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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Summary: It's finally time for your coffee date with Eddie, leading the two of you to fall even harder for each other.

Warnings: brief mention of drug dealing, Reader's grandma has dementia, character death

WC: 6.5k

Chapter 9/20

Divider credit to @saradika

The lime green numbers of the microwave clock reads 11:57, which means that Eddie will be here any minute. You drag your palms on the thighs of your boot-cut jeans, triple-checking that your perspiration hasn’t left a visible stain on the light-wash fabric.

“Okay, her lunch is in the fridge. And the number of the coffee shop is on the counter,” you tell Jess, pointing to the scrap of notebook paper in front of her. “If you need something, just call, and I’ll come home.”

Jess waves away your concern with a kind smile. She’d been pleading with you to get out there and date for ages now, and she was just glad you’d finally taken her advice. Though, you note wryly, she would not be happy if she knew who that date was.

“We’ll be fine,” she reassures you, bracing a hand on your shoulder. “If anything, we’ll need to check on you. Who is this mystery date, anyway?”

“Just a guy,” you say, trying to remain light and casual while simultaneously fighting down the barrage of nerves in your stomach.

Jess takes a step back, wrinkling her nose and crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, God, it’s not one of those creeps from a dating hotline, is it? Because I’ve never heard of one of those that didn’t end up on 48 Hours.”

“No, no, don’t worry,” you shake your head, spotting a piece of lint on your cable knit sweater and plucking it off carefully. You flick it off of your finger, silently berating yourself when you remember that you’ll have to vacuum it later. “It’s a guy from around here.”

Your friend wipes imaginary sweat from her brow as the buzzer rings. You race to the intercom to let him in before he can say anything, but your reflexes are too slow.

“Hey, it’s me.” The sound of his voice has your body pulsing, an eager grin tugging at your lips despite your intentions to keep calm. His slight rasp has you craving the sting of tobacco just to flatten your nerves.

You clear your throat before speaking. “Okay, I’ll be right down.” Grabbing your jacket from where you’ve haphazardly thrown it over the back of the couch, you’ve almost made it to the door, when—

“No. No.” You cringe at the way Jess’s words bite into your excitement. “Please tell me that your date is not Eddie Munson.” You can only offer her a sheepish grin, and she rolls her eyes. “Seriously?!”

You huff out a sigh, both impatient to go on the date and flustered at being caught. “Look, he’s changed. A lot.”

“Oh, you mean he stopped calling you a bitch and making shitty comments about your grandma?” Jess snorts. “How chivalrous.”

There’s no time to explain everything that’s happened, so you simply say, “I’ll be back in two hours,” before closing the door behind you, making sure that it latches before you start down the hallway.

Eddie is waiting in the tiny lobby. He’s leaned up against the double doors, tapping one Reebok-clad foot and examining his fingernails anxiously. A memory crashes over you; one where his nails are painted jet black, though there hasn’t been any polish on them in some time.

He smiles as soon as he spots you, standing up straighter and walking to meet you before you can get to the door. “Hey,” he says softly, letting his hand brush yours as he kisses your cheek.

“Hey, yourself.” You want to kiss him back, but not on his cheek. Your lips yearn to crash against his once more; this time, anchored in belonging rather than lust. Instead, you manage a compliment. “You clean up nice.”

It’s the truth. His gray jeans are free of any holes, sometimes intentional but often the result of overwearing. The sleeves of his red sweater are pushed up slightly, exposing the litany of tattoos on his arms, and it occurs to you that you want to know each of their origins.

“Can’t lie, Harris helped pick out my clothes today,” he admits. “He caught me trying to figure out what to wear and we finally agreed on this.” He sweeps a hand down his side to emphasize his point.

“Was the ponytail his idea, too?” His curls are pulled back and rest at the nape of his neck.

Eddie shakes his head with a laugh as his cheeks tinge pink. “Nah, that was all me.” He pauses, gaze briefly landing on your mouth before his eyes are drawn back to yours. “You’re…you’re beautiful.”

You try to shrug off the compliment, still caught off-guard by his kindness. You wonder when—or if—that unease will dissipate. “I think you’re just used to seeing me with Play-Doh stuck to my shirt,” you tease, but he doesn’t break his trance.

“You’re always beautiful.” The sincerity of his statement clings to a silence that should be awkward, but is somehow comforting. After a few seconds, he clears his throat, lifting the fog of budding romance that clouds the lobby. “Let’s go get some coffee, yeah?”

Eddie takes your hand in his when you nod, leading you to his car and opening the passenger door for you. He sweeps his hand in the direction of the seat, and you giggle.

“Such a gentleman.”

He doesn’t divulge that Wayne reminded him to open doors for you when he’d come over to the apartment for dinner last night, or that the older man had slipped him a crumpled ten dollar bill and whispered, “get her something to eat, too,” punctuating his statement with a wink.

His left leg bounces as he starts the engine and he grates his teeth over his lower lip. He doesn’t even realize that he’s doing either of these things until you timidly rest a hand on his right knee and ask, “You okay?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, gliding the gear shift from ‘park’ to ‘reverse’ as he backs out of his spot. “Just, uh, been a long time since I’ve gone on a date.” And never with someone so goddamn perfect, he wants to add, but he’s stopped by the fear of coming on too strong.

You graze your thumb over the gray denim and smile at him. “Well, you’re doing great so far.”

“Yeah?” Eddie grins at your reassurance, the soft dimples at the corners of his mouth deepening.

“Yeah.”

He turns on the radio with a slight snap of his wrist, shifting the skull ring that wraps around his middle finger. A metal song comes on that you don’t recognize, drumbeats thumping through the old speakers. Eddie winces, nudging the volume down so he can hear himself speak over the impending guitar solo. “You can change it to something you like better.”

“Nah, this is fine,” you shake your head. “Kinda warming up to heavier music since someone gave me a Guns ‘N Roses tape.”

Eddie’s eyebrows brush the edge of his tousled bangs in surprise. “You really listen to it?”

“All the time,” you confirm truthfully. It’s quickly become one of your favorites; each time you play it, you’re reminded of Harris dressed as a miniature Axl Rose, drawing a picture of you and Eddie holding hands. Not to mention the way that Eddie adoringly gazed at you while you calmed his son down, quickly throwing together an art project and saving the day.

“How’s Grandma?” he asks now, pressing on the brake as he approaches a stop sign.

“Same as always. Her aid had to take her to the hospital the other day because she fell, and she’s been losing more language.” You try to play it off like it doesn’t bother you, but your heart pangs as you speak. When she was initially diagnosed, you’d known that she’d forget who people were, but you hadn’t realized that she would eventually forget how to talk. “Good news is, she hasn’t lost her appetite for Oreos. I have to keep the package you brought over hidden away so she doesn’t eat them all.”

Eddie laughs at this. “Told you; there’s nothing Oreos can’t fix.” He pulls into the cafe parking lot and snags the first available spot he sees. “I really am sorry that you have to see that, though. It can’t be easy.”

You keep your eyes trained on the dashboard, knowing that you’ll tear up if you catch a glance of his sympathetic expression. “‘S just par for the course with dementia, I guess.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything else–he isn’t sure what to say–as he kills the engine. He clicks off his seatbelt to scramble to your door, but it gets snagged in the crook of his elbow, yanking him back.

“Jesus, shit,” he grumbles, untangling himself from the trap he’d inadvertently created. “Don’t move; I’m not done being a gentleman.”

You put your hands up in surrender, watching as he walks to your side and opens the door. “Wow, that was such a surprising gesture,” you mock him, letting out a breathless scoff when he flips you the bird. “Giving me the middle finger kinda negates the whole ‘gentleman’ thing, dontcha think?”

Eddie pretends to consider this, crossing his arms over his chest while shifting his weight to one leg, bringing his hand to his freshly-shaved chin. “Mm, nope.” He helps you out of the seat, still not letting go of your hand once you’re standing next to his car. He holds it tighter, so you can feel every etch of the lifelines across his palm.

The mouth-watering scent of warm pastries and freshly brewed coffee swirls throughout the cafe, wafting to your nose as soon as you open the door. Or, more precisely, as soon as Eddie opens the door for you. You assume he’ll slip his fingers back through yours after you’re both inside, but he hesitates before letting his palm hover on the small of your back. You can barely feel the pads of his fingertips through your thick sweater, but as soon as you give him a smile, he allows himself to hold you a bit closer.

A chipper, twenty-something barista whose name tag reads Stephanie greets you as you approach the counter. “Hi! What can I get you folks?”

Eddie nudges you to place your order, which you give with a polite smile. “Just a coffee with room for milk,” you tell her.

You turn to Eddie so he can give his order, but he says softly, “Get something to eat, too.” He points to the display of baked goods before you, and you peer into the case. The prices are listed next to each item, and you furrow your brow at the $2 brownie.

“Oh, s’okay,” you murmur, trying to play it off. The last thing you need is for Eddie to think you’re pitying him, which, okay, maybe you are. He just doesn’t have to know that. “You can get something, though.”

He shakes his head with a grin. “I’m not falling for that trick, Sweetheart.” It’s odd to hear the nickname without the prefix Ms. in front of it, or without a sneer in his voice. It’s kind, comforting, dare you even venture…a term of endearment? “You tell me you don’t want anything, and then you end up eating half of what I pick. Nope, you’re getting your own.”

“Fine, fine,” you roll your eyes playfully, eventually settling on a blueberry muffin. Eddie’s coffee order is the same as yours, but he gets a chocolate chunk cookie with his. He digs into his back pocket for his wallet, worn and frayed around the edges, and pulls out a ten-dollar bill, leaving a remaining dollar in the colorful jar marked ‘Tips’.

You grab the plated pastries and Eddie shuffles behind with the coffee mugs, gently placing them on the counter next to the silver thermoses and baskets of sugar packets. You pour a bit of milk into yours, watching in amusement as Eddie dumps some of the coffee into the trashcan, filling the mug with half & half and tearing open three Domino packets.

“You want some coffee with that sugar bomb?” you gently tease, and he flicks your shoulder with a dramatic pout on his lips.

“I’d rather this than whatever bitter concoction you’re drinking,” he retorts, taking an exaggerated sip from his mug and punctuating it with an aaaahhh.

You roll your eyes. “You really should be grateful that I like bitter things. If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t like you.” Your response earns you another flick to the shoulder before Eddie brings the drinks to a table tucked away in the corner.

You set the cookie in front of him and the muffin at your spot across from him, pulling a crumb from the side and popping it in your mouth. The sweetness of the pastry with the slightly sour berry is heaven on your tongue.

“‘S good?” Eddie asks, smiling brightly when you nod your head. “Wanna try a bite of mine?” He breaks off a piece, and a smattering of crumbs fall to the table. You expect him to place the piece in your hand; instead, he leans over and brings it to your lips. His fingertips brush against them, parting them ever-so-slightly. An electric buzz hums down your spine, and you wonder if he feels it, too.

You’re careful not to let your tongue graze his fingers as you take the chocolate-flecked dessert into your mouth. Eddie, however, is in no rush. He lingers, slowly moving the rough pads of his fingers across your soft lips. In doing so, he wipes away rogue remnants of the cookie he just fed you, though you strongly doubt that that was his intention.

“Here, try mine.” You pinch off a piece of the muffin, a bit bigger than the piece you took for yourself, and bring it to him. His lips close around the very tips of your thumb and forefinger where you’re holding the bite of muffin. You feel the brief flicker of his tongue, gone before you can even process it, taking the muffin piece with it.

“Not bad,” Eddie says with a grin. “I don’t usually like fruit in my dessert, but I’d make an exception for that. Could definitely use some more chocolate, though.” As if to illustrate his sentiment, he takes a comically large bite of his cookie.

“One of these days, I’ll get you to eat a vegetable.” You mean it as a joke, a ribbing towards his poor eating habits, but it implies that you’ll stick around. That you care about him. You’re unclear about how he interpreted your statement, so you quickly change the subject before he can think about it. “I do have a question for you. Completely unrelated to the lack of nutrients in your diet.”

Eddie ignores the teasing jab and takes another bite of cookie. “Shoot.”

“The, uh, lock-picking kit,” you start, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your nerves calm. “Do you just keep them laying around?” You hate the idea of him using it to commit break-ins. If that was the truth, would he even admit it to you?

But Eddie just laughs, sipping his barely-coffee with a knowing smirk. “When Harris was about two, Wayne was watching him. He left for a second to grab the mail and the little stinker locked him out.”

“Out of the trailer?!” you ask incredulously, jaw dropping in shock.

“Out of the trailer,” Eddie confirms, shaking his head as though he still can’t believe it himself. “So, yeah. Ever since that happened, I’ve kept a lock-picking kit in my car.” He takes a deep breath, looking into your eyes with a gaze that makes your heart skip a beat. He drums his fingertips on the table as he says, “Tell me about you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Eddie accentuates his request with a quick poke of your hand before returning his grip to the mug handle. “Like, how did you end up being the one schlepping out to Hawkins to take care of Grandma?”

You shrug and bring the hot cup to your lips, letting the steam tickle your nose before you drink. “She and I were always really close, and teaching is a job that’s everywhere. It was just easier for me to pick up and move, I guess.”

Eddie pauses, nodding as he considers his next question. He rubs his palm back and forth on the side of his mug; there’s an air of nervousness around him. “Tell me about her. Grandma, I mean. Like, how she was before she got sick.”

“Where do I start?” It’s strange, you think, the way memories work. Sometimes it seems like the more Grandma forgets, the more you remember. You’ll just be lesson planning, or hurriedly making photocopies at work, or heating up leftovers in the microwave, and a memory will crash over you. Suddenly, you’re plucked from reality and transported to Benny’s Diner where you and she used to split a giant stack of pancakes. Or to the shoe store where she’d buy you a new pair of sneakers every August before the start of the new school year. “She just loved taking care of people. Cooking for them or cheering them up. She wasn’t the type of person to tell you to stop crying when you’d get upset, y’know? She’d sit there with you, rub your back, and let you get all the tears out.” You muster a wistful smile in a paltry attempt to hide the shame blooming in your chest. “It’s all so fucked, the way I talk about her like she’s gone when she’s still here.”

“No.” Eddie’s voice is soft yet adamant. “I don’t think it’s fucked at all. Because, I dunno, it’s like she’s not here, in a way. Physically, yeah; but almost like…” He stops himself to avoid speaking out of turn and making a fool of himself.

“Like she’s a shell of who she used to be,” you finish for him, and relief floods his body when you understand the point he’s trying to make.

He nods. “Exactly.” He smooths his ponytail reflexively. “I think you’re a lot like her. How she was, anyway. The way you’re always looking out for people, like…let’s say…a bitter wannabe rockstar and his adorable yet mischievous son?”

“That’s the best compliment I’ve gotten in a long time.” It’s all you want, really–to spread joy and kindness to others, filling in gaps that have remained empty for so long that they seemingly go unnoticed. “Maybe ever, actually.”

Good, Eddie wants to say. He wants to whisper sweet nothings into your ear, each one kinder than the last, until you’re utterly flustered. Instead, he abruptly changes the subject and asks, “What made you wanna be a teacher?”

This is a much easier question for you to answer. “I just love seeing kids learn,” you beam. “Being able to do things they couldn’t do before; things they never thought they’d be able to do.”

He returns your smile easily; something about hearing you speak about your profession with such gratification has him buzzing.“Speaking of which,” he says, sneaking a mouthful of cookie between words, “I took Harris to the supermarket yesterday. And when we passed by the seafood section, he points to a sign, sounds out cuh-ahh-d, and goes, ‘that says cod!’”

“That’s incredible! Look at our little reader go!” You could jump out of your seat with excitement, held back only by the desire to not go overboard in your display of enthusiasm.

Eddie nods in agreement. “I was so proud, I damn near bought all of the candy in the store.” He cocks his head, amusement tugging the corners of his lips upwards. “Any idea where he learned how to read like that?”

“Not a clue.” You try to force a deadpan expression to reinforce the sarcasm in your remark, but your happiness betrays you in the form of a giggle. You clap a hand over your mouth, but he reaches out to pull it down, keeping your fingers clasped with his.

He strokes his thumb over your knuckles, watching the digit sweep back and forth for a moment. “You really are pretty, y’know.” The admission feels like a weight has been both removed from and added to his shoulders. Now you know how he feels, but now you know how he feels.

You, meanwhile, are far less fixated on his vulnerability and focus instead on his phrasing. The opportunity has presented itself so perfectly, and you have to seize it.

“Like a princess?” Your eyes gleam with playfulness.

“Wha–oh, Christ.” Eddie’s features shift from confusion to embarrassment over the span of a second. “What did that kid tell you?”

“Not a lot,” you say nonchalantly, taking an innocent swig of coffee. It’s cooled down considerably, but you’ve never been one to let a drop of caffeine go to waste. “Just that you think I’m ‘pretty like a princess.’”

Eddie uses his free hand to rub his eyes, swiping his thumb and forefinger across the lids. “What a little snitch.”

