourself before leaving the room.

"Girls" the idiot says before leaving the room.

TUESDAY:

Thomas only saw you once that day, talking to your friends in the hallways.

He felt your gaze on him, which made his heart beat faster, and when he returned your gaze you looked away, blushing at having been caught in the act.

As he lay in his bed that night, the memories came back, he was beginning to hate it. Avoidance and being avoided, the two of them should talk about what happened instead of pretending not to and acting like children.

WEDNESDAY:

You were pacing back and forth in the hallway, debating with yourself, trying to decide whether or not to go into that office.

This morning, as Tom walked around the room handing out corrected papers to his students, he left his paper on your desk whispering a congratulations before moving on to the next student. You saw the top grade written on the first page and a little yellow post-it note placed there saying "Meet me in my office at 18:00, please".

It was still 17:50, you could still get away from there and that conversation, but you didn't want to, as nervous as you were you knew what you needed to do. You knock on the door and open it just as you hear a "come in" coming from inside.

"You came" he says getting up from his chair and gives you a shy smile.

"You asked..."

"I didn't think you would actually come."

"I think we really should talk Mr. Holland" you says nervously looking down at her own feet so she doesn't have to face him.

"Mister Holland?" He asks "I thought i asked to call me Tom"

"I can't do that"

"I understand" His voice, there was something different in it, hurt perhaps.

A silence fills the room for a few minutes before he begins to speak.

"I'm sorry about Friday."

"Why are you apologizing?" You asks without understanding.

"I just...thought you..." He sighs walking over to stand in front of your desk, only a few steps away from you.

"I don't regret what we did" You speak as soon as you realize where your speech was going.

"No?" He finally looks directly at you.

"No, my God, I loved every part of that night" a small smile appears on his lips which fades soon after as you continue to speak "But that doesn't mean it wasn't wrong, we shouldn't have let it get to that point".

"I know it wasn't, I know...it was so wrong"

For some reason it was painful to be in that room without being able to touch him again.

"I really wish I wasn't your teacher" he walks towards you "To have met you at another time, maybe then I could have had you to myself, take you out without fear of anyone seeing us, hold your hand, kiss you" His hand caresses your face and you close your eyes leaning in to feel his touch more "I wanted so much Y/N, I wanted to make you my girl...I really like you"

"Thomas, I like you too..." You sigh, your heart aching with every word spoken "But sometimes liking isn't enough for two people to stay together."

"I know, and that's the part that hurts the most" He forehead rests against yours, both of you with your eyes closed, in-between sloshed breaths that were already mingling, Tom felt a tear run down his cheek, your mouths so close "Y/N..."

"Thomas..."

"Tom man, we are late, your brothers will kill us if we are late again" Someone says opening the door suddenly just as you and he are about to kiss. The two of you quickly walk away panting for breath trying to recover from the moment, Tom quickly wipes the tear from his face. A tall blond man that you had seen other times in the halls together with Tom looks at you not understanding anything.

"Am I interrupting something?" the blond man asks suspiciously.

"No" the two of you answer quickly.

"Harrison, this is my student, Y/N" Tom introduces the two of you, perhaps as a way to change the subject "Y/N, this is Harrison Osterfield, professor in the physics department and my best friend".

"It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Y/N" He extends his hand to greet her " I have heard Tom compliment you several times, always saying that you are the best student in your class".

"My pleasure Mr. Osterfield" you shake his hand "I think he is just exaggerating a lot, anyway, I better go, I don't want to get in the way anymore, bye" you take your things and leave the room leaving the two men alone there.

"Wait a moment" He say to Harrison before coming after you.

He holds your wrist and makes you look at him, honestly he almost didn't care anymore that the two of you were standing in the middle of the empty university hallway.

"Y/N please" he says.

"Please what?" you say hurt "Do you want me to stay here? To fight for a passion that is doomed to fail? Something that could end my life at this university or end your career?

"Don't talk like that, we can make it work" he says hurt.

"I wish I was brave enough to try, I swear I do" you let go of his hand "But I'm not, it was just one night stand sex and as much as I like you I know that the sooner we get over it and move on the better, for both of us" you turn and walk away, leaving Tom standing there alone in the hallway with his hurt.

THURSDAY:

Your heart was still hurting. Last night you collapsed on your knees as soon as you got to your dorm room and let the tears finally fall, you were lucky you didn't have a roommate so you could cry all day long without having to answer questions about why you were so bad. And you cried until your eyes hurt, screamed against your pillow until your throat burned, let the sadness leave your body until you finally gave in to tiredness and went to sleep.

Tom was no better off than you, he spent the whole dinner with your family quiet while everyone else at the table talked, he wished so much that he wasn't in love with you, he wished it really had only been one-night stands, maybe then he wouldn't feel like he could die at any moment if he didn't have you by his side.

In different places, but sharing the same pain.

FRIDAY:

Tom looked across the room at you, his eyes red and his expression sad, it looked like you had been crying all night, and you really had, he wanted to go over there and hug you and tell you that everything would be okay, but he couldn't.

If they had thought Monday's class had been torture, this was something worse. Tom gave his class trying to avoid looking in your direction, while you couldn't pay attention to anything that was being said, you just wanted to go back to your room and cry some more. It was the last class of the day so you ran to your room as soon as it was over.

•─────✧─────•─────✧─────•

Tom was tapping his pen frantically on his desk, he should have been correcting his students' work but his mind was elsewhere and his head hurt like it was going to explode at any moment.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on?" Harrison asks, he was with Tom in his office and was starting to get irritated with his best friend.

"What?" Tom asks waking up from his thoughts.

"Tom you've been acting weird all fucking week, you spent the entire Wednesday dinner quiet a thing you don't often do."

"I don't know what you are talking about" he pretends to be paying attention to the papers in front of him.

"Does it have anything to do with that girl who was here?" he asks curious, Tom doesn't answer which only confirms Harrison's thoughts "Oh my god, it has everything to do with her doesn't it?".

"I really don't want to talk about it"

"You like her, that's why you're all emotional, because you can't be with her" Harrison speaks and Tom wonders when did his best friend get so good at unraveling his feelings.

"I had sex with her on Friday" Tom admits at once, his friend had already figured out pretty much everything so there was no reason to keep secrets anymore.

"WHY DID YOU NOT TELL ME THAT?" he practically shouts.

"Can you keep it down please, you're acting like a teenager, we passed that stage a long time ago and I don't want the whole campus to find out."

"I'm not the one acting like a teenager, you are, getting all angry and quiet over something that can easily be resolved" Harrison rolls his eyes as he states the obvious.

"She doesn't want me Harrison, she likes me, but she doesn't want me, she's scared and I can't judge her because I am too, this could destroy my teaching career and end her reputation here"

"Tom, isn't she one of the students graduating this year?" Harrison asked even though he already knew the answer.

"Yeah"

"Dude, she's graduating in less than 5 months and you're telling me that the two of you can't keep this relationship a secret for 5 months?"

"I..." Tom hadn't stopped to think about it.

"I'm sure you two can make it work."

"What if she's not willing to try?"

"You should at least try, Holland, go out there and fight for your girl" He encourages his friend.

"I think you are right, I will do it".

"Of course I'm right" He smiles smugly "Anyway, I don't want to have to put up with your sadness any longer" He says laughing.

•─────✧─────•─────✧─────•

It was almost midnight when you hear someone knocking on your dormitory door, you get out of bed and go to open the door.

"Thomas what are you doing here?" You ask as you see him standing outside, he walks into your dorm still without giving any explanation, you close the door and turn to see him "What kind of idiotic idea is this to come to my dorm, someone could see you here, how would we explain this?" You ask in an agitated manner.

Tom doesn't answer at first, he just looks at you, the baggy sweatshirt too big for your body, the hair tied back with a few strands falling in front of your face and the glasses on the end of your nose, and he can't resist. He walks toward you and kisses you, holding your face between his hands, his hands against your chest as you respond to his kiss, his heart beating hard in his chest and the sense of relief that he is kissing you again after what seems like the longest week of his life.

"I'm sorry" he says pulling away "I didn't come to do this, I just wanted to talk and..."

"It's okay" he fixes his glasses on his face.

"Y/N, I really like you, this is so stupid, I just... I want to try this, it's only five months until you graduate, we can make it...

"Tom" you try to interrupt him but he keeps talking non-stop.

"...to do this, I'm sure it wouldn't be easy at first and it's not the kind of relationship that's ideal or the relationship that someone like you deserves..."

"Tom" calls him again.

"But I'm willing to try, for you, for us, I want to try..." You kiss him again making him stop talking.

"I'm willing to try Tom" you say between kisses and he smiles "For us"

"I didn't think you would accept, I was already preparing myself for a no" you both laugh.

He sits down on your bed and pulls you to sit on his lap with each leg on one side of your body, he takes the glasses off your face and places them on your desk before kissing you.

"Damn, I missed that" he sighs between the kiss.

"It's literally only been a week" you say smiling.

"Really? It's felt like forever" he kisses you more intensely this time, his hands gripping your hips tightly making you move over his lap, the kisses slide down your face to your neck, you throw your head back.

"Tom" you say his name as a plea, his hands slide up your thigh squeezing you firmly.

"What do you want princess?" He asks with his head in the curve of your neck before leaving a small bite in that region.

"You, Thomas, I need you" you slowly roll over in his lap feeling his already hard length under you "please".

He smiles smugly at your response. Your sweatshirt is removed leaving you in just your panties and Tom lays you down on your bed placing his body on top of yours .

"This has been the most torturous week of my life" he removes the rest of his clothes and throws them on the floor "I couldn't get you out of my mind" he leaves a kiss on her neck exactly where he had "I thought about how I wanted to feel you again" the kisses descend to the top of her breasts and one of his hands grab her thigh wrapping her leg around his waist while the other goes down to her intimacy pulling her panties apart just enough for two fingers to touch them "That pussy is so wet, all this for me honey? "

"Yes, all for you Tom" he smiles at her answer before penetrating her with his fingers causing a quiet moan to come from her lips.

"Good girl."

"Your girl" you sigh ecstatic with pleasure.

"Fuck" Tom kisses you again, your words making him even harder than he already was "Say that again " he thrusts his fingers inside you reaching that wonderful spot inside you.

"I.Am.Your.Girl."

"My girl."

He had barely started and you were already so close, but he doesn't let you get there, teases you to the edge before stopping and doing it all over again.

"Please stop teasing me, I'm so close" you beg.

"No princess, I want you to cum around my dick" He says pulling his fingers out of you and removing your panties before turning you both over on the bed making you stand on top, he sits against the headboard as you rest your hands on his shoulders "now ride me like the good girl I know you are".

You sit on his member feeling him fill you completely, you both moan the moment you are finally together, standing still for a moment to get used to his size. Moving slowly until you finally get into a rhythm.

"So so good" he moans, his hand gripping her throat the way he remembered he had made her go crazy last time "So beautiful riding my dick" his other hand leaves a slap on her ass making her moan his name out loud as she throws her head, back rolling over in his lap .

"Tom I'm so close" you say as he gives you a push with his hips making his cock hit your G-spot, his hand making circular motions against your clit this time.

"Come to me then baby" he says and with a few more movements you are enjoying his wrist making you come next, your head falls on his shoulder and he spreads kisses down your neck as you recover from your recent orgasm.

•─────✧─────•─────✧─────•

You were wearing your shirt now, your head lying on his chest as he stroked your hair.

"You'll still be here when I wake up, right?

"Well this is my dorm so I can't leave" you say as a joke.

"I'm serious Y/N" he says laughing.

"Yeah, I'm not going anywhere" you smile fondly returning to lie on his chest closing your eyes almost falling asleep with his affection.

"Good, I don't want you to leave, I want you forever" he kisses the top of your head before falling asleep with you in his arms, no goodbyes this time.

#tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland smut #tom holland x you

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nbrook29 · 3 years ago

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Kiss or Slap part 2

part 1

Robbe stands in front of the mirror, eyes critical as he assesses the forest green shirt, plucking at the collar that’s digging uncomfortably into his neck. It’s not like the shirt is ugly; the problem is that it’s not and that it looks a bit too formal. But then again, Robbe wouldn’t know for sure since he’s never been on a real date before. He’s feeling a bit helpless in that area, to be honest.

He has a half a mind to text the boys and ask for advice, but just as the thought passes his brain he scoffs because it’s just silly; the only thing he would gain from doing that would be merciless teasing for weeks on end. Thanks, but no thanks.

Sighing, he glances in the direction of the hall, debating with himself whether asking for Zoe’s opinion is the right option here, but deep down he knows that otherwise, he’s gonna be standing i front of that mirror agonizing over his appearance for the next twenty minutes if someone doesn’t talk some sense into him.

The way Zoe’s eyes widen in surprise when he enters her room lets him know that yes, he is overdressed.

“Too much?” He scrunches up his face, feeling a bit self-conscious.

“Well, I mean... you look really nice, but, um, maybe go for a t-shirt instead?” Zoe suggests, looking almost apologetic. Robbe hovers in the threshold, still not totally convinced.

“Yeah?”

“You clearly feel uncomfortable in that, plus he’s not taking you to an expensive restaurant or something so I think you should just go for chill,” she pauses, trying to remember something. “That pink t-shirt you have? You look really cute in it! You should wear that.”

“I don’t wanna look cute, Zoe, I wanna look hot,” Robbe blurts out, pink blooming on his cheeks when Zoe coos at him in that annoying way she always does and he immediately covers his face. “Stop.”

She giggles at his embarrassment, patting his arm consolingly as she pretends to give him a once over. “You do look hot, no matter what shirt you’re wearing.”

“Yuck, that sounds weird coming from you.” Robbe fake-gags and gets a smack on his chest. “I’m outta here, thanks.” Before he manages to close the door, Zoe catches his arm and shoots him a comforting smile.

“And calm down. He’s already into you, he won’t care what you’re wearing, Robbe.”

It’s easier said than done. Ever since he woke up, he’s been a giddy, anxious, yet excited mess, butterflies flying rampant in his stomach, fingers drumming absent-mindedly on the nearest surface, and he’s-

Well.

He’s been kinda freaking out.

Somehow (he has no idea how), he managed to keep his cool during that faithful afternoon a week ago when a boy came up to him with a dumb YouTube challenge, he’d even call himself flirty and bold.

He’s not so sure he’ll be able to provide a repeat performance tonight. Not with that particular charming smile directed at him, almost making him whimper because no one should have the right to be that handsome. At the time, the infatuation was laced with disappointment and anger so Robbe guesses that’s what helped him keep his cool.

Only to melt into a pile of goo minutes later when Sander’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment over what popped on his phone screen.

Bambie eyes

Robbe smiles at the memory, trying to keep it small and not look like a psychopath that’s grinning to himself for no reason. It proves to be difficult though, those damn butterflies not easing out when an image of Sander combing his fingers through his longish bleached strands pops into his mind, uninvited, but oh so welcome if Robbe’s being honest.

Back in his bedroom, he fishes out the pink t-shirt from the drawer, sending a thank you to the past Robbe who finally did his laundry last Wednesday. His comfort level is up immediately after he takes the green shirt off and pulls the pink one over his head; the material doesn’t dig in anywhere, and it’s just... him. He doesn’t feel like a clown anymore.

A quick look at his watch and he curses under his breath. If he doesn’t want to be late, he needs to leave in five minutes tops. It’s probably better this way since it means less time for freaking out. Once he sprays a bit of cologne on his clothes and grabs his wallet, he gives himself one last look in the mirror, fingers attempting to tame his curls at least a little, but it proves to be a lost cause. As usual. His hair just has a mind of its own. He doesn’t let himself obsess too much about it though, and as he closes the door behind the flatshare his mind wanders to two weekends ago, the corners of his lips twitching on their own.

“You look like an angel with those curls. I should get you a halo or s’mthing.”

He’s in his personal space all of a sudden and as Sander’s breath grazes his face, Robbe’s own breath stutters, but the freakout has no time to breakthrough on his features because Sander’s eyes swivel up, glazed with alcohol as he tugs gently at one of the brown strands.

“I really like ‘em, you know? They’re so... silky. And pretty.” A lightbulb goes on in his head, his lips widening in a smile. “You’re so pretty.”

Drunken confessions never really seemed particularly sweet to him, but with Sander gazing at him like he hung the moon and the stars, his jaw slightly open as if in wonder, it was difficult for Robbe to feel anything else than fondness, heart fluttering in his chest, so enamoured with the boy with white hair that it would have blushed if it could.

That white hair and green eyes have been the main stars of his dreams ever since.

Okay. That’s not entirely true. There were glimpses before that. After all, Sander had been the first thing he noticed at the Academie. But at the time, he had only been his looks to Robbe, golden skin and intriguing smirks, face scattered with moles and legs for days.

And lips. Lips that looked soft like a rose petal.

He had dreamed about those lips a lot then.

He still can’t believe his brain holds the memory of kissing them with his own.

Again. Peak boldness for him.

And yet, he’s so nervous now, walking fast-paced to the nearest tram stop, praying his chaotic energy won’t make him look like an idiot once he’s faced with Sander again. His only saving grace, the only reason the full on freakout seems to be kept at bay is the reminder that even though Sander is way out of his league, he’s also a bit of a dork, and that honestly makes Robbe feel better.

He’s a hot dork though.

But a dork nonetheless.

Deep down Robbe hopes he’s gonna become his dork.

The city passes behind the window in a whirlwind of colors, creating the perfect background for him to get lost in his thoughts, daydreaming to the sounds of the playlist crafted specifically for him, courtesy of Sander. As Bowie sings about absolute beginners, a notification ping pulls him back from his musings, lips smiling on their own when he sees Sander posted a photo.

And what a photo it is, fuck.

A part of his face, edges smudged with shadows leaving only his eye in focus, dark eyebrow curtained a little with wet bleached strands, everything in black and white aesthetics because Sander rarely does colors, Robbe came to find out.

With eyes completely open

But nervous all the same

He wonders if the lyrics relate to their date or it’s just his wishful thinking.

Quick fingers like the photo and then take a screenshot of his own Spotify to send it to him. Robbe doesn’t have to wait long for the reply, a string of “🤯” blowing up his phone followed by “I’m so proud 🤧”, which again confirms that Sander is, indeed, a dork.

Robbe shoots him a “😂” and scrolls up a bit to check the address again.

Robbe: I watched the video

Robbe: It was cool 😎

Sander: Oh yeah?

Robbe: But somebody cut me out of it 🤔🙄

Sander: I told them to, it was too personal 😌

Robbe: Oh 🙃

Sander: + You're too pretty for our dumb videos 🤷🏼‍♂️

Robbe: 🙈 stop

Sander: You are 🤷🏼‍♂️

Robbe: You're making me blush 🙊

Sander: Well good, you're cute when your cheeks are all pink 😏

Robbe: 🤪

Sander: But you're always cute so 🤷🏼‍♂️

Robbe: Okay stop haha

Sander: 😎

Robbe: Thank you tho 😊

Sander: You're welcome x

Sander: Now go to sleep, I need you to be rested for tomorrow!

Robbe: Tell me where we're going 🥺

Sander: Nope

Robbe: Please 🥺

Sander: Nope 😌

Robbe: How should I know you're not gonna kidnap me or sth 🤔

Sander: Robin! I would never! 😟😟

Robbe: Robin?

Sander: Yeah

Sander: You like it? :)

Robbe: I think so :)

Sander: Good 😌

Sander: Oranje Street, that's all you need to know

Sander: Goodnight Bambi Robin 🦌😏

Robbe: Shdjskahaggfdsk 🙈🙈

Sander: Hehe

Sander: 😚

Robbe: 😊

The Robin part pulls another involuntary grin out of him again, the jitters in his stomach intensifying, but now they’re more anticipatory than nervous. He checks his hair in his selfie camera, running a hand through it to mess it up a little just when his stop comes.

The neighborhood is busy with the Friday rush and he has trouble finding white hair in the crowd from where he’s leaning on the lantern. Swaying awkwardly he keeps looking around, feeling his stress levels raising with each second and telling himself to get a fucking grip.

“Hey, Robin.”

His poor heart just can’t catch a break today.

Jumping a foot above the ground before swiveling around to smack Sander’s chest, the first thing he sees is his toothy grin, face smug at almost giving Robbe a heart attack.

“Asshole.” His grumble is all for show, the corners of his mouth pulling up when Sander presses a soft hello kiss to his cheek.

“Sorry, didn’t wanna scare you.” He could win awards for least sincere apologies ever, but Robbe would lie to himself if he said he didn’t find his playfulness attractive. Also, he’s still trying to get his heartbeat under control that has less to do with actual scare and more with the warm breath grazing his ear and the fanthom feel of lips on his cheek.

“Sure you didn’t.”

Sander chuckles at his deadpan face that lets him know Robbe knows he’s full of shit. Raising his arms in capitulation, he says another sorry before giving him a not so subtle once over, his features softening.

“You look really pretty.”

His voice sounds uncharacteristically shy, Robbe notices, and he keeps biting his lip nervously. This sudden shyness looks exceptionally endearing on him.

Eyeing his t-shirt critically, he cocks his brow at Sander, hand scratching his head in a self-conscious move. “Thank you. It’s nothing special though.”

“Then I guess it’s just you,” Sander replies, shrugging matter-of-factly, and keeps giving him that charming smile that weakens Robbe’s knees.

But he still rolls his eyes on him, snorting as he mutters “smooth” to which Sander pretends to hold his chest dramatically, swearing it’s not a line and that he’s being honest.

“Okay, okay, let’s say I believe you,” Robbe gives in after being defeated with a strong case of puppy eyes. “Now come on, tell me where we’re going.”

The faux-serious expression on Sander’s face melts into a full of promise smirk. “Prepare to be mind blown!”

And then he takes off, firing a wink over his shoulder at Robbe who’s gaping at him, flabbergasted. This mixture of confidence and shyness taking turns emanating from Sander has a peculiar effect on him, making him follow the boy without another question. He’s intrigued, curious to find out what’s underneath this cockiness that Robbe has a feeling is all for show, a cover up, but for what he has no clue.

They fall into an easy conversation on the way to their destination, interrupted with a string of Robbe’s guesses as to what that destination is and Sander shooting him down everytime, his smile getting fonder with each pout directed at him. So far it’s been way less awkward than Robbe feared, familiar almost, safe, melting away the anxious lump in his stomach. The good-natured teasing reminding Robbe of his relationship with Zoe or Milan, only the furtive yet lingering glances they keep shooting at each other when they think the other is not looking the sign of this being more than just a friendly hangout.

“Any plans for the Eenvoud sequel?” They’re crossing the street when Sander asks the question, tongue in cheek, which makes Robbe scowl in disdain. Even though internally he’s pleased Sander went and looked him up online. He was less pleased with the teasing that ensued a few days ago.

Sander: I had no idea

Robbe: ?

Sander: That I'm going on a date with a star

Robbe: 😂 what

Sander: Music star 😏

Sander: Or should I say

Sander: Dance star 🤔

Robbe: Oh fuck

Sander: You're v e r y talented Robbe IJzermans

Robbe: Shut uuuuuup

Sander: 😂

Robbe: You weren't supposed to see that 😭

Sander: Why not? You're so cute in it 😌

Robbe: 🙈

Robbe: Please don't hold it against me

Sander: Never :)

Robbe: You're gonna hold it against me aren’t u

Sander: A bit :D

Robbe: 🥺

Sander: But in a loving way!

Robbe: Guess I have to now go and find blackmail material on your channel 😌

Sander: As if you hadn't already 😏

Omg you're so full of yourself 🙄

Sander: 😛

Robbe: Should I be expecting hoards of fans throwing themselves at you when we're out?

Sander: Haha no

Sander: Maybe a few ;)

Robbe: Great, now I'm even more nervous :(

Sander: Why are you nervous? 🥺

Sander: Are you nervous about our date?

Robbe: Well um

Robbe: A bit?

Sander: I'm nervous too

Sander: But that's because I wanted to go out with you since I saw you on campus the first day

Robbe: I wanted that too

Sander: Oh 😌

Robbe: Yeah :)

“Fuck off,” he barks out a laugh, shoving him without much force once they’re back on the sidewalk. Sander pretends to be offended with the attack, huffing and shaking his head, but then bumps him with his hip all the same, smug when Robbe splutters in indignance in turn.

“Keep this up and I’m gonna rethink my forgiveness.” Robbe’s tone is lofty, even if his eyes scream he’s just teasing, an attempt to rile Sander up.

The boy’s eyes widen comically, hand flying to his chest. “You wouldn’t do that to me, Robin.”

There’s that nickname again, making his breath catch again, and the only response he can manage now is a flirty smile, or at least something that is supposed to look like it.

The afternoon heat subsides on their way to Sander’s mysterious place, but Robbe’s still glad he left that green long-sleeved shirt at home when they slow down and Sander turns to him with an expectant look.

“Carnival?”

“I didn’t remember you giving me your number, but I did remember your preaching about cotton candy being the superior junk food,” Sander rushes with an explanation like he feels his choice needs a proper justification. “And it just so happened that a carnival came to Antwerp this weekend. I thought it was a sign?” He scratches his nose, his stance a little unsure as he awaits Robbe’s reaction.

His eyes grow bigger with each passing second until Robbe beams at him and tells him how much he likes the idea. Sander lets out a loud phew, face relieved when they enter the area. The place is packed, but that’s okay because Robbe loves the vibe and how close Sander keeps walking next to him because of it. The loud music is not the best for talking, but they soon find other things to do, marching from booth to booth, getting drinks and trying out silly games, the teasing competitiveness quickly coming out. Sander really wants to win a plushie for him, but he fails spectacularly, his sulking remedied only by a kiss on his cheek.

Robbe eats his weight in cotton candy, childlike joy on his face while Sander watches amused and keeps calling him cute. The Ferris Wheel was supposed to be their next stop, but when it turns out it's out of service, Sander shoots him a desperate look, apologizing for this lame outcome like it's his fault. But Robbe is having so much fun he barely cares they lost their chance at a kiss on the top, knows the night's still young and they'll get their chance somewhere else.

They try out a few other things, laughing and having a great time together before Sander gets weirdly quiet.