“It’s true, then?” You perch your chin in your hand, batting your eyelashes and reveling in his awkwardness. His cheeks flush red and a nervous chuckle splices the silence between you.

“To be fair,” he finally counters, trying to gather his thoughts before they scatter again, “I was asked if I thought you were pretty like a princess. I didn’t, like, come up with that on my own.”

You purse your lips into a pout, feigning disappointment. “So you don’t think I’m pretty like a princess?”

“N-No, you are!” He takes a deep breath and composes himself as he notices you trying to hold in your laughter. “All right, which would you prefer? We talking trading your fins for legs or losing your glass slipper at a ball?”

“Neither,” you chide, scratching at the base of your neck absentmindedly. “More like…bookworm who rescues people in need no matter what the personal cost and captures the heart of the town outcast.” You hope that he doesn’t take offense to that last part, as true as it might be.

“So…Belle?” Eddie chuckles when you raise your eyebrows at him. “What? I have a little ankle biter, I know Disney movies.”

“Harris would never bite your ankles,” you scoff, grinning at the mere thought of the littlest Munson gnawing at the bottom of his dad’s legs mid-tantrum. “He’d just lock you out of the house until he gets what he wants.”

Eddie lifts his half-drank cup of coffee. “I’ll drink to that,” he agrees, and you gently knock your mug into his. The porcelain rims make a slight clink as they touch, echoes muffled by the chipped edges.

“So,” you start, allowing yourself to swim in his deep brown eyes for a beautiful moment before you pivot the conversation. “Why did you move to Chicago? Why not, like, LA or New York?”

He shrugs, wiping the residue of a coffee mustache from his upper lip. “Guess I wanted to stay kinda close to home. In case something happened to Wayne, or the music thing didn’t work out, or,” he smiles wryly, “if I knocked up a groupie and needed help raising a newborn.”

You press your lips together to stifle a giggle of your own, careful not to smudge whatever’s left of the lipstick you meticulously applied earlier. “So you moved back after Harris was born?”

“Yeah, when he was about…” Eddie silently does the math in his head, “a month old? Six weeks, maybe? When I realized that the whole ‘parenting’ thing is a hell of a lot harder than I thought. Especially doing it alone.” He drops his voice to a whisper as though he’s about to divulge a great secret. “Did you know that babies wake up, like, every half hour?”

“You don’t say?” Sarcasm is thickly woven into your tone. “Tell me more, Dr. Spock.”

Eddie snatches the muffin from your plate and takes an unprompted bite in retaliation. He chews like a cow on cud, slow and deliberate, relishing in his baked good thievery. You watch, unblinking, as a smirk crosses his face. “All right, smartass,” he snorts once he finally swallows, “not all of us specialize in taking care of kids.” He breaks off a hunk of his cookie and leaves it on your plate, a delicious peace offering that you gladly accept. “Anyway, Wayne let us stay with him until I found a place. Took a while to build up some funds, but I finally managed.”

“Where were you working?”

His face blanches at your question, and he finds himself inclined to bunch the paper napkin into a ball and shove it in his mouth to avoid answering. “Wh-What?”

“You said you had to build up some funds,” you explain, as though it were a convoluted construct. “Were you at the music store back then?”

“Oh, um. No.” Quicksand. Volcano eruption. A piano falling from the sky like in a classic Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote showdown. Eddie would’ve taken any of these options over giving you an answer. “I went back to my old high school gig of, uh, dealing.” His cheeks are beet red, the heat radiating from them is the only distraction from the shame curdling in his lungs.

He keeps his eyes on the floor; to his surprise, your feet remain planted on the ground. You’re not leaving. “Oh.” Your voice draws him back to reality. “But you don’t…”

“Nope.” Eddie shakes his head. “I’m totally done with that scene. It’s just minimum wage, on-the-books bullshit for me now. I even pay taxes.” He laughs when you roll your eyes. “Although…the manager is transferring to another store soon.”

You slam your hands on the table in excitement, eyes alight with joy at this new opportunity for him. “Eddie, you have to apply!” Your eagerness fades when you notice the frown on his face. Shit, did he think you were telling him what to do? “I’m sorry if–”

“Nah, you’re good.” He bites his thumbnail without thinking, withdrawing it from between his front teeth when he sees you watching him. “‘S not like I haven’t considered it. Just feels like…if I do that, I’m officially giving up on the whole rockstar dream. Like I’m closing that chapter of my life.”

This time, you’re the one who holds onto him. His palm is pressed flat on the Formica table, and you bring your fingers underneath it to scoop his hand into yours. You give it a quick squeeze, watching a delicate smile develop across his lips. “Is that necessarily a bad thing, though? You’re not giving up on anything; you’re just shifting your priorities to make sure that Harris is always number one.” He nods halfheartedly, but you continue. “And you can always get back into music, find another band, or…maybe even make up with the Corroded Coffin guys?”

Eddie sighs, taking a strand of hair that’s fallen from its rubber band enclosure and tucking it behind his right ear. “Yeah. Maybe.” He doesn’t quite believe it; not after the terrible things he said to Jeff. Not after Gareth said he doesn’t look up to him anymore. A Corroded Coffin reunion seems about as likely as Wayne becoming a Radio City Rockette. He clears his throat and shifts his gaze back to you. “This is, uh, not first date conversation.”

You laugh at this, nodding in agreement. “No, it most certainly isn’t.” You use your free hand to take a final swig of coffee, now on the cooler side of lukewarm. “But I don’t think you and I have done anything conventionally, so it seems to be par for the course.”

Eddie shifts in his seat to lean in closer. He’s heard your response, but he’s not accepting it. Just because things began backwards didn’t mean they had to continue that way. “Tell me about you,” he says. “What do you like to do for fun? Like, hobbies and stuff.”

Your mind goes blank, as though you’ve never enjoyed any activity in your life. “Hmm,” you ponder, trying to remember a moment that wasn’t spent lesson planning or breaking up big arguments between small humans or taking care of an elderly woman who couldn’t stand you half the time. “I really love to cook,” you finally manage, thinking of the hours when you and Grandma stood in her kitchen, preparing meals or snacks or baked goods to munch on.

“No shit!” Eddie blurts out, eyes widening. “I really love to eat.”

“I’ll have to cook for you sometime,” you tell him. Surprisingly, you’re not shy when you say it. The image of you standing before the stove, stirring a pot on a burner or taking a tray of roasted vegetables from the oven while Eddie and Harris set the kitchen table, warms you from the inside out. You express your love by making meals for others, just like Grandma does. Did. “Your favorite food is olives, right?”

Eddie rolls his eyes playfully, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting back in his seat. He opens his legs slightly as he bites the inside of his lower lip to hide his smile. “I hate you sometimes, y’know that?”

“Yeah, I hate you, too.”

As soon as you and Eddie step out of the little cafe hand in hand, the bitter slap of winter is all-consuming. Snow flurries flutter to the ground, melting as soon as they touch the faded green grass. The coldness of the flakes stings the tip of your nose, and you wiggle it to try to ward off the impending numbness.

Eddie breaks the connection to dig out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from one pocket and his lighter from the other. He flicks the switch a few times before it finally catches as he shields the flame from the harsh winds. As soon as it does, he tucks the lighter away and immediately re-laces his left fingers with your right, taking a long drag and offering it out to you with a grin.

“Since you’re just a social smoker and don’t keep any on you,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes. You wonder how he could possibly know this until memories of that fateful night at the Hideout come roaring back to you. You and Eddie standing outside, making painfully awkward small talk while you figured out how to initiate a sexual encounter.

You inhale, letting the tobacco mingle with the taste of coffee and muffin already saturating your tongue, and pass the cigarette back to him. It’s a slow walk to his car; the two of you take your time as you breathe in smoke and each other’s closeness. Eddie lets you kill out the cigarette, eyes never leaving your body as you stub it into a nearby ashtray.

“I have a little confession to make,” he begins, quickly amending his statement when he catches the horrified expression on your face. “No, nothing bad; I swear!” He laughs lightly when you exhale, pressing your hand to your heart in relief. “Okay, the reason I took you out for coffee is because, well, I figured if things went well, I’d know your coffee order and could bring it to you at work or something? Like when I drop Harris off in the morning.”

The early December chill dissipates at his offer. Just the thought of Eddie memorizing your coffee order, handing you the styrofoam cup with a chaste kiss to your cheek so that none of your students or co-workers can catch you, fills you with a buzzing warmth. “I’d really like that.”

“Good,” Eddie nods, stopping at his parked car. You spot Harris’s carseat in the back, reminding you of the night Eddie drove you to his place after his show. The way he tried to hide the existence of his son from you, as though it would deter you from pursuing anything further. You can’t help but wonder how many women had turned him down after learning that he’s a dad. It has to be a decent amount, a pattern that developed, for him to become so jaded and guarded over it.

His calloused thumb ghosts over your cheek, though you can hardly feel it after being exposed to the stinging air. His gaze meets yours and he holds it, chocolate orbs fueling the fire within you.

“Feels weird asking to kiss you after we’ve already…” he trails off with a chuckle, tone laced with ambivalence. The last time he’d pressed his lips to yours, he didn’t want to stop, which scared the living shit out of him. And that was under the pretense of casual sex, not intended to go any farther than a one-night stand. But now? Now he was about to kiss you after a date, after telling you that you look pretty, after admitting that planned to get you coffee in the mornings.

If he kisses you now, there’s no going back.He’s sealing the deal, opening himself up to heartbreak, the potential to be crushed when the relationship comes to a screeching halt.

But, he reminds himself silently, it also means someone to watch movies with. Someone to buy flowers–or coffee–for. Someone to hold, to touch. Someone to share stories with, from the mundane tasks of the day to big, exciting news. Someone who I could love, who could love me and my boy.

“Eddie?” Your voice breaks into his mind, overrun with racing thoughts about the good, the bad, and the ugly of falling in–

You bring your lips to his, effectively silencing his inner monologue. His right hand stays on your face as his left grips your waist to return the kiss, deepening it with a gentle prod of his tongue. It’s wanting, but not hungry, like he’s savoring every last bite of a long-time craving. He wants this, he wants you, forever. He swears he’d never let you go if he didn’t have an oversugared, overtired four-year-old to attend to.

“You are…” he murmurs, nudging his nose with yours, but he has no idea how to end the sentence. Perfect? Mine? The one for me? “...the best.” It feels like a cop-out, but he doesn’t want to come on too strong. The irony is not lost on him that he had no problem spewing insults at you, but hesitates when it comes to affection.

“The best coffee date?” you tease, resting your hands on his chest. The sweater’s scratchy wool itches your palms, and you can’t imagine he’ll make it ten steps through the door before changing into one of his signature band tees.

“Yes. No. Yes.” He kisses your nose, an electric spark flying between you. “But also just…the best.” His fingers clasp around the door handle as he begrudgingly opens your door, not wanting the date to end. “Shall I take you home?”

No, you think, biting back your protest. No, take me to your place. Kiss me more, kiss me deeper, kiss me where the curve of my hips meets the plush of my thighs. Let me help you with your sweater; you’ll be so much more comfortable without it, Eddie.

“Okay,” you manage, sliding into your seat. He closes the door once you’re inside, jogging around to his side with a breathy chuckle.

“Gotta keep warm,” he says, turning the key in the ignition. The car rumbles to life, and as soon as he’s out of his parking spot, he takes your hand once again. Your intertwined fingers rest atop the gearshift for the entire drive to your building.

He turns off the car and faces you. “Let me walk you in.” Five simple words that ordinarily would preface sex; Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever uttered them in that order without at least the anticipation of getting laid. But there’s none of that now. He just wants to spend as much time with you as he can, before the spell is broken and he turns back into a pumpkin. Could the prince turn back into the Beast? he wonders wryly.

You cock your brow. “You sure about that? What if Grandma’s gotten herself into more trouble?”

“I’m willing to take that risk.” And he is. He’d risk everything, and for the first time in a long while, he’s not running from that feeling.

Luckily, there’s no crisis when you and Eddie arrive on your doorstep. You trade a few more giggle-laced kisses before you finally part.

The stars align on Monday morning, with Harris actually cooperating and getting ready with enough time for Eddie to stop off at the cafe to get your coffee. Okay, letting him have a Pop-Tart for breakfast instead of cereal definitely helped the situation, but it was a special occasion! And it’s not like he could tell Harris that he needed to pick up coffee for Ms. Sweetheart; the kid would be hiring caterers for a wedding if he knew.

Eddie had wanted to call you on Sunday, maybe see if you wanted to go to the playground with him and Harris and get some ice cream afterwards, but he’d ultimately decided against it. Give it some time; don’t be too eager.

It occurs to him that bringing you coffee is something that a boyfriend would do, and he hasn’t actually asked you to be his girlfriend yet. Do adults do that? Or is it just kinda implied? Shit, maybe I can take her out again this weekend and ask, just to be sure.

He gives Harris a hug and a kiss goodbye, careful not to spill any of the hot beverage as he crouches down to his height. Jitters course through his veins as he approaches your classroom, but he knows that the joy on your face–either from his kind gesture or the prospect of caffeine–will make it all worth it.

When he gets there, he only sees Will. He can’t stick around long; he doubts his boss will accept trying to impress my maybe-girlfriend as a valid excuse for tardiness.

“Hey, Byers,” Eddie calls out with a wave, pointing to the cup. “I’m just gonna leave this on her desk, if that’s cool.” He spots a black Sharpie and is about to use it to write Date night on Friday? when he catches Will’s expression. It’s a combination of confusion and sadness, with his brows pinching together as he walks over to Eddie.

Will shoves his hands in his pants pockets. “Um, she’s not coming in today. Probably not for the rest of the week.”

“Is she okay?” Worry mars Eddie’s confidence, and the sense of dread only worsens when Will quietly ushers him to the corner of the room away from the kids. “Is she sick or something?” he adds once the students are out of earshot. Will looks up at Eddie, though the height gap has decreased considerably since he was a freshman and Eddie was working through his third senior year. His eyes are shiny with tears, and he blinks them back and clears his throat. “Eddie…” he says softly, “her grandma died last night.”

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64yrsold · 10 months

Text

ACHES 3. bitten

18+ (please see masterlist for cw) aches masterlist previous (2)

I did have his number, my phone opening to the contact page of “Matthew (HOT)” when I unlocked it. I cringed, realizing he probably watched me type that in there.

I had one unread message from Jenna, letting me know that Matty had forgotten his credit card at the bar. I texted her to let her know that I would pick it up this afternoon, and sighed. This was incredibly embarrassing. From his bitten and scratched chest, I could assume what we had been up to last night.

I grumbled, hopping into my jeans and putting on my coat. I brushed through my hair with my fingers, swinging my purse over my shoulder and exiting the hotel room. I walked to the elevator, humming to myself as I opened my phone to find the nearest coffee shop.

“What the fuck?” I muttered, realizing the hotel I was in was nearly a two-hour walk from the bar I had met Matty. Did we walk here? God, I hope he didn’t drive me here.

‘I want to show you another bar,’ he had said last night. A flash of a memory, a silver flask and an orange streetlamp. A dark park, spruce trees towering towards the white circle of the moon.

I sighed, the elevator doors opening into the lobby. I called a cab.

I realized I was nauseous when I inhaled the driver’s eye-watering cologne, and popped a mint to distract myself. I watched the lazy city roll past, everything brown and tired. I looked back at my shoes, swallowing hard as the driver attempted to hit every pothole he saw. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to conjure some sort of memory from yesterday. I could only see that orange streetlamp, burning blue in the center of my vision when I closed my eyes.

‘Cold?’ his voice echoed, and the corner of his jaw came to me. A shuffling sound, his jacket slipping off his shoulders. Warmth, heaviness.

I chewed my bottom lip, hoping he was sweet.

“Hi Jenna,” I smiled, and she gave me a nod.

“How was he?” she raised an eyebrow, turning his credit card in her hands. I grabbed it from between her fingers, frowning.

“What do you mean?” I shoved the card in my purse, sitting on a sticky barstool.

“So this is the one you shut up about,” she rolled her eyes, grabbing a few lemons.

“You hate it when I tell you about my boyfriends.”

“Boyfriends?” she snorted, cutting a lemon into perfect wedges. The citrus smell stung in the back of my throat.

“Alright,” I grumbled, really meaning shut up, “He was nice.”

“Mm,” she hummed, eyes down.

“That’s it.”

She set her knife down, holding her hands in front of her chest. She slowly drew them away from each other, waiting for me to tell her to stop. To say how big.

I just squinted at her.

“Did I start too big?” she dropped her hands, now looking at me with her all-seeing eyes. She rarely made eye contact, but when she did, I suspected she could see into every corner of my mind. If you can hear this, blink twice, I would often think.

“Sorry,” I shrugged, dropping my chin into my palm. I looked at the lemon she stroked with her thumb.

“You can’t remember,” she gasped, a smile creeping onto her face.

I mustered the energy to look surprised, but ended up sighing.

“Oh God, did he drug you?” she blinked, then shook her head, “No, honestly, you were wasted before you had that whiskey.”