"Do you, um, do you think we can go sit down for a bit? To talk?" Sander keeps avoiding his eyes as he asks, but Robbe doesn't miss the flicker of vulnerability in his face, and he feels his heart jump in his chest. He's a bit taken aback at this gear change, but Sander's clearly bothered with something and he wants to be there for him so he just hums and follows him to the bench outside.

"There's something you need to know."

Robbe steals himself for the worst, muscles tensing as he holds his breath.

“I’m bipolar,” Sander finally blurts out, and Robbe’s heart breaks for the insecurity in his eyes, eyes that are now darting all over his own face, trying to be furtive, yet clearly assessing his reaction. “I just-, I want to be straight with you from the get go cause I feel like this may be going somewhere and I don’t want to lie, or, omit anything.” He pauses, frowning a little as he looks down, and something awfully similar to a broken heart shadows his features. “I don’t ever want to keep it a secret anymore.”

Robbe doesn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue, but Sander misinterprets the silence.

“It’s, um, it’s okay if you don’t wanna get involved with me now or something, I get it, I’m a lot to handle.” Scratching his head awkwardly, his lips morph into a wistful smile, and Robbe knows he needs to put a stop to these thoughts.

“Hey,” he starts softly, waiting until Sander’s ready to direct his eyes back on him. When he does, he shoots a smile at him of his own, but there’s nothing wistful about it. If it matches what he feels, Robbe’s quite sure it’s close to adoration, actually. “Thank you for telling me.” Sander takes a deep breath, sitting straight as if he’s preparing for a rejection. “My mom has schizophrenia, you know?”

Green eyes blink up at him. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Robbe lets his smile widen. “And she’s an amazing mom. She just-, struggles sometimes, and there are days that are really shit days. But I can’t imagine her not being here. Because she’s amazing. And I love her. With or without a mental illness.” He presses his thigh against Sander’s, trying to ease his nervousness as he continues. “I still want to give us a shot. Cause, um, I think that, um, well, you’re really hot, I mean cool, I meant cool, well...” Why does he have to be so awkward? He peaks at Sander after his unfortunate little slip and feels his cheeks flush under his small grin.

“You think I’m hot?”

Robbe whines in protest because now Sander’s just being a little shit, torturing him even though he knows exactly what his stammering means.

He hides his face in his hands. “Obviously, since I’m on a date with you, smartass.”

“It’s always nice to hear.” Sander nudges their shoulders and it makes Robbe look up, just in time for a wink. “Especially from a cutie like you.” He holds his gaze, a small smile playing on his lips, and as Robbe gets drowned in his green eyes, distracted, Sander lifts his hand to push a few locks away from his forehead. The brief contact of his fingertips with Robbe’s skin is enough to raise goosebumps on his skin, and he really hopes Sander didn’t notice, that he doesn’t know how gone he is for him already.

He already mourns the lack of contact when Sander pulls away, something akin to shyness on his face now as he’s fiddling with his fingers, and it’s comforting to see he’s not the only one around here being affected.

It’s what gives him the guts to do what he does next, without second-guessing himself again into a spiral. He gets up off the bench and takes Sander’s hand in his own, their fingers tangling right away like it’s their second nature, and nods in the direction of the sidewalk.

“Come on, I’ll show you my favorite spot around here.”

The initial surprise at Robbe’s bold move is quickly replaced with a beaming smile as Sander squeezes his hand gently and gets up too, laughing when Robbe bumps their shoulders teasingly because hey, he’s still a teenage boy and sometimes likes to act like it. Also, he needs to do something to distract himself from the fact that he’s holding Sander’s hand. The fact he can feel a thumb softly grazing his knuckles, almost absent-mindedly, does not help. He'd think their playfulness and cheek kisses would make it all easier for him, and yet here he is.

He’s feeling carefree and drunk on his feelings and this evening and Sander’s smile and when they get close to the spot, Robbe sets his hand free and jogs over to the small ice cream booth, turning around to do a small “taa-daa!” with a big grin. Sander’s laugh at his shenanigans is music to his ears and he loves how the previous frown is now officially gone from his face, features softening instead, eyes twinkling as he calls Robbe a dork, entwining their hands anew the second he’s in his close proximity. Robbe scoots even closer, like an invisible magnet is pulling them together, getting lost in his presence, the smell of his aftershave that carries notes of citrus and something woodsy, masculine, combined with the intoxicating scent of Sander’s leather jacket. The air changes around them, gets charged with tension, Sander’s face changes too, green eyes darting to Robbe’s lips that get dry under attention, and he licks them subconsciously. Just when Tiana Major9’s voice coming from the booth speaker sings when they collide, it’s a beautiful disaster, their faces tilt towards each other, Sander’s hand reaching up as if to cup Robbe’s cheek.

Robbe barely contains his whine when a loud crash from the booth ruins the moment, catching the same frustration on Sander’s face in the corner of his eye. The loaded silence is buzzing in his ears, nerves picking up and he feels awkward again, not sure whether he should just go for it or wait for a better moment.

Sander’s chuckle brings him back from his overthinking, smiles crookedly down at him. “Come on, you gotta tell me your favorite flavor.”

His tone is light like the almost-kiss didn’t happen, but the subtle pink at the high of his cheeks gives him away. It looks like the world’s most exquisite blush, blended perfectly with the shade of his skin that has already been painted light golden with the early summer sun rays. It distracts him for a moment, his gaze stuck as his eyes wander slowly from one mole to another, lingering on his lips that are just as inviting as they were a few seconds ago, tempting Robbe to make that move, but then he feels Sander taking his hand again, this time interlacing their fingers and pulling him out of his trance.

Robbe is a vanilla guy and he can see the joke at the hip of Sander’s tongue, but thankfully, the boy refrains from the comment, the huge eyeroll he receives probably stopping him in his tracks, and he only gnaws on his lip, trying to keep the laughter in. He goes for mango, which yuck. Sander doesn’t appreciate his reaction, and they easily slip in the previous banter, ending with him smearing a bit of the ice cream on Robbe’s cheek, lips sucked in as he giggles quietly at his scandalized face.

“You’re such a fucker!” He immediately gets him back for that and they’re close to full on ice cream fight until Sander yells truce, hands protecting his face from the onslaught of Robbe’s sticky hands. Robbe smiles triumphantly at his capitulation, and goes back to licking away at what’s left of his treat.

“It kinda fits you.”

They’ve been strolling along the river for a while now, the full moon shining its light on the side of Sander’s face, making his hair look icy white.

“What?

“The mango flavor.”

Sander furrows his brows in question, waiting for an explanation. Robbe shrugs a little, eyes tracing the soft ripples on the water as he tries to find the right words.

“Mangos have a hard peel, but have a soft inside.”

“Sooo, you’re saying I’m… mushy?” Sander wrinkles his nose at his words and it’s a truly adorable sight.

“No, I’m saying you can seem, um, intimidating and unapproachable, unattainable.” His eyebrows furrow more with each adjective. “But once you get to the inside, so once someone gets to know you, you’re none of these things,” Robbe pauses, swaying their joined hands a little as he peeks at Sander’s face. “You’re nice and sweet and stuff. Even with your edgy black and white aesthetics,” he adds as the second-thought, grinning when he gets a deadpan look in return. It quickly morphs into something softer, beautifully confirming Robbe’s words.

“Okay, let’s say I’m a mango man. In that case, you’re a cutie pie,” Sander says matter-of-factly, always needing to have the last word, and Robbe can only laugh helplessly, trying not to combust under his intense glance. “Also, my black and white aesthetics are amazing, by the way.”

Robbe doesn't dare to argue with that, and he also agrees with the statement so he admits as much, making Sander very pleased.

They walk way into late hours of the evening, huddling closer together with each passing hour in search of warmth against the coldness of the night, or at least that serves as the main excuse. Sander has him bursting in fits of giggles sharing crazy stories from his shopping assistant job and Robbe finds himself opening up about his videotaping passion, a little shy when knowing about Sander's photography skills, but the boy's eyes shine bright when Robbe mentions it, and he's so attentive and interested in everything he has to say on the topic, of the small details he geeks out about that it makes fuzzy feelings swim rampant in his stomach; it's the kind of attention he's been unknowingly yearning for, and here it is, served on a golden plate and in a package so beautiful it makes him swoon.

And he also walks him home, acting all gentlemanly and offering his jacket when the shivers shake Robbe's body a bit. What a catch.

“So, um,” Sander starts as they reach the front door of Robbe’s apartment building, his face mostly covered in shadows cast by the street lanterns. “Kiss or slap?”

The answer to the question is obvious for both of them, but Robbe can’t stop himself from teasing him a bit, scrunching up his face in a deep thought, eyebrows frowned, making Sander scoff impatiently, which is exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

Still, he needs to push him a bit more. “Hmm, I’m not sure. I should probably go with the slap for that ice cream incident.” Sander plays along, heaving a regretful sigh, before turning those pretty eyes on him, lips in a pout and hands put together in a praying motion.

“A kiss?” Bottom lip juts out and he’s just too cute for words, Robbe dropping his facade immediately, not stopping his beaming smile anymore.

He also can't fucking wait any longer.

“Okay, I gue-”

Soft lips crash into his, not letting him finish the sentence, Robbe’s clumsiness almost making him topple over, but Sander’s there to catch him, sure hands squeezing his hips and sending small shocks through his body. He rests his hand on the back of Sander’s neck, giving in to the need to bury his fingers in that messy blond hair, and he tugs, just a little, but it’s enough for Sander to sigh into his mouth and pull him closer. Robbe loves the reaction, whimpers quietly as he parts his lips just right for Sander’s tongue to slip inside, to tease at the soft skin inside of Robbe’s bottom lip. It’s all over after that, the kiss morphing from something soft and sweet to tongues sliding together, teeth clinking almost painfully in their desperation, the kiss tasting of mango ice cream and cotton candy, and it’s the best Robbe has ever tasted.

It’s better than he imagined, Sander’s hands caressing his sides as he slows down the kiss so sweet and tender, it pulls at every single one of his heartstrings. He can’t believe he has this wonder of a boy in his arms, kissing him so good, making him dizzy.

The kiss stops eventually, but they stay put, as close as before, the tips of their noses grazing against each other, warm breaths and fluttering lashes, fingernails scratching at the skin that’s covered in goosebumps.

“I have to go,” Robbe murmurs between the miniscule space between them, giggling quietly at the immediate frown his words cause.

“Nooooo.” Sander hides his face in his flushed neck, pressing a kiss there too because why not. “I need more kisses.”

And who is Robbe to tell him no, he goes willingly when Sander lifts his chin up for another one, his mouth a little puffy now. He lets him have it, not that it’s any hardship; he’d stay here all night, just lazily sliding their lips together in a never ending dance.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Sander asks when they break apart. “I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You know, he’s very important to me, has been in my life for years so his opinion kinda matters a lot.”

His words take Robbe aback, but he tries not to show his discomfort, even though Sander must have felt how tense his body went. He doesn’t seem to find it weird, his face still smiling as he keeps talking about this he that’s apparently so important.

“I hope he’ll like you. He’s perfect, you know?” Actually, Robbe does not know and he’s getting kinda annoyed. He’s pretty sure waxing lyrical about someone else on a date is a faux pas. “I mean, except for leaving fur on anything he touches.”

What.

Robbe’s eyes swivel up to look at him, the corners of Sander’s lips twitching and his face a picture perfect of impishness. He groans in protest, smacking his chest because Sander did it on purpose to pull a reaction out of him and it’s not fair, damn it. He crosses his arms which proves difficult to do when there are still hands firmly holding his hips, keeping him close.

Sander rests their forehead together, swaying them a little to put a smile on Robbe’s grumpy face. “He’s a Norwegian Forest breed and his name is Major Tom.”

And this time it’s Robbe who has a hard time to keep his giggle in because oh my god, what a nerd.

“I wonder where that came from,” he ponders in a voice as serious as he can manage, but Sander sees right through him, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“It’s the bestest name ever, I’ll have you know.”

He gets shut up with another kiss, last one, the sweetest out of all of them. Then, Robbe steps out of his embrace, not trusting himself to end this when Sander's hands are touching any part of his body, and tells him a quiet goodnight, backing into the front door with Sander's soft sleep well ringing in his ears and a huge smile threatening to spread on his face.

Sander: May your dreams be filled with cotton candy 🍬🍭

It only takes a minute for his phone to ping.

And maybe some mangos too 🥭

Robbe: Just need one 😘

White-haired mangos 😘

Goodnight ❤️

#wtfock #my fics #sobbe

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axoxtxhxh · 3 years ago

Text

First Date with the Vets - Hange

Big shoutout to @chaotic-nick for making this lovely banner for me!

Overall Summary: I had this idea to do a first date with the vets and what it would be like. I am including Erwin, Levi, Miche, and Hange in this list. Each date will be different, but all of them will be set in modern au.

Check out Miche’s story here, Erwin’s story here, Levi’s story here

Pairing: Hange x Masc!Reader

Content: All fluff

Word Count: ~ 5,300

Summary: Reader is getting ready to close up his shop for the night and start his Friday night when just before it’s time to close, a familiar face walks in the shop. Will this change his plans for the night?

A/N: Here I am again, writing for a masculine reader. I hope I did okay :) I am also still trying to get better at writing Hange and because of that, I may make mistakes with they/them pronouns and other non-gender specific things. Please let me know how I can fix it if I’ve made a mistake. Thank you!

Also, I wasn’t planning to post this today, but you know what? I don’t care. Happy Pride Month! 🏳️‍🌈

The clock on the wall continued to tick as slowly as it had been the last hour, each time you checked it, you swore it slowed down even more. You nibbled on your thumb nail again, tapping your fingers on the counter as you looked out the front window. It was one of those nights that felt cold, rainy and wet. The ground was wet, but it wasn’t actually raining. There were no umbrellas necessary, but you could still feel that rainy day mood.

The weather meant most people were either inside or at a café, trying to pull as much of the cozy feeling that they could. Not the best night to be at a bookstore. Especially an old bookstore without a café. You definitely mentioned this to your boss, but no such luck. It would have been a nice addition.

Normally Friday nights were quite busy and normally you loved being there. This Friday was a bit different. For once you had plans to go out and these were plans you were actually looking forward to.

Your friend had called you up last week saying she had tickets to an art show just down the street from where you work. It’s not that you were a huge fan of art, but you really liked the idea of being able to be out without having to get looks from people because you were alone.

It was the whole reason you loved living in the city. There were so many things you were able to do by yourself, but still have people around you. The was basically a dream for you being an introvert. Plus, it’s not that there was an issue finding someone to hang out with, you just preferred doing things alone. At least, you had yet to find someone you were interested in spending time with.

You checked the clock again. Twenty minutes left. You sighed and brought your thumbnail to your mouth again. It looked like the rain was actually picking up. More umbrellas were popping open and you watched the droplets of water roll down the front window. The rain wasn’t going to slow you down though. If anything, it meant there might be less people interested in an art showing and you could have the place to yourself.

You continued watching the rain droplets rolling down the window, periodically checking the time, until you recognized a familiar Starry Night umbrella. The walk of the person holding the umbrella was even more familiar.

It was maybe four months ago that Hange Zoe first walked into the bookstore. You were working that day, standing in the exact same spot. They had never come in the bookstore before, you were very sure of that because had they come in, you would have remembered them. Still, the second they stepped foot inside, it was as if they knew the place, as if it were their bookstore and not your boss’s.

At the time, you didn’t realize that anytime Hange came in, they would be searching for the most random and hard-to-find book in existence, but after about a month of that happening, you quickly realized that when they walked in, you would be having to place an order for them. You were pretty sure that’s what brought them into your bookstore in the first place since you ran a specialty bookstore. Still, Hange found a way to get you searching for books you had never even heard of.

The first book they wanted was a very old and very specific ethics textbook. You had no idea what they needed that for, but you knew you didn’t carry it in the store. They waited by the spinning display of sunglasses while you filled out the form. Yes, your boss decided to sell cheap sunglasses in the front as well as those keychain nametags, but couldn’t find a reason to open a café.

Your eyes kept taking glances at Hange while they tried on the most ridiculous glasses meant for the children that came in. You laughed to yourself as you finished filling out the form and called your boss over to sign the order form.

“What is it?” He asked, carrying a stack of books that you knew he was going to have you stocking later on.

“She’s looking for this book.” You pointed to the order form.

“It’s actually ‘they’.” Hange spoke so nonchalantly that you weren’t actually sure if they were speaking to you or to themselves in the star sunglasses they’d put on.

“Pardon?”

“I use they/them pronouns.” Hange gave a wide grin, peaking around the spinning display.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You had hoped your face wasn’t showing how uncomfortable you were feeling. You hated making mistakes like that. You hoped that they weren’t annoyed with you for that mistake. Based on the smile they had on their face, they weren’t bothered at all.

“No problem.” Hange was still smiling and there was something so contagious about the way they smiled. Something about the open-mouthed grin that made it seem like they were constantly half a step away from giggling that always got you to smile back.

“They are looking for this book.” You looked back down at the order form, still smiling. “I need your signature to order it.”

Your boss took the form and signed it, handing it back to you and you couldn’t help but stand there watching Hange trying on another ridiculous pair of sunglasses. This time, it was a Halloween themed pair with one square lens and one circle. It really was the stupidest addition to the bookstore, but that day was the first time you were happy that it was there. You laughed to yourself as you watched them try to realign the glasses in a spot they didn’t fit in.

“Mx. Zoe.” Hange looked up and skipped over to you.

“I will place the order today and for most books, they come in after a couple days, but since yours is quite specific, it may take a week or two.” You explained everything to them and gave them their receipt. “Please make sure you bring your receipt in when you come to pick it up.”

You watched their attention move from you to the receipt to the card on the table. They slowly reached up and picked up the card, reading the text and flipping it over.

“You guys repair old books?” Their eyes moved up to you and you nodded.

“It’s another one of our specialties.”

“I have a couple old books I’ve been scared to read because of how fragile they were when I bought them.” They put the card in their bag.

“There are some limits to what we’re able to fix, but if you bring them in, I can take a look.” You smiled widely, hoping to see them smile once more before they left.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” They flashed a wide smile and that time you actually did laugh. A laugh which you covered up with a cough and scratched your head, pretending to tend to something on your computer. You watched Hange walk out and realized you had something to look forward to.

The next day Hange came in with a crate of books. You smiled at the cuteness of the little huff they gave after setting the books on the counter in front of you. Your smile quickly dropped as you saw the books they had.

“Where did you get these?” Your eyes were wide. Most were books that you would never be able to get your hands on, order form or not.

“Lots of different places,” they explained as you reached your hands in to pull out the first book.

“Do you collect these?” You couldn’t take your eyes away from the books. They were in pretty bad shape, but the fact that they owned these was amazing.

“Some of them are books I’ve been wanting to read. Others I’ve read online and really wanted to own the original.” You could feel the smile on their face, but found it so hard to look away from the original binding.

“These are amazing.” You smiled, finally looking at them. They were just as excited as you and their smile widened even further.

“This one’s my favorite.” Hange reached in the crate and pulled out a severely crumbling textbook. “Vicki is in back shape.”

“You named your book Vicki?”

“It’s a Victorian era medical textbook detailing surgery of the time. What would you name it?” Hange explained.

“I wasn’t questioning the name choice, but the fact that you—never mind.” You chuckled to yourself. “Vicki is a great name.”

“Thanks, Fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy?” “Your beard. It looks like it’s coming in nicely.”

“Thanks.” You rubbed your two-day old stubble, a little embarrassed that someone noticed you forgot to shave and a lot embarrassed that Hange seemed to like it. Maybe embarrassed was the wrong word. Hange never lingered though and just after complimenting you, they moved on to the next thing that caught their attention. In this case it was the receipt you handed them and they started signing.

“I imagine this will take some time to get through.”

“For this amount, it will probably take at least two weeks,” you started, “We are closed on Mondays which is when we get the book repairs done.”

“Like a vets office.” Hange smiled and gave you the signed receipt. “Spaying and neutering on Wednesdays.”

“Like a vets office.” You nodded, laughing to yourself at the connections they always made.

“I’ll see you around, Fuzzy.” They waved good-bye and walked out.

From that day, you always looked forward to any exchange you were able to have with Hange. It was always a good day when they came into the shop and each time they came in, they would stay longer and longer chatting with you about new books that came into the store or new books that they acquired. You often wondered what their apartment looked like considering how many books they talked about.

Seeing their smile as they walked into the bookstore on that rainy Friday night made you really happy that there was still twenty minutes before closing. Hange stepped inside and shook the extra water off their umbrella before bringing it inside. They threw the hood of their raincoat back and smiled.

“Heya, Fuzzy.”

“Hey, Hange. You here to check the status of that book you ordered?” You leaned over the counter and smiled at them.

“That, I am.” They took off their raincoat and you watched them fail at hanging it up a couple times before finally getting it to stay on the coat rack. “Please tell me you have some good news for me.”

“I do have some good news.” You watched their face light up in a huge smile. “It’s not about your book though. Apparently, it’s not supposed to rain all weekend.”

“I see what you did there.” They pointed their first finger at you and narrowed their eyes, quickly breaking it with a laugh. “Good thing I don’t get disappointed easily.”

“One of my favorite things about you.” Hange’s excitement for books always seemed to remind you of your own.

“Got anything good coming in?” They hopped up to sit on the counter next to where you were leaning, something the boss hated them doing. Hange always did it anyway and you found it incredibly endearing.

“Not this week.” You stood up straight, turning yourself to lean against the counter. “Most if it is stuff you already have.”

“Aw shucks.” They took the inventory chart from you to take a look. Another thing the boss didn’t like, but you found adorable. You watched the way their glasses slipped down their nose as they scanned over the list. “Not bad. You guys are actually starting to become a specialty store.”

You laughed loudly at their comment. Since the beginning, Hange was always criticizing the lack of textbooks that were offered in the store. Your boss liked to focus on rare fiction, but Hange loved non-fiction more than anything. Textbooks on ethics, medicine, dinosaurs, you name it. It was always the first complaint out of their mouth when they checked the inventory.

“I don’t think anyone’s collection will come close to yours.” You watched as Hange smiled shyly. It didn’t take you long to realize that no matter how much you tried to compliment how they looked, they never noticed it as a compliment. That is until one day you commended their commitment to building a library in their spare bedroom and the blush that reached their cheeks that day was on your mind for weeks. You always tried to find ways to flatter them through their achievements after that.

“Such is the life of a crazy professor.” They lifted their hands, palms up, in an expressive display and you laughed. “Any plans tonight?”

“I have this art show I got invited to.” You shrugged it off, not sure if Hange liked art so you didn’t want to seem too interested. “I uh… I’ve never really been into art, but this one seemed good.”

“That sounds like fun.” You watched them kick their feet lightly forward and there was a small voice in your head that told you to invite them to the show. You didn’t want them to feel obligated, but this was a chance to bring your work friendship to possibly something more. For all Hange knew, you lived in this bookstore.

You both heard a noise outside and watched as a little kid tripped on the sidewalk. His mom picked him up and kept walking.

“I hope he’s okay,” Hange whispered. You were pretty sure your window to ask them to the art show closed. It would be weird if you asked them about it now. You sighed.

“What about your plans?”

“Just going home. Maybe watch a documentary.” They’re just going home. Dang it. It would have been perfect for you to ask them. You tried not to beat yourself up over it and instead enjoy the short time you got with them before you would have to leave.

You were both laughing and joking as you normally did when they walked into the shop that you completely forgot to keep track of the time. You caught a glimpse of their watch and saw that the bookstore should have closed thirty minutes ago.

“Oh!” You jumped up. “I have to close up.”

“Oh man, sorry.” Hange jumped off the counter. “Here I am, just talking away.”

You moved to the back counter and flicked off all the lights and shut down the computer systems. Hange moved up front and you met them by the door as they put their raincoat back on and opened their umbrella. You locked up and turned to them.

“Well, enjoy your art showing, Fuzzy.”

“Thanks.” You smiled, not feeling as excited to go now that you didn’t ask Hange to join. “Enjoy your documentary.”

They nodded and turned around and you watched them walk through the crowd of people. You were going to turn around and start walking to the showing, but you couldn’t get yourself to move. You should have asked them. What a wasted opportunity. You sighed again before your feet started moving forward, not in the direction of the showing, but in the direction of Hange. When you realized what you were doing, you started running.

“Hange!” You called after them and ran even faster to catch up. They turned around at their name and looked at you, confusion crossing their face. “Do you… maybe want to come with me? I’m pretty sure I can bring a guest.”

The realization that you just asked them to hang out with you outside of your bookstore hit you quickly and your cheeks started heating up, your hand instinctively moving to the back of your head and you laughed at yourself. A smile also grew on Hange’s lips.

“I think I’d like to.” They nodded, putting their arm out for you. You closed your umbrella and took their arm with one hand and held their umbrella with the other. You reached for your phone to message Fenmore quickly.

[Fen, is there any way you can add a plus one for me at the art show? I’m bringing someone :) ]

[You have a date!!!]

[It’s not really a date.]

[At least I don’t think it is.]

[I don’t know 😩]

[It seems like a date! You both are in]

[Good luck!]

You stuffed your phone back in your pocket and turned to Hange and started walking to the art gallery. It wasn’t far, just a couple blocks away from the bookstore, but you couldn’t stop thinking that this was possibly a date and it made you so nervous which made the couple blocks feel like miles. When you did finally get to the door, you breathed a sigh of relief and walked inside.

“I think there’s a couple artists at this showing,” you said, reaching for a pamphlet. “I don’t really know much about many of them.”

“Me neither.” They smiled at you. “I may love studying, but art wasn’t really on the top of my list.”

You started with the first art piece in the pamphlet, standing in front of it and waiting. You tried to look around and see what everyone else was doing. This plan of getting to spend more time with Hange was becoming a fail because you had no idea about art. You didn’t want to say anything weird if they were liking it, but you really didn’t think you could just silently look at all these pieces. Honestly, some of them were weird.

“This one’s nice.” You turned to them and smiled.

“Yes, very nice.” They smiled.

“What’s it called?” You leaned forward to look at the information card. “Abandoning All Hope… ah.”