“If I was wasted,” I whispered, “Why did you serve me?”

“I like to let you experience the consequences of your actions,” Jenna smirked, passing me a bundle of limes, a knife, and a cutting board, “Can you be useful here?”

“Yes boss,” I sliced a lime in half, “And I don’t think he drugged me.”

“Good,” she wiggled her knife in front of my face, “This has cut more than citrus fruit, you know.”

“He was sweet, I think,” I thought back to his rough hands tucking me in, to him carrying me into bed. “Fuck, I wish I could remember.”

“You guys were heading to another bar, weren’t you?”

“I thought so too,” I nodded, “But I keep seeing this park, and I can’t remember a second bar.”

“A park?” Jenna frowned, concerned, “Where did you wake up?”

“A hotel,” I said, shaking my head.

“Not your place?” Jenna didn’t seem surprised, going back to slicing lemons. “You live five minutes from here.”

I just shrugged, sighing. “I guess I’ll have to ask him what happened.”

“What if he can’t remember either?”

“What if he remembers everything?”

We both stared at our hands, stumped.

“You kiss him?” Jenna broke the silence, grabbing my pile of sliced limes.

“I woke up in a hotel with him,” I stated, then bit my cheek, “But we did wake up in a chair.”

“Both of you?”

“Yeah, I was on his lap. It was actually sort of comfortable.”

Jenna just grunted, wiping her hands on a towel.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” I stood, one hand on the bar, “We’re going on a date tonight.”

“Really?” Jenna gave me her icy stare again.

“He planned it. I just said okay.”

“Well,” Jenna put a hand on her hip, “He’s rich.”

“You think?”

She nodded, “Maybe hold on to that credit card.”

-> next (4)

#matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty #aches

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mememanufactorum · 11 months

Text

Lythero – UMvC3 Lobby Shenanigans 6 sentence starters

* All lines are taken from this video

* FEEL FREE TO SHARE AS YOU PLEASE, NO CREDIT NEEDED. CHANGE PRONOUNS OR ANYTHING ELSE AS DESIRED.

“See ya later nerd.”

“Bruh. Let me pick. How about your mind your business over there, my guy, alright?”

“Damn, the judgment, dude.”

“Kind of experimental. We’ll see how it works out.”

“He has technically given you the best team in the game; however, it is high execution. Good luck.”

“Requires about 500 hours of play just to get it down half-good.”

“I’m coming in.”

“He’s a robo—”

“Bro, back the FUCK up!”

“Shotgu— SHOTGUN.”

“I love you, kitchen gun!”

“Get off my fuckin’ property, bro.”

“Hold on, lemme talk to you.”

“Oh my god? Truth come out?”

“EAT LEAD!!!”

“No, die.”

“You’re not supposed to confirm!”

“Magnum!”

“Oh my god, good old American magnum!”

“Wait, how is there no time on the clock? We’ve been playing so serious.”

“Getting kinda cold out there, [name].”

“What do you want me to do about it?!”

“Man’s got no jacket money, dude. It’s crazy.”

“Come on! Eat the content! Come on! Come on, get hit! Come on!”

“I’ve been turned into content!”

“Become content! You’re going to Twitter! I’m punching you in!”

“Alright, that’s it, you’ve been tweeted!”

“What is your team so I can pick it?”

“Wait, this team’s kinda cool.”

“Yo, come play some Call of Duty with me, my guy! Come play some Call of Duty with your old boy, dude!”

“Get fucked, loser.”

“They’re playing fuckin’ Time Crisis over here.”

“I’m really glad I entered this tournament, this is so much fun. Having a great time.”

“Alright, one missile for the culture.”

“Yeah, spin on him! Fuck him!”

“I’m paper! I’m paper! I’m made out of paper! Help!”

“I just wanted the ONE! ONE!”

“He’s GOATed!”

“Damn. My [name]’s kinda nice, bruh.”

“Damn, I’m sick!”

“Help! How do I play this?!”

“What the fuck is this fuckin’ hieroglyphics shit?”

“Motherfucker’s reading off the bar code.”

“Ohhh, he dropped it! He’s bad! He’s baaaad!”

“You had the world, [name].”

“Looks like we found out who the faker was.”

“You’re in big trouble, you haven’t paid for your mobile data plan in years.”

“My old Motorola phone, how could it be used against me?”

“How did you– How did you make it do it twice?!”

“If you’re good enough, you can go indefinitely.”

“What the fuck is this?! Do that again!”

“What is he doing?! I don’t understand!”

“You lousy motherfucker. Get your dog ass to the danger room right now or else I will shove this wheelchair up your ass!”

“And stop fucking with the microwave!”

“The [name]’s got the blinker shades on! Oh my god, hold on!”

“Bro, drip or drown! By any means necessary!”

“He made his armor from wood, dude! How do you stop it?!”

“I don’t need it, you’re already dead.”

“Damn, bro, he’s comin’ in!”

“Wait, hold on. I can confirm this.”

“That’s the sickest riff I’ve ever heard.”

“You bastard! I can’t believe you did that to me!”

“Get back in line, nerd!”

“Welcome to the back of the bus, my guy!”

“He’s been in the back of the bus so long he’s a fuckin’ skeleton back there.”

“That was not close enough! I need a ref!”

“Hello, ref here. Uhh, that was not close enough, there’s nothing I can do though. [name]’s gonna beat me up as well.”

“I would only get grabbed if I tried to help.”

“Always remember what I could’ve done.”

“How was I beaten by someone from the ‘80s?”

“How was I beaten by someone before Christ?”

“Dab me up! DAB ME UP!!!”

“Time to watch you shower!”

“Justice is happening.”

“That was so stupid.”

“Oh– Shit! He’s already gaming!”

“Ah, so anyway, you die right? It’s crazy.”

“This motherfucker ripped out the metal piping from his house JUST to kill you!”

“You searched THAT on the internet? Interesting. This guy’s a weirdo. I’m kinda into it.”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!!!”

“Yo, quit! You got grabbed, that’s the rule!”

“Hey, yo, I’m up here doin’ stuff! This is my safe space!”

“Yo, salty that man right now.”

“No more, last one. No more, last one. No more, last one. Last one. No more.”

“Does that mean the last one?”

“Last one. Ten more.”

“I’m scanning for infrastructure.”

“I don’t know what’s happening!”

“What the dumb shit–?! The fuckin’– a– shit, a– Don’t look at me that way!”

“Don’t say my government! DIE! No one must ever know!”

“[name] WILL NOT PAY TAXES!”

“Excuse me?! Why is it still going?! Excuse me?! It’s still going?!”

“I need to talk to you about something. Hear me out real quick. Explosion.”

“No, they’re cute. His feet are cute, shut up.”

“My mother made these. You better shut your mouth.”

“He hit ‘em with the curse, bro!”

“Not worth the bar, let’s go!”

“Wait, hold on. Something’s up. Something’s definitely up.”

“Your honor, those are the fakers!”

“I’m gonna sus this out somehow.”

“My brain went dead, I didn’t know what to do.”

“I’m deadass, Ed-boy.”

“Did ya see it?”

“Mama didn’t raise no bitch.”

“I can’t do thing. I can’t do my taxes. Help.”

“HE’S COMING FOR ME!!!”

“Why come?!”

#roleplay meme #roleplay prompt #rp meme #rp prompt #Back at it again.

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hibewriter · 4 days

Text

Holiday Party

Masterlist Read it on AO3

Shadow & Bone | Darklina | 4.9K | E

Tags: Non-Con | Dub-Con | Age Gap | Daddy Kink | Hotel Sex

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Holiday Party

Come one, come all! We are so excited to have you for the Shadow Fold Agency's fiftieth-holiday extravaganza luncheon at the Little Palace Hotel in downtown Os Alta. All festivities are on the third floor.

Please remember that valet parking is complimentary! You will receive a validation ticket at registration in the beginning. Final information attached! Remember, the only thing required of you is to HAVE FUN!!!

Have fun.

Yes, because there was nothing more fun than cramming into the halls of Os Alta's nicest hotel, surrounded by hundreds of people she barely knew, for the off chance of a thirty-dollar gift card. Okay, that wasn't necessarily true. It could be a substantial gift card.

But Alina Starkov had only started at the agency in November, and she was already positive her boss (creative director and all-around hard ass, Mr. Morozova) hated her. But that won't stop her from dawning her favorite ugly sweater (lined with various puppies intended to be reindeer), a soft puffer jacket, and her favorite sparkly bag. At least the event was at a hotel. If she makes any more of a fool of herself, she'll at least be able to drink her sorrows away after.

It was just like she expected, arriving just as the sky opened up, rain pelting her car as she waited in the long line of cars attempting to valet at the skyscraper of a hotel. She was only grateful the valet area was under an awning protecting the attendants as she slipped out, quietly joining the throng of coworkers she'd never seen enter the building. Faceless attendants maneuvered them through the lobby like hoards of cattle, not giving pause to be able to gape at the extravagant decor before being filtered into the elevators up, up, up.

She barely registered the rush. The ticket was handed to her, moving with the throng towards the h'ordeuvres set-out. Faceless attendants passed around strange-looking finger foods while Alina tried not to seem too eager to make a beeline to the champagne bar. Only to groan at the selection. Sparkling grape juice. Now, Alina was no drunkard. But a drink to calm her nerves didn't seem like too big an ask. Yet, as she contemplated an exit strategy without being noticed, she heard her name, called loudly and brightly through the reception hall.

Genya.

She adored the team web designer, truly. But, Alina couldn't help but smother her quickly fading chances of escape as it appeared the others on her team had also arrived. David, her kind email manager that frequently got lost explaining the nuances of their system to her. Nikolai, someone she had yet to figure out exactly what he did, but surely it was something. But, luckily, no boss man.

“Oh my god, have you been here long?” Genya’s breathless words came out in a flurry, her hands hurriedly grabbing her own sparkling flute. Even with the dreary weather outside. It was with a shake of her head that Genya seemed satisfied, launching into her own story about her journey to the building, barely pausing for breath as the rest of the group crowded around. It was a breath of fresh air when the ballroom doors opened, tables set to take in the influx of people.

For a moment, she thought her boss just simply wouldn’t arrive as her team seemed to crowd at a singular table. Small conversation as the room settled, waiting to be called towards the buffet lines on either side of the large space. But, to her shock, a steady hand appeared at her back, the other pulling a chair out while her eyes widened and her back went ramrod straight.

“Apologies,” muttered to her in an all-too-familiar voice. Deep and relaxing as a honey-molasses bath, yet cutting when the owner’s ire was directed towards you. Aleksander Morozov had only chastised her once in the month she’d been at the company, but she much preferred to never hear that voice again. In fact, she definitely preferred the more demure tone he took as he sat next to her. Each other seat was taken, and she tried to relax, avoiding Genya’s playful eye.

She’d never been so relieved for people to start going to get food. She tried not to let it show, tried not to run towards the food on the opposite end of the room.

"If you get any more nervous you'll throw up. And the food actually looks good." Genya's voice soothed, falling into step with her as they passed through the line.

"I don't do well with crowds," she muttered. She wasn't paying attention to the foods she piled on her plate, an assortment of vegetables and starches, only catching herself at the turkey in ham. Genya, for her part, only hummed.

"Yeah, Aleks is the same way. He only arrives when he has to." At this she wanted to laugh, glancing down the line to see the normally stoic Morozov in a quiet conversation with another department head. It was hard to imagine him nervous about anything. But she quickly brushed the notion aside, slipping back into her seat.

The food was delicious, once the table sat again. She was happy to have something to preoccupy her mouth as she tried, and failed, to not halt conversation with the topics available.

No, no family to see so I'll just be home.

My foster brother might come to town, but he might have better things to do.

No New Years' plans, thank you for the invitation, Genya.

By the time the raffles came and went, several of her coworkers winning prizes, she was far more comfortable. She was able to keep her eyes down, muttering small thank yous as hotel staff came to clear their plates. Pouring small fills of actual champagne, a light toast about the success of the agency. Words were lost to her as they spoke of unmatched talent and teamwork involved in bringing in record profits. A voyeur claiming credit for others' hard work.

It was a relief when it ended. The throngs of people were almost robotic as everyone slipped out of the room. A muffled conversation full of small talk and cliche jokes about coworkers she didn’t know. A huff as she shuffled with the crowd, somehow getting split from her department as quickly as she got to the elevators. Silently grateful to not pretend to smile and nod to more stories.

She needed a drink.

Or several. Stepping out of the elevator and already seeing the valet line beginning to curve through the lobby of the hotel, impatient faces and tapping shoes waiting for service. She pursed her lips, eyes scanning the space before abruptly turning towards the hotel bar. The line was shorter, and there was sitting room at the actual bar. A perfect opportunity.

A seat as far away from the entrance as possible, nearly hidden at the edge of the bar. She lowered her head as more seemed to take her idea, the small area suddenly full of other festive partygoers were ready to take full advantage of the early afternoon off.

"Mind if I join you?"

Her head snapped up, the soft article nearly forgotten as her eyes made eye contact with her boss. She could swear they were fully black in the low bar lighting. Sudden dry mouth as she swallowed, a small smile as she gestured to the seat next to her. She glanced down the bar, the buzz-cut bartender slowly shaking the same shaker he'd begun with. The patron in front of him looked no less thirsty than when she sat.

It was silent between them, minutes passing before they watched the barkeep set a drink down in front of someone. Only to watch the patron frown, mouths fixing, even over the low murmur. I actually ordered a margarita? This looks like a gimlet. A sigh ripped from Alina’s mouth as she watched the barkeep begin again.

"It seems we might not get a drink anytime soon," Aleksander murmured. She turned to him, noticing his eyes already fixed on her face. It was like he was thinking, trying to determine his next action.

"At the risk of alerting HR," he leaned forward as if telling her a secret. "Would you happen to want to go to a quieter bar? Perhaps get quicker service?"

And maybe it was her desperation for a drink. Maybe it was the honey-smooth baritone of his voice. Maybe it was the one champagne glass, nearly twenty minutes ago now. Or maybe it was her finding a little courage to talk to her boss one-on-one without him yelling at her. Whatever it was, she found herself bundled in her coat, looking at her boss searching the street signs to find his bearings. Though it did not take him long, seeming to have a map of Os Alta's downtown burned into his mind's eye.

"Hmm, this way," he claimed. He grasped her elbow, lightly, and she found herself following his long strides. Her little legs struggled to keep up until the first intersection, where he was forced to stop and look down at her panting face. One look at her face, inflamed from the brisk city air, and he was moving.

"You're freezing," he said, slipping his scarf off his own neck. Any protest she had died on her lips as black cashmere met her cheeks. Instant warmth with faint notes of amber and spice filled her nose before he took her hand and started navigating them through the crosswalk.

She tried not to notice the change in hand placement. She blamed the fire in her cheeks on the scarf.

"How are you settling?" He asked at the next crosswalk, pausing for a breath as cars began to zip down the street. She did her best attempt at a shrug, willing her heart to slow down. A brisk walk would do that to a person, she was sure.

"Good," she huffed, slightly muffled by his scarf. "Not used to walking so fast." At this, his eyes crinkled, as if she told a joke.

"I meant in your role, but we can slow down." She could no longer blame her flamed cheeks on the wind, ducking her head further into herself to avoid his gaze.

"Oh! Um, good. Good, I think. A little stressful sometimes. But in a good way! I'm still trying to figure out my flow, I think. And it doesn't help that I spend so much time talking to Tante. I think we just need to get used to each other but also I think that maybe it'd be better if things weren't so jumbled. She doesn't follow any of the procedures that I have and I just want to get aligned on the same page! I dunno, maybe I should – oh my God I'm rambling."

At this he did laugh, fingers gripping hers, tight as he began to lead her through the freshly changed crosswalk. Slower than before, she noticed. Her legs no longer screamed at her from overuse.

"Don't worry, Alina," he finally spoke once across. Humor was still littered in his voice, a sound she found she very much liked. "Tante has had her fair share of…moments in the office. We'll try to get things better aligned."

"Is that fancy corporate speak for you don't like her very much?"

Even the layers of scarf could not hide her smile at his laugh. Strange how just five minutes ago she thought to crawl into her own skin to hide from his presence. She didn't even mind that he didn't answer, simply guiding her to a small door along a brick-lined building. The rusted sign proclaiming the tavern to be called The Cut. The oldest bar in Os Alta.

Immediately she welcomed the warmth of the haggard place. Worn wood with scribbles of marker and neon signs surrounded by glass, steel, or shelving lined with alcohol she still felt uncomfortable trying to decipher their names. Suddenly, she felt homey. The low lighting cast a warm glow, even though the bar barely had more than ten people in it – slow on a Thursday afternoon.

Reluctantly, she detangled herself from the scarf and coat, hanging them gingerly on her chair. A slide into her seat, held out for her by hands stronger than hers. Hands larger, ones that she could only glance at before shying away, lest her thoughts turned unsavory.

“This is a nice place,” she said, smiling as the new bartender (a small girl with pigtails and a black t-shirt with the bar logo on the breast pocket) caught her eye. He opened his mouth, seemingly about to speak before the bartender approached.