“Lovely.” Hange nodded and you swallowed hard. This was bad. This was really bad. You both moved to the next one, the artwork looking a little happier.

“This one looks bright.” You turned back to Hange and they read the title card.

“It’s called Basking in Sadness.”

“Jesus.” You rubbed your temples and closed your eyes.

“According to the description,” They started, “the artist was sick as a child and often had to stay inside. So when he would see sunny days and be stuck inside, he felt sad.”

“I suppose that makes it a bit better.” You scratched your head. “Still sad.”

You both continued and hoped that the art would get better at making conversation naturally flow between you both. It was weird how well you conversed in the bookstore, but now you were really struggling with what to say. You walked up and the next piece looked like a murder scene.

“Gosh, I really have no idea what any of this means.” You finally admitted. “Sorry, I’m really not as big into this kind of art.”

“Oh good!” Hange laughed. “I’ve had no idea of anything since we walked in.”

You look quickly to them and smiled.

“I thought the bench out front was part of the exhibit until I saw someone sit on it.” You both laughed and a man walked up to you with a tray and glasses of champagne. You turned to Hange and they nodded, grabbing a glass.

“Well, to having no idea what we’re doing here.” You held up your glass and Hange clinked it and you both drank quickly.

After the first glass of champagne hit, you started feeling a lot more comfortable. The artwork still made no sense to either of you, but you were having fun. When the man came back around a short while later, you grabbed another glass and another glass and another glass. Before you knew it, you and Hange were five glasses in and finally the art was starting to make sense to you.

“Wait, wait, this one. Do this one.” Hange stood next to the artwork giggling and you rubbed your chin.

“Hmm, it’s definitely about a mother.” You had no right to be as confident as you were when Hange looked at the title card, turning back to you with a surprised look on their face.

“A Mother’s Touch. How did you do that?” They couldn’t believe it. You grabbed Hange’s arm and pulled them next to you, pointing at the picture.

“You see all those swirls look like arms. Like a hug.”

“I do not see that at all.” They laughed. “Do the next one!”

You stood in front of the painting and thought about it, but your eyes kept drifting over to Hange. They weren’t looking at you which only made it harder to focus on the painting. If they could see you, then you’d have a reason to look away, but their eyes were glued to the artwork and yours were glued to them.

“There’s no way you’re going to get this one.” They leaned back up from looking at the title card and faced you and you quickly looked back at the painting. “No way at all.”

“Something with a snake.”

“How!?” They put their palm on their forehead and smiled. “Snake’s Path. How did you know?”

“Come on.” You laughed. “Let’s go to the next one.

“Wait, I’m getting more champagne.” They started moving towards the bar. “The one they’re passing out now is cheap. I want the good stuff.”

“Make sure you bring me a glass.”

“I’m bringing the whole bottle, Fuzzy.” You laughed and went to look at the next artwork while you waited. It was a short wait and you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir?” You turned to see a man standing behind you.

“Yes?”

“Is that your date?” The man pointed to Hange and you looked over his shoulder to see them at the bar. You started thinking about them being your date and it made you smile this time, your nerves from earlier completely calmed with alcohol. Hange was still at the bar and you watched them debating with the bartender. It really reminded you of how great they are. Hange never got scared of confrontation like you did.

“Yep.” You smiled proudly. “That’s them.”

“I’d like to let you know that she is causing quite the—”

“They. Their pronoun is they.” You corrected.

“Well they are trying to steal alcohol from the bar. We’re going to have to ask you both to leave.”

It took everything you had no to burst out laughing on the spot, but you managed to hold it in enough to make it to Hange and you both walked outside. Once outside, you both started laughing hysterically, holding your belly as you tried to catch your breath. It was nice outside now. The rain had stopped and it left the air fresh and cool which felt great against your heated cheeks. You both stopped laughing and looked at each other.

“It’s a nice night.” Hange smiled.

“Yeah. Thanks for coming with me.” You smiled back, taking a deep breath.

“Anytime, Fuzzy.”

You didn’t want to say good night. You weren’t ready to leave yet. There really wasn’t anything else to do though. It was probably nearing eleven at that point and you weren’t sure if Hange had things to do in the morning. But you still didn’t want to say good night just yet.

“Do you want to go to the bookstore?” You asked without thinking. “We got a new shipment you might like.”

Hange smiled, a strange look in their eyes as they looked at you.

“You liar.”

“What?”

“I saw the shipment earlier,” they explained, “You showed it to me and told me I wouldn’t like any of it.”

“Oh, right.” You looked down, laughing at your ridiculous attempt to spend more time with them.

“But I would still like to go to the bookstore with you.” You looked at them quickly.

“You would?” You couldn’t hold back your surprised face at that.

“Lead the way, Fuzzy!” Hange linked arms with you and you both walked back the couple blocks to the bookstore. This time, the walk was a lot faster.

You unlocked the door and were about to step inside when you realized that Hange wasn’t with you anymore. It made no sense considering they linked their arm with yours. You leaned around the corner, looking for them, but they weren’t there. It was possible that they changed their mind, but they didn’t know how to tell you and just went home. That didn’t really seem like them though.

“Fuzzy!” You turned around and saw Hange running over to you with a bottle of convenience store wine and you both laughed.

“After you.” You gestured them inside and started looking for some cups. You only had a couple small dixie cups, but they worked well enough. Hange poured a glass for each of you and you tapped your cups together, spilling wine on the floor.

“So how many years before I get to walk into your bookstore?” They asked. At first you misunderstood, thinking they were talking about the bookstore you both were in.

“Ah.” You smiled. “I think it’s a while before that.”

Your dream of owning your own bookstore came up in conversation with Hange more often than you ever thought it would ever. They genuinely seemed interested in it and seemed to be your biggest cheerleader when it came to opening it. Normally when people would ask you about it, you felt rushed and like you were behind. Almost as if they were saying ‘you still haven’t opened it yet?’ but not with Hange. Never with Hange. They made it seem like you were right on track and your dream would be here sooner than you thought.

You looked over at them and smiled. It was amazing how pretty they were. You definitely noticed it the first time they walked into the bookstore last summer, but you wondered if you were the only one to see it. There’s no way. There was no way that someone as intelligent and funny and kind and so beautiful didn’t constantly get asked out. You must just be lucky enough to catch them on a free day.

“You know what Fuzzy?” You looked over at them as they spoke, their eyes still looking down at the empty cup of wine. “I’m glad you asked me to the art showing.”

They giggled a little to themselves, possibly remembering what a hot mess it was inside the gallery. Or perhaps building the courage to say what looked to be sitting on the edge of their mind.

“I don’t get asked to do much these days. Not since moving to the city.” Hange hiccupped and you tried to understand how that was possible. “But I’m having a lot of fun. Thank you.”

You weren’t really sure what to do. You really couldn’t believe it. You managed to smile when they looked up at you.

“It’s my pleasure.” You stared at them, maybe a bit too long, but you couldn’t look away. Hange’s eyes were lidded, tired from all the alcohol you both had. But seeing their drunken smile and hearing their small hiccups had your heart beating quickly. They reached forward and put their hand on yours and you looked down at it. “Oh! I wanted to show you something.”

You jumped up from the ground and helped pull Hange up with you. You walked towards the backroom and halfway there realized you were holding Hange’s hand as you pulled them behind you. It was so soft and so warm and you were thankful for the alcohol letting you do things that you normally would second guess at every moment.

“It’s up there.” You dropped their hand and did your best to reach the top shelf, barely touching the bottom of the books you wanted. “Maybe if you try.”

“We’re the same size.” They laughed.

“Oh right.” You were both laughing and they handed you a shoe and you grabbed it, trying to shimmy the books down. “Wait, whose shoe is this?”

When you turned to look at them they were smiling and you looked down at their feet and couldn’t hold back your laughter at their feet missing a shoe.

“Here, climb on my shoulders.”

“Great idea.” They hopped up and reached for the books. This time they were able to grab them and slowly pull them from the shelf.

Your balance was surprisingly good considering how intoxicated you were. You were looking up and focusing on making sure Hange got the right books. As soon as you saw them grab it, they handed them down to you, one-by-one, and you set them on the table next to you.

“Last one!” Hange placed the book in your hands and you set it down. They threw their hands up out of excitement and you finally lost your balance as they moved back and forth. “Oh!”

Hange started to fall backwards and you quickly bent forward, giving them a way to hop down as you grabbed them before they fell. You managed to catch your balance and Hange fell into your arms and you both fell backwards onto the floor, Hange on top of you.

Their face was so close to yours and you reached up to fix their glasses, smiling at them. You couldn’t help but notice how warm they were, how soft their body felt up against yours, how much prettier they were up close and how badly you wanted to kiss them.

“Hange.” You took a breath, not sure if you were going to be able to do it. “I’m going to kis—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Hange bent down quickly, pushing their lips against yours. At first your eyes widened from the sudden movement, but then when you realized what was happening, you slowly closed them, your arms moving around their back and up to their face.

You rotated your head a bit, trying to get a better angle so your noses weren’t smashed against each other and your tongue slipped out to brush against their lips. Hange opened their mouth and brought their hands to your hair, their long fingers delicately moving along your scalp and you sighed into their mouth. The butterflies in your stomach were going crazy and you couldn’t believe how good it felt.

Hange slipped their tongue into your mouth and you moved your hand to their hair. You had always noticed how silky and shiny their hair was, but feeling it in your hands was a whole different story. You rolled yourself over so you laid on top of them and Hange let out a gasp, pulling back so they could laugh at the sudden movement.

They really were so completely dazzling and you watched them, smiling yourself, until they stopped laughing and looked at you.

“You’re beautiful.” You brushed a hair out of their eye and smiled. “I suppose a stepladder would have been safer.”

“It wouldn’t have been as fun.” They wrapped their arms around you and pressed their lips against yours.

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inforapound · 4 years ago

Text

The Devil Inside - Part 3

I really meant for this to be the last chapter but it got away on me. I’m sorry. Also, please don’t date anyone who acts like Ivar. This chapter really makes me miss high-school though. 😬 It actually will be a couple of week before the finale is posted.

Pairing - Ivar and you

Warning - SMUT

The rest of the weekend was quiet and you spent it at home, declining invitations to meet up with friends. Instead, you studied, baked banana bread, and overall did as many wholesome things as you could to restore moral balance after your movie theatre shenanigans.

In truth, you felt a little sick over it, like you had been duped but what would you have even said to Ivar if he had called anyway? Thanks for the rub? Nope.

It was rare those days that your mom and dad were both home at the same time, or at all, as each traveled so much for work and you were pleased to have a family supper that Sunday night and pretend that you were still a kid.

Of course, the events of your Friday night did not leave your mind and you found yourself zoning out, remembering how Ivar had looked at the theatre and how he smelled, and what his mouth felt like on yours. God, his tongue had been inside your mouth as if wanting to taste your orgasm. More than once you had thought about his words, the part where he said “he knew that you were a good girl.” How exactly did he know that? And if you were good, what was bad?

By Monday the entire event seemed less vivid and it was easier not to think about. But walking out of the school at lunch and seeing that black Camaro brought back that same rush of uncertainty. Was he there for you? Of course, he was, you almost rolled your eyes at yourself. He was parked right beside your car instead of his usual spot across the lot. God, you felt anxious but weren’t you also a little relieved? Shit... and where were Kim and Amanda? You needed them. As if they heard, your phone chimed but looking at your screen it was not a number you recognized.

: Are you going to stand there all day?

It was Ivar. Obviously. He apparently had your number after all.

Walking toward him, you were acutely aware that he was watching your every move. You could feel those cold blue eyes and because of the small size of your hands, when you got to the car, you struggled to open his car door with its stiff classic car handle. It was impossible to miss how he rolled his eyes when he leaned over to help open it from the inside. You felt stupid and awkward and by the look of him, you were already on his nerves.

“Hi,” you said meekly as you slid down into the seat.

Not saying anything back, he glanced over but continued to stare out the front window watching kids head to their cars.

It was quiet and felt strained and just… nope…. you weren’t doing it; his attitude, his sighs, and rolling eyes. Forget it. You had some self-respect and weren’t going to be ignored while sitting in his car.

“So, I was thinking... the other night,” you started and he glanced at you again, his face unreadable but the frown he often wore was there. “It was kinda crazy and I just don’t want to...”

“To what?” he snapped.

Hesitating you waited in case he was going to say more but when he didn’t you licked your lips and his bright blue eyes flicked down to catch that subtle movement. “So... I was saying,” you continued and he locked eyes with you again, “I don’t want you to think that you’ve got to follow up or, I don’t know, take me out...”

“You don’t want me here?” he cut you off again, his eyes were narrowed at you, assessing.

Oh no, you had not given enough thought to what you were trying to say. You had obviously insulted him.

“No, no,” you repeated, reaching over and putting your hand on his arm, his leather coat feeling soft. “I only meant...”

“Meant what?” his eyes narrowed further and he made a face like you had just blown salt at him.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, shaking your head. “I’m bad at this. I only meant it feels backward, doing something so... intimate and then seeing each other and trying to... I don’t know...” you shrugged, sounding defeated.

Leaning over the console between your seats, he smirked. “Kiss me then.”

“What?” you couldn’t help but smile at his instant change in mood and you leaned back slightly to better look into his blue eyes. God, were they ever electric.

“If you’re not sure what to say, just kiss me. Everything else will come.”

Your enormous grin forced him to smile and you did, you kissed him. His hand came up and held the side of your face and it felt so amazing you sighed. You actually sighed. God, was this happening?

Pulling his lips away, he looked at you and his expression was serious but you could feel that his entire demeanor had softened. He was less on guard.

“Are you hungry? Wanna grab food?” he asked.

“Last block was home-ec; I ate everything in sight but I’ll go wherever you want so you can eat.”

Nodding, he straightened and turned the ignition; the engine firing up with a roar.

Less than five minutes on the road and you could tell where he was taking you. Driving through the gates, the impressive Tudor house came into view and he parked right in front, not saying a word as he got out and headed in, his crutch making a soft clicking sound as you trailed behind.

Inside, no one was around but you heard a TV or radio in the distance perhaps from the kitchen or that family room.

Down the hallway and into his room, you stood in the center looking around as he balanced his crutch against a hip and took off his leather coat, tossing it onto the loveseat. Flipping on music, he looked over at you and sat down on the end of his neatly made bed. You were dragging out the moment and when your eyes met his eyes, you knew, that he knew you were stalling.

“You said you weren’t afraid of me.”

“I’m just trying to get a sense…. I don’t actually know you.”

Tipping his head to one side, he looked at you. Really looked, seeming to simultaneously analyze your appearance, your meaning, your reasons for coming, why you had let him do all those things to you. You didn’t actually know what he was thinking but that’s what it felt like. Regardless, it was clear, he held the power in the room.

“Come here,” he nodded to the bed beside him, his eyes not giving away his thoughts.

Clearing your throat, you made your way over, slowly sitting down, your hands running over your thighs to smooth out your skirt. Turning his head, he continued to look and you glanced up nervously.

“I know something about you,” he crooned, his expression a little more playful.

“What?”

“I know you are smart. Top of your class. I know you don’t go anywhere without those two chicks. I also know you dated some rugby player from Reynolds.”

“How do you know all that?” you asked your body picking up that static in the air that tended to play between you.

“Mark,” he answered matter-of-factly.

“I see,” you shifted on the bed, feeling squirmy. “I’m at a disadvantage then. I know nothing about you. Other than you have two brothers.”

“Three.”

“And that you go to Clairmont,”

“I don’t…I do school online.”

“Oh. I know that you are a good kisser,” you peeked up at him seeing how your comment brightened his face. “But that’s it.”

You weren’t sure why you couldn’t hold his eye contact but it was then that his fingers brushed back the hair hanging over your shoulder, and you stayed frozen as he pulled the collar of your white blouse aside. Slowly he leaned in closer and closer, his face reaching the crook of your neck and he pressed a kiss just below your ear. Ahhhhhh, you nearly melted as his lips continued lightly across your throat, gently sucking your skin into his mouth, making your body shiver. But you didn’t move…..

Pulling back, he looked at you and then sighed loudly.

“You’re so tense,” he breathed out. “Fine! What would you like to know?”

“Pardon?”

“You feel like you don’t know me. So… ask.” He lifted his eyebrows and shook his head like what he was saying was obvious. “I never lie.”

“Ohh-kay,” you said cautiously feeling unsure of where to start but not wanting this window to close.

“Where are your parents?” you started with the basics.

“My father is never around. Overseas working and my mom died two years ago.”

Okay, that was NOT where to start. “I’m sorry,” you turned your head and looked at him.

Swatting the air as if to move on, he gawked, impatient for you to continue.

“What do you want to do after school?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who was your last girlfriend?”

“Skip.”

“Wait you said...”

“I didn’t lie,” he cut you off. “I said skip.”

“Ohh-kay,” you replied, thinking quietly for a moment and you could tell this game was nearly done. “Do you deal drugs?”

He actually flinched and flared his nostrils, and you kept your eyes on him watching his reaction. Glancing around the room, he seemed to be steadying himself obviously hating this game.

“Weed,” he said almost bitterly. “I don’t deal drugs,” he mimicked some voice as if it was yours. “I sell weed. Nothing more than that.”

“Why?”

His head snapped over to look at you again and you could tell he was trying not to glare. God, he was not an open person.

“For the money,” you smiled, indicating you were joking, trying to lighten the mood.

“I started smoking it a couple of years ago. I went through a bad time after my mom passed. My legs were pretty bad,” he glanced over, “I have a disorder that I was on a lot of pain meds for and then the Drs gave me more shit because I was messed up over my mom. My dad basically ditched and I was not doing well. I had to quit all that shit. I knew I was heading toward a point that you can't come back from. So,” he shrugged, “I dropped the pills. Quit everything and just smoked weed.”

You were silent for a moment. “I see,” you said and it felt like the safest response.

“I started buying it in big qualities. Didn’t want to deal with small-time sellers. Didn’t know where their shit came from or what was in it. Just started selling a bit here and there and pretty quickly it paid for it. And then some.”

“Were you selling to other people who were in pain? Instead of them taking, like, pharmaceuticals?”

“Fuck no,” he scoffed. “Anyone with cash.” He rolled his eyes but it turned into a smile. “I’m done with your questions.”

With one hand, he pushed you abruptly back onto the bed.

“Ivar,” you gasped as he quickly scooped an arm around your waist and yanked you up until you were both laying on the pillows.

Meekly, you tried to resist, but he called bullshit and held your free hand back before pulling you against him and kissing you. His lips felt good, his tongue working its way into your mouth, his knee pushing between your legs. He knew exactly what he was doing pressing his thigh up against your crotch, his hand squeezing your ass, and running down the backs of your thighs.

You were going to stop him. You were. Just a few seconds more of his hot mouth, his amazing taste, and smell that flooded your head warming your body right down to your center. Oh god and the sounds he made. Small grunts like the more he kissed and touched you, the more he realized he wanted.

In one swift movement, he rolled on top, leaning on his elbows, his kisses becoming borderline rough. It was the bulge in his pants grinding against you, your hips rolling up against him that felt way too much. Way, way too much.

“Ivar,” you pulled your mouth back but he simply diverted, sucking on the side of your throat, one of his hands magically arriving at your cleavage and beginning to work on the buttons of your school shirt.

“Ivar, stop,” you said a little louder.

“What?” he asked, glancing up, managing to open two more bottoms with the flick of his fingers. How was he so good at that? Instantly, his hand was inside, squeezing and groping your breasts through your bra.

“This is too fast,” you muttered.

“Not for me,” he puffed, working his mouth back up to yours.

“Ivar, stop,” you turned your chin enough to escape him.

Letting out a resigned sigh, he tilted his head back to better focus on you.

“I don’t even know what is happening between us?” you continued sounding...well... a bit whiny.

“Don’t be childish,” he dismissed.

“I just want.... to take it slow. This is all new.”

“New?” his eyes flashed. “Not for me. I have wanted you since last the summer.”

What, you thought?! Last summer? Seven months ago? This was bewildering, you just met him.

“I just fucking knew when I saw you,” his face grew serious, and he reached up, brushing your hair back from the side of your face.

“Knew what?”

“I just knew.”

Woah, this was overwhelming. His blue eyes were searching yours and you then understood how sincere he was being and how excoriating it was for him to be like that.

“Can I just... have a minute?”

“No,” he frowned but his features softened and he leaned down and kissed you again. It was a soft kiss, a beautiful kiss, his gorgeous lips pressing against yours, holding still as if pouring out the feeling behind what he had just shared. Dropping his head into the crook of your neck, his arms tightened around you.

“Don’t push me away, okay,” he whispered and you heard the anxiety in his voice.

It melted your heart and gave you some insight as to why he was such a weirdo. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you embraced him back.

“Why are you so.... cool with me sometimes. You’re unsure?”

Shrugging, he lifted back up to see your face but looked away, and you realized he was embarrassed.

“I don’t wanna freak you out. I can be…. a lot.”

No shit!

“Enough of your yapping,’’ he looked back and you could tell the subject had been changed.

“Ivar!” you gasped as his hand shot up your kilt, grabbing the waistband of your blue underwear.

Squirming, you latched onto his wrists to stop him but he clucked his tongue as if you were the one being naughty.

“These can fuck off,” he said yanking your underwear down your legs, slipping them off, along with your black shoes, and tossing everything onto the floor.

Narrowing his eyes at you, he looked wicked and smug and so incredibly sexy and you found yourself just watching, seeing what he’d do. Kissing you one more time, he moved down your body, nestling between your legs, and attempted to push up your kilt. Mouthing the word ‘noooo,’ your hands shot down to hold it against you.

“Move your hands!” he ordered.

“No, wait, this is crazy.”

“Move your hands or I swear to god,” he glared as if insane but it morphed into a grin. “Move your hands!” he barked, this time actually looking a little annoyed.

So, fuck it, you did. You moved your hands and he flipped up your kilt.

Oh god.

Even as your self conscientiousness began to burn, your bare box a mere five inches from his face, the glee that came over him made you laugh. But within a second, some darkness moved behind his blazing eyes and he just stared down at your pussy. Grabbing the back of your thigh, he bent your knee up, opening your legs wider.

Oh god.

“Can we close the blinds or something? It's so bright in...”

“Shush,” he quieted you not looking up. “I want to see what I’m doing.”

Oh god.

With his free hand, he carefully spread the lips of your pussy, and you looked up to the ceiling, your cheeks hot, unable to watch. It was so weird, your legs instinctively tried to close but he clucked again, pulling them back open.

“Don’t hide from me. Ever,” he whispered and you glanced down just as he looked up at you. “Plus, you said you would go anywhere so I could eat,” he grinned wildly, looking handsome, like a total deviant.

You jumped when his fingers touched you a second time, his fierce eyes watching your face as he began running his thumb over your clit. Fucking hell, it was intense and you had never had a guy just hang out down there, staring at the details of your body. His mouth fell open alittle and you watched curiously as he spread your lips even further, rubbing that same spot that you knew was starting to swell under his soft strokes.

“Do you know how fucking perfect you are?” he asked, glancing up again, his expression looking somehow pained. “Do you like that?” he kept staring at you, observing your reaction, his thumb gliding over and over. It felt amazing and by the way his head tilted to the side, gazing at your pussy and swearing under his breath, you knew he appreciated how wet you were getting.

“Fuck!” he rushed out loudly, “I could barely sleep last night. I was thinking about you. About kissing you. Everything at the movies. How wet your pussy was. Fuck!” he swore again. “Like it is now.”

His thumb pressed harder, and your stomach flinched making him laugh but he quickly grew serious and without breaking your gaze, he lowered his face, extending his unnaturally long tongue and swiped up the center of your folds. Jesus, it felt good and you glanced at his door noticing there was no lock. Steadily, his fingers spread you further apart, so wide it almost hurt and he grunted, sounding very pleased, his tongue descending again and licking you, lapping you, feeling warm, circling your clit. Within a few seconds, your hips began to gently rock and your breathing became shaky.

Time was obviously not of the essence as he took his time swapping back and forth between tasting you and running his thumb over your slit and each time you twitched or shuddered, those menacing eyes were back on you, studying your reaction, seeing what made you moan.

“Please,” you heard yourself whimper and it made him chuckle.

“Please what?” he asked, clearly loving it.

“Please,” you whined as his thumb and his intermittent licks began to drive you mad. Your pussy was wide open and needing more.

“You will have to be more specific, beautiful.”

“Please,” you tipped your chin down and looked directly at him. “Make me cum, Ivar, please,” you added the ‘please’ just to make him happy and his eyes flashed.

With that his mouth dropped down to your flesh, sucking your soft layers and clit right into his mouth. He was devouring you and it was raw and wild and the carnal sounds he was making made you imagine him as some beast. The climb to your finish was fast and powerful and when you finally came, all inhibitions were gone, you bucked your pelvis and grabbed his perfect hair, grinding your cunt up against his mouth, incoherently crying out. It was messed up and you had never once felt anything like it before.

“You are so beautiful, baby,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your skin and running the palm of his hand up and down the inside of your thigh. “You are so fucking beautiful. I have wanted this for so long,” he spoke against your skin as you came down from your climax.

As you untensed and simmered, he slid back up beside you, his hand snaking inside your blouse and grabbing your boob.

“You almost made me blow in pants,” he smiled and you just gazed at him, blissed-out, taking in how dreamy he looked.

“Oh shit!” you said, lifting your head, your eyes trying to find a clock.

“What time...”

“Relax,” he tightened his hold on you. “We’ll leave in 15 minutes. Plenty of time.”

Resting your head back down, you closed your eyes loving how much larger his body was than yours and how it felt to be in his arms.

“Plenty of time for what?” you asked, opening your eyes again.

“I’m not done.”

Oh god.

Sitting up, he grabbed you, roughly flipping you onto your tummy, his body quickly covered yours and pressing you down into the bed. It was so fast and you were confused but still too spaced out to speak. Pushing your legs apart, he shifted his weight to one side and flipped up your kilt uncovering your naked ass.

“What....” you rushed out, feeling too exposed. Your bottom, the back of your you-know-what, everything just out in the open.

“Stop fighting me,” he pressed his mouth to your ear. “You have a perfect ass, by the way.”

Fidgeting you realized he was opening and pulling down his pants and panic shot through you.

“Ivar, I can’t...”

“Shush, I’m not going to have sex with you. Relax.”

What was he doing, your mind started to reel? Was he lying? Was he going to try? If you were being honest, part of you wondered if maybe you’d let him. It was crazy.

You jumped, sucking in air when his hand touched the back of your pussy, his fingers rubbing between your lips and around your entrance. As the tips of his fingers dipped inside, the sounds of his approval fired back up. Bracing for it, you were thrown off when his finger didn’t push inside but instead traveled up the crack of your ass, circling around your asshole. Your eyes bugged out at the odd sensation and it hit you what he was doing; he was using your own slick to lube you up. But for what?

“What are you doing?”

Ignoring you he lowered himself back down, his weight feeling heavy, and you felt his hard bare cock land right in the crease of your ass. His elbows settled on either side of you, boxing you in, and just as you were about to tell him to get off, his face and chin burrowed back into the side of your neck. Slowly, he rolled his hips forward, his cock sliding between your cheeks, slippery and hard and feeling so unexpected. Pulling his hips back, he rutted again and his strained breathing showed you he loving it. It was different and hot and the sound of his panting in your ear was such a turn on. Not to mention his intimidatingly large rock-hard dick, touching the back of your entrance.

“All that panic for nothing,” he grunted and you could tell he was smiling. “I just needed to feel your perfect ass.”

It felt good. It felt surprisingly good and without thought you pushed your bum up toward him, immediately making his hiss.

“That’s it, my beautiful girl,” he grunted in your ear, pumping against your behind even harder. “Your little body knows exactly what to do, doesn’t it? Fuck!” he swore as his pace picked up.

Leaning on one arm, he snaked his hand under your tummy, finding your crotch, pulling you up toward him so your butt was at a better angle. Spreading your own legs a little wider, you dug your knees into the bed, arching your back even more. He fucking loved it and made you cry out when his fingers connected with your overly sensitive clit.

“Do you know how badly I want to fuck you? Hmmm? Put my dick inside you. Your beautiful little hole?”

He was moving faster and faster, it was so slippery and wet and you felt filthy because of how much you wanted him, wishing it might just slip and jab you.

“But I’m not going to rush you. I can wait,” he kissed the side of your head, his fingers rubbing your front which was a dripping mess at this point, your own hips moving in time. Everything began to feel funny and you realized you had never, not even once, had two orgasms in a row.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned as his hips moved faster and his fingers pressed harder. His breath grew even more ragged in your ear and everything began to distort. You couldn’t tell how long you’d been under him, grinding, panting, bucking up against him, and starting to whine his name. The air felt thick and your skin felt hot and you wished you were naked instead of your kilt being bunched around you. His arm was securely under you, his fingers slipping relentlessly over your clit, his cock sliding over the back of your pushed up ass. It was all too much and, in that blur, your second organism rolled, rocking you hard and stretching on so long you weren’t clear if it was still going or you were just that sensitive. You couldn’t breathe or think or move and or even make a sound. It was Ivar, crying out into the air above you that drew you back, his hips stuttering against you hard, and then you felt it, a warm pool of cum at the top of your crack.

His body went slack and he flopped down, half on and half beside, his leg and arm still wrapped around you. Catching his breath, he brushed the hair that was sticking to your tacky forehead away to uncover your eyes and pressed a breathy kiss to your lips. You didn’t open your eyes but felt him snuggle in, your faces very close and you guessed he was looking at you.

“I want you to be that person in my life… who….” his voice dropped off as if unable to finish what he wanted to say and you thought you heard him whisper your name. “God,” he continued. “I just want to be with you. So badly.”

Woah……

----

Not once on the short ride back to school did he let go of your hand, even bringing it to his mouth and kissing the back a couple of times. If you had any mental capacity left after your two earth-shattering orgasms and his heart breaking-ly sweet admission, you would have realized that you were in shock. Was it good or bad? It was hard to tell but he was swooning over you, smitten with an entirely different warmth in his eyes.

Kissing him goodbye and swinging the door closed, you walked toward the side entrance of the school, wondering if it was possible to bruise a tail bone and seeing your two best friends, waiting. By their expressions, it was clear they wanted to talk.

Great, you thought, you had to tell them that, like it or not, Ivar Lothbrok was your boyfriend now. And despite your hesitations, you did, you liked it very much.

Next chapter

*Happy Valentines Day❤️

@youbloodymadgenius @whenimaunicorn @ceridwenofwales @sweeneythots @funmadnessandbadassvikings @redama @mdredwine@didiintheblog @londongal2810 @fields-and-fields-of-poppies @oddsnendsfanfics @youbelongeverywhere @flowers-in-your-hayr @hecohansen31 @naaladareia @gearhead66 @blonddnamedhandz @lisinfleur @geekandbooknerd @xbellaxcarolinax @edythofhastings @ivarsgoddess @where-beauty-goes-to-die @zuxiezendler @punkrocknpearls @snatcherheart @lordsexmachine @fuchsiagrasshopper @wilhelmyna @heavenly1927 @cececolbert @peachyboneless

#ivar au #modern ivar #highschool ivar #ivar vikings #ivar fanfic #ivar smut #ivar love #you and ivar #ivar and reader #lets be honest this is sarah

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itspufflehuff · 4 years ago

Text

Cookies - Peter Parker Imagine

Summary: Y/N, Peter, and Ned have all been best friends since the second grade. When Y/N experiences her first heartbreak will they be able to help her? Most importantly will Peter?

MATERLIST // TAGLIST

I know I normally post Sebastian Stan/ Bucky but I want to also get into the other MCU characters/ actors so here is Peter Parker! I have some more Sebastian/ Bucky imagines in the making but for now enjoy.

Let me know what you think! You can read part two here.

Word Count: 2,558

~~~~

You and Peter first became friends in the second grade. He fell off of the monkey bars and lay on the floor holding his arm in pain. His friend, Ned, stood to the side smiling and clapping, "Do it again!" You grabbed the last cookie from your lunch box then walked over to Peter. When he got to him you stood there holding the cookie out, " I fell off the monkey bars one time. I cried but my mom said cookies will always make me feel better." He giggled and reached out taking the cookie from you.

From that day on Peter and Ned would join you for lunch and ask you to play with them during breaks. The three of you soon became inseparable.

You loved your best friends and always saw them as just that, friends.

That was until sometime in middle school. You don't know exactly what happened to flip your emotions the way they did, but when you looked at Peter your whole day got better. You always found yourself wanting to sit next to him whether it be in class, during movie nights, on the bus, or in the cafeteria.

Once you noticed how your feelings towards your best friend had changed you did your best to suppress them. You knew he didn't think about you that way. It was obvious, the way he and Ned would drool over girls in front of you. So you pushed your feelings to the side and tried to move on.

You did for a bit. As middle school went on you developed crushes on other boys. Of course, nothing ever happened with them you were too young and boys at that age were too dumb.

When high school came along your feelings for Peter grew stronger. He was so smart, kind, and nerdy. You loved his pop culture references even though they were lame. He always made you laugh and it didn't help that he was cute. But he would never feel the same about you.

Or so you thought.

Little did you know he too started to develop feelings for you. He loved watching you read. It fascinated him the way you would react to what's happening in the book as if you were there. Whenever you would furrow your eyebrows or raise them in shock made him smile. And when you laughed he laughed too. He had no idea what about but he thought it was so adorable the way you would get lost in your book. He also loved the way you understood all of his references. Not only did you understand them but you went along with them. Like that one time, the three of you so badly wanted to go to the premiere of Star Wars Rogue One but your mom said no.

~~~~

You all sat there in disappointment when Peter jumped up from his chair excitedly, "Ok I got it! Remember that one episode of Law and Order when the three girls sneak out of their house? They pretend to be their mom and text the other mom saying they're gonna have a sleepover."

You looked at him impressed then shook your head, "No that wouldn't work, my parents love you guys but they would never let me sleepover."

The boys nodded understandingly when you got an idea, "What if I just sneak out the fire escape? Kinda like how the girls from Sleepover snuck out, except they left the window from a two-story house, and ill be on the fifth floor of an apartment."

"Good idea. I live down the street so I could pick you up. But what if your parents want to check on you?" Peter questioned.

"Well in the movie Julies older brother put on a wig and had his back to the door so their dad would think she is home. The only problem is none of us have siblings who can do that for me."

Then from the left of you, Ned looked up excitedly, "I have a cousin our age with your hair color who owes me a favor."