“Sasha, this isn’t your usual time,” the girl spoke, pulling two tumblers seemingly out of nowhere.

“Zoya,” he shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “We decided to grab a drink.” The girl, Zoya, turned to Alina with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s like he’s never had manners in his life. I’m Zoya, you must be…”

“Alina.”

“Alina. Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Alina.” Did she imagine a glance at Aleksander? A joke she wasn’t a part of? She swallowed, a tight smile in response.

“Now, I know this boring man wants an old fashioned, what can I get you?”

A small order for a simple vodka soda, handed with a speed Alina was sure would never have been achieved at the hotel. Sips in silence while she attempts to figure out just how often he came to this bar to be on a first-name basis with the bartender in the middle of the day. More than a first-name basis. She called him Sasha.

“So,” she sputtered, choking a bit on her drink before not-so-smoothly recovering. “I’m guessing you’re a regular?”

“You could say that. I’ve been coming in and out for around twenty-five-ish years.” His eyes twinkled in the light of the bar as he watched hers widen. She wondered if the mental gymnastics she was doing were self-evident on her face, a blush creeping back up her neck as she attempts to school her features. Evidently failed by his chuckle.

“I’m only forty-three, malyshka ,” he murmured. She nearly choked on her vodka, sipping the rest of the cup as she tried to feign polite surprise. It was evident now, the soft grays streaking at his temples. She cleared her throat, trying not to cough from the sudden warmth flooding her chest. She didn’t drink her vodka soda was that strong, but she guesses she could be wrong.

“You’ve been coming here since you were…eighteen?” She questioned, startled at the silently placed refill in front of her. She picked it up, looking at him over her glass as she sipped.

“I never said I was the best kid,” he responded, taking a sip of his own drink.

“So you’re telling me you’re just a bad old man? Bad kids grow into bad adults.” His eyebrows raised, shock and amusement written over his features. Part of her was proud to render him speechless. The other, still sober part, took a second to register exactly what she said. That part suddenly became mortified.

“I mean, not to say that you are bad, like just a ‘haha oh bad kid bad adult’. I didn’t mean that you I – um, I–”

“Relax, malyshka .” He interjected with a huff of laughter. “You’re not in trouble. Though I assume it depends on who you ask if I’m a bad man or not. I like to think I just go after what I want. Drinks included.”

She swallowed, suddenly realizing the relaxed drape of his arm on the back of her chair. His knee, pressed softly against the side of her seat, not touching her but close enough to feel the heat. His eyes, dark and heady as he used his free hand to sip his drink, not wavering from her face.

“What –” what if something gets in your way? “What does that word mean?”

“ Malyshka? It means baby girl in Russian.”

Blaming alcohol was probably no longer viable. The blush across her face, the heat in her chest.

“Why ‘baby girl’? I can be an adult.”

“Yes, but I’m old enough to be your father, so you can see why I might be inclined to refer to you as a baby, no?”

She stared, swallowing in her suddenly dry mouth. He seemed unaffected – as if this were a normal thing to say on a first outing with a subordinate. But she…

“I need to, um, go to the bathroom.” Standing to break whatever spell he’d cast on her seat. She followed his silent gesture to a hallway in the back of the bar, trying not to sprint away.

The bathroom, graffitied and grimy, a small space with two stalls, was just big enough to catch her breath. She leaned over the sink, letting her breathing calm. The muted beating of the bar music flowed in, filling her head. She felt dizzy. She felt drunk . She swore they'd only been gone an hour. Maybe an hour and a half. But her stomach was in knots, twisting and coiling as her mind repeated I'm old enough to be your father.

She knew what it was. The burgeoning of a crush, wholly inappropriate, likely to end in disaster if he ever knew. Not that she felt particularly stealthy thus far. He was just kind, reassuring, and funny. Just because he looked out for her for one afternoon meant nothing. It was nothing.

She repeated her mantra. Nothing nothing nothing, as she splashed her face with water from the sink. She patted her face dry, trying not to smudge any of her eyeliner and shadows. The mirror, covered in stickers and soap scum, did little to convince her she wasn't a walking mess. She frowned, noting the tinsel in one of her reindeer drops from its pom pom nose.

Get it together, Lina. It's just drinks with your boss .

She sighed, exiting the room and back into the hall. Back to Aleksander.

It was almost enough to make her smile, his relaxed posture at the bar. His cheeks had just the barest hint of a flush, mostly hidden by the dark hairs of his beard. Though he wasn't paying attention to her, a stranger leaning against the top spoke in a hushed tone. She watched for a moment, following the polite bored expression Aleksander wore as the man continued to speak. Until he leaned forward, offering his own words. Which caused Aleksander’s eyes to light up for a second, before the two broke into a small laugh.

She wiped her hands against her skirt as she approached, ignoring the flip in her belly when her boss turned his attention to her.

"Ah, Alina. This is Tolya, he used to work in your position."

She extended her hand, a soft smile gracing her lips at the introduction. Before the man, Tolya, launched into a diatribe about how much better it was to be working independently with his sister. She tried to nod and follow along with the winding story, but soon she found herself on her third, then fourth, drink. Polite nods and “ hmm, how interesting ”s could only go so far. It was only a slight relief when Zoya came back, pulling Tolya from the conversation to the other end of the bar with excuses of needing input on a new event they were creating.

It was Aleksander’s sigh of relief that broke her into a smile, a small giggle escaping her lips before she placed her own hand over her mouth. He smiled at her, and she felt like in one of her romcoms when the world would fall away as the two made eye contact.

"Do you –"

They both paused, a soft laugh escaping them. He gestured to her to continue, sipping the last of his drink.

"I was just, ahem. I was just wondering if you'd want to start heading back," she whispered, suddenly aflush. "I mean, to escape the downtown traffic! I'm sure it's going to be a nightmare being right before the holiday and –"

"Shhh, Alina. It's fine, I was going to suggest the same." He stood, and suddenly he seemed so tall. Like a giant ready to pick her up. Was she biting her lip? Her feet felt foreign as she stood too quickly, attempting to match his pace. His hand was on her in a flash, steadying her at the elbow before righting her.

She stood still, almost in a haze, as he slipped her coat back on her shoulders. She thanked the stars, her eyes only widened slightly as he wrapped the scarf back around her face, his smirk a dangerous thing in a blurry sea of color and sound. Her drinks weren't that strong, were they?

She hardly remembered him ushering out the door, his two fingers raised in goodbye to Zoya. He must have a tab. Thoughts swam as they walked, her small stumbles prevented by his somehow steady presence. Soon, she was clutching his waist, giggling at words that surely meant something. Crosswalks faded until they arrived at the hotel, smooth steel and golden accents a familiar warmth. Though the area was much quieter, the throngs of coworkers were mostly gone. Few, however, were still in the bar area, nursing drinks that took far too long to arrive.

"Are you sure you're okay to drive, malyshka? " Was his voice always so soothing? She leaned on his shoulder, eyes closing as she tried to get the world to stop being so spinny.

"Hmmm," she hummed, breathing in the stronger version of his scent. Fresh from his exposed collar, perfect for her head. "Maybe I should sit down for a bit."

"Nonsense, I have a room," his voice was a deep rumble in her ear. So close yet so far, was she floating? "Let's get you some water and lay you down, hm?"

And didn't that sound nice? He'd take her upstairs, and she could lay on a soft mattress for a few minutes. She didn't quite remember voicing her agreement, just the feeling of his hands leading her to the hotel elevators.

The room was nice. Far nicer than she would've, or could've, booked for herself. She tried not to stumble as he led her through the living room area. She giggled when she failed, clutching his shoulders. But he just smiled, holding her waist as he led her into the bedroom.

Soft downy embraced her as she fell onto the bed, giggles escaping uncontrollably as she did. It was so nice . Felt so good. At first, she didn't notice his hands, soft against her tights, her calves. Until her shoes were being pulled from her feet, a soft hum when they fell off. That was so much better anyway.

Another giggle burst from her lips when his thumb pressed into the arch of her foot. Soreness faded away, but his hands did not. Slowly climbing her legs, rubbing the sore muscles away.

"Mmm, d-daddy that feeellls g-good," she sighed into the mattress, letting him work his fingers.

"Daddy, huh?" Amusement filled his voice, hands digging into her thighs. She giggled again, it was so funny for some reason. Everything felt so light.

"You s-said you were old enough to be my d-daddy, don't you wanna?" She mumbled, relishing the way his hands pressed into her.

"Of course, malyshka . Daddy will make you feel real good." She didn't know what he meant, head fuzzy as he drew soft whimpers from her mouth. But she felt it. Hands climbing higher, under her skirt to her hips.

"Mhm, wha–"

"Shh, malyshka, let daddy work."

She could only hum as she felt him tug at the band of her tights. Just a few before they were rolling down her legs, a soft tingling in their wake from the compression finally releasing. She felt him lift away her skirt, down down her legs it went. A soft shiver ran down her spine as the room's AC made contact with her bare ass.

Had he taken her panties too?

She went to move, to sit up, but she felt so heavy . And the bed was so soft. She could only lie there as he maneuvered her arms up, and suddenly she was bare to him. Her sweater was removed with quickness, her bra gone faster. She shivered, the room was so cold. She tried to turn her body, into the covers and warmth.

“Daddy, don’t look” she cried, her hands flying up to cover her bare chest.

“Why?” He muttered, leaning over her. He grabbed her wrist, pulling them away and up. She wondered briefly if his eyes had always been so dark. She bit her lip, squirming under the intensity of his gaze. “You look so pretty like this, like a kitten. Maybe I should call you kisa , hm?”

And the room spun at his words. A whine escaped her lips as he leaned back, but her eyes widened as she watched him remove his own clothes.

“See, we’re even now, kisa. ” Her lip almost bled, as he nudged her knees apart, exposing her cunt to his gaze. It was unreal, the sudden heat she felt as his cock falls between her legs. He angles her hips higher above his knees, his head rubbing deliciously against her clit.

“So wet, I’ve barely even touched you,” he murmured. More to himself than her, but she still felt her cunt clench from the way he spoke. Breathless, ragged as he spread her wetness around her clit. Her hips squirmed against the sensation, soft whimpers flowing out of her with each pass. “I think you can take me just like this, can’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” she attempted to nod her head. She could. She would.

The first notch of his cock into her caused her breath to rush out of her. It was unreal, the stretch from just his head as his thumb came to her clit in its stead. A soft curse left his breath as he began to push. An inch, then out, then in deeper. He was carving a space for himself within her, her body yielding to his assault.

“So tight for me,” he muttered, lost to the sensation. Before he pulled out just enough, before snapping his hips to hers, fully seated inside of her. She keens, high as her hands fly to grab his forearms. Her nails dug into his skin as he began a slow rhythm, punishing her cunt with each thrust.

Soon the stretch turned to something different, purer as she began to feel a coil deep inside her. She nearly cried when he fell forward, changing the angle and hitting just right . He was so heavy, a radiator against her skin as he moved, forcing her to just take take take. All she can do is moan and cry for him to never stop.

“Daddy please, please,” she cried, trying to match his thrust with her hips. Until he leaned back just enough to look her in the eye, hips moving faster inside her. His eyes crazed, the sound of her sucking him in almost too much as she makes to grab at his face.

“What is it, malyshka? Tell daddy what you need, I’ll give it to you.”

“A kiss daddy, please?” She didn’t care that she was whining. She’d stared at his lips for too long, all day. The past month, watching as he spoke down to those who did wrong, desperate for his words to infect her space. A cry broke from her mouth, swallowed by his as he bent to give her just what she asked.

She almost didn’t realize that she was cumming, thought it was more that she was dying. His thumb pressed harshly against her clit as her body seized, clenching tightly around him. The kiss is broken then, his face buried into her neck as he whispers about her perfect her cunt was. How it was made for him, how good a little girl she was being.

His stuttering hips were the only warning she received before he came, holding tight to her. The warmth flowed deep into her, and she hisses, hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into the skin. She wondered briefly if her IUD would work, so much of his cum inside of her it felt like it was inevitable.

Their breaths mixed softly, slowly coming down. Her heart takes longer, beating nearly out of her chest as he laid on top of her, skin to skin. Her legs moved to trap him when he tried to pull out of her, not wanting to let the moment go. If it went, she’d have to sober up. She’d have to think about consequences, about what this meant. It’d change too much too fast, and she just needed it to stay this perfect for just a moment.

So they didn’t move, and she fell asleep in the warmth of his arms.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Day off

Team, should your work be in a good position to wait until Monday, feel free to take this Friday off as well. I will be offline to enjoy the weekend around town with loved ones, I suggest you do the same.

Aleksander.

#darklina

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ama-kuu · 3 years

Text

Alpha Hawks&Dabi X Omega Reader

You were walking back into the lobby of Hawks apartment building after making a quick snack run while he was at work. As an omega, since being claimed by Hawks and Dabi you rarely ever left the apartment on your own. More commonly being carried and flown by Hawks between their living spaces, it was easier to protect you that way. It wasn’t safe just yet to have everyone move in together since Dabi was a well known villain and constantly changing locations. Hawks kept one of his feather charms on both you and Dabi to be able to keep your little family together no matter the distances between you. Also making it easier to keep track of Dabi with him moving around so often.

As you moved through the lobby towards the elevator you noticed an unfamiliar male wandering around the room desperately trying to read a poorly drawn map. You weren’t far from your heat but felt pity for the male. He was far enough away that it was difficult to scent his secondary sex, if you keep this distance it you could probably help point him in the right direction without revealing that you were an omega. Even after being claimed, it was still dangerous for you to be out without either of your alphas at your side.

“Excuse me… Do you need any help with directions? You look lost?”

“Oh why yes, I’m sorry to trouble you, I’m looking for XXXXX apartment complex but I think I ended up at the wrong place” He perked up immediately, looking harmless.

“Oh yea, I know that place. It’s about 2 blocks down from here, large glass front doors you can’t miss.” You gestured in the direction and stepped back to the elevator buttons.

“Thank you so much little missy, there must be some way for me to return the favor.” He took a few steps forward, causing you to begin to panic. But there was no more space for you to step away with you back already against the wall.

You immediately declined his offer shrinking into yourself. “No it's fine, please…”

“No I insist, a coffee perhaps?” A few more steps and he stopped suddenly taking in a large breath. His pupils enlarge any you know you are in trouble! Fuck, he must be able to smell your heat.

The man lunges for you, reaching his arms out to latch onto your arm. You duck under him and race for the front doors. You don’t make it far before getting harshly yanked back. You yelp out loud, feeling your poor shoulder pop and strain against his rough treatment.

“NO! Let GO!” You twist and struggle against his grin on you. Your eyes begin to burn with tears as he grabs the collar of your shirt and shoves you down on the ground. The scent of your own distress chokes your senses, throwing you further into a state of panic. Thrashing and whimpering under him you scream for your alphas.

Your stomach lurches and bile rises up when the unfamiliar male forces his face down on your neck rubbing his filthy scent on you, his hands simultaneously pawing at your sex.

But in a second he is gone. Blasted back by a gust of a powerful wing. Thank god, your alpha must have been close by. Hawks was furious, crouching protectively over you with his wings widely spread out threatening the male. You were frozen in place, fear had seized your body and you were having trouble regaining control. Even with his reassuring presence

“Kei..” You whimpered. Slowly reaching up to him with trembling limbs.

Keigo reached down cradling you into his arms, he held your head to his neck allowing his scent to wash over you as he attempted to calm you down.

Keigo hushed and embraced your trembling form in his hold. He was seething, how dare that male even look at this omega! He was on the edge of giving into his anger when you spoke up.

“Please Kei, can we go… I.. I wanna be with both of my alphas.” Head buried into his jacket collar, inhaling his scent with undertones on Dabi.

Keigo took a deep breath to get better control of himself. Ready to rip the other male apart, but choosing to yield and soothe his terrified omega. “Shhh, it's gonna be okay baby bird.” He gently stroked the back of your head. Looking back at the frightened male, Hawks got a very good look at the man, taking in all the small details. He spun on his heels, holding you tighter to him as he took to the sky heading straight for Dabi.

Keigo knew you needed both of them right now, even with his embrace the tremors in your body persisted. He squeezed you tighter to him as he picked up speed, doing his best to protect you from the winds whipping around.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Keigo and you arrive at Dabi’s current run down apartment. Dabi could sense Hawks approaching fast with you. He stood suddenly to race to the windows, opening them up for Hawks to land.

Hawks’ boots connect hard with the floor, jostling you awake. Dabi quickly rushes over to you. “What the HELL happened?” His nostrils flare at the scent distress clouded around you. Quickly reaching to snatch you from Hawks’ arms.

Sensing your other alpha, you practically jump into his arms. Holding yourself against him, craving his scent to mingle with Keigo’s and erase the foreign male’s essence.

Dabi bristles at the unknown male he can smell all over you. A growl erupting from deep in his chest, “I SAID, what the HELL HAPPENED?!”. His anger redirected to Hawks standing a few steps away.

You visibly flinched from Dabi screaming at Keigo. Keigo was just as furious with himself that he wasn’t there for you to prevent it from happening at all. But seeing you become more distressed, the trembling getting worse with your alpha snarling at each other. Keigo slowly stalked up close to Dabi’s ear whispering something you couldn’t quite catch. Keigo’s wings surrounded everyone washing his calming scent throughout the room. Dabi’s shoulders relaxed.

Keigo was the next to speak up, “Dabi get Y/n into the shower, we can talk once they are taken care of”. A few feathers detaching to get the bathroom ready and lightly nudging Dabi towards that direction.

Dabi allowed the feathers to direct him as he breathed you in, using your scent to control his anger. You were safe now, he would make sure of that, both your alphas were here for you.

Keigo closed the window and then turned to follow after you and Dabi.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Dabi didn’t skip a beat, stripping both himself and you in an instance. Warm water washed over you as the shaking started to subside. Dabi gently nibbled on your neck, causing you to remember that your heat was nearly here. You groaned against him, your hands seductively running down his chest, slowing down to stoke the marred skin lined with piercings.

“Well well little mouse, what do we have here? Looks like your heat is happening ahead of schedule.” You wrapped your legs around his waist, his hard bulge rubbing against your rear. Dabi stepped forward to compress you against the bathroom wall. But to your surprise, it wasn’t the wall, instead the firm very naked body of Keigo.

Keigo’s hands embraced you from behind, purred into your ear, “ I guess you’ll be pretty busy for the next week.”

Dabi’s canines scraped against your skin, pulling a moan out of you. With the shower water washing away any and all evidence of the other male, your senses were now flooding with the pheromones being released from your alphas. You dropped your head back onto Keigo meeting his lips with your own as you lifted your hands up over your head to tangle into his damp blonde tresses.

You opened up for him allowing his tongue to tangle with your own. His hands rose up to grope and kneaded at your breasts. Dabi rutted against you, and bit down harder into your shoulder, causing you to whimper, only to be swallowed hungrily by Keigo.

Your heat was making it hard for you to think about anything other than the men embracing you. The shower steam wasn’t helping, your body felt like it was going to overheat, you broke from the kiss and began to pant. Keigo’s feathers rippled, sensing your discomfort and quickly shut the water off, pulling you from Dabi’s arms. Dabi growled at Keigo, Keigo unfazed blocked you from his view using his wings, taunting the other alpha. No words were exchanged as Keigo carried you to your shared bedroom.

You nuzzled into Keigo’s chest, listening to Dabi’s footsteps in tow. You were finally calm, your alphas here with you always.

#alpha hawks #alpha dabi #hawks x you #dabi x reader #keigo fluff smut #keigo.reader #hawksbnha #dabi x female reader #hawks x fem reader #keigo x you #keigo takami smut #alpha omega #heats and ruts #based on dream #dream journal #protective hawks #protective Keigo #dabihawks

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majestyeverlasting · 3 years

Note

Could you do prompts 43 and 47 with fatws!bucky x reader? Thank you 😊

♡ Sure! Thank you for sending this request in, I appreciate your patience! These are quite the compatible prompts, and I tried my best to approach them in the most unique way I could manage. To give a summary as to what happens: Bucky and the reader attend a banquet in Washington D.C., but it isn't until afterwards that things take a peculiar turn as the result of a forgotten tube of lipstick. There's lots of cute moments and a little bit of a scare (but that's nothing a nice soak won't be able to ease away). Enjoy!

♡ Prompt 43: "Let me help you."

♡ Prompt 47: "Please let me take care of you, you’re bleeding.”

Remember the Good Parts

All around, there was dancing, talking, and laughter. Formality had been abandoned so that inhibitions could be released. The banquet hall of the hotel seemed elegant enough to have been fit for kings and queens. The paneling of the walls were trimmed with gold and each of the round tables were dressed in white cloth, floral centerpieces sitting in the middle. Hanging above it all were the most beautiful chandeliers. The crystals adorning them sparkled as if they were stars stolen from the night sky.

The invitation had been addressed to both you, and Bucky. Upon opening it, you learned that The Smithsonian Institute wanted to express their gratitude to the donors and sponsors who had shown continued support over the years. Especially in light of the new exhibits coming to the National Air and Space Museum. The evening itself was intended to be a time of meaningful dialogue and celebration.

The two of you didn’t hesitate to RSVP. Not only would it make for a well-deserved weekend trip, but was an opportunity to venture back to D.C. after being away from quite some time.

What came as a pleasant surprise that night was the moment in which you managed to coax Bucky up to dance. Not one word of protest escaped him as you led the way to where others had congregated and were moving to the rhythm of the music. A more relaxed song had started flowing throughout the room as the festivities were drawing closer to an end. You wrapped your arms around his neck and smiled when he placed his hands on your waist, squeezing gently.

“This has been nice,” he said.

You nodded. “It has.”

Part of you still hadn’t gotten over the way he’d cleaned up for the occasion. The dark strands of his hair were getting longer, and he’d gelled them back lightly. And the all black suit he wore made his blue eyes appear even bolder. After the two of you had been swaying for a while, you spoke again, “You know what I think?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered to your lips. You wore a rich, burgundy lipstick that complemented your dress and complexion. “What?” He encouraged.

“We ought to take a nice, warm bath when we get back up to our suite,” you thought aloud. “The tub is worlds bigger than the one we have at home.” Your fingers had begun to gently scratch at the nape of his neck.

He hummed. “That already sounds like a dream.” Then he leaned in to kiss you. It was short and as tender as the music in the air.

The event eventually did wind to its end. A Smithsonian spokesperson went to the main podium and made closing remarks about the importance of living in a way worthy of being remembered. It earned her a hearty round of applause and a few high-pitched whistles. Minutes later, attendees were filing out of the hall in a steady flow, some turning around to capture a final picture of the grandeur space. You and Bucky left right along with them, arms locked.

Nobody else was in the hallway when the two of you exited the elevator onto your floor. It was a long, empty stretch lined with warm lights. Taking advantage of that, you paced a few steps ahead of him and did a twirl as you walked—in a sleek pair of block heels, no less. The bottom of your dress caught the air in a graceful flow. When you looked back at him over your shoulder, he was shaking his head but his eyes were filled with adoration.

The first thing you did upon entering the suiet was go sit on the bed to take your shoes off. But Bucky spoke up, “Let me help you, pretty girl.” So one at a time, you raised your legs for him and watched the careful way he unbuckled your heels.

You smiled when he finished. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

That’s when you noticed the faint hint of pigment that your lipstick had left behind on him. “Hey, lean in for a second, Buck.” He obliged without question. You were still sitting on the edge of the bed. “There’s some…” You ran your thumb over his lower lip a few times.

“Lipstick?” He finished.

“Yeah—I got most of it off,” you said.

“It's a nice shade on you, by the way,” he said. "Very classy."

“Isn't it? I bought it a few days ago.” You dug into your purse in search of the tube, but it was gone. “Uh-oh.”

Bucky had begun to take off his suit jacket. “What?”

“I think I set it on the table just before we left the banquet... When I was looking for the card to our room.” A huff of air passed through your lips. “It’s probably been thrown away by now.”

He was quiet for a beat. “Not necessarily,” he said as he walked to hang up the jacket. “I can run back down and see.”

“Do you mind?”

“It’s no trouble,” he assured. “I’ll be right back. And then we can get to that bath you proposed earlier.” The wink he shot you on the way out made you bite back a smile.

I'll be right back, you replayed his words. But it came to the point when he'd been gone longer than what seemed necessary. That prompted you to peek your head out the door. All you were met with was the same long hallway, but with three strangers strolling down it. More time passed, and you found yourself on the bed again, preparing to call him.

A gentle knock on the door broke the stillness.

Bucky stood on the other side, a slender cut running across his left cheek a short ways beneath his eye. It wasn’t too bad, but blood had been drawn nonetheless. Before you could make an exclamation capable of disturbing the other guests, he slipped past you to get into the suite. It wasn’t until the door was closed that you attempted to vocalize the mix of concern and confusion swirling within your mind.

“Bucky!” Your eyes followed him.

“M'fine, doll,” he insisted.

“What in the world happened?” His slight frustration was evident in the way he resumed undressing as if nothing had occurred. “Hold on, baby, wait. Seriously.”

Bucky froze and looked directly into your eyes. You decided to use an even softer tone. “Just… Please let me take care of you, you’re bleeding.” You hoped your gaze was conveying your sincerity. On your way to move closer to him, you grabbed a couple tissues and folded them. A soft exhale left him when you pressed them to the cut, gently applying pressure to stop the bleeding. Neither of you spoke for a while.

Finally, he said, “Two guys brought an outside scuffle into the lobby. Nobody else was stepping in to break it up so I did.”

You lowered the tissues from his face. Due to the accelerated healing rate of his body and the size of the wound, the bleeding had already begun to subside. “And you got cut in the process?”

He nodded. “One of them had something sharp. Didn't really catch what it was,” he recounted. “And I didn’t wanna hurt them, so I couldn’t just flat-out tear them apart from each other.” His voice was low as he continued to speak. “But I was able to get 'em to stop. Some security guards showed up after the fact.”

You shook your head, briefly stepping away to dispose of the tissues. “I wonder why they were fighting in the first place.”

Bucky moved to sit on the bed, shrugging. “I don’t know, but it turns out they know each other pretty well. Apparently they’d just come back from a bar.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

With a small smile on your face, you went to go stand between his legs, looking down at his handsome features. The red cut stood out. "I'm glad it wasn't worse. Are you gonna need Band-Aid or something?"

He chuckled. "I'll live—check this out, though." he dug into his pants pocket and pulled out your lipstick. "Mission accomplished."

"My hero," you teased as you took it from him. There was a comfortable silence for a few beats. "What a night, huh?"

Bucky ran his hands over your hips. "I say we seal it with a good soak and only remember the good parts."

A laugh bubbled up out of you. "Deal," you agreed, starting to undo the buttons of his shirt.

Thanks for reading! Masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan #winter soldier #tfaws bucky #fatws bucky #marvel #marvel fic #tfaws fic

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frostedfaves · 3 years

Text

Delicate

Masterlist

Pairing: Rosa Diaz x fem!reader

Summary: Rosa works a murder case to prove your innocence, inspired by this

Warnings: mentions of murder, infidelity, poorly written casework

A/N: I have only one wish: feedback on this bit of chaos here.

At this point in Rosa’s life, there were only three things that brought her memorable pain.

The first was being sent to juvie after snapping under the weight of her parents' expectations.

The second was being released from juvie and realizing the two people who’d played a part in her downfall no longer gave a shit about what happened to her.

The third was seeing you, sitting beside Boyle’s desk in handcuffs.

Of course, she didn’t let anyone see this as she attempted to make her way to her own desk undetected, but you wouldn’t--couldn’t--let her think you were a criminal.

“Rosa--”

“Detective Diaz,” she growled as she walked past with her head held high, surprising herself by restraining from hurting you when you grabbed a fistful of her jacket. “Let me go--”

“I was framed!” you cried out with tears filling your eyes as you raised them to meet hers. “Please. I know you don’t have to believe me, but I’m begging you. I’m the same person you’ve spoken to all these nights. I’ll tell you everything, just...please.”

Her stance was rigid as her mind focused on your fearful expression and the desperate way you clung to her, as if you knew the moment you let go, everything you’d had the last few months was over. Realizing everyone’s eyes were on the two of you as you stared each other down, she roughly pulled herself away to walk over to her desk and deposit her bag and helmet. Your hands dropped into your lap in defeat, only to rise again when Rosa pulled you to your feet by the piece of metal holding your wrists together and led you into an interrogation room.

“Talk,” she ordered once the door was closed and you were seated at the table.

“Early this morning, they found the body of one of the supervisors at my job. Apparently he was killed last night and one of my coworkers pointed the blame toward me, saying that I wanted his position and tried to force him to retire early.”

“You were with me last night. I mean, unless you killed the guy after our call.” She met your widened eyes and sighed. “Sorry.”

“I just don’t know what to do. I know it probably looks bad because I actually am up for a promotion, I had a meeting about it a few days ago. But I’d never kill anyone! I swear I wouldn’t, and I really hope that--”

“I believe you.” She slipped into the chair across from you and squeezed your hands briefly before pulling away again. “And not just because I want to believe that I’m not falling for some power-hungry murderer, but because I trust you not to lie to me.”

A soft smile formed on your lips but a knock sounded at the door before you could respond. You watched her stand and approach the door again to open it, growing nervous again when you saw one of the detectives that arrested you.

“Holt’s out today, so Sarge is running the briefing and he needs you there too. It’s about this case.”

“Fine.” She faced you again with her hand still holding the door open. “I’ll be back. Just breathe.”

Rosa followed Charles out of the room and down to the briefing room, cutting off any questions he began to ask with a sharp “no”. They were the last to arrive, everyone else seated and looking at Terry standing in front of a board holding some of the case details.

“I’m putting myself on this case,” she announced before anyone else could speak as she approached the board to read over everything.

“Don’t you think you’re too close to this, Rosa?” Charles questioned carefully, yelping at the expression she offered him in response. “I meant to say ‘welcome to the team’!”

“Boyle’s right, Diaz,” Terry spoke up next as she turned away from the board. “What was that in the bullpen?”

“Innocent until proven guilty.” She walked over to sit on one of the tables in front. “Go on.”

“Alright.” He looked down at the notes he’d obtained before entering the room. “So according to the medical examiner, the time of death is set around 9:17pm last night--”

“Y/N didn’t do it,” Rosa quickly interjected. “A camera in the lobby of her building will verify her entering a few minutes before then, and she doesn’t leave after that.”

“Rosa, I know you don’t want your friend to get in trouble, but this--”

“I was with her.” She took a deep breath to prepare herself for not only spilling the secret of her unconfirmed relationship, but to essentially come out as bisexual for the first time ever. “We were in the park together with our dogs and I walked her home after. I know it was 9:15 when we got there because the huge clock in her lobby said 10:15, and it’s been an hour ahead since Daylight Savings Time. I was at her door for a few minutes and when I was leaving, the clock said 10:20.”

“So how do you know she didn’t leave after that?” Jake questioned, causing her to sigh again.

“Because I’m a few blocks away from her and she Facetimed me when I sent her a text telling her I was home. She fell asleep on the phone.”

“Oh damn. You’re in love, girl,” Gina commented, a grin forming when all Rosa did was roll her eyes in response.

“Okay so she has an alibi, but we also have to rule out the possibility that she had an accomplice.” Terry sighed when Rosa gave him a threatening look. “Look, I want to believe she’s innocent too--”

“Then believe it.”

“--but we have to consider everything, Diaz. It looks pretty suspicious that the last person to see our victim alive also had a reason to want him gone.”

“How do you know she was the last to see him alive?” Rosa took the piece of paper Amy held out to her holding a witness statement, forcing herself not to overreact when she read that Y/N had been spotted talking to her supervisor next to his car. “This means nothing. Check into the person that gave this statement.”

“Rosa--”

“How do we even know she was the last person he saw? And that the person who ‘witnessed’ this didn’t just follow the vic home and kill him just to frame her? What, because of some camera footage and he said, she said?” Barely a moment of silence passed before Rosa spoke again. “Exactly. Santiago and Boyle, meet me downstairs. I’m driving.”

She dropped the witness statement on the table in front of Amy and stormed out, grabbing the keys to her squad car on her way back to the interrogation room you were waiting in. Your eyes snapped up from your hands when the door opened, relaxing slightly as Rosa entered the room.

“I’m going to be out for a bit trying to investigate more of the people involved, but you’ll be okay here.” She hesitated for a moment before approaching your side and leaning down to kiss you for the second time in 12 hours. “I love you.”

She was back out the door as quickly as she arrived.

Waiting to find out if you’d be charged with a murder you didn’t commit was hard. Being transitioned from the quiet calm of the interrogation room to the holding cell adjoining the chaotic bullpen was hard too, but at least your hands weren’t chained together anymore. You sat in the farthest corner and counted the minutes until they seemed to all blend together, and all you could focus on was the lingering feeling of warmth caused by Rosa’s lips on yours and her confession.

Having given up on your counting long ago, you weren’t sure how much time had passed when the door to the holding cell opened again. You were delighted to see Rosa again, but your hopeful expression shifted to confusion when you saw who she was leading in.

“Mrs. Fenderson?”

“Hi, Y/N.”

The woman spoke softly without meeting your eyes, moving to sit on a nearby bench when Rosa unlocked her cuffs. You eyed her curiously as Rosa gently grabbed your wrist and led you out of the cell, making sure it locked before bringing you over to her desk.

“Um, why is my supervisor’s wife--”

“She did it,” she told you as the two of you sat down. “Well, she had some help.”

You followed the direction she nodded in with your eyes, which widened when you saw a couple officers leading in the one person that accused you of being involved with everything. You watched as they led him to the holding cell too, only turning away when Rosa placed her hand over one of yours.