Just like that, you all escaped for the night.

~~~

Before that night you'd never made a pop culture reference, of course, you quoted movies and shows from time to time but you never referenced them the way he did, you only ever understood them. That night his crush on you grew bigger.

Peter never showed interest in you though, which lead you to believe he could never like you in that way. In another attempt to move on you started dating Flash freshman year. Yes, Flash.

I know what was wrong with you?

But in your defense, he was different back then. He was a really sweet guy, and he made you feel cared for. Of course, everyone knew his family was filthy rich but that's not why you dated him. You two were friends and although he didn't have the same interest as you, he appreciated them and asked you about them. He made you happy.

At the beginning of your relationship, everything was great. He was never threatened by your two best friends so when you told him you wanted to sit with them during lunch he had no problem. After school, you two would study and talk about how your day went. He would always ask you about the latest book you read. Seeing how happy books made you he bought you more, but they were always special edition covers. When you weren't with Peter and Ned you were with Flash. He held your hand so sweetly and he was your first kiss but he never rushed it. The first time he tried to kiss you, you pulled away. You weren't ready yet, you wished it were Peter kissing you. Then a month later you had gotten over your Peter crush, so you kissed Flash. You were both so happy.

That is until he realized what being rich meant. People started coming up to him and inviting him to parties. He slowly became more and more popular. He started buying you jewelry instead of books. He asked you to wear the jewelry when you were with him, and when you didn't, he would distance himself from you. Instead of dates, you went to parties, none of them were ever fun. Study time became the Flash show where he would go on and on about himself never letting you speak. He started showing up to school in a limousine. Then he started flirting with the popular girls. At first, he had the decency to hide it from you then he started doing it in front of you. One day he broke up with you and moved on to a prettier girl.

Even though your relationship was already falling apart it still hurt you bad. You cried for days. Peter and Ned did everything they could to make you feel better. They would walk you home and stay with you until your parents kicked them out. Peter was so angry.

How could anyone hurt Y/N? I would never treat her the way Flash did.

The day Flash dumped you, you ran home straight after the bell rang. Peter and Ned were so confused they went to your home to check on you. Your mom let them in and pointed to your bedroom, "I don't know what happened but she seemed sad when she got home. She won't talk to me, would you let me know if she's alright?" The boys nodded, their faces full of concern.

Hesitantly they knocked on your day, "Go away!"

"It's Peter and Ned." They heard sniffles behind the door. Peter got closer to the door and in a low voice said, "Please let us in we want to know you're ok."

"Fine, come in."

Your eyes were puffy and your face stained with tears. You were sitting on your window seal with a blanket draped over your body. The boys slowly dropped their bags beside your door. They didn't know what to do.

"What happened?"

You looked to the window not wanting to see their faces, "Flash dumped me for some popular girl. I guess I wasn't good enough for him anymore." Tears fell silently as you sniffled and held back sobs.

Peter and Ned looked at each other. They were thinking the same thing. In the past few weeks, they noticed a change in Flash's behavior. They saw how miserable he was making you. Although they didn't say anything they knew it wasn't too long until he broke up with you.

The boys were silent so you looked over to them seeing that they still stood in the doorway, "You guys can sit down."

So they did, Ned walked over to your desk sitting on the chair, and Peter on your bed.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Peter asked cautiously. They'd never seen you like this before so they didn't know what to do.

"Do you want to eat chocolate while we watch chick flicks?" Ned offered

"What? No. Ned, I don't think girls actually do that in real life."

"I don't know what I'm doing! I've only comforted you after a girl rejected you, even then all I said was, 'that sucks wanna go build some Legos?' and everything was better."

"Yeah but-"

"Wait." You spoke from where you were. You were silently watching them amused. The tears stopped coming as a soft smile arose on your lips.

The boys looked over to you as you spoke, "I like Ned's idea can we do that?"

He proudly let out a chuckle and smiled, "See I knew she would like that."

Peter rolled his eyes, "We will handle the snacks if you handle the movies?"

You nodded excitedly. Everyone got up from their spots, Peter and Ned headed for the door and you headed for your laptop.

Ned walked out first and happily called out, "We'll be right back Mrs. Y/L/N."

Your mom came out of the kitchen confused. She stopped Peter and asked about you. "Flash broke up with her today and she's taking it pretty bad. If you don't mind we're gonna head to the store and grab some snacks for a movie night? I really think it will make her feel better.

Seeing as it was Friday night your mom agreed and smiled at Peter.

Two blocks away from your apartment there was a convenience store where the boys went to pick up the necessities. They grabbed handfuls of chocolates, chips, ice cream, and drinks. As they were getting ready to pay Peter saw a stack of cookies. He remembered that day in second grade, 'Cookies will always make me feel better.' He smiled at the memory and quickly grabbed them.

When the boys got back to your room everything was set up. Your computer was hooked up to the TV, you made room on the floor where Ned usually lays (you even made it comfortable for him with pillows and layers of blankets), and the bed was made usually you and Peter lay there.

"Let the festivities begin!" Ned shouted as he dropped the snacks onto your bed. You all laughed as everyone took their spot.

Before you laid down you started the first of many movies, The Hot Chick.

When you made it to the bed Peter was sitting there waiting for you, "I got you a special snack."

You scrunched your eyebrows as you looked at him. He pulled out your favorite bag of cookies. Excitedly you grabbed them from him with a smile on your face.

He never failed to make you smile.

"Just like your mom said, cookies will always make you feel better." He looked into your eyes with a soft grin.

You said that to him many years ago you almost forgotten, "Thank you."

He took his shoes off and laid on your bed. He was on his stomach facing the foot of your bed. You sat up on the headboard with pillows behind your back and a blanket over your legs.

Two movies later half the snacks were gone along with Ned. His mom wanted him home for a family dinner, which left you and Peter alone. You two took a break from the movies to have dinner with your parents.

When you two got back to your room you took Peter's old spot at the foot of the bed and he took yours sitting at the top, "What movie next?" He asked.

You pondered for a second, "Hmm, how about Princess and the Frog?" You tried holding back a smile. Noticing this he couldn't hold back his own, "Start it."

As the movie played he could hear you softly reciting the lines along with the characters, "I would kiss a frog. I would kiss a hundred frogs if I could marry a prince and be a princess."

You didn't even realize you were doing it, you just loved this movie so much you knew practically every line. Peter watched you and smiled.

How could anyone not love her?

He noticed you shiver ever so lightly and quickly covered you with a blanket, but you were too into the movie to notice.

When the movie ended your mom walked into the room, "Ok Peter time to go home."

You groaned, "Moooom, just one more movie. Please, please, please please, please!" You begged just as Lottie did when wishing on the star. Peter chuckled at your antics.

Your mom gave in knowing you needed it more than ever right now.

"Ok, it's the last movie gotta make it count!" Peter said bouncing on the bed.

You typed the movie in as Peter read it out, " Love, Rosie. What's that?"

"One of the best romance movies ever!"

You got back onto the bed this time sitting up next to Peter. He laughed beside you, "Ok we'll see about that."

The movie played as you two watched the stories of two best friends fall in love at the wrong times. Peter couldn't help but think maybe you two would fall in love one day. He looked over to you surprised to see tears falling down your face.

Instead of asking if you were ok or if something was wrong, he grabbed your hand and squeezed. Just a small gesture to remind you he was there for you.

Grabbing the blanket you wiped your tears. He started to let go of your hand when you reached out for it again, this time interlocking your fingers.

Without looking at each other you both smiled to yourselves.

At some point, you rested your head on Peter's shoulder and fell asleep still holding onto his hand.

When the movie ended he was surprised to see you had fallen asleep. He let the credits play in the back as he rested his head on top of yours just enjoying the moment.

"I love you, Y/N. Someday I will have the courage to tell you and we will have a love story even better than what we see in the movies because ours will be real. I promise." He kissed the top of your head, slowly let go of you, and with one last look, he left.

He did keep his promise, but that's a story for another day.

#peter parker #muc #marvel #tom holland #peter parker imagine #mcu imagine #marvel imagine #spiderman #spider-man imagine #spiderman homecoming

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hamburgerhelpersotherhand · 5 years ago

Text

Infatuation P1

Joe Goldberg x Reader x Love Quinn

Warnings: Casual Joe thoughts and stalking/watching from afar

Notes: Baby’s first fanfic... and I chose Netflix’s YOU of all things. This doesn’t specifically take place anywhere on any timeline, but know that Joe and Love are together. I don’t know if I should continue this but I felt like it needed to be posted.

There you were.

You are currently Love’s favourite customer and, as I watch you, I can’t begin to see why.

You’re not really interested in what’s on display, are you? You come in every day, glance around as if you’ve never seen the place, and slowly make your way to the front counter.

You don’t even say anything when you find yourself waiting alone, but you do toy with the bell charm on your bag. It’s almost like a replacement for your own voice.

You know, by the way you’re looking around, it almost seems like you’re searching for something... or someone. Should I feel threatened? You come in three times a week and hog Love’s attention like a spoiled kid.

Now you’re checking the time on your phone. Do you have somewhere else you have to be? Relax, Y/N, you’re just in Anavrin.

“Y/N, can you proof read this for me?” Forty walks into frame with his phone in hand, saving you from your awkward wait.

I click my pen and pretend to be taking inventory.

“I don’t know, I’m waiting for Love.” You say quietly. I almost didn’t catch that.

The conversation seemed to stop and I glance up to see Forty’s lips puckered. He’s thinking.

“Well, I don’t see her anywhere and it’ll only take a minute.” He continued suddenly. “Please, please, please?”

A little annoying, I will admit. But his request doesn’t feel like something you’d turn down-and I already spot you nodding your head. He hands you his phone and you begin to read.

Your lips are pursed and your eyes are moving back and forth. Either you’re a fast reader or Forty used a very large font size. Do you read often? Your bag looks big enough to hold a couple books.

You’re very petite, reserved and seem like just the type to secretly enjoy a steamy romance novel. As they say, It’s always the quiet ones you have to look out for.

“Sorry for the wait, someone left one of the spice caps loose and I had to clean the mess.” Love steals your attention away from Forty’s phone. He’s quick to take the device back from you. He looks frustrated.

“Oh, it’s alright! Forty was keeping me company.” You say, but Forty is already walking away- more specifically, walking towards me.

My attention is momentarily taken away from you while I look down and pretend to examine the books that came in this morning.

“Hey old sport, can you proof read this?”

I look at him, his phone, and then glance towards Love. He seems to notice and also glances back.

“Hey, Love has her friends and I have mine.” He snaps his fingers infront of my face and I look at him. “Right now is friend time and your creepy silence is not allowed.”

“I-“ before I can even get two words out, he’s got his phone in my face and an expectant look in his eye.

It had been a long day of enduring an earful from Forty. He’s passionate for his craft of the week, I’ll give him that.

But you... you left hours ago, yet you were still on my mind.

Love and you were in the back kitchen and I knew. Love doesn’t just take anyone into the kitchen, especially not a customer... no. You’re much more than that. Aren’t you, Y/N?

You two prepared a lunch together, as you did every time you found yourself at Anavrin.

“Will, I’m planning a ‘get together’ on Friday.” Love snapped me out of my expressionless daze. “In all seriousness, I just want to relax with some friends at home. Will you be there?”

“That depends, am I invited?” I reply with a quirked smile and an innocent look in my eye.

“Of course you are! Come over around 3, I’ll need help with dinner.” She doesn’t actually need help with preparing dinner, but I can tell she’d prefer the extra set of hands.

“I’ll be there.” I smile, a real genuine one too.

This is a nice conversation and all, but I want to find out more about you, Y/N. “While dinner is on the table, I was wondering if you wanted to go out and grab lunch with me tomorrow?” Im asking this because I know you’re coming in for your secret lunch dates with Love. This question is just the bait I need to get a conversation going.

“Oh. I don’t know about that. I kind of have plans with Y/N during my lunch break.” Bingo. Just what I wanted to hear. Well, not really but you get the point.

“Y/N... Is that... the...uhh...” This is all an act. I’m pretending to search for the name, but she’s never actually mentioned you to me directly before.

“She’s a customer.” Love says. Downplaying the meaning behind your relationship and keeping it professional? Are you two hiding something or am I just losing it?

“Is she the girl with the bell on her bag? There was a girl jingling something on her bag around noon.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely her.” Love nods. I like how reserved she’s being, despite feeling a bit frustrated that I couldn’t find out more. It’s almost like Love is tempting me to find you on my own.

“I guess lunch can wait then. I’ll be looking forward to dinner on Friday.”

Love leans forward and gives me one of her softest kisses. I return the action and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

My thoughts almost naturally start to drift to you again.

It’s another day at Anavrin, but I don’t see you anywhere.

Love is in the back kitchen, lost in her own cooking trance as per usual. She looks very beautiful with that focused look on her face.

But where are you? You were supposed to be here half an hour ago and yet, there’s no sign of you.

At least, not until I start to hear that little chime on your bag.

“Thank you for the input. I might not do anything with what you said, but I’ll definitely consider it.” That’s right... Forty knows you too. He’s talking about his story again and you seem interested. I can’t tell if you’re genuinely into it or just being nice.

When you come into view, Love looks up and spots you. You don’t notice her right away, but she smiles in your direction.

I spot your lips moving but I can’t make out what you’re saying. Damn it, Y/N. You have to get out of that mumbling habit.

Forty takes a sip of his drink and nods in response. Before I know it, you’re both going your separate ways: Forty hovers around some books while you go towards the back kitchen.

I look back to Love and see her eyes staring right at me. She’s looking with an unreadable expression... then she smiles, waves, and I wave back with a smile of my own.

I remember Forty and turn around.

“I kind of don’t like the placement of these.” Forty rotates a finger around the display. I ignore his statement.

“Who’s that girl?” I look towards the back kitchen. “I see her come in like every day but she doesn’t say a word.”

He seems to think for a bit as he spins whatever remains of his drink with his reusable straw.

“That’s Y/N.” I wait for him to continue. “She’s an old friend of Love’s. Y/N is back in LA and I guess Love just wants to spend time with her.”

“Who is she to you?” It only feels natural that I ask this. Forty seems to trail behind you, but it could be because you’re a recognizable face.

“I took her out on a date once.” He sips his drink. “Then she pretty much ghosted everyone when she moved.”

Now that... that makes me curious... I now want to dive deeper than I would have, if just to find out why you ghosted Love of all people. She’s good for you, she’s good for everyone.

There’s always the possibility you moved away with family, but I’d like to believe there’s a better story in there somewhere.

I think it’s time to see how reserved you really are, Y/N.

#you #love quinn #joe goldberg #poly #polyamory #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #reader #short story #oneshot #fanfiction #joe goldberg x reader #love quinn x reader #forty quinn #forty quinn x reader

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avengerscompound · 4 years ago

Text

The Surrogate - Chapter 2

The Surrogate: A Clintasha Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count: 1746

Rating: E

Warnings: None

Synopsis: A freak end of the world incident leads to meeting your two best friends, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. While your friendship with the two Avengers is anything but conventional, they are your all-time favorite people. When you find out that Clint and Natasha want to start a family but have exhausted all their options, you realize your powerset might allow you to give them what they want. Having your best friends’ baby might seem like a good idea on paper, but when you are as close as you, Clint, and Natasha are, will doing something so intimate mean feelings get a little mixed up?

Chapter 2

“Clint and I just had sex!” You hadn’t meant to blurt the words out like that and they had almost definitely signed your death warrant, but they’d burst out of you out of your control. Things had gotten out of control, but in that good way, where your adrenaline had been up and with the alcohol and the way your powers worked, when he’d suggested you both go to the public restroom, you couldn’t think of anything you wanted to do more than that.

Now that you could see that Natasha and Clint were in a relationship, the guilt about being the one Clint had cheated with had made you spill immediately. Even if it did mean the Black Widow would gut you like a fish.

Natasha Romanoff looked back at you with her head tilted to the side. “Oh, dorogáya,” she soothed, before turning her attention back to the controls of the jet and taking flight again hovering up away from the bar she’d picked you up from before shooting off away from the city. She took a moment to smack Clint on the back of the head in between flicking different switches.

“Ow, Nat,” he complained, rubbing the back of his head. “What was that for?”

“You can’t do that,” she scolded. “You need to tell them what your deal is before you seduce them.”

“Seduce them? Me?” Clint argued. “Who am I seducing? Shit just happened.”

“You know what I mean, durak. You can’t just sleep with people and not tell them you’ve got a girlfriend,” Natasha snarked. She tilted her head back and raised her voice so you could hear her better over the jet engines. “Clint and I are in an open relationship. I’m sorry he didn’t tell you that first. He’s an idiot. But you didn’t cheat on anyone. I just hope he didn’t lead you on.”

“No,” you assured her. “I knew it was casual. But … I wouldn’t have… if you two…”

“It’s fine,” she assured you. “I promise. Have as much sex with Clint as you like. I don't care.”

“Gee, thanks, Nat,” Clint snarked.

“Well you won’t be getting any from me if you’re gonna be an idiot,” Natasha said. “Might as well see who else is offering.”

“Nat…” Clint whined.

You relaxed back in your jump seat while they argued in that loving way people who were completely comfortable with each other do, glad that for once your libido and need for complete honesty hadn’t gotten you in trouble. The last thing in the world you wanted was to piss off any of the avengers because you weren’t thinking with your brain.

“It's gonna be a bit of a flight, so just relax and get some sleep if you can,” Natasha called back to you.

You already knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep. You were running on pure adrenaline now and the jump seat was far from cozy. You did close your eyes and listen to the engine as Natasha guided the jet back to New York. Things were about to change for you, you knew that. Even if the Avengers deemed your powers to be useless to them, things weren’t going to be the same now. You couldn’t go through life after seeing the end of the world come so close and pretend like you weren’t gifted with something special. You had to find some way to use it.

By the time the Quinjet touched down at the Avengers Compound you had been up for well over a full day and you were exhausted. It was that level of exhaustion that went right to the bone. Each turn of your head caused your vision to go blurry as your brain tried to catch up with what it was processing. Each time you spoke you found it difficult to modulate your voice. You were also hyper-aware that you probably smelled terrible too. You’d been wearing the same clothes since you got up the day before and since you’d put them on you’d been running around the city and you’d had sex in a public restroom at a bar. The thought of any of the Avengers meeting you like this was quite frankly, mortifying.

You followed Natasha and Clint off the jet and they were greeted by Captain America and a tall, brunette woman wearing a grey pencil skirt and a black turtleneck. The exhaustion you felt made it really hard to process the fact that Captain Steve Rogers was less than a yard away from you. Especially given your current state. He was always going to remember that when he met you, you were the human embodiment of the living dead. Smell and all.

“Welcome home,” Steve said. “This must be the healer.”

“That’s right,” Clint said.

You introduced yourself to Steve and offered him your hand.

“Welcome to the facility. This is Hill,” he said, indicating to the woman with him.

“Alright, you two go get some rest. We’ll debrief after you’ve slept,” Hill said, scratching something down onto the Stark Pad she was holding.

“See you then! Totally gonna go and sleep right away, nothing else!” Clint said, saluting. Natasha stifled a laugh and the two of them headed off down the corridor.

Hill turned to you and continued tapping away on her tablet. “You’ll have very limited access to the facility until you’ve been cleared by security. I’m guessing you might need sleep? A shower?”

“That would be fantastic,” you agreed.

“Follow me,” she said. The two of you began to walk in the same direction as Clint and Natasha at a brisk pace. “The compound is run by an artificial intelligence. Her name is FRIDAY and she'll let you into the parts of the facility you are allowed in and keep you out of what you're not,” Hill explained as you walked. “I appreciate that you have come here voluntarily to assist us, but we are still a private military installation, so security is important. For now, you will be primarily restricted to your room, however, if you need any medical care I can take you to the medbay.”

“No. I never need that,” you said.

“Oh, right,” Hill said, shaking her head. “So used to the script.”

“Carry on,” you said with a soft laugh.

“I'm also giving you access to the smaller pool and gym,” Hill continued. “It's the one used by the administration staff and generally fairly quiet. Ask FRIDAY. We would prefer that you go straight to the security clearance and debrief, but we understand after an event like you just experienced you may need to let out some stress. For this reason, you can have access to any onsite psychiatric services. We have many therapists on staff. At some point you will need to speak to one but if you feel you need one sooner than later that can be arranged.”

“Oh… I'm… I think I can wait until after security clearance,” you said.

“If that changes just let FRIDAY know,” Hill replied. The two of you rounded a corner and then she opened a door that led outside. It was bright out and there were teams of people in sweats running in formation.

She led you down a path to a large white building with huge windows and an A on the side. “That building is the main hub, that's where you'll go when you're ready to speak to us. For now, we're just going to housing,” she continued as you made your way through the facility. “Barton said you helped him in the field.”

“Yeah, he fell off a building,” you answered. “I used my powers to heal him so he could get back.”

“That certainly sounds like Clint,” Hill said. You thought she might have stifled a laugh, but you couldn’t be sure. “You're okay with us running some tests?”

“Yes, of course,” you answered. “I wouldn't have come…”

“Great,” she said, cutting you off. “Ideally the run down when you're ready will go, security clearance, debrief and interview, then we’ll run some tests. But it's up to you how much you can handle. It's a big adjustment coming here. It can get a bit much for some people.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know if I'm feeling overwhelmed,” you said as a set of glass doors opened for you, letting you into the accommodation building. “Getting close to that now.”

“Right, sorry, you must be tired,” Hill said. “We’re nearly there.”

Your room was on the first floor and Hill opened the door to let you in. It reminded you of a cheap hotel. There was a full-sized bed, with gray linens, that offset the grey of the walls. The walls were unadorned and the only other furniture in the room was a side table, desk, and dresser.

“The bathroom is in here,” Hill said, opening the bathroom door. “There are towels and toiletries. We're not a hotel though so if there's anything missing or you need anything, and I do mean anything, let FRIDAY know. She’ll place an order. Inside the dresser is a Stark Pad. You can use it to find out what the kitchen is making and have it sent up. Make sure you eat. You can also browse the internet. Please do not post on social media about where you are until your security check. We’ll know so don't think you can get it by us. You haven't signed an NDA yet but you will and what you post about will be taken into account when we're deciding if we’ll actually recruit you. When you're ready to have the security run let FRIDAY know and someone will come and collect you. If you want to back out, we understand, just let her know that too and we’ll take you home. Any questions?”

Your head was reeling from the amount of information just dropped on you along with your complete exhaustion. “Uhh…” You said blinking slowly.

“Right, well if any come up…”

“Ask FRIDAY,” you finished. “Got it.”

She smiled and closed the tablet. “I'll leave you to it. You’ll be fine, kid,” Hill said. “Just get sleep, eat, and you’ll be part of the team in no time.”

“Thank you,” you said. “I’ll do that.”

“I'll be seeing you,” she said and left you alone. You peeled yourself out of the clothes you were wearing, collapsed onto the bed, and were asleep almost immediately.

// NEXT

#clint barton #natasha romanoff #clintasha x reader #clintasha #clint barton x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #clint barton x natasha romanoff #clint barton x natasha romanoff x reader #hawkeye #hawkey fanfic #black widow #black widow fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #pregnancy #the surrogate

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mopeytropey · 4 years ago

Photo

a beer buds series: chapter 10

author’s note: When I originally told my wife of the idea for this series, she immediately suggested an entire rewrite of 'a pleasant undoing' but told from Lexa's perspective. So I'm counting chapters 9 and 10 as honoring her wishes. The continuation of this series will reprise our almost strictly Lincoln + Lexa formula, but I'm not naive enough to think that at least 99% of you weren't going into this also hoping for some premium Clarke + Lexa content. (Forgive me for the deviation ... and the smut)

Timeline: essentially, we're just picking up where chapter 9 left off ...

Beer: Lil’ Heaven: Two Roads Brewing (Stratford, CT) SESSION IPA

Made with three exotic hops - Azacca, Mosaic and Equinox. Taste is of tropical fruits, specifically passion fruit, grapefruit and apricots. Finishes with just enough toasted malt character to balance.

ABV 4.8%

Posted on AO3 here, or below the cut:

:::

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

“I saw you two days ago.” Lexa affectionately rolls her eyes, nevertheless smiling while accepting an exaggerated hug from Lincoln as if they are reuniting after a long separation.

“Work doesn’t count. You’ve been completely off the radar for a week, socially speaking.”

They’ve met for an impromptu breakfast at a local diner not far from Lexa’s apartment. She’s back in her neighborhood for practicality reasons, having left the idyllic bubble of Clarke’s bedroom in order to do some loads of laundry. But, it’s also a nice excuse to see her friend.

Lincoln has already procured them steaming cups of coffee and a pair of red vinyl stools at the breakfast counter that faces the busy griddle top. He is grinning at her as they sit, awaiting her response.

“I’ve just been … busy,” she says, not even able to curb the bashful smile that follows as she removes her coat and hat.

Lexa pretends not to blush, knowing full well her time spent with Clarke has superseded any other social obligations as they have begun a long overdue exploration of new and exciting facets of their relationship.

Namely sex. A good portion of her week has, in fact, been absorbed by unspeakably good sex.

“Uh-huh,” Lincoln laughs warmly. “I wasn’t even sure you two had remembered how to physically separate at this point. Thought maybe Clarke would be joining us as well based solely on the fact that you two haven’t surfaced for anything other than work responsibilities in a full week.”

Lexa sips her coffee through a growing grin to prolong any acknowledgement of Lincoln’s playful accusation.

“Morning, hon’.” A familiar waitress says in passing, leaving two menus beside Lincoln’s coffee cup. “Let me know when you’re ready to order.”

“Thanks, Helen,” Lexa smiles. It’s not often that she indulges in big breakfast meals, preferring her protein smoothies or avocado toast, but Lexa has nevertheless fallen into a routine of frequenting the diner as a way of establishing new roots.

In her old Brooklyn borough it had been the Chilo’s taco bar where she and Anya would meet every Friday to decompress from the work week over carnitas tacos and cheap beer. In her new portside life in Massachusetts, it’s Angie’s Diner. The coffee is palatable, at best, but the atmosphere is welcoming and Lexa has always enjoyed seeing familiar faces when forced to dine alone. Helen’s gruff, New England endearments in a seasoned, smoker’s voice, have consistently been a comforting presence.

When the woman shuffles off to tend to the other, early morning diners, Lexa turns to see Lincoln still watching her expectantly. “Clarke had some tasks at Dockside to attend to, and I really need clean clothes.”

“And, you’re functioning okay in her absence? Breathing okay and everything?”

Lexa laughs at his continued teasing, but easily concedes to an honest answer. So much uninterrupted time spent in Clarke’s company, sharing the myriad truths about their feelings, has apparently begun to bleed into her other relationships as well.

Lexa has almost always been able to leave herself unguarded in Lincoln’s presence anyway.

“I’m probably more dysfunctional when she’s around, actually.”

Lincoln stifles a laugh around a sip of his coffee. “That sounds like a fair assessment. Everything’s going as well as expected then?”

“Yeah, it’s—” Lexa tries, and instantly fails, not to picture Clarke lathered and laughing in the shower while Lexa fights to stand beneath the warm, steaming spray; Clarke pressing her against the kitchen countertops with hands roaming while the coffee steeps; Clarke cuddling into her on the sofa with the lights dim and the TV volume low “—it’s been really good.”

“Oh no.”

“What?” Lexa smiles unsurely, eyes widening at Lincoln’s grave expression.

“What’s with the hesitation?”

“What hesitation? I did not hesitate.”

“I know that hesitation.” Lincoln narrows his gaze at her, dark eyes assessing for signs of Lexa’s concession. “What are you in your head about now?”

She really needs to stop associating with people who can read her like a book.

“Okay, fine,” Lexa exhales. She flips open the worn menu, its once glossy, laminate pages now dulled from years of loyal patronage. “I’m just adjusting to the intensity of it all.”

“You’ve made a major life change. Totally normal to feel overwhelmed,” Lincoln shrugs.

“I know. You’re right. I haven’t even slept at my apartment in almost a week.”

“And, this is somehow a bad thing?” Lincoln laughs.

“No, I have absolutely zero complaints,” Lexa clarifies. “But, we’re spending literally all of our free time together—and portions of our work days, too.”

Lincoln chuckles after another sip of coffee. “Also totally normal. In the beginning, Octavia used to impose all of these ridiculous sleepover schedules—like, spending three nights a week together is the maximum, or whatever—only to completely abandon her own, dumb rule and would end up sleeping at mine for weeks at a time.” Lincoln thinks better of it a second later and warns, “Don’t ever tell her I told you that.”

The legitimate fear she can see in his eyes makes her laugh, and suddenly she doesn’t feel quite so overwhelmed. “I’ve always considered it wise not to let on that I know just how obsessed Octavia is with you.”

“Smart woman,” Lincoln winks. “So, other than acclimating to new sleeping arrangements, what is it that’s stressing you out? You think you’re spending too much time together?”

“That’s the thing—I like being able to be with Clarke as much as possible. This past week, spending time with her, I’ve felt calmer and happier and more settled than I have in ages.”

Lincoln smiles so warmly, Lexa can feel it in her chest. “Don’t you think Clarke feels exactly the same way?”

“I’m pretty confident that Clarke enjoys having me around, yes. It’s not like she’s trying to kick me out of her house or anything yet.”

“But?”

“But, I keep wondering what the long-term implications are. Because the way that everything is changing between us: it feels … significant.”

“Yeah. That’s because you’re in l—”