“How did you…? What?!” you asked, unable to fight off a bit of a smile when Rosa snorted.

“Mrs. Fenderson recently signed up her husband for a pretty hefty life insurance policy, and it didn’t take long to find out those two were boning. I got her to confess to everything while they tracked down her lover, who used the fact that you were up for the same promotion he wanted as a chance to frame you.”

“That’s so fucking crazy,” you responded in a breathless tone as you attempted to wrap your head around the situation for a second, giving up and bringing your free hand to rest on top of hers. “Thank you.”

“Innocent until proven guilty.” She shrugged nonchalantly as she stood, pulling you to your feet as well before you released her hand. “Anyway, it’s super late now and I know you haven’t eaten anything so let’s go.”

“Fine, but I’m paying,” you insisted as the two of you headed toward the elevator, laughing a bit as you remembered something. “As long as we can stop by my apartment first. They don’t exactly let you bring your phone and wallet when you’re arrested for murder.”

“You can pay next time,” she told you with a snort, quickly adding “if I let you.”

The elevator ride passed along silently, and it wasn’t long before you were headed down the street to a 24 hour diner that you’d mentioned to Rosa last night. You waited until you were seated and food was ordered before starting a conversation.

“About what you said earlier,” you began with your gaze locked on the straw wrapper you were toying with, completely missing Rosa’s panicked expression.

“Look, we can just forget I said anything.”

“No!” You lowered your voice after noticing a few wary glances, turning back to Rosa and pulling her hands into yours. “I don’t want to forget it, but I was hoping to say it first.”

“You love me too?”

“I do.” You squeezed her fingers with a grin. “I love you, Rosa, and I love Arlo for giving me an excuse to keep seeing his mom, because I sure as hell would’ve been too nervous to come up with one on my own.”

Expecting Rosa to be too uncomfortable with PDA, you pulled her hands closer to drop a kiss on her knuckles, pleasantly surprised when she pulled away to hold your jaw in place, leaning forward to press her lips to yours.

Tags: @gaulty74 @creepingwolfberry @rosadiazswifey @xetherealbeautyx @milkfromhell

#rosa diaz #rosa diaz imagine #rosa diaz x reader #rosa diaz x fem!reader #rosa diaz x you #brooklyn 99 #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn nine nine imagine #brooklyn nine nine x reader #b99 fanfic #b99 fic #b99 #b99 x reader #b99 x fem!reader #b99 x you

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dickgrcyscns · 3 years

Text

Snowfall

Snowfall, John Carter x Female!Reader.

Summary: In which keeping a marriage secret is really difficult. Especially when the both of you are bad at secrets and it's been months of you working around everyone.

Set During: Season One

Word Count: 2,169 words

Gif used not mine!

Life was full of surprises, you had learned that pretty quickly in the emergency room. And you learned early on to take advantage of the breaks you were given, whether that be due to the weather or because one of the residents (and sometimes an attending) told you to take one. This time around it was for a reason a bit more exciting. You couldn’t help the giddy feeling that the snow elicited in you, after all you had grown up in Chicago and spent hundreds of days playing out in the snow. Staring out the window, listening to the quiet hums of the emergency room with no patients, you thought back to the days you would spend out in the snow. Often you found yourself at the Carter family home, running around in the snow with John as his grandmother stood by the window watching you guys play. It was in the snow that you realized your feelings for him. You were fourteen, rolling around in the snow after he had tackled you down to the ground. Your faces were inches apart and for a split second a part of you wanted to close the distance, press your lips against his own. But some part of you stopped that from happening then.

And looking back at it, that was one of your biggest regrets. You wished you had taken control earlier than when you did. Nothing could change anything, although, and at least you ended up with him in the end. Of course, you still kicked yourself for falling in love with your best friend. Especially since you had promised yourself that you would never do such a thing. (Then again, who didn’t make promises to themselves that would eventually fall through). Now that you two have been together since you were eighteen, and married for just over two years, everything else seemed small. All of the moments of what could have been seem minuscule in comparison to you guys actually being together.

“Y/l/n?” You turned your head away from the window, smiling at Susan who had called out your name. “We just pulled a prank on Carter and we’re about to have him find out, so if you want to come and watch.”

“I would love to do nothing more than watch this.” Standing up, you walked into the admit area and stood next to Lydia. “What did you do to him?”

“Just something fun,” Mark smiled. “You’re lucky you weren’t sleeping.”

“Sleep is for the weak,” you mumbled, waving your hand in the air. “Let’s get on with the show.”

Mark grabbed the intercom from behind him, holding it for a few seconds before he pressed the button. He let out a short laugh before speaking into it, “Doctor Carter stat trauma one, Doctor Carter stat trauma one.”

You leaned onto the counter, arms resting and holding most of your body weight as noises came out from exam room four. A smile formed on your lips when the door opened abruptly, John tumbling out from behind it with a cast on his leg. Laughing, you brought one of your hands up to cover your mouth as John walked closer to everyone standing in the room. He pointed a finger between everyone, a smile playing on his lips as he accused all of you for the cast. The finger landed on you, which made you scoff in response. “Y/n,” John said softly, “did you do this to me?”

You blinked. “No.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“I have better things to be doing,” you shrugged. “The cast is cute though, I suggest you keep it.”

“I hate you,” John mumbled, shaking his head. “I’m guessing it was you two then?” He pointed at Susan and Mark who shared a playful look. “Can someone please take it off?”

“I agree with Y/l/n’s statement, it looks cute,” Mark smiled, patting your shoulder. “I’m not taking it off.”

“Neither am I.” Susan grabbed her mug of coffee from the admit desk, walking back to the lounge. “Have fun with that Carter!”

“Thanks!” John screamed out sarcastically, watching as everyone but you walked away from the area as if nothing was wrong. Your care-free persona shifted almost immediately, allowing your soft side to show as you looked over John’s expression. “So now you want to be sweet?”

“I can’t act normal around you,” you felt your cheeks heat up. “They would catch on.”

“And if they did?”

“I’m not sure.” Biting at your tongue, you smiled a little. You reached out to touch his cheek for a fleeting moment, quickly pulling it back before anyone around could see you two. “I would really love to kiss you right now, though.”

“Me too.”

“Snow days just remind me of when we were younger and I would come over to your grandmothers house,” you smiled softly, a chuckle leaving John’s lips. “Do you not remember?”

“Oh no, I do. You would drop by around eight in the morning,” John sat down, angrily tapping on the cast. “That time was when my grandmother was awake and I was still asleep, so you’d spend time with gamma and talk to her. But you were always there when I woke up, effortlessly beautiful. It was unfair, really.”

You leaned down, looking to make sure no one could see you before whispering in his ear, “You know, I always wanted to kiss you in the snow.”

“In the snow?” John mumbled back. “It’s a good things there's a lot of that going around.”

“Do you think they would notice if we just, I don't know, went missing?”

“Probably so,” John pursed his lips, a nod falling from his head. “Seems worth the risk though.”

“It wouldn’t kill us if they found out,” you shrugged innocently. “I mean, I’d just be kissing my husband. It’s not like we have any patients to worry about.”

“Other than myself.”

“Right, sorry. Other than John Carter who is stuck in a cast he doesn't need.”

“No one from the outside knows that,” John stood up. “For all they know, I’m injured.”

You rolled your eyes, walking towards the doors to the ambulance bay. John followed after you, smiling at the sight of the snow falling to the ground. When the cold air enveloped you, you took in a slight breath. Hugging your jacket closer to your body, you looked up at the sky. It was the kind of weather people expected in Chicago, cold and snowy. This time it had the added bonus of being December, which meant there was the possibility for a white Christmas. You loved it when it snowed at Christmas time, it just made the season feel right. John stood beside you, one of his arms resting lightly against your waist. Neither one of you moved to find a remote space, which meant neither one of you were necessarily trying to hide the relationship from the people inside. In fact, if you cared enough you probably would have noticed their faces in the windows of the lobby and the lounge.

“You know,” John mumbled into your ear, “this would be a lot more fun if we kissed right now.”

“I can think of things more fun than kissing,” you smiled, turning so your body faced his. “Too bad we’re at work right now.”

“So that's how this is going to go?”

“How?”

“With you teasing me.”

“Sure seems like it,” you nodded, a playful smirk on your lips. “I love you, did you know that?”

“Surprisingly, I don’t think I did. Did you know that I love you as well?”

“Can’t say I was aware of that fact.”

“Strange how that happens.”

“Quite.”

“Are we just going to do this until I kiss you?” John questioned as your lips came closer to each others.

“I could do this all day,” you whispered against his lips.

“I know you could,” he whispered against yours.

“Just kiss me.”

“Say no more.”

John quickly pressed his lips to yours, hands coming to cup your cheeks. You wrapped your arms around his neck, curving your body into his. When you two broke apart, you took a few seconds to open your eyes. You were content with everything in that moment. The kiss, the smile on your lips, your husband, and especially the snow that continued to fall around you. When you opened your eyes, you were met with John’s brown doe eyes staring at you. He had a boyish grin stuck on his lips as he pulled you in for another kiss and then another and then another.

“They’re bound to know now,” you laughed, pulling your arms away from his neck. “At least, they know something. We could keep the fact that we’re married away from them if you want.”

“If we don’t tell them, it’ll keep them guessing.”

“But if we do tell them, we could probably kiss more often while here.”

“This is why you’re the smarter one of the two of us.”

“I’m not surprised,” You began to pull off your coat as you walked in the doors. “I mean, I’m me and you’re you. Of course I’m the smart one.”

“I know that I said that, but it still hurts.”

“Says the one who didn’t wake up when Doctor Greene and Doctor Lewis were putting a cast on your leg,” You laughed, walking into the lounge and putting your coat in your locker. Mark and Susan shared a look, a smirk on their lips.

“So,” Mark drawled out, a brow raised. “Anything you’d like to tell us?”

“The snow is pretty,” you smiled innocently, putting your stethoscope around your neck. “Don’t you agree John?”

“Definitely, it’s very pretty,” John nodded in response. “I just love when there’s snow outside.”

“Me too.”

“Reminds me of being a kid.”

“And when we would just terrorize your parents until they yelled at us to get out,” you mumbled, pushing at John’s shoulder as the four of you walked out to the admit desk. “God, your dad hated me.”

“Your dad didn’t like me much more,” John retorted. “He really hated me after we started to date.” Your face dropped a little, a smile forming on your lips when everyone in the admit area turned towards you two. His eyes went wide for a moment as he realized what he just said. You let out a slight laugh as Carol walked into the room.

“Did you just say,” Haleh smiled, pointing a finger between you and John. “Date?”

“I,” John stumbled on his words, making you shake your head.

“John and I are married,” you shrugged, trying to divert any attention away from it. “Nothing too abnormal going on here. So, how are you guys doing?”

“Married?” Carol blinked a few times, her eyebrows drawing together as she looked between you two.

“We’ve been together since we were eighteen,” John smiled. “We got married at twenty-one.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone here?” Susan leaned back on the desk, a laugh leaving her lips. “I always thought you two had something going on though. The longing glances were getting old.”

“Personally, I thought it was cute,” Haleh laughed, shaking her head. “Carter’s puppy dog eyes were really the selling point.”

“It was Y/n’s pout that tugged at my heart,” Lydia popped in, making your cheeks flame. “Seriously, all she had to do was jut out her bottom lip and Carter would do anything she wanted.”

“We should have realized this a while ago,” Connie laughed.

"Don’t hold it against yourselves. Honestly, we should have told everyone from the get-go. It’s not like it changes everything for us.”

“You two are cute together,” Carol smiled, placing a hand on your shoulder. She paused, turning back towards you with a wide grin. “Can we see your ring?”

“What?”

“Your ring, can we see it? You don’t wear it on your finger.” Carol grabbed at your hand, holding it in front of your own face.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” You grabbed at the chain around your neck, unclasping it so you could take your rings off of it. Sliding them on, you smiled a little at them. Your engagement ring was his great-grandmothers, you always found yourself staring at it. Each time you found something new about it: a different knick on the metal on the ring. Each time you often wondered about how it got there. Carol took hold of your hand again once the rings were on it, eyes wide and a smile growing.

“How’d you afford this Carter?”

“Family heirloom,” John mumbled, running his hand across the back of his neck. “I definitely wouldn’t be able to afford a diamond that large.”

You bit back a laugh (because the both of you could buy hundreds of diamonds that size if you wanted to), “Not at all.”

At least the snowfall did one good thing (other than stopping the E.R. from constant use), you and John didn’t have to hide anymore.

#john carter #John Carter x reader #John Carter imagine #John Carter er #susan lewis #mark greene #Doug ross #Carol Hathaway #emergency room #e.r.#nbc er

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

Text

The Oncoming Storm Part 17: Blackout

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Oh no, you made things complicated. Lol. I'm having more fun writing Kung Lao than should be allowed. Hopefully you guys enjoy! And yes, I know this is tropey but I also don't care LOL, it's a fun trope.

Part 16 Part 18 Chapter Index

The hotel was surprisingly crowded. You weren’t sure what you’d expected but you hadn’t expected it to be bustling with tourists. There was a festival happening, you should have expected this. A bit outdated, the hotel was still clean and inviting. A welcome reprieve from the stone walls of Raiden’s Temple. You’d arrived early and still had to wait in line. Raiden had ‘transported’ you there which had been a wild experience in and of itself. You’d walked into a bolt of lightning and had come out in a quiet alley unseen.

It had been so long since you’d walked amongst the average civilian that it felt straight up bizarre to be walking along the streets of the modest city, especially in your hanfu. It was all you’d had, after all. No one looked at you twice other than to greet you politely. Most of the other folks staying at the hotel for the festival were couples on a romantic getaway which had made it instantly weird to be waiting in line with Kung Lao to check into your respective rooms.

Thankfully, the line moved quickly and once you’d checked in, you dropped off the few belongings you’d brought with you. The room was tiny with a single bed, a desk taking up nearly the rest of the room. Atop the desk was a television and beneath that was an old, ancient mini fridge. It would do well enough. This was the most technology you’d seen in weeks. Afterwards, you’d found Kung Lao and told him that you would meet him in an hour. You’d made note of a clothing store down the road and wanted to see if there was anything worth buying.

He, of course, decided to join you. No one trusted you alone anymore. He didn’t say it like that, but you knew that Raiden had told both him and Liu to keep an eye on you. You felt like a ticking time bomb.

Once at the shop you were disappointed to find that it sold mostly yukatas and kimonos. You supposed it was better than the flowy hanfu. At least you could pick out something that would be your own rather than something that had been handed to you.

Boy, you missed the internet.

You picked out a few pieces that you could work with a bit easier. Most of the hanfu were dresses or long flowy robes. Here you’d been able to find a few women’s kimonos that had hakama pants as an option. You had never been so excited to see pants in your life. You didn’t need the whole kimono, just the pants. Some constricted around the ankles while others were left open. You grabbed both and were extremely pleased.

“Sometimes, you’re a very simple woman.” Kung Lao had patted you on the back when you’d showed him the pants in excitement. You had to agree. In that moment you were very simple. Pants had brought you joy. You’d wandered away from him after that to find a few tops, belts, and jackets. Thankfully, you’d had your wallet on you when this had all begun so you had some money on you. In Raiden’s Temple, money hadn’t been necessary, so you were happy to spend it on the few things you did need.

They weren’t jeans and a t-shirt or even cute dresses, but it felt like a step in the right direction toward feeling like yourself again. You hadn’t realized how much it had bothered you until then.

Kung Lao had purchased just enough for the day in flattering red and black. That seemed to be his aesthetic though you could picture him in blues too for some reason. Then you made your way back to the hotel and to your rooms on the top floor. You had gotten rooms next to each other. You went to get changed and were happy with what you saw even in the half mirror on the desk. You stood on the bed to get a better look. Black hakama pants and a grayish-lavender and black top with a white sash tied around your middle. You then pulled your hair back in a ponytail and admired yourself in the mirror. Even though your hair was a mess you looked much more like yourself.

Your white roots had grown out a couple of inches now. It didn’t look bad, but it definitely didn’t look like it was on purpose either.

Oh well! You jumped off the bed and then left the room to find Kung Lao waiting for you, leaned against the wall next to your door. He had one foot propped against the wall, arms folded across his chest, hat obscuring his face as it often did. The clothing he’d bought wasn’t too terribly different from what he usually wore with the notable exception that he had sleeves which was truly a shame. He tilted his head up just enough to greet you before stepping away from the wall. You hadn’t left him waiting that long and yet he acted as though he’d been there for ages.

You noticed the jade ring from his usual outfit was woven into his outfit with the sash around his waist laced through it. It was kind of sweet that he always seemed to have it on him.

“Is that significant in some way? Special?” You asked, gesturing to the ring. He looked down at the ring in surprise and then nodded down the hall. You walked slowly through the hotel toward the stairwell.

“It’s a relic from my ancestor, the Great Kung Lao.”

“Oh, wow. About that, though… I’ve heard people mention him, but I had never heard the name before you. I know that he’s of some importance which has made you important…”

“I am incredibly important, thank you.”