Lexa looks away with a groan that drowns out the rest of Lincoln’s statement, rubbing a hand against her forehead. “Oh my god, please stop saying that.”

“Okay, okay,” Lincoln laughs. And then, after a moment while clearing his throat, he not-so-subtly reiterates: “But, you are.”

Lexa studiously ignores any truth in Lincoln’s playful accusation and further expounds, “I guess if anything is stressing me out, it’s not knowing if Clarke is experiencing something similar to what I am right now.”

“Knowing Clarke like I do, and having had the pleasure of a front row seat to all of this from day one, I can confidently assure you that she is right there with you. That being said, have you ever considered—I don’t know—asking her yourself instead of sitting here having a hypothetical conversation about it with me?”

“I do plan to speak with her about this,” Lexa assures an openly skeptical Lincoln. “I do.”

“I mean, you’re in the first week of a new relationship, Lex. I get it. That is usually not time that’s predominantly spent talking.”

Lexa is saved from her sudden flush of embarrassment by the return of their waitress, Helen, who kindly disregards the red tint on Lexa’s cheeks as she orders her scrambled eggs and rye toast.

“The point is,” Lincoln continues once their orders have been placed, “you guys have this really solid and established friendship going into this thing. In my experience, that can sort of push you ahead at a faster clip than you’re probably accustomed to in relationships.” He drains his coffee, placing it back onto the counter with a dull clink. “So, what would make you feel better about the rate at which you and Clarke are headed?”

Lincoln has a uniquely comforting way of simplifying Lexa’s life. He’s so genuine and forthcoming, and she could hug him again for all his supportive logic. Instead, she takes a deep breath to clear her head and pledges to hug him later.

“I want to be up front with her about where I see this going, to determine whether or not she and I are on the same page. I want her to know that I’m—”

“—in love with her?” Lincoln grins.

Lexa punches him, with unintentional force, and regrets it only when Helen—a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper curls and kind eyes—glances at them in mild concern as she refills their coffee. “I would ask if he’s bothering you, hon’, but I have a feeling you’re more than capable of handling yourself.”

“Don’t worry, I deserved that,” Lincoln assures their waitress, laughing at Lexa’s menacing scowl while rubbing his arm.

“I was going to say, I want Clarke to know that I’m not interested in dating anyone else.”

“Oh, right, right,” Lincoln nods, still smiling. “See, I just keep forgetting you two haven’t already been dating exclusively for, like, six months.”

“Why do I hang out with you again?”

For all her feigned exasperation, she is instantly wrapped up in an embrace, not unlike an older brother might lovingly harass his younger sibling. “Because you love me.” He pulls her in closely for a monstrous hug—right there at the diner counter—despite Lexa’s sharp elbow to his abdomen as she playfully fights against the forced affection.

:::

Clarke emerges from her silver Saab just as Lexa ambles across the snow-dusted gravel of the marina, icy rocks crunching beneath her boots. Cars are parked at odd, misfitted angles wherever they can find space between the boats set up on large blocks in their bright white winter wrappings. Clarke is wearing her plaid scarf and bulky winter parka, and Lexa’s chest tightens with equal amounts of excitement and trepidation at seeing her again after a short span apart.

“You should have let me pick you up,” Clarke says by way of a greeting.

“It’s not a bad walk from my apartment.”

Their breaths dissipate in the air between them after briefly appearing in frozen clouds. Lexa can feel her teeth about to chatter because the air on the water is properly freezing, but she attributes the chill along her spine to the nervous energy of being near Clarke.

Clarke’s gaze narrows in judgement. “Stubborn.”

“Those in glass houses,” Lexa counters, arching her brow in a way that brings that pleasant tint of blush to Clarke’s cheeks.

It could very well be the wind; except Lexa knows that it isn’t.

“Okay can we further reprimand each other once we’re inside where it’s warm?”

Clarke’s gloved hand wraps around her coat sleeve and tugs until they are both headed towards the blue front door of the coffee shop. A welcomed gush of warm air envelopes them instantly, and Lexa’s skin begins to tingle where the harsh winds had chilled her face. There isn’t much of a line, nor is the shop crowded with other people. The moderately-sized open room is sparse with patrons, enjoying their steaming drinks under natural lighting and softly playing music.

It’s been six days—not that Lexa has been meticulously keeping track, but it’s been six days—of near-constant kissing and unrestrained touch; of perpetual orgasms and an intentionally precise exploration of Clarke’s body; of general sensory overload when it comes to redefining her relationship with her best friend. Hardly a week has transpired since they began testing the waters of this mutual attraction, which has nevertheless consumed Lexa entirely.

Maybe it’s only been six days, an insignificant length of time under normal circumstances, but it feels much more weighted than that.

Between the kissing and the touching and the orgasms, nevermind the sudden influx of unveiled honesty, she can hardly keep her head above water. Her mind hasn’t stopped spinning since that first kiss on Clarke’s doorstep, and she’s only slightly concerned with contracting vertigo if they don’t stop and address what is happening between them sooner rather than later. Lexa needs to sit in a familiar, public space in the light of day with her best friend to discuss the implications on their relationship as it progresses at full tilt.

Lincoln’s advice rings in her ears as they enter the shop: just talk to Clarke.

“Hey, strangers!” A barista greets them happily as she and Clarke approach the cash register. Her name slips from Lexa’s memory, but Clarke returns her greeting for them both.

“Hey, Morgan.”

“Oh my god, I thought you two got lost at sea or something. We haven’t seen you in ages.” Morgan is young, perhaps just out of college, with bright pink hair and a septum piercing.

Clarke’s head shifts so that she can give Lexa a strange look, which Lexa promptly returns before offering a brief smile. “Oh, um, yeah. Just busy during the holidays,” Clarke answers.

Lexa gives her order and Clarke pays, brushing off Lexa’s insistence on paying her share. In seven months, if she’s learned anything, it is not to question Clarke’s generosity. They move to a deserted sofa beside an old wood stove fireplace to wait for their drinks and begin removing their coats and hats. Lexa’s toes begin to tingle and thaw within her leather boots as the heat from the fire permeates.

The harborside shop is the same as always: natural light streaming through the windows facing the water; a smattering of locally produced art hanging on brightly colored walls; and, a handful of other patrons sitting in mismatched furniture with computers or paperbacks. Everything is the same, except for her and Clarke.

They sit closely, quickly finding small, innocuous points of contact. Clarke tucks into one end of the sofa so that her knees rest gently against Lexa’s legs. Their hands seek touch as the barista delivers their drinks, separating only briefly to accept the steaming mugs and offer their gratitude. Once Morgan leaves them to attend other customers, Lexa falls into the comfort of their secluded, sun-drenched pocket of the shop.

“It’s so cold outside. I think my feet are still thawing.”

“It feels nice in here,” Lexa responds, smiling because Clarke inches closer to her anyway and she was only outside for under two minutes as it is.

Lexa senses a buzzing from her coat where it sits beside her and reaches into one of its deep pockets to check her phone. A text from Lincoln confirms their plans to meet up later for drinks. She types a quick, one-handed response before replacing her phone and returning her full attention to Clarke.

“Lincoln,” she explains, although Clarke doesn’t look poised to ask.

“Does he miss you already?”

Lexa laughs, shaking her head. “No, he’s not nearly as codependent as you.”

Clarke attempts to withdraw her fingers from where they are slotted between Lexa’s, but Lexa tightens her grasp with a widening grin at Clarke’s dropped jaw and feigned affront.

“Are you still hanging out later?”

“Yeah, he was just confirming the time.” Lexa’s thumb smooths across the back of Clarke’s hand in a slow, repetitive arch. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

Clarke shakes her head firmly. “No, this is your sacred time together—I can’t encroach on that.”

“It’s beers and appetizers, Clarke. I wouldn’t call it sacred.”

Clarke’s eyes widen dramatically. “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

The empty threat makes Lexa smile again. They’ve always had a particular talent for banter, and the added layer of their recent sexual experiences makes it all the more delightful to trade taunts and harmless barbs.

“How was your laundry adventure?” Clarke asks while reaching for her coffee, and Lexa smirks.

“Thrilling.”

Despite her instincts to stay within reach of Clarke at all times as much as physically possible, there is also the issue of personal hygiene. In this case, it was Lexa’s growing pile of clothes that needed attending.

“And breakfast with Lincoln?”

She can’t tell Clarke how she is actually reconsidering a lifelong friendship with Lincoln because he had spent a majority of the morning brutally teasing her. To reveal that would require Lexa to also elaborate on his specific proclamations about her feelings for Clarke.

And so, Lexa tells her, “It was good.”

“You can always do laundry at mine, you know.”

“Is this just another ploy to keep me tethered to your house for longer intervals?”

An exasperated look flashes across Clarke’s face while she swallows down a mouthful of steaming coffee. “Yes. Have you not been paying attention at all over the past week?”

Lexa swallows through a grin of her own. There’s really only one, notable thing they’ve been engaged in over the past week, and to think of it now has Lexa’s face warming as she becomes acutely aware of Clarke’s proximity in a public space.

“I’ve been a little preoccupied lately.”

Light laughter escapes her as Lexa’s right hand fiddles the ribbing of Clarke’s sweater between her fingers. She is dressed in something off-white and oversized that cuts at a low vee below her neck so that Lexa’s eyes begin to wander to its shadowed opening. It’s a sweater she remembers from the time before—when all of Lexa’s cultivated interest in Clarke (including her wardrobe) was something unspoken and dutifully ignored.

Lexa remembers that Clarke had been dressed for a dinner at her mother’s house, and Lexa had been granted a chance encounter for quick minutes in which they danced around a thrumming attraction. She can feel it sparking in the air between them now, their pocket of relative privacy threatening to implode from the calculated looks Clarke is giving her.

“Busy week?” she further teases, eyeing Lexa’s blush over the rim of her coffee mug as she takes another sip.

Lexa purses her lips and narrows her gaze at Clarke’s self-satisfaction. “Exactly how much joy does it bring you to torture me?”

“So much,” Clarke laughs. She slips her fingers between Lexa’s so that they are loosely held together. “But only because you’re so adorable when you’re exasperated.”

“Flattery is supposed to absolve you?”

“Obviously.” Clarke rolls her eyes, bringing Lexa’s fingers to her mouth and brushing them quickly with a kiss.

With affections such as this, Lexa would forgive her of almost anything.

“So,” Clarke says through a sigh while bringing their joined hands to rest again on her knee. “What did you want to talk about?”

Now that Clarke has given her the floor, Lexa practically swallows her tongue in nervous vacillation. She had strategized a few, well-devised talking points during the process of cleaning her clothes, not to mention procuring some sound advice from Lincoln over breakfast, but sitting here in front of Clarke has made Lexa forget how to string together words and phrases to construct complete thoughts.

In a desperate attempt to find her resolve, she reaches for the cup of english black tea she’d ordered. Lexa takes her first sip, wishing she’d asked for a pinch more sugar but nevertheless hoping it will soothe her racing thoughts.

“I just wanted to … check in.”

Pathetically underwhelming start. Lincoln would be so disappointed. She takes another sip that is more like a gulp.

Clarke nods slowly. “Okay.”

“About us.”

“Okay,” Clarke repeats, her smile looking apprehensive at best.

“Our friendship has evolved significantly over the past week, and rapidly, at that. I just thought we should—” Lexa wavers and Clarke comes to her rescue.

“Check in?”

“Yeah,” Lexa nods.

“Okay. Are you—are you feeling okay about everything?”

Lexa begins to tangle her fingers around Clarke’s more fervently. “Things with you are almost too good.”

Clarke’s smile changes instantly, full and bright and genuinely pleased. “I feel the same. I’m actually feeling incredibly, fucking lucky, to put a finer point on it.”

“Good,” Lexa smiles, exhaling a modicum of relief. “I do too.”

“Oh my god, you had me scared.” Clarke leans back into the couch, dislodging their hands to run her fingers through her hair. “I thought you were going to say you want to date other people or something.”

“What? No.” Lexa’s breath has been lost to a vacuum of panic so that her ask is hardly audible. “Do you?”

“No! No. I’ve dated, Lexa. I’ve dated plenty,” Clarke laughs lightly, reaching for a surer hold on Lexa’s fingers. “But, you—I mean, you’re single for the first time in over three years. You must have thought about it.”

Not single, Lexa says to herself before thinking better of it and rephrasing aloud:

“Clarke, I could date a hundred women and none of them would be you.”

“Yes, I am fairly certain I’ve yet to be cloned.”

“Are you going to stop being a smartass so I can say this?” Lexa smiles in mock irritation.

“Sorry, sorry.” Clarke pinches her lips together, attentive. “Continue.”

“What I mean is, no one else would compare. I’ve never met anyone like you—this connection I feel with you, I’ve never experienced anything like it.” Lexa takes a breath, licking her lips before forging onward. “I can’t say where this is going, but I can say, unquestionably, that I have no interest in dating anyone else for the foreseeable future.”

The words leave her in a rush of honesty. It feels like she’s said too much too soon, but Clarke leans forward with a smile and Lexa interprets the gentle press of her lips as having said exactly the right thing.

“Do you think we can take these drinks to-go and finish this conversation elsewhere?” Clarke’s voice is pitched low and seductive, and Lexa senses a chill tingling at the back of her neck.

She resolves to stop doubting her honesty, if also to reconsider hanging out with Clarke in public spaces for a while until they can get their rampant sexual urges under control long enough to enjoy a cup of tea.

“Did you have a specific location in mind?” she grins in response as if the gleam in Clarke’s eyes isn’t a clear enough indication.

:::

Part 2

:::

The sex is consistently noteworthy, and Lexa had never really doubted that she and Clarke would be compatible in that way, but so is the intimacy alongside it. Lexa has never before distinguished between the two so markedly. But, with Clarke, the intimacy is so distinct. When she is coming around Clarke’s fingers, letting her watch the strains of pleasure in her face and shoulders, Lexa registers the vulnerability of being caught in Clarke’s gaze as an orgasm ricochets through her.

Ordinarily, a week into any new relationship and Lexa would still be clinging to well-practiced safeguards. She would be withholding some parts of herself for safekeeping and ultimate preservation should things go sideways.

But, not with Clarke.

She likes that Clarke watches her so carefully. The way that she feels when held by Clarke’s gaze is a kind of certain safety that Lexa hasn’t known before. She kisses Clarke fully, holding nothing back as the pulsating aftershocks of her orgasm begin to ebb. When Clarke slowly removes her fingers, Lexa bites Clarke’s lip, swallowing the soft moan that follows.

“Does this mean you want to be exclusive?” Lexa asks, still breathless, when their lips have parted.

She feels Clarke’s laughter against her face before she’s being kissed again. “Yes, you idiot.”

“Good. Because I want to take you out.”

“Tonight?”

“Not tonight. It’s going to require some planning. I’d like it to be a proper date.”

Clarke’s elation is instantly visible. “Okay. I’m going to be honest, I’m highly intrigued to find out what a proper Lexa date looks like.”

Lexa kisses her again and considers, not for the first time, if she’ll be able to stop now that she’s started. Clarke’s warm tongue and soft lips are now vital to Lexa’s existence. She craves the sensation of their mouths sliding together at random intervals throughout her days.

“Kissing you has not been a disappointment,” she says, bringing more of Clarke’s bright laughter as they shift their limbs to reposition against the mattress.

Clarke’s leg wraps around her waist as Lexa brushes stray hair from Clarke’s face where they now lay facing side-by-side. “Oh, my god, I’ll second that. I knew you would be a good kisser.”

“Did you?” Lexa smiles at the confession. She likes that Clarke had thought of her in similar ways. She had not been the only one lost in questionably scandalous daydreams over the course of their friendship.

“Yes. I may have thought about it, once or twice.”

“I had a pretty good feeling about your talents as well.”

It’s such a simple, shared admission that nevertheless makes Lexa’s heart trip in its rhythm. “And now, I think about it constantly.”

For that, she is rewarded with another press of Clarke’s lips. “Me too. I’m pretty sure I’m regressing into a terrible excuse for a restaurant manager as a result of constant distraction.”

“And the bar for your professionalism was already set so low as it is.”

“Hey!” For that she gets a finger plunged sharply between her ribs, and Lexa squirms away from Clarke’s violent tickling.

“I’m kidding. You are an elite and respected paragon of your field.”

“You’re damn right I am,” Clarke affirms with pride.

“Honestly, I was so lost in thought the other day, I dropped a six pack on my foot.”

“Lexa!” Clarke laughs, kissing Lexa again anyway. “Oh no.”

“No permanent damage,” Lexa smiles. “Can I tell you what else I really like?”

Clarke could not look more delighted. “Yes, please.”

“I really like your sweater.”

“Wait—which sweater?”

Lexa props up onto an elbow, separating their warm skin as she casts her eyes around the room before locating the sweater in question. It sits near the foot of the bed where it had been discarded moments before. “That one,” she says. “It looks really good on you.”

Clarke seems both surprised and amused by the compliment. “Come here.”

Lexa allows herself to be pulled closer when Clarke wraps both hands around the back of her neck and their limbs slot back into place. They kiss lazily as if time doesn’t exist while Lexa’s hands begin to drift along the pathways she has started to chart across Clarke’s skin.

“I like seeing you in such a good mood,” Clarke eventually tells her.

“The effect of midafternoon orgasms cannot be underrated.” The frank sentiment makes Clarke laugh again as she rests their foreheads together and begins smoothing over Lexa’s skin with the tips of her fingers. “Also, I like being able to tell you things—things I wouldn’t have been able to say before.”

“I like when you tell me things.” Clarke tucks a strand of loose curls around Lexa’s ear. “Anything else in that busy head of yours you feel like sharing?”

Three words ring prominently in Lexa’s ears, and she fully blames Lincoln’s stupid taunting for the sentiment being at the forefront of her mind. It has nothing to do with the soft, swirling blue of Clarke’s eyes, or the subtle tilt of her mouth, or the fact that Lexa has memorized the sound of Clarke’s laugh. She swallows roughly and presses her lips to Clarke’s, sealing the unspoken words between them for good measure.

She instead tells Clarke a different truth, “I’m feeling much better since we talked.”

“I’m glad,” Clarke smiles. “I feel better, too.” She runs a hand down Lexa’s arm, finding her fingers.

“I was sort of anxious to say anything,” Lexa admits, feeling brave while cocooned in Clarke’s bed despite her earlier insecurities. She had worried, yet again, about saying too much. There was always the risk of Clarke pulling away if Lexa revealed too much. “I spent at least two days debating with myself.”

Clarke’s exaggerated surprise results in Lexa’s quiet giggles. “No, you did? You tortured yourself for days with unnecessary internal debates? That is highly out-of-character, Lexa.”

“You really are a lot more like Lincoln than I ever realized.”

Clarke’s laughter somehow brings them closer together, and Lexa shifts her legs where they are staggered between Clarke’s. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And, I’m glad you finally talked to me about this. I mean, I wasn’t totally expecting you to propose in the way that you did, but—”

“Clarke.” Lexa buries her face into the pillow and clenches her eyes to stave off her creeping mortification. So much for embracing her honesty.

Of course, Clarke is endlessly humored by watching Lexa suffer and only continues her assault on Lexa’s heartfelt admission. “I mean, correct me if I’m misquoting, but you said: ‘for the foreseeable future,’ which basically translates into asking me to date you, but like, forever.”

“Oh my god,” Lexa mumbles, her face still pressed into the soft cotton of Clarke’s pillowcase.

Clarke is not deterred by Lexa’s mounting humiliation, pressing kisses full of laughter into her neck and shoulder until Lexa finally turns to face her. Using the leverage of her leg wrapped around Lexa’s hips, Clarke has since wrestled her onto her back.

“See?” she says, running an index finger down the slope of Lexa’s nose and effectively smoothing the furrow of embarrassment between her eyebrows. “So adorable.”

It’s hard to keep hold of her ire when Clarke is naked above her and straddling her hips. Perhaps Clarke knows this as well because even as she shifts imperceptibly, Lexa feels it straight through her core. Her hands come to rest on the tops of Clarke’s thighs, and though she senses a residual scowl tugging at her lips, most of her regret for being too honest has faded.

“I’m sorry for making fun,” Clarke says while her thumbs rub circular patterns on Lexa’s ribs.

Lexa has never seen anyone look less apologetic in her life. “I would be more inclined to believe you if you weren’t actively trying not to laugh.”

“No, no, I’m serious,” Clarke reiterates, although she is fully laughing now. She clears her throat, aiming valiantly for composure. “What you said was so sweet, and, I mean, in case you couldn’t tell, I sort of plan on dating you for a really long time, too.”

Lexa fights her own smile rather poorly. “Well, that’s very convenient.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Clarke nods.

It’s the perfect segue into more unrestrained fondling, more languid kisses, and Clarke seems to be on the same wavelength as she leans her weight onto her hands and begins to roll her hips. It’s easier falling into this rhythm when for six days they have perpetually cycled the same routine: intimate talks bookended by multiple orgasms that are interspersed with brief intervals reserved for sleep and nourishment.

Lexa gasps into their first kiss from their well-timed movements—the feeling of them sliding together in that way has a heated sensation building quick and low. Just the pressure of Clarke on top of her and the way her slow, purposed movements are hitting Lexa in the all the right spots, has her close to a second orgasm in minutes.

She can hear Clarke’s breathing accelerate as well, the forced puffs of air through her nose that Lexa feels against her cheeks as their kisses grow more urgent. Clarke’s hand moves first, skating down Lexa’s abdomen as she lifts her hips to slide her fingers towards Lexa’s clit. It’s been no more than twenty minutes since her last orgasm, but Lexa’s body instantly responds to the circulating pressure of Clarke’s fingers moving against her.

They are still figuring things out, learning how the other responds to physical arousal, but this—Clarke on top of her, easily working her towards climax with deft fingers and filthy, open-mouth kisses—will do the trick every, single time. Lexa could probably come with much less stimulation at this point, when brushing touches while fully clothed are sometimes too much for her to function. Never mind the visual currently hovering over her—Clarke’s bouncing chest, grinding hips, and blown pupils. An image of her fingers sunk into Clarke in this position is enough to send Lexa over the edge. Her back arches off the mattress as the orgasm rolls up her spine, and Lexa catches her breath only after Clarke starts kissing her again.

A familiar dilemma has Lexa torn between using her hands or her mouth as the tingling sensations of her own orgasm have barely begun to fade. In the end, her urgency to feel Clarke’s arousal, and see it to completion, has Lexa moving a hand between their bodies to slide eager fingers into Clarke’s folds. There will always be time later to bury her face between Clarke’s legs.

Her breath always stutters at that first touch—it’s slick and warm and Clarke groans appreciatively when Lexa extends two fingers just as Clarke sinks onto Lexa’s hand. That she is open and intimate with Clarke in a way she never thought possible has not fully registered as her new reality, and for a brief second, Lexa’s mind goes blank.

In another breath, Lexa shifts, guiding Clarke to change her position just enough that she can take one of Clarke’s nipples into her mouth. The quick suction and slow laps of her tongue produce a groan from Clarke that Lexa will be thinking about days later.

“Fuck, Lexa,” Clarke pants, her hips now thrusting quicker against Lexa’s hand, pressing harder against her fingers as they slide in an out.

Clarke’s arms shift, palms flat against the mattress on either side of Lexa’s head where she is still holding her weight.

“Are your arms getting tired? Do you want to switch positions?” Lexa absently moves her hand that had been massaging one of Clarke’s breasts to lightly hold her bicep.

“No.” Clarke smiles and kisses her softly, in direct contrast to the way she is currently riding Lexa’s fingers. “You’re very sweet, but I’m good.”

“Okay, good. Because I’m really appreciating this view,” Lexa grins, moving her hand again to swipe a thumb across Clarke’s nipple.

“Do you think you can—”

She doesn’t let Clarke finish, relying instead on her still-developing intuitions, and takes the other nipple into her mouth.

“Yes, fuck.”

Lexa celebrates her victory of predicting Clarke’s needs by altering the position of her hand to reach Clarke’s clit with her thumb, the result of which has Clarke nearly collapsing onto her as her elbows buckle and her hips jerk forward. Lexa finds a well-practiced rhythm after that and works Clarke all the way to climax until the movement of her hips becomes erratic and she is no longer able to string together coherent profanity.

The comedown is soft and fun, quiet giggles and breathless kisses. Clarke collapses onto the mattress beside her, arms and legs finally relieved of their tension, and Lexa curls onto her side so that she can rest a hand onto Clarke’s stomach where she lies flat on her back.

Lexa is so content, she feels like her body might levitate in a boneless mass above the bed. Clarke’s breathing is still coming to rest, and Lexa watches her hand rise and fall with each inhale and exhale.

Into the greying stillness of the bedroom, Clarke asks, “Hey, what time are you supposed to meet Lincoln?”

The serenity Lexa had felt shatters in an instant. “Oh shit!” She flails about for a moment in search of her phone, having completely forgotten about her plans. “What time is it?”

She locates her phone before Clarke can answer. It’s already half past three, and Lexa’s stomach plummets. The text from Lincoln says: where you at?

“Are you late?” Clarke has come to sit behind her where Lexa’s legs hang off the mattress near the bedside table where she’d found her phone. Lexa feels soft kisses against her shoulderblade. “What did he say?”

Below Lincoln’s text is a picture of two full pints of beer sitting on a bar counter. She holds her phone at an angle so that Clarke can see Lincoln’s texts.

Lexa runs a hand through her hair as her heart hammers from the sudden jolt of adrenaline. “Shit.”

More than the shame of accidentally standing up one of her closest friends, Lexa dreads the fallout of this enormous misstep because Lincoln is never going to let her live this down. Worse yet, there is a good chance that he’ll share the story with Anya, which will mean, essentially, Lexa can never again return home.

“Why don’t you get dressed and go? I can drop you off,” Clarke offers sweetly, still pressing reassuring kisses along her back.

“I’m going to ask him if we can reschedule,” Lexa decides.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Lexa answers, turning her head to smile at Clarke over her shoulder. “I don’t

really feel like putting on pants at the moment.”

Clarke kisses her shoulder cap and grins in return. “You’ll get no argument from me there.”

“Let me give him a call really quickly.” Lexa reaches for a shirt on the floor—something of Clarke’s she’d worn to bed the night before—and stands to slip it over her head. Something about calling a close friend while completely naked and still coming down from an orgasm makes her slightly uncomfortable.

“Take your time,” Clarke tells her, also rising from the unkept sheets and blankets to pull her hair back into its messy bun. “I’m going to go downstairs and reheat our drinks from earlier.” She tugs at the hem of Lexa’s tee shirt and places a kiss at the corner of her mouth on her way to the bathroom. “Do you want a snack, too?”

“Okay.”

Lexa grins, following after Clarke’s lips as she starts to move away. A soft hold on her wrist is enough encouragement for Clarke to lean up into another kiss, reminding Lexa just how shaky her legs still feel from their exertions in bed. Perhaps sustenance to replenish her blood sugar is necessary instead of relying solely on a steady drip of oxytocins.

Lexa appreciates the view of Clarke’s retreating backside even in the fading light of the bedroom as the sun has started to move towards the horizon. She runs a hand through her wild curls and exhales, preparing to make her phone call while perched on the edge of the mattress.

Lincoln answers on the first ring. “Hey, buddy. Did you get lost?”

“Something like that,” Lexa says. “Clarke and I went for coffee, and then I sort of … lost track of time.”

“Say no more,” Lincoln laughs. “It’s your turn to ditch me for a girl now, right? I hope the sex was worth it.”

The fact that she is wearing nothing more than a thin tee shirt has Lexa covering her face with her hand. “Lincoln, I didn’t—”

His laughter persists, and Lexa wonders how loud it must be within the confines of the bar. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It’s totally fine. Honestly, I’d be more upset if you weren’t standing me up for time with Clarke right now.”

“I’m really sorry, Linc. I can be down there in like fifteen minutes.”

“Don’t you dare.” For the first time since he’s answered the call, Lincoln’s voice takes on a serious tone. “I swear to god, if you show up here, I’m frogmarching your ass right back to Clarke’s house.”

“Okay, fine,” Lexa laughs. “Let’s hang out early next week though. Beers on me.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m serious. I actually ran into some people from the gym plus the rep from Two Roads is here doing a tasting—I’m good, I promise.”

“I’m going to make this up to you,” Lexa reiterates. Despite Lincoln’s assurances, her guilt does not fully dissipate.

Clarke chooses this moment to step out of the bathroom, wearing just as much clothing as when she’d gone in, and Lexa’s brain lags at the sight. Her expression seems to be asking if everything is okay, and Lexa smiles in response.

“Lex, would you stop? Tell Clarke I said hi, and I’ll see you at work on Monday. Oh, hey, ask her if she’s tried the new session IPA from Two Roads. It’s intensely enjoyable.”

“Okay. I will.” She smiles up at Clarke, who has stopped to stand in front of her after slipping into a tee shirt and sweatpants. Lexa’s hand settles on Clarke’s hip like a magnet snapping into place. “Clarke says hi, too.”

“Sorry, Lincoln!” Clarke says, projecting her voice towards the receiver while tucking strands of curls behind Lexa’s ear. “It’s all my fault.”

There is more laughter down the line before Lincoln reiterates that everything is fine and he could never actually be angry with either of them.

:::

“So, since when do you source your unhealthy caffeine intake from elsewhere?”

“Huh?” Clarke smiles.

They’ve taken up seats at Clarke’s kitchen island with their reheated drinks from the coffee shop and Clarke’s version of a snack: smoked turkey and cheddar sandwiches on toasted potato rolls with homemade aioli.

They’re both wearing slightly altered versions of the same outfit—soft tee shirts and loose sweatpants, Clarke’s cut off into shorts so that Lexa’s fingers are continuously tempted to trail across all of the exposed skin within reach.

She sips her tea and returns Clarke’s smile.

“The barista at the coffee shop seemed shocked to see you,” she clarifies. “Don’t you practically pay rent there by spending so much of your time buying their coffee?”

For a brief moment, Clarke can’t seem to find her voice. She practically chokes on her sandwich, taking longer than expected to swallow her first bite. Lexa raises an eyebrow expectantly as their drinks emit swirling strands of steam into the air between them.

“I—I could ask you the same,” Clarke volleys back, not unkindly, as she dabs the corner of her mouth with a napkin and reaches for her coffee. “Morgan seemed just as surprised to see you there.”

Lexa bites her lip and looks away. She had asked out of genuine curiosity and confusion, and now it seems yet another bout of confessions is forthcoming.

She clears her throat. “Do you have any beer, actually?”

Clarke laughs lightly before shifting her expression into something like mild offense.

“Um, hi. My entire existence is practically centered around craft beer—do you even know me?”

“Right,” Lexa laughs. “Stupid question. Would you like one?”

“Again: do you even know me?”

Lexa starts to slide off her stool with a bright smile that belies the low buzz of nerves she is withstanding as an unspoken conversation simmers between them. Clarke is dislodging their legs from where they had sat in a close tangle at the island. “Stay,” she directs her, brushing a kiss to her temple. “I’ll get them.”

Once Lexa has pulled open the fridge door, she turns to look at Clarke over her shoulder. “Do you have a preference? Lincoln was asking if you’d tried the new IPA from Two Roads.”

“Are you actively avoiding answering my question by distracting me with beer inquiries?”

Lexa pinches her lips together to ward off a sheepish admission, and Clarke rolls her eyes affectionately. “Look on the left hand side, bottom shelf.”