“Yes, very. Keep talking.”

“He was the first champion of Mortal Kombat who had come from the Shaolin Order of Light. He defeated Shang Tsung and won the tournament.” Kung Lao seemed as though he had told this story a hundred times but was still proud to tell it. It was oddly sweet. “He was champion of Earthrealm for fifty years before the tournament was corrupted and he was killed. Even so, he is held in great reverence. He was a remarkable warrior.”

“Is that why you have a dragon mark?”

“Yes, that is why I have the mark. It’s also why I was sent away so young. I’d already been training long before I’d met you. When I left it was because it was time for me to go live at the temple.”

You stopped walking before the stairs and he stopped just in front of you and turned to face you. “Then why were you so bad when we would pretend to fight?”

“I held back. I wanted you to have fun too. Besides, it felt nice to be normal back then.” He laughed and you caught up to him and started down the stairs. “I was thinking that we should come up with a story as to why we’re here.”

“Should we?”

“Obviously. We need a reason to be here.”

“Other than the reason we actually have?”

“And when a bunch of strangers ask you why we’re here, are you going to tell them the real reason we’re here?”

“Point taken.”

“We need a cover.”

“Do we really though? I don’t remember ever having to justify my actions that intensely to strangers before. We can just be visiting.” You jumped down the last two stairs to the landing between flights. Pants felt great. Kung Lao seemed to either be overthinking your trip or grasping at straws to get to some end point. Or he was going to cause trouble. You would never forget the look that both Raiden and Liu had given him on their way out.

“I’ve been asked three times what brings me to Mount Osore during the festival. I came up with a lie on the spot but I’m no terribly proud of it or anything.”

“And what is this lie you came up with?”

“I said I was here on a date. Everyone else seems to be here on a date, so it was the first thing that jumped to mind.”

You rolled your eyes at him and he laughed in surprise, waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. You caught up to him. “Really, Kung Lao?”

“What? It’s the first thing I could think of! The people asking me were on a date and so I stuttered that I was too.”

“Kung Lao, no.”

“Come on, Y/N.”

“Can’t we just say we’re visiting and that it’s no one’s business?” You walked into the lobby and he hurried in front of you and took your hands, clasping them between his. You sighed. “Would you…” The lobby was very crowded.

“I hate you so much right now.”

“Would you,” he continued, talking over you, “do me the honor of going on a cute little pretend date with me so that we can sneak into an ancient Buddhist Temple built within the caldera of a volcano so that we can uncover an ancient and possibly cursed artifact together?” You stared at him in disbelief, but it was taking every ounce of your energy not to burst into laughter. He was such a dork. “I will get down on my knees and ask you again if you don’t answer me.” He got down on his knees and you broke. Laughing, you pulled your hands free, grabbed his arms and tugged.

“Oh my god, get up, Kung Lao.”

“It’s a great cover, Y/N.”

“It is an exactly okay cover. But fine. I haven’t done something terribly embarrassing in a while, so I guess I’m overdue for this.” You agreed at least. He was right. It was a good cover considering this whole place was filled with couples. Besides, if it got Kung Lao to drop the subject then you would be happy to agree. The whole display had made your cheeks burn.

“Embarrassing, huh? Come on, Y/N. It’s not such a bad thing, is it? Could be worse looking guys to end up with, right?” He walked at your side again, making a teasing kissy face and leaning close to you. You leaned away with an awkward and nervous laugh.

“If you keep doing things like that then you are going to get smacked.”

“Worth it.” He held the door open for you and together you left the hotel. Outside a bus waited to take tourists to the shrine for the festival. People were already loading onto it. Kung Lao offered you his hand and you looked to him skeptically. He grabbed your hand anyway and then you walked onto the bus. “You’re going to have to get better at pretending.” You found seats near the back of the bus and even as you sat, he didn’t let go of your hand. You felt incredibly silly. Yet, it also made your heart flutter. As much as you had given him a hard time, you also happened to think it was an incredibly sweet and kind of wholesome idea.

Funny enough, you had thought of this moment before but in a much different context. Maybe in a life where your childhood together hadn’t ended so traumatically. Where you’d stayed close friends and he’d have asked you out when you were old enough. In a way, you felt like a silly schoolgirl, something you hadn’t felt in years.

If he hadn’t died then this was exactly where you would have wound up. Somehow that made you feel much less silly and you finally relaxed. Kung Lao pointed out several interesting things on the side of the road through the window and you listened to him chatter on until the bus was pulling up to the shrine. You waited for the others to get off the bus and then you walked ahead of Kung Lao and stepped off it.

The shrine was huge and it took your breath away.

So much so that it made you dizzy.

A river flowed before you then beneath a red bridge. To the left of the bridge there was a white beach lining the bluest and most artificial-looking water that you had ever seen in your life. Rocks were piled alongside the shore in strange formations. Beyond the bridge there was a stone path that led to the shrine in the distance, and it was lined with old lanterns. You walked to the edge of the stone path where the bus had dropped you off to try and get a better look at the water.

That was a teal color you had never seen before in nature. In your mind’s eye, you recalled your vision and it made your stomach drop. You took a step further and were suddenly grasped around the waist and pulled away from the edge of the stone. Then Kung Lao looped his arm in yours. “You looking to take a dip?”

You hadn’t realized that you had almost walked right into the river. You hadn’t been thinking. The water had bewitched you, it seemed. You needed to get a closer look at it but now that you’d been turned away from it, the feeling had gone. From there you could smell the acidity in the humid air. That was likely why it was so blue. “Pay more attention, okay?”

You weren’t sure what to say to him. It was surreal being there. This place was exactly the same as it had been in your vision but also years, possibly centuries had passed since then. The shrine buildings themselves were much larger than they had been then. They were even a different color. Your head was spinning as you tried to take in everything at once. It was an overload. You grabbed Kung Lao’s arm to try and ground yourself. You felt as though you were floating and the wind would take you away.

Kung Lao led you onto the bridge and at its apex you sat and watched the water trickle beneath it. He helped you lean your elbows against the railing and then placed a supportive hand on your back.

“It’s okay. Take a second.” He seemed to realize that you were having a difficult time. How could you explain that you were struggling to wrap your mind around being in a place where you’d had such a vivid and violent vision? You were grateful for him. Your heart was racing and you watched the water flowing beneath the bridge, over the rocks. Your stomach had dropped. It felt as though you were intimately familiar with this place, as though you had spent years there, but you had never once seen it before. At the same time, everything felt completely new. Your brain was waging war with itself. “You okay?”

“Yeah, this is just… surreal.” You were finally able to collect your thoughts enough to talk.

“You went a bit gray. Figured you needed a minute.”

“I appreciate it.”

“So, where do we go?”

“There’s a well inside one of those buildings.” You nodded to your right where the shrine was at the end of the stone path.

“Vague, but okay.” He peered to the right and then pointed. “It’s off limits.” From there you could see a series of ropes that blocked off the building from visitors. “Great.”

“It’s crowded enough here. I’m sure we can sneak in just fine.”

“Of course.” He leaned next to you on his forearms, hands clasped together. “This place is a little spooky.”

“It is. I read a brochure from the hotel lobby. The monks here believe that it’s the gateway to hell. The river beneath us is supposed to represent the Sanzu.” You pointed below you. It was a little spooky, you supposed, but it was also incredibly beautiful.

“I read about that. I also read that there are holy water bathhouses and volcanic cauldrons with crazy colored water.”

“Yeah, and a lake of blood.”

“I hate that, Y/N.” He stuck his tongue out at the idea. You laughed. He was too funny. He had this way of making you feel at least even about the big and often uncomfortable things sometimes. Other times he drove your anxiety through the roof. Thankfully, this wasn’t one of those moments. “What do you say that we get to sneaking in and find this thing so that we can have a bit of fun for the rest of the day, huh?”

“That sounds nice.”

He took your hand once again and you walked over the bridge and along the stone path. The lanterns were decorated for the festival along with the rest of the shrine. Monks walked about, greeting visitors and answering questions while explaining various attractions. Most visitors, and there were many, were straying from the temple in favor of the white sands or the volcanic cauldrons. You and Kung Lao walked until you reached the ropes before the shrine. You stood there for a time in the shade, waiting for your moment to sneak in unseen.

“Coast is clear,” you whispered and turned to keep watch while Kung Lao snuck into the shrine. Once inside, you waited for your opportunity and followed him. Inside, the building was ancient but to you it seemed oddly brand new. It wasn’t the same shrine that you remembered from your vision. Much had changed since that wicked man had been there.

No one was waiting for you inside the small entryway or in the room beyond. That seemed like the central room, with space for prayer and a dip in the center for dining. The floor was lined with tatami mats and the ceiling was high, windows on the second floor spattering sunlight throughout the room. Halls branched off in each direction and you suddenly felt overwhelmed with choice. It had seemed so much simpler in your vision.

“Lead the way but be cautious. We’re not alone.” Kung Lao spoke in a hushed tone, staying close to you but alert.

“Yeah.” You started through the room and down the closest hallway, checking to see if it was empty first. Kung Lao took your hand and you urged him along with you. Your stomach was in knots and his hand there continued to keep you grounded. Several times you encountered monks going about their business and you had to duck into other rooms or sneak back around corners. You somehow managed to remain unseen, having to huddle together in strange spaces and hide in enclosed areas. It would have been fun had it not been so damn frustrating.

None of it made sense! As you turned down another hall, you sighed in frustration. You’d wound up there twice already. Your gut kept sending you there and back to the central room but there was no indication that it was the same place that the vision had taken place in. Kung Lao suddenly pulled you back into the side room and held you against the wall near the door. There were footsteps in the hall, and you held your breath until they had passed. You made to go back into the hall, but Kung Lao pinned you in place.

“You’re leading us in circles.”

“I know. It’s hard to explain. It’s like someone’s moving everything around while we’re walking. It doesn’t make any sense. I think I’m going one way and then we’re back to where we started.” It was making you sick to your stomach, as a matter of fact.

“You can do this. Just focus.”

“Kung Lao, you have no idea what’s going on in my head right now. I am focusing.”

“You’re right I don’t. So, tell me.”

“I’m not sure that I have the words to explain that the room we’re looking for should be right around the corner but then it isn’t.” It really was disorienting to expect to be in one place and end up in another. “It shouldn’t have been this far back but also this place is ten times bigger than it had been in my vision.”

“I need you to try still.”

You were mixed up. It was like someone was moving rooms in your head and before you knew it, you had once again led him back into the central room which made both you and Kung Lao groan in annoyance.

“Oh good. We’re back. I was worried.”

“It should be right here, but everything looks so different!”

“It’s okay, Y/N. We’ll figure it out.”

“It’s not okay, Kung Lao. It should be right here. I wish I could just show you.” The frustration was radiating off you, you were sure. “I can’t-”

“Is someone there?” A voice from somewhere down the hall called and footsteps approached from a distance.

“Fu…” Kung Lao whispered and then grabbed you and searched for somewhere to hide. The closest hall was too far. You were caught. “Don’t panic.” He urged you to the wall with surprising care and you made a sound of surprise. What did he mean don’t panic? You were instantly panicking. Don’t panic? What was wrong with him? He leaned against you and tilted your chin up and his head toward you like he was going to kiss you, obscuring you both with his hat. “Act natural, Y/N.” His lips brushed against your cheek, just next to your lips. “I swear, you’re terrible at this.” You were stiff as a board, so he had every right to scold you, but also he was pretending to kiss you so what the hell were you supposed to do with that? What was natural in this case?

You gave him a swift but soft punch in the gut and he laughed against your cheek in return. That made you feel a bit better. He lifted his head just enough and you peered toward the door nearby, waiting for the monk that would inevitably kick you out. You could have had time to hide at this rate. Kung Lao’s lips were pressed against your cheek and they were soft even if it was just in a mock kiss close enough to your lips to look like you were sneaking a private moment.

You peered around the corner, thinking maybe you were in the clear. Kung Lao did the same and when you turned back to tell him that maybe the monk had decided to turn away, you found him extremely close to you. Intimately so. His dark eyes were serious and that always scared you for whatever reason. He tilted your chin toward him and all other thoughts slipped out of your brain.

What were you doing there? Where were you anyway? And why? Did it matter?

Not right now it didn’t.

His hand was on your chin, thumb brushing just below your lip, urging your lips to part just enough. You dared not breathe to break the tension of the moment. The sneaking and searching were gone completely from your thoughts. All that was left was the boy that you’d so admired in your youth grown into a handsome man with his hand against the wall at your side, the other inextricably lost below your lower lip.

His eyes were searching you, but you dared not look back into them for fear of what you might find, for fear of what it might reveal to you. His breath warmed your lips before they were on yours, parting them like a blossom in a soft and singular tender movement. A far superior kiss than the one he’d pretended to give you for the sake of saving your skin.

His lips were sweet. Not like sugar or candy, but sweet like the lingering taste of honey at the bottom of a cup of tea. It was a feeling of sweetness rather than a flavor. The moment was still and soft, his lips treasuring yours as though they were something sacred and special. They pulled back just enough from yours that you could feel your lips resisting to part as if they had minds of their own. His eyes were searching you still for answers and in wonder, but you didn’t dare meet them. Yet, you could feel his gaze and beneath your fingertips, that had betrayed you and now rested on his chest, you could feel his heart beating almost as hard as yours.

His breath graced your lips again, but you dared not breathe. You wanted to say something, even just a whisper of his name, but no words would come and you sat there, lips parted in waiting, avoiding his eyes, hand clutching the cloth at his chest, unsure of where you even were or why. This was Kung Lao.

Your Kung Lao.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as they were on yours again, but the softness was gone, though there was something about them that was still sweet even so. The force of his kiss pressed you against the wall, leaving you no escape- not that you wanted to escape. This was a moment that the ten-year-old inside your head had both longed for and not understood. You would have been a fool not to return his kiss, to taste and experience his lips the way that he was with yours and so you did. You kissed him and it was like a storm inside you beyond your control, building with electricity with every moment that passed.

There was a tender moment of acceptance where it felt as though time stood still. The soft moment faded quickly to frenzied desperation. There was no space left between you. Kung Lao was pressed against you, body warm and strong, hat nearly pushed back off of his head as he favored kisses over his possessions. Your hands moved up his chest, to the sides of his neck, fingertips then tangling in the short, messy tendrils of his hair at the base of his hairline. Your heart was doing flips, brain completely turned off to anything that had happened before this, even if somewhere in the distant reaches of your mind you could hear your instincts telling you that you had to stop. Whatever muting effect had been triggered in your brain had seemed to impact Kung Lao as well.

In one swift motion, fluid and strong, his hands were at your thighs and he had lifted you and pressed you against the wall, urging your legs to wrap around him. Your arms slipped naturally around his shoulders, pulling him closer between hot and increasingly sloppy kisses.

“Excuse me?”

Ah, yes. The monk. That was right.

You stopped kissing him.

Kung Lao’s lips finally pulled from yours and you could feel that your own were left slightly swollen from the desperation and passion of those precious few moments. When had you gotten so tangled up in each other? His chest was rising and falling against yours quickly and even though he’d pulled back his lips lingered close to yours as if to consider defying the monk further.

“My apologies.” The monk sounded embarrassed and bowed multiple times. “This area is closed to the public for the festival.”

You finally managed to regain your thoughts and untangled yourself from Kung Lao. You placed your feet on the ground and cleared your throat though your face was likely as red as his robes. He released you from his grip though he made no effort to step away. You swallowed the lump in the back of your throat and forced your brain to work.

“Is it?” You sounded surprised and were grateful that you had. You hadn’t expected to be a very good actor after all that, but you had been surprised to be interrupted and also confused as to where your mind had gone. It was more feigning innocence than lying. The monk nodded and looked as though he sincerely felt bad for interrupting you. “I’m sorry. We had no idea.”

“It’s no worries. I will happily escort you back to the festivities. Follow me.”

“Sorry about that.” Kung Lao, who you had never seen at a loss for words, seemed to finally regain himself. Just like that, he was back to the goof he’d been when you’d first arrived. “We were just sneaking off to have a private moment. Didn’t realize it was off limits.”

“It happens all the time. You’d be surprised.” The monk led you back through the central room and into the entryway. You elbowed Kung Lao as you followed the monk and he laughed beneath his breath. Once outside the monk bowed to you and then left you alone. You leaned your head back and stared into the sunny blue sky with a sigh. You needed a new plan. That one had gone off the rails in a way you hadn’t expected.

#kung lao #mk kung lao #kung lao x reader #liu kang x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #kiss #romance #fluff #mortal kombat 2021 #mortal kombat movie #kung lao x you #kung lao/reader #kung lao/you #max huang #ludi lin #angst

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prettyboybarzal · 4 years

Text

Dancing with Our Hands Tied

Pairing: Pierre Luc Dubois x Reader

A/N: this is a multi-part fic for PLD!!! we all simped over him for a hot minute and i decided to capitalize on it because i mean......... look at him. so, enjoy a little enemies to lovers trope w/ one of my favorite frenchmen. PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!! and thank you to @bandgirlsclub for all the help w/ my lil writers block. love u bb. she elevated my dialogue so much. if you don’t follow her, please go follow her now. and then enjoy chapter one!