Lexa ducks down to retrieve two brightly colored cans of IPA before closing the fridge door and returning to the island. “Not to split hairs, but technically, you avoided my question first.”

“Okay, fine,” Clarke sighs dramatically. She takes one last dreg from her coffee before shoving it away in favor of the can of beer Lexa has just opened for her. “I was—” Clarke actually ducks her head so that Lexa can see her thick eyelashes fluttering “—I was afraid I would run into you during the, uh, when we—”

“Broke up?” Lexa supplies. She is still holding a small smile for Clarke when blue eyes finally snap up to meet hers.

It had felt like that. A relationship ending—a significant one at that. And, Lexa had been left broken in the aftermath.

“I was going to say when we stopped talking,” Clarke continues. “But, it was more than that. It did feel like a break up. And, we didn’t decide anything—I cut communications all on my own.”

“Clarke—”

“I’m really sorry, Lexa.”

Lexa is already shaking her head, part disbelief at what she’s hearing, part exasperation that Clarke has mistakenly absorbed all of the blame.

“Clarke, I know you have this bizarre obsession with always being right, but I can assure you—what happened in November was all on me.”

“I just vanished, Lexa. I didn’t even tell you why or allow you to explain anything.” Clarke’s eyes are downcast and her voice softens in unmistakable regret as she fiddles the silver tab on her beer. “I freaked out and hid away. And, it was really shitty.”

Lexa can’t help the way her mind creates distinctions between Clarke and Costia—the contrast of Costia’s distance from their relationship to Clarke’s sudden disappearance. With Costia, it had often felt like abandonment and disregard. The space between them had been a disappointment, a mild discomfort that Lexa sustained over time. Losing Clarke—and it had felt like that, as if she turned around one day and panicked to find Clarke had vanished—left her devastated and painfully bereft.

“Not seeing you was horrible. Not being able to talk to you was even worse. But, I’m glad you stepped back and took that space. It was shitty, but not because you did anything wrong.”

“I hated not seeing you, too,” Clarke admits, and they share another small smile across the kitchen island, tinged with a distant, remembered sadness.

“I couldn’t avoid Dockside, contractually, but I—I didn’t want to encroach upon your other spaces.”

“So, you stopped going to the coffee shop.”

Lexa confirms with a short nod and takes the first sip of her beer. She’s glad they’ve had this talk, but she’s also more than eager to segue out of November’s gloom that is better left in the past. She takes a cleansing breath and sets down her beer.

“In the end, I was glad you created that barrier between us, Clarke. I was miserable, and Lincoln will tell you that I was insufferable to be around, but it made me realize what a massive idiot I’d been.”

Her admission elicits an actual laugh, and Clarke shakes her head fondly. “So much for that Ivy League education.”

There’s a lot more that could be said, and it’s a much longer conversation that they will likely parse out at some point. But, today has been exceptionally good, and Lexa isn’t quite ready to lose the momentum of their good moods. Even for the sake of honesty.

“I’m a slow learner,” Lexa shrugs.

“Based on the activities that occurred in my bedroom this afternoon, I can attest to that being entirely untrue,” Clarke says, voice pitched low and taunting.

At the return of Clarke’s brazen flirting and sly smile, Lexa ducks her head as her cheeks warm. Because, despite the fact that they have spent a good portion of the afternoon swapping orgasms, she still sees Clarke as her best friend, in many ways, who she has only recently had the distinct pleasure of seeing naked.

“I’m sort of a quick study in that department,” Lexa smirks.

“I’ve noticed,” Clarke laughs. They sip their beers in weighted silence for a few beats, sharing glances as they drink, and then Clarke adds to the mounting tension by asking, “So, when do I get to hear more about this date?”

“The details of the date itself are highly classified,” Lexa explains in all seriousness, despite her stomach swooping.

“Classified, huh?” Clarke laughs into another sip of beer.

“Do I honestly strike you as someone who is going to halfass a first date?”

“You don’t strike me as a person who has halfassed anything in their entire life.”

“Correct,” Lexa smiles. She shifts smoothly along the island’s edge until she is again stood on the same side as Clarke, who accepts Lexa’s proximity with a slow-spreading smile. “You know, I could potentially be persuaded to provide a sneak peek of some post-date activities,” she offers, already moving to enter Clarke’s space more fully as their drinks are gingerly slid a good distance away.

She slowly spins Clarke’s stool just enough that she can slot between her legs, and Clarke is already leaning into the touch as Lexa’s hands curve around her jaw. The kiss is like regaining breath after being submerged under water. Their conversation on past events hadn’t been strenuous, by any means, but Lexa registers a sense of relief to have resumed their previous activities all the same.

She sinks into the warmth of Clarke’s lips and tongue, exhaling after several, languid moments. When her hands move to slide up the length of Clarke’s thighs, eliciting a distinctly strained exhale as Lexa teases her fingers beneath the cut-off edge of Clarke’s shorts, it’s abundantly clear where they’re both headed.

They make it as far as the sofa.

Lexa can’t be bothered to maneuver the stairs when there are so many other available surfaces on which to make Clarke slowly shake apart. She does so on her knees while making good on her earlier intents to spend a long stretch of time between Clarke’s legs. The last shards of sunlight are nearly gone, leaving them in golden shadows and dim light from the kitchen while Clarke moans soft encouragements and cards her fingers through Lexa’s hair. There is no rush, no urgency, hardly a sense of time moving at all. Lexa feels calm and confident, content to bring Clarke closer to release at a measured pace as she begins to gently rock against the pressure of Lexa’s tongue. Everything feels languid and slow, like running through water.

It’s not lost on her, as Clarke’s orgasm eventually echoes through the quiet house, heels pressing into her back and Clarke’s fingers threaded into her hair, that this very sofa had been the impetus for their time apart. The innocence of that encounter, as she and Clarke gave in to the comforts of shared sleep, had propelled them toward a shift in their relationship. Looking back, everything that has transpired between them since that singular event seems inevitable.

Falling asleep with Clarke that first time had been rife with implications that they would eventually end up right back here: a cozy, nondescript, weekend night spent on Clarke’s couch with nowhere to go.

The insignificance of an otherwise mundane Saturday is outweighed by the way Lexa’s mouth curves into an easy smile as she kisses the warm skin of Clarke’s inner thigh. Clarke is coming down from the aftershocks of a slow-rolling orgasm when Lexa registers a sharp uptick in her heart rate as they lock eyes while Clarke is still catching her breath.

And, this too holds weight—for all their recent honesty, there are still things Lexa has left unsaid.

“Get up here,” Clarke gently demands. Lexa complies without pause.

Clarke’s sated and satisfied groans melt into scratched laughter that dovetails with their kiss, and the magnitude of what Lexa feels is underscored as their mouths meet.

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Clarke tells her some breath of time later, when Lexa has moved from the floor to the sofa at Clarke’s urging. “If this type of activity is in the cards for date night, I don’t really give a shit what the actual date itself looks like.”

They lay along the length of the sofa, limbs over lapping at certain intervals, and Lexa’s hand flat against Clarke’s stomach beneath her tee shirt.

“Good to know I can scale back my efforts,” Lexa smirks, feeling no less satisfied that she has reduced Clarke’s expectations with one, albeit exemplary, late-afternoon orgasm.

Clarke’s laughter echoes Lexa’s contentment, and her smile grows. She can feel the subtle shaking of Clarke’s diaphragm beneath her fingertips.

“This has been such a good day,” Clarke says, adding further reinforcement to Lexa’s equally satisfied mood. “I really like having your here. Have I mentioned that?”

Lexa grins into Clarke’s close gaze and presses her lips to the edges of Clarke’s smile. “Once or twice.”

“Lincoln is the kindest, most-deserving creature on the planet, but I’m really glad you stayed here instead. Just this once.”

Lexa’s contented smile slips and she nearly groans as her head falls onto the armrest. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

“What do you mean?” Clarke laughs.

“I pride myself in being reliable—no excuses. If I say I’ll be there, I’ll be there. Especially when it comes to Lincoln or Anya.” Lexa exhales and glances up to find Clarke’s eyes. “The fact that I neglected our plans for—”

“The best sex of your life?” Clarke supplies with swagger. Lexa’s smile returns without her consent. “I mean, you looked like you were about to say: the best sex of your life.”

As laughter bubbles up from her chest, it vanquishes Lexa’s lingering criticisms about her snap decision to break plans with Lincoln. Clarke’s commentary is a reductive synopsis, at best, but also not entirely untrue. “Yes. Something like that.”

A beat of silence passes and then Clarke says, “If you’re worried he’s going to give you a hard time about breaking plans, wait until you tell him you proposed.”

She buries her face against Clarke’s shoulder to the delighted rasp of Clarke’s giggling laughter and concludes, yet again, that it is the absolute best sound in the world, even at her own expense.

:::

#a pleasant undoing #brewkru!#a beer bud series #clexa fic

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bluejayblueskies · 4 years ago

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philia

n. a love between friends; based on mutual respect, common values, shared desires, and unwavering trust

Words: 2.5k Relationship: Sasha James & Tim Stoker, past Sasha James/Tim Stoker Tags: Light Angst, Canon Compliant, Aromantic Sasha James, Lovers to Friends, Awkward Conversations Warnings: internalized arophobia (throughout), fear of arophobia from another character (doesn’t actually occur)

|| Ao3 ||

If one thing could be said about Sasha James, it’s this: she doesn’t scare easy. All the traditional spooks—spiders and the dark and heights and everything in between—don’t send her heart racing like they did some of her childhood friends, and when she was old enough to go to the library by herself, she slowly and methodically worked her way through the meager horror section at her disposal. She liked the way that the fear tasted, metallic in her mouth and sending gooseflesh tingling across her arms and lips, and even when she landed on a book or a movie that pushed her beyond her limits for terror, she found that she couldn’t look away, too immersed in the way that her hands shook as she turned the page.

Maybe that’s why she ended up at the Magnus Institute. When the horror began to feel stale, each story contrived beyond the point of enjoyment, where better to turn to than somewhere that collected horrors that were real?

Sasha lasted three months in Artifact Storage before she decided that she’d finally found her limit, and it was gold monocles that turned your sight inward and stainless steel knives that leaked briny blood and a chalkboard eraser that could peel the skin clean off your face with a single stroke. Her brand of horror lay in stories, not in things, she decided then. In stories, at least, the fear was contained.

The problem, though, is that it’s easy to not be afraid of stories. Even if they’re real ones, told by real people, they’re still just stories, and so Sasha can separate herself from them, lock them away in the Institute at night and return to the more mundane horrors of her television screen or her bookshelf. It’s much, much harder to not be afraid of the things she can’t escape.

Sasha James doesn’t scare easy. But when she walks into the Institute on Monday morning and sees Timothy Stoker sitting at his desk, positioned opposite to hers and in the perfect location for mid-day glances and snippets of conversation, her heart jumps into her throat so fast she thinks she might choke on it.

Sasha puts on her headphones, sits down at her desk, and doesn’t let her eyes stray from her computer screen for the rest of the day.

And the next.

Fear is a funny thing, she thinks as she stands in the shower that Friday night, letting the water drum against the back of her skull and trying to figure out why even after fifteen minutes of standing in the scalding spray, her skin still itches with unseen dirt that she can’t quite rid herself of. It can spur people to go to lengths they never thought imaginable. Like Gregory Chavez, who found he could run nearly two miles at a dead sprint when chased by a thing that had once been his son but that now craved nothing but blood and terror. Or Biah Wynn, who found it within herself to burn her family home to the ground with her brother still inside when a sharp-tongued thing from her dreams told her to.

Or Sasha James, who’s been avoiding her best friend for a week because she had sex with him and now can’t bring herself to admit that it was a mistake. Or, more accurately, to admit why it was a mistake.

Tim probably hates me now, she thinks as she tips her head back and lets the water run over her eyelids, holding her breath as it trickles over her closed lips and hits her arms where they’re crossed over her chest in a protective gesture. And he’d be right to. I kind of hate me now.

Sasha turns the shower off, laments for a moment the state of her water bill for that month, and readies herself for bed.

She allows herself to continue this way for two more days before the voice in her head manages to convince her that don’t ruin a good thing is becoming more and more of an impossibility the longer she ignores the inevitably awkward conversation that they need to have. Her resolve finally breaks through the sharp static of fear Monday evening, when Tim pushes back from his desk and Sasha says, breaking the silence with all the grace of a battering ram, “Fancy a cuppa?”

Timothy Stoker doesn’t startle easy. At the sound of Sasha’s voice, however, he jumps so badly that the file folder he’d been preparing to stow away slips from his hands, spilling loose pages on the ivory tile floor in a mess of white paper and black ink.

“Jesus,” Tim says, bending down to collect the papers. His eyes are cast firmly on the ground when he says, voice tight, “A little warning next time before you decide to break a week-long vow of silence?”

Sasha’s wince is full-body. “Sorry,” she says, trying and failing to impart a week’s worth of apologies into a single word. Then, with forced levity: “Permission to speak again?”

Tim’s quiet for a little too long. He’s collected all the papers and they sit limply in his hands as his eyes trace the lines between the tiles, lips curled down into a pained expression that Sasha hates, though she knows it’s nobody’s fault but her own. Then, quietly, he says, “I don’t know, Sasha. Maybe a week ago, the answer would have been yes? But I… I don’t know if I feel like talking now.”

Thorns of Sasha’s own design dig into her heart and claw up her throat, and she fixes her eyes on the surface of her desk. It’s full of yellow post-it notes she doesn’t remember writing and approximately twenty stray pens and pencils and a million other things that are far, far less important than the man still squatting on the floor next to her, pretending to organize the papers in his hand.

“Okay,” she says, and the word bites into her tongue with razor-sharp teeth. Then, even though she said she wouldn’t, she says, “I’m sorry, Tim. And I want to explain, if you’d let me.”

Please let me.

Tim looks at her, just once, and the hurt in his eyes cuts into Sasha like broken glass. “I… I just need some time,” he says, like Sasha hasn’t given him too much of that already, like she hasn’t already had the thought of I just need more time, more time to figure this out running through her head for days.

“Okay,” she repeats. The smile she musters up feels hollow, too full of hope to hold up to scrutiny.

“Okay,” Tim says.

Tim leaves. And Sasha works late, if only to give her mind something to do that isn’t wallowing in guilt and self-pity.

She works late Tuesday, too. And Wednesday and Thursday. Then, as her computer blinks 17:00 on Friday and she flips open another file, she hears from behind her a quietly amused, “You’re turning into Jon, you know.”

If asked later, Sasha will maintain that she didn’t startle at the sound of Tim’s voice. The file, at least, stays firmly clasped in her hand, though she sets it down before turning in her chair to see Tim standing a few feet away, jacket slung over one arm and hesitance written all over his face even as his mouth forms a teasing smile.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Sasha says, aiming for levity and coming close enough for it to count. “I don’t have nearly enough grey in my hair for that yet. Besides, you know I can’t pull off a sweater vest.”

“Not with that attitude, you can’t.”

Sasha smiles fully, letting tendrils of humor pull the corners of her mouth up toward her eyes, and the lines of tension in Tim’s face begin to smooth. The hesitance is still there, the hurt lying just beneath, but it feels a lot less like a wall and a lot more like a locked door. She just hopes that Tim still trusts her enough to give her the key.

“Fancy a cuppa?” he says.

They pick a little tea shop a few blocks away from the Institute, open later than the rest and with prices that only make Sasha wince a little bit as she orders a cup of jasmine green tea and then sits at a little corner table across from Tim, away from the hum of the rest of the café. He wraps his hands around his mug of Darjeeling, looks at Sasha, and says, “Is this the part where you say, ‘It’s not you, it’s me’?”

Sasha winces and takes a long sip of her too-hot tea to cover it up. When she pulls back, the roof of her mouth thoroughly scalded, she says, “In… a manner of speaking.”

It’s Tim’s turn to wince, though he doesn’t bury it in his tea, instead painting over it quickly with a mask that’s not so thick that Sasha can’t still see the hurt that lies beneath. “Right,” he says, and the little laugh that escapes him is entirely devoid of humor. “Guess that’s it, then. Nice and succinct—don’t know why it gets such a bad rap in rom-coms, to be honest.”

The guilt is burning its way up Sasha’s throat, hot and sticky. It’s a struggle to force herself to speak around it, but she does, because it’s important. Because it matters. Because she’s not going to lose her best friend just because she’s afraid. So, she swallows the lump in her throat just enough to say, “It’s not because I don’t want to be in a relationship with you, Tim; it’s because I don’t want to be in a relationship at all. A… a romantic one, at least.”

Tim doesn’t say anything at first, and though Sasha knows he’s just taking the time to parse her words, to understand what she’s trying to tell him—he’s ace, he told her before they… before, so he’ll know what she means—she can’t keep the anxiety from clawing up the back of her throat with acid-dipped nails. She takes a drink of her tea, and then another, until she’s staring at the bottom of her mug with her heart thrumming in the back of her throat. The sound of her own pulse in her ears is so loud that she almost doesn’t hear Tim when he says, quietly, “I’m sorry, Sasha.”

Sasha sets her mug down hard enough to chip, surprise and guilt turning her blood to liquid nitrogen and her muscles to ice. “No, please- please don’t apologize, Tim, I should be the one who- I should have told you sooner instead of- of leading you on when I was never going to reciprocate. And then you told me you were ace and I- I still didn’t say anything because- because—”

Sasha waves her now-free hand in the air wildly, grasping for a reason that just won’t come. Finally, for want of anything better, she lands on, “Because I somehow thought that was going to be the thing that you’d hate me for instead of for how I’ve been acting all week.” She deflates, ever so slightly, and says, “I am so, so sorry, Tim.”

She affixes her eyes to the table, to the spiraling wood grains that trace lines across its surface, and doesn’t let go. She can think of a million expressions Tim might be wearing right now, ranging from guilt to sympathy to frustration to hurt, and she doesn’t want to see any of them.

A hand, warm and terra-cotta brown, settles on top of hers, and Tim says, “I meant that I’m sorry for assuming that the reason you were avoiding me was about me. I should have asked sooner, but I…” He lets out a small laugh. “I suppose I thought you hated me. That I’d done something—though I couldn’t figure out what—and now you never wanted to see me again. And then I- I made it about me. Got frustrated when you wanted to talk. Didn’t even consider that there might have been something else going on.”

“Why would you have?” Sasha says quietly, eyes still glued to the table. “I didn’t give you any indication that there was. I didn’t say anything.”

Tim hums, a sad sound, and says, “I suppose neither of us did.”

It’s quiet between them for a moment. In the interim, the sounds of the café filter in: the clank of cups against countertops, the hiss of steam as it spills free from stainless steel water heaters, the chatter of those around them who are lost in their own worlds of words and wants and wishes. Then, Tim’s hand tightens around Sasha’s, almost imperceptibly, and he says, “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”

Sasha finally looks up from the table. Tim’s watching her, his eyes full of an affection so sweet it tastes of melted caramels on Sasha’s tongue. “I’ve loved you in so many ways, Sasha James, in so many times and places and moments. And I’m not going to give them all up if one of those ways isn’t something that you want from me. I’ll just put that one aside and replace it with new ones.” Tim shrugs and smiles, and it’s so casual, so easy, that Sasha thinks she must be dreaming it. “If you don’t want to date, then we won’t. And that’s not going to make me love you any less.”

Sasha looks at Tim, trying to wrangle the tendrils of emotions within her into something beyond the electrifying, giddy happiness that she feels bubbling up in her chest. What comes out, in the end, is a small laugh and a quiet, “It’s that easy?”

Tim holds up a hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“Huh.” Sasha taps a finger against the edge of her mug, feeling the press of now-cool ceramic on her skin. The smile tugging at her lips is insistent enough that she finally just lets it slip free, uninhibited by shaking hands or acid claws or rapid-fire heartbeats. It’s still a nervous thing—a fawn just learning to walk, a baby bird pushed from its nest and struggling to unfurl its wings mid-freefall, a butterfly emerging from its cocoon with stained-glass wings and a life turned upon its head. It remains so for several weeks, through the still-awkward coffee runs and the times Sasha spends curled up on Tim’s couch with the space between them burning red-hot and icy-cold in equal measure and the staggering guilt that still returns as Sasha stands in the shower or lies in bed or walks through the doors to the Institute to see Tim sat at his desk, his smile growing wider each day.

Then one day Sasha reaches for it, almost absently—that nervous feeling, the almost-falling swoop of her stomach—and finds it gone. She reaches and instead finds Tim, standing in the kitchen of her flat with flour dusted on his nose and kneading a ball of bread dough as he regales her with a story of his first tried-and-failed attempt at making bread that involved not one, but two separate fire-alarm incidents. And when she smiles at him, it feels so light and freeing that a laugh comes with it, bubbly with surprise and affection.

She spreads stained-glass wings, strong enough now to carry her weight and beautiful in their own right, and lets the wind carry her home.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #aspecarchives #the magnus archives fic #tim stoker #sasha james #asexual tim stoker #aromantic sasha james #internalized arophobia //#my fic #my writing #looks like we're keeping this posting style! i think i like it a lot better.. more readable

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wheresmynaya · 4 years ago

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Lost in the Lights Ch.12|Brittana

A/N - Sorry this took forever but better late than never, right? I’m literally posting this right before I leave for work so I hope I don’t forget anything LOL. Thank you all for being patient! Not sure how I feel about this chapter but I'm sure you'll let me know if I've lost my touch 😅

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) wattpad (x) & under the cut!

Two days go by after the Titans’ big win over Crawford County Day and Brittany is starting to wonder how soon is soon for Santana. She spends Thanksgiving with her family at her grandparents’ house watching football and stuffing her face with all kinds of good food and for awhile it’s enough to distract her from constantly checking her phone.

It’s a quiet day filled with random moments of sadness because her dad isn’t there to drag her and Pete outside for a quick game during halftime like he usually would. He’s not there to carve the turkey or start up with the Christmas music despite their mom’s protest, but they all set a place for him at the head of the table as if he were just running a little late.

It’s the weirdest feeling ever to know that he’s not coming.

Black Friday comes and goes in the same way. Whitney breaks out all the Christmas decorations in anticipation for the holidays which have snuck up on all of them. Pete’s as excited as always and Brittany would be too if it weren’t for the melancholy.

It’ll be their first Christmas without him, just like it was their first Thanksgiving, and Brittany’s not sure how she’s going to cope with that just yet. She’s strong and she usually speaks up when she’s ready to talk about how she hurts, but she has a hard time when it comes to her dad. Everyone in the family hurts, it’s only a matter of it getting easier to cope with as time goes on.

It’s hard to pretend sometimes that she’s over the denial of it all. Sometimes she thinks she doesn’t have any more tears left to cry when it comes to her dad, but she always surprises herself in the end. It’s true what they say about grief, it does come in waves and Brittany longs for the day they only feel like ripples.

On top of the holiday blues starting to settle in, there’s also everything going on between her and Santana. In the two days that have passed since the game on Wednesday, she hasn’t heard from Santana at all.

At first, Brittany figured it was because she was busy. With Thanksgiving and Black Friday shopping madness, things can get hectic so she was understanding like always. However, now that it’s going on Day 3 and her texts and calls have still gone unanswered, her patience has started to run thin – now she’s just annoyed.

Her head is coming up with all kinds of reasons for Santana’s silence. Did she get scared off after their talk after the game? Was she really needing all this time to work out what she wants? Maybe she got kidnapped and is being held for ransom?

That last one is a little ridiculous, but what else is Brittany meant to think? Everything that they talked about that night wouldn’t have led to a cold shoulder, not after Santana said all of those things about dates and flowers.

She likes Brittany, she said it herself, so why would she be giving her the silent treatment?

If Santana isn’t going to answer her phone or return a text, Brittany will just have to take matters into her own hands and find out herself!

When Brittany arrives on Santana’s door step later that afternoon, all that bravado from earlier starts to dwindle. She’s been here once before with Pete, but now that she’s alone and doesn’t have her cute little brother to lean on it’s kind of scary.

Brittany has heard the rumors about Santana’s family and it makes her nervous – like she’s coming in from the wrong side of the tracks. Brittany definitely didn’t grow up in a similar fashion as Santana so she isn’t sure what to expect. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time rumors have been wrong about a Lopez.

Still, Brittany didn’t want to take any chances in case she was wrong and Santana’s parents actually are the worst. Who knows if Santana’s parents would be around, but if they were Brittany wanted to make sure she made a good first impression. Her dad always said the first one was the most important so she spent extra time trying to look presentable.

And all this because Santana wouldn’t return a call or text?

She’s going to owe her big time if this ends up being something silly.

After a big deep breath, Brittany gives a firm knock on the front door before taking a step back. With her head held high, she braces herself for whoever is bound to answer.

A broad-shouldered man with his shiny black hair neatly coifed opens the door a moment later and Brittany’s heart nearly jumps to her throat. His brow quirks in a similar fashion as Santana’s when she’s being critical of someone and it makes Brittany gulp.

So much for steering clear of any judgement…

“Can I help you?” He asks, his voice deep and unwavering.

Brittany doesn’t know why she scared shitless right now because he hasn’t really done anything to scare her but she is. She hopes it doesn’t show though as she gives him her best smile.

“Hi, I was wondering if Santana was home?” Brittany answers politely, “I’m Br – “

“Brittany?”

Santana’s voice can be heard before she’s seen wedging herself between the man and the front door. She’s dressed so casually in dark jeans and a sweater, a stark comparison to the Cheerios uniform Britany’s so used to seeing her in but the blonde is so relieved that she’s there.

Santana looks a little shocked to see Brittany standing there on her doorstep though.

Brittany continues to smile at Santana although the man frowns and looks to the side.

“Did you invite her here? You’re grounded, Santana, that means no – “

“Who is it?” Another voice calls out, “Why are you all standing by the door?”

Santana gives an apologetic look to Brittany before she’s turning away to answer, “It’s Brittany, Mami.”

“Oh! Really?” The woman sounds equally surprised before the man steps to the side too. Out comes this woman who looks just like Santana only a little older. She smiles brightly, “Brittany, hi. I’m Maribel, Santana’s mom. This is Hector, her dad.”

Brittany looks between the three of them and smiles nervously. She wasn’t expecting to meet the entire family all at once, “Nice to meet you both.”

They all stand there for a moment and Brittany isn’t sure what’s happening right now or what all the tension she feels means. Hector continues to eye Brittany while Maribel looks delighted to see her.

Santana’s just looking back and forth between her parents like a lost little girl.

It has Brittany backpedaling, “I – I’m sorry, was I interrupting something? I could come back – “

“No, come in. Please,” Maribel gestures, “We’re just about to sit down for a late lunch.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t –“ Brittany says at the same time Hector speaks.

“Santana is grounded remember?” He says, “She’s not meant to have any visitors.”

Maribel only waves him off, “It’s Thanksgiving, Hector, it’s fine. Brittany, will you join us?”

Brittany shifts awkwardly. She can’t really find it in her to say no to Santana’s mom; she seems really nice, but super intimidating at the same time.

Hector is just intimidating in general, but a chance to spend time with Santana has Brittany leaning towards a yes.

“Uhm, okay. Sure!” Brittany answers.

Maribel beams, “Great!”

Brittany watches her shoo Hector to the side so that she can invite Brittany in. Santana lingers near her mom also watching this unfold with this curious look on her face.

“It’s only Thanksgiving leftovers,” Maribel explains, “But I make a great panini with them.”

Brittany smiles at her, “Sounds awesome. I’ve never had one before.”

“Really? Well good! Come Hector,” Maribel instructs, “Help me in the kitchen.”

Hector looks back and forth between Maribel and the girls with this confused look on his face, “But Santana is – “

“Let her have this,” Maribel insists in a hushed voice that even has Brittany’s neck hairs standing on end.

Hector nods obediently before following his wife to the kitchen which leaves Santana and Brittany alone in the living room.

Brittany turns back to Santana with raised brows, “So…you’re grounded?”

Santana rolls her eyes, “Yeah. Word got back to them about my little disagreement with Karofsky and Azimio…and whoever else was on the field that night. Dad’s pissed because I keep causing scenes, but Mom’s proud that I care about someone else other than Quinn and myself.”

“Wow,” Brittany chuckles awkwardly, “Well…I guess that would explain a lot. I though you were ignoring me.”

Santana’s shoulders drop, “I’m sorry. It happened so quickly, I couldn’t warn you that I didn’t have my phone anymore.”

Brittany nods, relieved that this wasn’t something bigger. It was purely a misunderstanding.

“I’ve missed you,” Santana whispers through a small smile that makes Brittany blush. Her hands are wringing themselves out and she kicks at the floor so bashfully that Brittany would laugh if she wasn’t so smitten, “Uh…how was your Thanksgiving?”

“It was okay,” Brittany answers shortly, not wanting to touch on how many times she secretly cried about missing her dad, “Just hung out with my family at my grandparents’ house and started Christmas decorating. I missed talking to you though.”

“You did?” Santana looks amazed which has Brittany giggling.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Brittany smirks, “Talking to you is my favorite.”

It’s Santana’s turn to blush at that but just before she replies, Maribel’s voice interrupts them.

“Girls!” Maribel calls out, “It’s ready.”

The grin Santana wears instantly falls as she goes to inhale deeply, almost as if she’s preparing herself for something big to happen. It worries Brittany.

“What’s that for?” Brittany jokes lightly, “Did I just get myself into something I shouldn’t have?”

“We’ll see,” Santana chuckles nervously before leading the way to the dining room.

Brittany and Santana sit next to each other on one side of the table while Maribel sits opposite them and Hector sits at the head. The tension is still there from before and Brittany’s not sure why that is, but she focuses on her manners and continues to be polite.

Despite only eating sandwiches, the antique China cabinets and ornate dining set make the meal feel way more formal than it actually is. They drink fresh lemonade out of crystal glasses and eat off of the thinnest plates Brittany’s ever seen.

She feels like she might break something with just one touch and it puts her on edge a little, but then Santana’s hand find its way on her knee. She gives it a gentle squeeze and it’s almost enough to relieve some of Brittany’s anxiousness. It’s the hardest thing ever for Brittany to keep her eyes forward instead of watching Santana’s hand move.

“This looks really good, Mrs. Lopez,” Brittany compliments.

“Thank you, Brittany,” The woman replies with a smile, “And please, call me Maribel.”

“Of course,” Brittany nods and everyone digs in.

It’s kind of funny how they’re in such a fancy looking dining room yet they’re all eating with their hands. Maybe this isn’t as formal as Brittany thought?

“So Brittany,” Hector starts after wiping his mouth with the napkin laid in his lap, “Santana says you play football?”

Brittany gulps the last of her bite and nods, “Yes sir, I do.”

He hums and Brittany’s not sure what that means. He’s just as hard to read as Santana can be sometimes, but thankfully Maribel steps in.

“Quarterback, is that right?”

Brittany smiles, “Yes. That’s right.”

“And your parents are okay with that?” Hector asks with just a hint of disbelief in his tone.

Santana stiffens at the question, but Brittany’s no stranger to it.

“Yes sir,” Brittany answers proudly, “My dad always said if you can play the game well then you should. Judging by my stats, I think I do pretty well.”

Hector hums again but Brittany’s not sure if that’s in approval or not. She’s thinking it’s the latter just by the tone of his question and she knows it shouldn’t make her feel small but it kind of does.

“I’d never let my daughter play such a rough sport,” He says dismissively.

Brittany looks to Santana but it seems like she’s just focused on constantly keeping her mouth full. It’s a good tactic, Brittany should’ve thought of that first.

“Cheerleading is pretty rough,” Brittany shrugs casually, “I don’t think it gets enough credit really, you have to be pretty athletic. I think I was injured more times cheering than I have while playing football.”

Her answer seems to take everyone by surprise and Brittany fights the urge to smirk. A girl being able to do both – cheer and play football? – that’s unheard of, right? Brittany chuckles on the inside, secretly loving how she can shut down stereotypes.

“Well…” Hector sighs, seemingly stumped for the moment, “I suppose all sports have their risks.”

“True! I think the Cheerios’ drills might even be a little more intense that what I have to do with the Titans,” Brittany replies with a glance towards Santana, “I couldn’t imagine doing what Santana does every practice. I can see why she’s been Co-Captain for so long.”

“Santana’s such a hard worker,” Maribel agrees, “We’re very proud of her accomplishments.”

“I bet there’s a ton of them too,” Brittany jokes. When she sees Santana’s dimples all on display it makes her entire day.

“Stop it,” Santana whispers through flushed cheeks.

God, Brittany just wants to kiss her.

“So Brittany,” Hector says as he aims the focus back onto Brittany, “What do your parents do?”

“Well, my mom works at a diner at the moment while she tries to get her Real Estate license in order,” Brittany answers, “There’s been some mix up with the paperwork so it’s taking a little longer than usual, but she doesn’t mind the change in work since it’s temporary.”

Hector hums while Maribel smiles, “Which diner does she work at?”

“I think it’s called Frank’s?”

“Ah yes, I know the one,” Maribel nods, “Great coffee.”

“And what about your father?” Hector asks stiffly, “What does he do for work?”

Santana glances to Brittany as the blonde answers, “Well, my dad died earlier this year so…”

“Oh,” Maribel frowns, “I’m so sorry, Brittany.”

Hector nods too, seemingly a little guilty for prying, “My condolences.”

Santana just reaches over and squeezes at Brittany’s knee again and it makes this all feel just a little less awkward. Brittany’s always hated this part of the conversation, she never knows what to say.

“Thanks,” Brittany replies, trying to force a smile.

The awkward silence lingers a little longer before Santana reaches over to top up everyone’s glass with lemonade. It doesn’t take long before Hector asks another question.

“What are your plans after graduation? Will you continue playing football?”

“I hope so,” Brittany answers honestly, “I know it’s a crazy dream, but I want to play at the college level. A couple of scouts had their eye on me at my old school, but I don’t know if they’ll follow me here. It’ll look really good if I can bring home a Championship win for McKinley though – especially for the Titans considering their long dry spell.”

Hector nods, “Yes, I don’t believe the Titans have won in many, many years. It’s part of the reason why they brought Coach Beiste in, but it doesn’t look like she’s been able to end the drought either.”

“It’s probably because she didn’t have the right person leading the team,” Santana replies, “Like Brittany.”

Brittany quirks her brow at the sassy tone before looking to Hector to see what he’ll do.

“You know Brittany made Team Captain after her third week?” Santana adds as she sends Brittany a proud smile, “It took Finn Hudson an entire semester before he was made.”

“Wow! That’s amazing, Brittany,” Maribel compliments, “You must be a born leader.”

“She is,” Santana answers instead, “Brittany’s the perfect person to end the Titans’ drought.”

Brittany tries to keep the smirk from growing when she realizes what Santana’s doing and instead watches out for Hector’s reaction. He only narrows his eyes at Santana before looking back down at his plate.

The tension is palpable again so Brittany quickly fills the awkward silence.

“It’ll be an important game for a lot of people so I hope we can make something happen,” Brittany says, “Coach Beiste is really great and most of the team is really hard working. There are rumors that a recruiter from Ohio State might be there too.”

“We should watch, Hector!” Maribel suggests, “It’ll be history in the making.”

“Maybe, if I’m not working,” Hector responds with a shrug, “So if this scout doesn’t pick you up, then what? I’m sure you have back up plans. It would be silly not to.”

“Hector,” Maribel chastises.

“What’s the harm in asking?” He defends.

Brittany gives Maribel and Santana an assuring smile before responding, “It would be kind of silly, wouldn’t it? I have other interests too that I can fall back on if football doesn’t work out for me.”

“Like?”

“Papi,” Santana begs.

But again, Brittany isn’t too bothered. This time she’s the one to give Santana an inconspicuous squeeze to her knee.

“I do pretty well in math and science,” Brittany answers, “I got a near perfect score on my SAT too. I only struggle with English but Santana helps me with that. She’s a really great tutor.”

“Thanks,” Santana grins.

“College isn’t just about playing football,” Brittany adds, “I doubt I’ll be getting into the NFL so I do have other plans. I’ve always loved animals; one of my other dreams is to be a vet or marine biologist. Someone who helps those that can’t help themselves, you know?”

Hector looks surprisingly impressed by Brittany’s answer.

“Are we done with the 21 questions now?” Santana quips which earns her a glare from her mom this time.

“I’m just curious,” Hector replies as he cracks a smile for the first time, “Small town, Brittany, everyone knows everyone. It’s rare that I come across someone new.”

“You work in Cincinnati,” Santana retorts, "You meet new people all the time.”

Brittany can tell Santana’s getting more and more wound up for some reason, so she moves to diffuse the situation before Santana can get herself into anymore trouble with her parents.

“It’s okay,” Brittany shrugs, “I don’t mind.”

“See?” Hector waves his hand, “We’re just talking. It’s important to have conversations about options when it comes to college.”

“Is it now?” Santana asks sarcastically, “I wouldn’t know. Seems like your mind was pretty made up when it came to my options.”

Brittany’s brows rise at that tone and her gaze averts right to her plate.

“Who needs options when you’re Harvard-bound?” Hector questions, “There’s no better university.”

“Maybe to you.”

Hector looks taken aback, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying – “

“Let’s not do this here,” Maribel interrupts.

There’s that familiar motherly tone that makes Brittany’s neck hairs stand on end, but she peeks up to see Santana and Hector standing off through glares while Maribel is giving them one of her own.

Out of the three, Maribel’s is the scariest.

Santana backs down first with a mumbled, “Sorry.”

Hector only takes in a deep breath while Maribel smiles again at Brittany.

“Forgive us, Brittany,” She says.

“It’s cool,” Brittany smiles before chancing a glance in Santana’s direction. The girl is still fuming in silence and Brittany wants nothing more than to comfort her.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Hector says lowly.

“Fine,” Santana huffs.

Thankfully, Hector and Maribel dismiss themselves shortly after and Santana’s left to clean up. Brittany tags along to offer her a hand, but they don’t make any small talk. She can see that Santana’s stuck in her head, but Brittany can understand why. After such a short lunch, she’s starting to see why Santana struggles so much with being herself and owning her feelings.

“I’m sorry about him,” Santana mentions awhile later after the dishes are done.

Brittany tries to make light of it, “I haven’t been grilled like that in awhile.”

“Yeah,” Santana shakes her head, “He isn’t usually like that, but if it’s any consolation you did a lot better than when Puck came over for the first time. You should’ve seen my dad’s face when Puck told him about his plans for college.”

“Why?”

“Puck doesn’t have any,” Santana chuckles, “Afterwards my dad told me I wasn’t allowed to see him anymore.”

Brittany’s eyes widen, “You two dated?”

“I wouldn’t really call it that.”

“Oh.”

“It’s whatever. That was before everything happened,” Santana shrugs before she starts to smirk, “So you never told me you used to cheer.”

“You never asked,” Brittany replies jokingly, “The coach at my old school let me join after the football season finished up. I did that for a year before I decided to stick to training in the off season and work.”

“And you had a job?”

“Yeah,” Brittany laughs, “I made smoothies at this one place. I got free drinks whenever I wanted so that was pretty cool.”

“I’ve never had a job,” Santana admits, “My dad won’t let me.”

Brittany chuckles, “Why am I not surprised by that?”

Santana sends her a playful glare before asking, “So why’d you quit cheering?”

“It’s boring.”

“Boring?” Santana laughs out of disbelief.

“Yeah, it didn’t really challenge me,” Brittany shrugs.

“But the stunts?”

“I’ve already done gymnastics so nothing new to me.”

Santana gives her a look for that, “You must’ve not had the right kind of Captain. “

“You think so?” Brittany raises her brow challengingly.

“I know so,” Santana smirks and slides a little closer, “I can promise you’d never get bored on my squad.”

Brittany bites her lip at the sound of Santana’s flirty tone but she puts some distance between them. After all, they’re still in Santana’s kitchen and who knows where Maribel and Hector are.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Santana asks innocently.

Brittany narrows her eyes although she can’t help but smile, “Flirt with me.”

“I didn’t realize I was.”

“Well, you were and you can’t do that right now,” Brittany says before drying her hands, “I came here because I’m mad at you, but… I guess that was before I knew you were grounded so I can’t really be mad anymore.”

Santana looks confused, “Wait…you’re mad at me? Why?”

Brittany turns away, “It sounds silly now.”

Santana softens at Brittany’s sudden shyness, “Tell me.”

“Well, I thought you were ignoring me on purpose,” Brittany admits guiltily, “You said we would talk soon and then I went two days without hearing from you and…at first I was worried and then I got kind of angry. I thought you might have had…second thoughts.”

“Oh,” Santana breathes out and combs her fingers through her long dark hair, “I’m sorry. Like I said, it happened really quickly – I couldn’t send out a warning or anything.”

“I get that now,” Brittany nods, “Especially after that lunch.”

“Yeah,” Santana says sadly, “I should get my phone back soon, maybe later today if my mom has anything to do with it.”

“Okay,” Brittany replies, “Then maybe we can talk about what we’re doing?”

Santana sighs, “Britt…this is still really new for me. My family isn’t like yours and I’m not like you.”

Brittany starts to frown, “I know that.”

“So you have to stop pressuring me,” Santana replies.

“Santana,” Brittany sighs as she takes one of her hands, “I wasn’t trying to pressure you, I just don’t want you to get comfortable in hiding who you are.”

Judging by the surprised look on Santana’s face, Brittany’s not sure if she’s just crossed a line she shouldn’t have. She wasn’t trying to be rude, if anything she cares way too much and she just wants Santana to know that.

“I’m sorry,” Brittany says in a softer tone as she runs her thumb over the back of Santana’s hand, “I just…I know how hard it is to venture out of your comfort zone – especially when it comes to this stuff – and I feel like that’s exactly what you were doing. You were getting comfortable with hiding us and with the way I feel about you and knowing how you feel about me…I don’t want to do that.”

Santana looks a little guilty as she nods, “I don’t want to either.”

“I like you,” Brittany admits around a timid grin as she lets go of Santana’s hand, “I really like you and I like kissing you and being around you, but I can only be patient and wait for so long. I’m not asking you to have everything figured out, because who does at our age?”

“Like, no one.”

“Exactly.”

Santana gives her small smile, “There’s that infamous Pierce wisdom again.”

Brittany lifts her shoulder casually at the compliment while Santana just stares at the blonde with this serene look on her face. It kind of makes Brittany feel see-through but in a good way. The kind of way that has her going out on a limb here and voicing exactly what she wants for them.

Brittany nervously bites her lip, “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I think you and I are awesome together and I wouldn’t mind figuring out stuff with you.”

Santana looks like she’s about to melt into a puddle as she says, “Brittany.”

The blonde has never heard her name sound so pretty, but she guesses it helps when there’s a gorgeous girl saying it. It makes her feel tingly all over and she can’t help but grin.

“We won’t have to label it yet if you don’t want to,” Brittany rambles, “I mean, I’d love to call you my girlfriend because I think it kinda has a nice ring to it but I don’t want to pressure you. I just need to know whether or not we’re an us or still Santana and Brittany.”

Santana flutters her thick lashes as she looks up at Brittany with this look of pure adoration.

“Did you just ask me to be your girlfriend?” Santana asks around a small smile.

Brittany lets out a nervous chuckle as she squeezes the back of her neck, “I think I did – which I didn’t plan on doing but I’m not taking it back now.”

“Good,” Santana replies and that makes Brittany’s smile widen, “I don’t want you to.”

Brittany bites her bottom lip to keep from beaming, “So does that mean…”

Santana giggles as she tugs a little on the bottom of Brittany’s shirt and pulls her in even closer. Her expression turns solemn and Brittany’s smile falters, unsure if that’s a good or bad sign.

“I can’t promise you that I won’t say the wrong thing again or I won’t disappoint you,” Santana says, “You know I’m still a work in progress and I wish that meant that you didn’t have to worry about me back stepping or getting scared, but I really don’t know.”

Brittany looks worried but she tries to mask it with an, “Okay.”

“But…I can try to be better,” Santana adds sounding a lot more hopeful, “I want to be better. Like I’ve said before, I want to be someone you deserve to be with and if we’re going to do this thing for real then it’s time that I put in the work to show you that. I’ve never really been a great girlfriend in the past, but with you – there’s nothing I want more.”

The overwhelming relief that washes over Brittany is unmatched and all she wants to do is wrap Santana up in the tightest hug ever and kiss her silly, but she’s so surprised by the turn of events that all she can do is stand there and stare dopily.

“Okay,” Brittany says again behind her grin.

Santana laughs before looking around hesitantly. After a glance around the kitchen, she’s rolling up on her tippy toes to place a chaste kiss to Brittany’s cheek. The move surprises the quarterback but she smiles anyway.

“I’m taking that as a yes?” Brittany jokes.

“It’s definitely a yes,” Santana giggles and Brittany can’t stop staring at how cute her dimples are when she’s smiling so brightly. She wants to do everything in her power to make Santana smile like that more often – hopefully she can – but then she sees the time displayed on the microwave and suddenly frowns.

“Crap! I should get going,” Brittany says in a hurry, “I’m supposed to pick up Pete from my grandparents’ house in like five minutes. They’re hosting poker at their place tonight.”

Santana quirks a brow, “Poker?”

“Yeah,” Brittany answers casually, “Pretend you didn’t hear that though. I’m not really supposed to say. My mom doesn’t like when they gamble.”

Santana chuckles at that, “Okay then, let me walk you out.”

As she leads the way, they pass Maribel reading in the living room alone. The woman glances up at them and smiles.

“You heading home now, Brittany?” Maribel asks.

“Almost. I have to pick up my little brother first,” Brittany replies, “Thank you for lunch.”

“Of course, any time!”

“I’m just going to walk Brittany to the car,” Santana says to which Maribel only nods with this knowing smile. It makes Brittany wonder what that is but soon Santana’s nudging her out the door and closing it behind them.

“Geez, can’t get rid of me soon en – “

The closes just in time for Santana to steal a kiss. It catches Brittany off guard but she smiles into anyway, hoping it lasts a little longer than the peck on her cheek in the kitchen.

“I couldn’t do that in there,” Santana explains when she pulls away, “Not yet.”

“Not yet,” Brittany grins, “We can wait awhile to do that in front of your parents. Your dad kind of scares me a little. Actually, your mom does too.”

Santana chuckles, “So could I call you later? You know, if I get my phone back tonight?”

“Sure!”

“Okay cool,” Santana nods happily, “Well…have a safe drive.”

“I will,” Brittany winks before walking to her car. She buckles in and waves one last time to Santana before heading off.

\\\\\

Santana’s heart is a little heavy when she heads back inside despite what just happened in her kitchen. The pure joy and happiness she feels for finally clearing things up with Brittany is great, but it’s not enough to overshadow the impending doom since she opened her big mouth during lunch. Santana has felt this particular storm brewing for some time now and all she has is her attitude to thank for it to finally happen.

Maribel glances from her book when the front door closes and Santana instantly feels her shoulders sink beneath the weight of what’s to come.

Why couldn’t she have bit her tongue like always? Why’d she have to do this now of all times?

There’s this sympathetic look on Maribel’s face as she sets the book aside.

“Brittany’s a sweet girl,” Maribel mentions like any talk of Brittany is some sort of ice breaker for Santana.

It kind of is now; it’s hard not to smile when the blonde crosses Santana’s mind.

“The sweetest,” Santana agrees bashfully before joining her mom on the couch.

They sit there in silence for a moment and Santana’s not sure what Maribel’s going to say next. Talk of Brittany wasn’t her first choice, but she rather that than the latter – at least while it’s just them sitting there.

“So are you two…a couple?” Maribel asks hesitantly.

Santana’s first instinct is to lie and she really considers going through with it, but she doesn’t. She has to do things differently this time – for her and for Brittany. With Maribel, Santana finds a little comfort and pushes her boundaries.

“Kind of.”

Santana’s answer makes Maribel look back at her quizzically.

“Kind of?” Maribel asks, “That was a yes or no question.”

Santana blushes as she stammers out, “Yes. Yes, we are.”

Maribel smiles proudly, “When did that happen?”

“Just a little while ago,” Santana can’t help but smile, “While we were doing the dishes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Santana’s grin turns bashful, “I…I really like her, Mami. I’ve liked her for awhile now.”

“I can see why. She seems like a great girl,” Maribel winks, “What took you two so long?”

Santana knows Maribel was only joking but it makes her start to frown. She knows she isn’t the easiest person to be with and it takes a special kind of patience to stick it out for as long as Brittany has, but that doesn’t make her feel any less guilty about it.

“It’s complicated,” Santana ends up saying.

Maribel nods like she understands, but Santana doubts she really does.

That’s not on her though, that’s on Santana because she makes every conversation about her feelings so difficult. She’s not sure when the wires got crossed and everything started to feel like pulling teeth to her, but it’s been like this for years and she hates it. It’s like being honest with herself and her feelings meant going against this image she has created over the years.

Santana hates how she has played this role for so long – has tried to live up to everyone’s expectations – that she doesn’t know who she is anymore. Did she ever even know in the first place? The crazy thing is though, with Brittany she can see theses glimpses of her true self – the person she wishes she could be all the time if no one cared about reputations or sexuality.

Her feelings for Brittany came so easily, it was like the moment she laid eyes on the blonde at Puck’s End of Summer party that was it. Santana was hooked then and there. She didn’t expect Brittany to have that kind of effect on her, but here she is a few months later wanting to be the best version of herself…just so she can be someone Brittany deserves.

And really, it sounds like the biggest task in the world. To sort through everything that makes up Santana and pick out what’s real and what isn’t so that she can finally be herself…it’s a lot. But, she’s making some progress when it comes to her love life and that’s half of the battle. The other half is about her future and she has only begun to voice her true feelings.

Santana picks at a thread that has come loose on her sweater and wonders aloud.

“Is Papi angry with me about what I said?”

There’s a quiet sigh from the opposite end of the couch before Maribel answers, “He’s surprised.”

Santana bites her lip, unsure if that really answers her question. Judging by Hector’s reaction and how abruptly her parents left after lunch, it doesn’t look good for her.

“You should talk to him though,” Maribel adds, “He won’t begin to understand you if you don’t.”

Santana lets out a dry laugh and Maribel quirks her brow at that.

“What’s so funny?”

Santana only shrugs, “I’m just not in the mood for another lecture.”

Maribel straightens up as Santana continues.

“I don’t know how many times I can apologize for things that I’m not actually sorry about,” Santana says, “I wasn’t really sorry for breaking JBI’s camera or starting that fight with those jerks on the football team and I’m not sorry for wanting to go somewhere other than Harvard. I’m not, Mami, and I can’t go up there if an apology is what he wants from me.”

“That is exactly why you need to talk to him. Tell him what you just told me,” Maribel replies before scooting closer to Santana, “Mija, you should never apologize for standing up for yourself. Granted, there’s a certain way to go about it that doesn’t involve your fists or football players three times your size…”

Santana ducks her head, “I’m really working on it.”

“I know you are,” Maribel replies, “But he doesn’t and that’s only because you talk to me more often than you talk to your father.”

Santana crosses her arms protectively over her chest, “He’s so hard to talk to.”

“Doesn’t mean you stop trying.”

“Tell that to him.”

“Go tell him yourself.”

Santana looks wide-eyed at her mom, “Seriously?”

Maribel only reaches for her book, “Yes, seriously.”

“But,” Santana stammers, “He never wants to hear what I have to say and I’m not trying to be grounded for the rest of my life.”

Maribel only chuckles, “You won’t be.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because,” Maribel replies, “One conversation between you two where you actually say what you mean and he actually listens will work wonders and I think now’s the perfect time for that to happen. I think you’re both ready to have that talk.”

Santana bites her lip nervously, “What if it doesn’t work out?”

Maribel looks to Santana and gives her this sympathetic smile, “Then he isn’t the man I married and this might be an even bigger problem than I thought.”

Santana’s brows rise at that but she doesn’t say anything more, just sits there in silence mulling over whether or not she’s brave enough to actually face her dad. With everything currently on her plate, she doesn’t think she’s ready. If anything, she’s drained and thinking about having to go up to Hector’s office and have this talk just makes her feel even more exhausted.

Maribel watches Santana hesitate in leaving and reaches over to pat her ankle, “You don’t have to talk to him today, but don’t leave things unsaid for too much longer. The sooner, the better.”

Santana nods, wondering where she’s heard that before.

\\\\\

Later that night, Brittany’s sprawled out on her bed watching footage of Carmel High’s Championship game from last year. She wants to be more than prepared for their upcoming game in two weeks’ time so putting in this extra work will hopefully help.

Brittany’s about halfway through when her phone starts to ring on her nightstand. She glances to it, not expecting to see the name that pops up and quickly scrambles to answer the call.

“Well, look who got their phone back!”

Santana chuckles down the line, “Yup! I’m officially a free woman…again.”

“Awesome,” Brittany beams as she rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling.

She has been thinking about Santana since the moment she left the Lopez residence. This is her girlfriend and even though she has yet to say the title out loud, just thinking it makes the butterflies in her stomach go crazy.

“How’d the rest of your day go?”

Brittany tries to recall the past few hours, “Well, Pete kicked my butt in Monopoly. The kid is pretty ruthless, I wonder if he’ll be some big shot business tycoon when he’s older.”

“That’s cute.”

Brittany feels like blushing, “How about yours?”

“It went okay,” Santana hesitates for a moment, “I told my mom about us.”

“You did?” Brittany’s eyes widen and she can’t hide the surprise in her voice.

“Yeah, is that okay? She asked if we were a couple after you left…I didn’t want to lie.”

A smile stretches across Brittany’s face, “Yeah, that’s totally okay! I wasn’t sure if you wanted to tell people yet or…you know.”

“Well, I’m trying out being honest for a change,” Santana replies, “I figure if I have such an amazing girlfriend, why hide it?”

Brittany’s jaw drops and she’s so glad that Santana can’t actually see her right now because she must be a sight to see. She tries to play off being so blindsided by Santana’s glimmer of confidence by moving along the conversation.

“Sorry about leaving so suddenly earlier,” Brittany apologizes.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“So…Harvard, huh?” Brittany mentions, “I didn’t know you wanted to go there.”

“I don’t,” Santana answers with a chuckle.

“Oh,” Brittany moves to sit up against her headboard wondering if this was the right topic to switch to, “Is that why lunch got weird when we started talking about college?”

“Kind of,” Santana sighs, “I haven’t told my dad yet and I probably should’ve instead of the way I brought it up today. I’m supposed to be a doctor like most in my family and Harvard is where they’ve all gone. It’s kind of tradition.”

Brittany frowns, “So traditions aren’t just a Lima thing?”

“Not really, at least when it comes to my family,” Santana explains, “It’s a legacy thing.”

“Is that what you want to do?” Brittany wonders, “Be a doctor too?”

“I’m not sure anymore. I feel like I have to redeem myself for all the crap I’ve put them through and going to Harvard is the guaranteed way to do that.”

“But that’s not fair to you,” Brittany replies, “Especially if it’s not something you really want, or is it?”

Santana lets out a tired sigh, “I’ve spent so much of my life being told what I wanted that I can’t tell if it’s what I really want or what I’m just conditioned to want. I mean, I like helping people but I don’t see myself being a dermatologist like my Dad. Number one, it kind of grosses me out and two…I think it’s boring.”

Brittany giggles at that, “So is there anything else that does interest you? What about one of those kid doctors?”

“Me? Dealing with kids?” Santana lets out a bellyaching laugh, “Not a chance in hell, even if I’m making bank while doing it.”

Brittany finds herself grinning at the sound of Santana loosening up, “Why not?”

“I’m not really the best with kids.”

“Liar,” Brittany teases, “You’re great with Pete!”

“That’s because Pete isn’t like other kids, he’s actually cool. Sick kids can be brats and I’m not down to listen to all that whining.”

Brittany shakes her head and laughs, “Well, from personal experience I think you’d make a great doctor if that’s what you want to be. You’ve taken great care of me a bunch of times.”

“Thanks Britt,” Santana says and the blonde can practically hear the smile she probably wears, “What about you? Any schools your mom is forcing onto you in order to uphold the family legacy?”

“No family legacy here,” Brittany chuckles, “But Ohio State would be cool if I could get a scholarship for football, especially if those scouts looking at me back in Florida don’t pull through.”

“So that’s where you’re from,” Santana jokes, “You’ve never said.”

“Really? I swore I have.”

“No, but it does explain a lot.”

Brittany quirks her brow, “Does it?”

“Definitely. I was thought there was this different air about you,” Santana explains, “It’s probably because you’re one of the few people here who have actually seen the ocean.”

“Wait,” Brittany chuckles, “You’ve never seen the ocean?”

“Nope. I’ve lived in Lima all of my life, never really left either.”

“That’s so crazy!” Brittany gasps, “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone that hasn’t seen the ocean. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss it now that I can’t go to the beach anymore. It used to be my favorite place, everyone has to experience it at some point in their life.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to check it.”

Brittany softens as she imagines Santana and how she might react. She thinks about the cheek-bunching smile she’d wear and the sound of her laughter mixing in with the sea breeze. She imagines her being so carefree for once in her life and it makes Brittany smile.

“Maybe I’ll take you one day?” Brittany finds herself saying.

Santana doesn’t say anything for a moment and Brittany wonders if maybe she crossed a line or something? One day hints at a future together, maybe even one that lasts longer than the school year since taking trips to the beach isn’t something they could do during the weekend.

Waiting for a response makes Brittany’s heart thud, but soon Santana speaks up.

“I could be down with that.”

“Yeah?” Brittany grins.

“As long as you’re my tour guide, it sounds like fun.”

Brittany bites her lip at that, once again super thankful that Santana can’t see how her words can turn Brittany into mush.

“Sweet. So,” Brittany hums as she sinks down into her pillows, “What else did you get up to after I left?”

“Not much,” Santana answers, “Just finishing up some work before school starts up again. My parents went to my Abuela’s house, they’re still there so they must be having a good time.”

Brittany can swear she hears sadness in Santana’s tone, “How come you didn’t go too?”

Santana doesn’t answer right away and Brittany wonders if maybe she has breached a touchy subject. Before she can try and change the subject though, Santana answers.

“I’m not exactly welcome there anymore.”

Brittany isn’t sure what to say.

“She’s not very…accepting. We haven’t spoken since I came out to her. It didn’t really end well for me and clearly she isn’t interested in making amends so…”

Brittany can tell Santana’s trying to be nonchalant about this but the sadness is so evident. It just breaks Brittany’s heart and all she wants to do right now is wrap her arms around Santana, to make her feel safe and wanted.

“I’m so sorry,” Brittany replies softly, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Don’t be sorry. We’re talking, you’re allowed to ask questions.”

“I know, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You aren’t. I promise, if you cross a line then I’ll just hang up on you.”

Brittany gasps but softens when she hears Santana’s cute little giggle.

“Not funny,” Brittany smirks as she turns off her bedside light. Now the light of her alarm clock is the only glow in the room.

“Kind of is.”

Brittany shakes her head, her eyelids feeling a little heavier than before, “You should’ve texted me earlier or something. I could’ve invited you over for Monopoly, really test Petey’s skills.”

Santana chuckles, “Maybe next time.”

“Maybe,” Brittany accidentally says through a yawn.

“You sound tired,” Santana mentions, “Losing is hard work, isn’t it?”

Brittany giggles sleepily, “In most cases I’d say I wouldn’t know, but since we’re talking about Monopoly…yeah, it really is.”

Santana laughs at that, “Do you want me to let you go so you can get some sleep then?”

Brittany rolls onto her side and snuggles into her pillows, “Not really.”

“But you’re tired, you should sleep.”

“I know, but I like talking to you more.”

“More than sleep? Aren’t I special?”

“Duh,” Brittany giggles, “I will gladly lose sleep over you.”

“Okay,” Santana laughs too, “How can I argue with such a smooth talker?”

“You can’t,” Brittany teases; she isn’t even trying to keep her eyes open anymore, “Can you stay here until I fall asleep?”

“Sure Britt,” Santana replies softly, “It doesn’t sound like you’re too far off.”

“It’s been a long day,” Brittany mentions tiredly.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm, but it’s ending way better than it started.”

Santana hums happily, “So… what do I talk about if I know you’re falling asleep?”

“We don’t have to talk,” Brittany chuckles weakly, “Do whatever you were doing before you called and I’ll just listen?”

“Oh, okay then.”

There’s a long pause and Brittany nearly falls asleep, but then she hears the melodic sounds of piano keys followed by a familiar voice singing so beautifully.

At first, Brittany perks up a little wanting to make sure that she isn’t hearing things – that Santana really is singing to her. She’s only ever heard Santana a couple times before and she usually stops when she realizes someone is listening, but it’s not like that now.

Santana doesn’t care about someone listening because she is singing just for her.

And wow, what a voice!

It’s like rolling thunder with a warmth that reminds her of a crackling bonfire; Brittany hasn’t heard anything like it. She can only smile as she lays her phone down on the pillow next to her, trying her hardest to will herself to stay awake even longer just so she can continue to listen to Santana’s beautiful voice.

#Lost in the Lights #Brittana #Brittana Fanfiction #Fanfics #QB!Britt

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