Word Count: 2.6k

Masterlist // Next Chapter

Pierre didn’t like you because you didn’t like him and no one disliked Pierre Luc Dubois, especially in the city of Columbus. He was a legend. He was the star player, the future of the Blue Jackets. Everyone loved him, except you, so he hated you.

The feud started during his rookie season. He marched into the city of Columbus with his shoulders squared, his head held high, and his ego the size of Nationwide Arena itself. On his very first night out with your friend group, he’d gotten you kicked from a club after starting a fight and then poured his entire drink down your back as you waited for Ubers on the curb.

Out of frustration, you ended up foregoing the car to walk home, despite the protests that came from the other boys. And Pierre laughed as you walked away, amused by the liquid stain on the back of your favorite going out shirt.

No apology ever came, and that was a wrap on any potential friendship with him.

Three years later, nothing changed. Though these days, as Pierre’s comfort around you rebounded, he didn’t avoid you and instead made it his job to antagonize you whenever you were around. He made comments about your outfits, flirted with your friends that had clearly been told to steer clear of him, and fucked up your drink orders whenever he bought rounds for the group. Mostly, you took it in stride with a few choice curse words slung his way, but over time you started to antagonize him right back.

“Asshole at three o’clock.”

It took a moment, but your eyes followed the metaphorical clock of the bar and fell on the group of Blue Jackets pushing their way through the crowd. Leading the way was Pierre sporting a cocky smirk on his lips. He made his way around the group of girls, hugging each one before reaching you and ultimately opting not to say hello and just head for the bar. As soon as he stepped away you were making retching noises with your mouth.

“Back at it again, I see,” Josh Anderson spoke as he wrapped his arms over your shoulders. “You two would get along really well if only you tried.”

“I don’t want to try,” you responded. This earned the laughter of their other teammates, Seth and Boone, as they sat in the open seats at your bar top and joined the conversation that had been on hold for hugs hello.

When Pierre returned to the table, he was toting a tray of drinks. One by one, he placed each glass down with its rightful owner until the last two remained. And then he placed a Shirley Temple in front of you.

“It’s virgin.”

“Just like you,” you spat. While the table erupted in laughter, you stood to get a drink of your own. Preferably one that was heavy on the liquor.

---

Despite everything else, going out with him wasn’t all bad because after a while he just got distracted. He would slink away from the group and find himself surrounded by a bunch of local university students and you were free to enjoy your night without him chirping in your ear. While Pierre and Seth scouted the bar for hot single girls, you stayed back at the booth with your girlfriends, Josh, and Boone.

Drinks flowed as easily as the conversation, as usual, and up until about 11 p.m. there was nowhere else you’d’ve rather been. Until Charlie texted you.

“Uh oh, Chuck’s at it again.”

Josh was peaking over your shoulder.

“Would you stop being nosey?” you growled, angling your body away from him so he couldn’t read your texts—most of which were ‘u up’ texts. “And stop calling him Chuck. It makes it sound like I’m sleeping with a father of three.”

“You might as well be,” Boone said. He dodged the rolled-up napkin you sent his way with a chuckle.

The boys always liked to chirp you for your taste in guys, but Charlie was by far their favorite to make fun of because of the eight-year age gap you shared.

“Remember when YN would stay out past midnight?” Boone mused.

“Yeah, I do,” Josh sighed dreamily. “But then she got wifed up by a silver fox.”

“A silver fox?” you asked, trying your hardest to suppress the grin on your lips. “He has black hair.”

“That’s because he probably dyes it.”

More giggles fell from their mouths until you glared at them and their mouths snapped shut.

You met Charlie on a dating app and while things hadn’t progressed past that one night of dinner and drinks, you didn’t mind the casual sex that resulted from it. It was exactly what you needed at this point of your life—no strings attached.

I just called you a car. Should be there in 10 minutes.

You took the final swig of your drink and stood. The boys’ eyes followed your movement, knowing smiles on their lips.

“I’ll see you guys later this week, yeah?”

You said your goodbyes, ignoring the last-minute jabs the boys wanted to get in, and began to search the bar for Seth. You spotted him at a table across the bar with a gaggle of petite girls and Pierre by his side. The moment you looked over at them, Pierre caught your eye.

You started walking over as he checked the time on his watch. 11:45 p.m. You never left before midnight.

Seth opened his arms as you approached and you folded into them as you said your goodbyes. Something about the interaction had Pierre turning away to talk to the girls they’d met. It was the same pit in his stomach type of feeling he got whenever you were around, whenever you embraced the other boys with a quick peck on the cheek or laughed at one of their shitty jokes.

He heard you say your final goodbye to Seth and your shoulder brushed against his back unknowingly as you avoided saying goodbye to him. He almost let you go unbothered, but his need to talk to you just once more was overwhelming. At the very last second, he turned and caught your elbow.

“Who’s got you running off before midnight, Cinderella?”

“It’s funny you think you deserve an answer to that question,” you growled, pulling your arm out of his grasp in disgust. He leaned back against the table with a smile. Your eyes flickered to the girls behind him, one with a glare set on you as she sipped her drink.

A lightbulb went off above your head.

You stepped forward, squeezing yourself between Pierre and Seth’s bodies to get a word in with the girls around the table.

“Can I offer you all some free advice?” you asked, even though you were going to give it to them anyway. “This one,” you spoke, nodding to Pierre. You dropped your voice to a whisper and the girls inched forward to catch your words. “He’s been around the block, if you know what I mean. I’d make sure he wraps it before he taps it. Who knows the last time he’s gotten tested?”

You slipped out from between the boys, ignoring the curses that fell from Pierre’s lips as you walked away.

---

You left Charlie’s at 7 the next morning. Although you tried not to make a habit of sleeping at his apartment, there were some nights that you ignored the voice inside your head. You dressed yourself in the outfit from the night before and stepped into his bathroom to check your make-up and fix your hair before allowing the world to see you in all your one night stand glory.

Last night was one of the worst nights you’d spent with him. He was off from the moment you got in the door to the moment he fell asleep after finishing. You ended up completely unsatisfied and if you hadn’t been as tired as you were, you probably would’ve gone home to bring your own self to orgasm since he so clearly couldn’t.

As you shut his front door behind you, another door in the hall shut. You looked up to see which neighbor had entered the hallway and immediately felt your stomach drop.

“This? This is the place you ran off to last night?” Pierre was standing at the next door over. He looked astounded, eyes flickering between you and the door you’d just come out of. “You’re fucking my neighbor? Isn’t he like 40?”

“You live here?” you asked, eyes wide as you took in the sight of Pierre in front of you. His hair was still messy from sleep, but he was dressed in his Blue Jackets workout gear and on his way out the door.

“I moved in at the beginning of the season,” he answered. He stepped forward and you stepped backwards in response. “But you wouldn’t know that because you didn’t come to my housewarming party.”

You didn’t think he was serious when he extended the invite, and you were almost positive your response was along the lines of ‘I’d never step foot inside your house.’

With a scoff, you turned and continued down the hall. He was hot on your heels the entire way to the elevator and slowed to a stop to wait beside you when you pressed the down button. You were surprised when he didn’t immediately start digging deeper about your night. He was more preoccupied with whatever was on his phone than you, thankfully, though you were certain once he had you in the enclosed space of the elevator he’d start prying.

When the doors of the elevator finally opened, Pierre stepped in and held his hand out to keep the doors open for you. You stayed put.

“I’ll wait for the next one,” you said stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest. He let out a dry laugh, eyes rolling before grabbing your arm and pulling you into the confined space with him.

The doors shut.

“You’re fucking dramatic.”

The elevator began its descent to the lobby and, all the while, you could feel him watching you.

“Can you stop?” you spat, shooting him a glare from the other corner of the elevator.

He studied you for a moment before asking, “Quiet in bed?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you quiet in bed?” he asked, slower this time, like you were too stupid to understand what he said before. You couldn’t find the words to answer, jaw ajar as your brain tried to catch up to his question. “I’m only asking because I’m pretty sure Charlie and I share a bedroom wall, and his place was completely silent last night.”

“You’re a pig.”

Pierre chuckled, satisfied with the reaction he’d gotten out of you, and continued talking, “Unless he can’t get you off.”

“Familiar with that problem, huh?”

“Not in the slightest,” he answered.

“As far as you know,” you muttered under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear. The last place in the world you wanted to be was with Pierre in this elevator and you wanted him to know that.

“Not that you will ever get the chance to experience it yourself, but I know my way around the bedroom,” Pierre countered easily. Too easily.

“Mmm,” you hummed, “I’m sure, what, with your body count in the hundreds probably. Statistically, you would have to have gotten at least 50% off.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know how many girls I have in my bed every week,” Pierre grinned, his ego oozing out of his every word.

“Not even a little bit,” you sighed. Your fingers came up to your temple as you tried to rub away the migraine that was beginning to take form. “Where you put your dick is of no concern to me, unless you decide to put it in a blender. Then, and only then, will I give a shit.”

“See, I think you care an awful lot more than you let on, princess,” Pierre said. Your face twisted in disgust at the pet name. “And I think that no matter how much you want to hate me, you really don’t. You’re just jealous that I’m not fucking you.”

That pushed you over the edge, the ounce of patience that you had left in your system had been blown to pieces with that comment.

“Would you pull your head out of your ass for once in your life, Pierre?” you spat. “I wouldn’t let you touch me with a ten foot pole, much less your filthy dick. My sex life is none of your god damn business. Actually, scratch that, my life is none of your business. I only put up with you because we run in the same group of friends, so don’t try and get cute with me. If I had things my way I would never have even met you, much less learned your name.”

Pierre opened his mouth to speak, likely to try and counter everything you had just said with a dig, but you held your hand up to silence him.

“We don’t have to like each other, Pierre, but you don’t have to be such a raging asshole about it. I thought at some point you might get tired of being a complete dick but your endurance is impressive, I’ll give you that. So listen to me carefully when I tell you I want nothing to do with you.”

The elevator stopped at the lobby and you made a beeline to the front door of the lobby to begin your walk home in silence. Beautiful, peaceful, Pierre-less silence.

---

The silence didn’t last long.

You were halfway through your skin care routine when your phone rang, piercing through the otherwise quiet apartment. Across your home screen, your sister’s name flashed over a goofy photo from New Years.

“What do you want?” you asked after swiping to accept. Your sister’s face filled the screen with a fake offended look on it. You giggled. “Listen, Sadie, the only time I’ve heard from you since you moved back to school has been because you needed me to do something for you.”

“Okay, well,” she started. You raised your eyebrows at her in amusement. You knew this was coming. “It’s not really me who needs something.”

“Which one of your friends needs something then?”

“Mom,” she said with a laugh. Confusion flashed over your features, so she continued, “My friends are all going home next weekend and I decided I’d do the same because why would I want to be here without them, right?” You nodded as she rambled on. “But when I told Mom I wanted to come home, she told me that her and Dad are going to be out of town.”

“They’re going away?”

“Yeah, and she doesn’t want me home alone.”

You laughed out loud. It was so typical of your mom to not trust Sadie to be home alone for a few days. She turned 21 months ago and yet she still wasn’t trusted by your parents. You couldn’t say you blamed them. Sadie wasn’t exactly the most responsible.

“Stay at school then.”

“See, I was gonna do that,” she trailed off. “But she already bought me a plane ticket to see you.” Your jaw dropped, but you closed it at the sight of your sister’s apologetic face. “I’m really sorry, but on the brightside, I can finally party with you and all your boy toys! Especially the French one you hate so much,” she said his name in a French accent, “Pierre Luc Dubois, or whatever his sexy ass name is.”

And that was exactly what you were worried about.

#pierre luc dubois fic #pierre luc dubois story #pierre luc dubois imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #dancing with our hands tied fic #mk writes #hockey fic #hockey story #nhl story #nhl fic #columbus blue jackets fic #columbus blue jackets imagine

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lemonpeter · 3 years

Note

Tony and Peter being in a relationship, Skip shows up and blackmails Peter (he has pics/footage from when he took advantage of him). Even if it's not his fault, Peter doesn't want it to get out or Tony to know AT ALL and he's still very ashamed of it, so he does anything Skip tells him to, from paying him, to sending him pics to sexual favours. Maybe Tony finds out because Peter starts acting weird or something, maybe they argue cause he thinks he's cheating on him, peter continues going out 1/2

Secrets Kept pt 1

I’m not strictly following canon here, I’m going with that Skip messed with Peter all while he was growing up and Peter never told anyone. That being said, this is a dark fic and if that’s not your thing, scroll on. If it is, I hope everyone enjoys 💕

Extra note: this is going to be pt 1 because there’s still more plot I want to get out but my brain isn’t working to get it all out. So here’s pt 1 and pt 2 will be here. At some point. Because I absolutely loved writing this. Everything is just hard right now so plot is difficult. I’m really trying

Warnings: Skip Wescott, manipulation, blackmail, noncon (not explicit but mentioned more than once), just quite a bit of dark stuff, read at your own risk

————

Peter hadn’t really thought through going alone after he got a message about meeting someone at the lobby.

But he instantly wished he had brought Tony with him.

He could have sworn that his heart nearly stopped as he caught the sight of white blond hair tucked under a cap.

No. No no no.

The man turned around, grinning when he saw Peter. “Hey, Einstein. It’s been a while.”

“Skip,” Peter whispered. “Please, leave me alone.”

He knew that wouldn’t happen. The other man had clearly come on a mission. He wouldn’t have randomly showed back up in his life otherwise. Everything he did was calculated. In his own sick way.

Skip laughed, pulling an envelope out. “I think you’ll want to see what I have to offer first. Have anywhere more...secure that we could go?”

The younger man stared at the envelope, stomach turning. “Y-yeah. Just...follow me....”

He walked to the elevator, heart racing in his chest. He was in trouble. And he couldn’t even get Tony for help. There was no way that Tony could know anything about Skip. And what he’d done.

“Glad to know you know what’s good for you,” Skip murmured. “Smart boy. You always were the smartest person I’d ever met. Well- except for how naive you were.” He grinned.

“Shut up.” But there was no venom to it. Peter just sounded sad.

“Uh huh.”

The elevator dinged as the doors slid open, opening to Peter’s personal lab. The younger man walked out, hands shaking slightly as he moved to sit down. “What do you want, Skip?”

The man chuckled, opening the envelope and spreading photos across the table.

Peter’s stomach dropped.

The pictures all had Peter at various ages, doing various sexual acts with the older man. A few even had his face. No denying they were him.

“Now,” Skip started. “It would be a shame if daddy Stark saw these, huh?” He affectionately picked up one picture, showing it to the younger man. “Remember this?”

Peter looked at the picture, cheeks burning. “Yeah,” he whispered. It was one of the few pictures that showed his face. His cheeks and mouth were splattered with cum and he had clearly been crying. He had probably been sixteen at the time.

Skip chuckled. “I’ve missed that. I’ve missed my pretty Einstein. And you look just like you did in that picture,” he mused.

A nervous feeling began knotting up in Peter’s stomach. He had a feeling that he wasn’t going to like what Skip said next. Not that he liked any of it in the first place.

“So here’s my proposition,” he told him, setting the photo down. “You’re mine. I get what I want from you. Just like old times. And in exchange, no one will see these. Especially not Stark.”

Peter’s eyes squeezed shut and a tear slid down his cheek. He didn’t want to agree. He didn’t want to even entertain the thought of agreeing to such a sick thing. But he knew that he didn’t have a choice. “Okay,” he whispered. “Deal. Just please, he can’t see those.”

Skip smirked, tucking every photo back into the envelope before tucking it back into his jacket.

Well, almost every one. He snuck one into Peter’s pocket.

“Now that we have our deal, what better time than now to start?”

The younger man whined in protest, but the glint in Skip’s eyes made him know that there wasn’t a choice. There wasn’t ever a choice for him. So he slowly got down onto his knees, staring up at the blond as he unzipped his jeans.

Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long.

———

Peter had never been so glad that Tony had a meeting. That just meant that he didn’t have to come up with a story about why he had been crying or why his kisses definitely tasted like someone else’s dick.

He immediately went to the bathroom and threw up. Then he brushed his teeth to try and get the foul taste of Skip out of his mouth. But no matter how much scrubbing he did, he still felt dirty. Used.

He hadn’t missed the feeling.

By the time Tony got home he was all cleaned up and fixing dinner in order to distract himself.

“Hey, honey,” his boyfriend murmured, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “What’s for dinner?”

Peter tensed but quickly relaxed. It wasn’t Skip. It was Tony. He was safe and okay. “Making chi-chicken Parmesan. Wanted to try something different.”

“It smells amazing. You’re perfect.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

Peter felt so awful about what he did. He couldn’t believe that he had agreed to any of it. But he didn’t really have a choice.

So he just had to act like nothing was wrong. Tony couldn’t know about Skip.

They went to bed that night and Peter was pretty sure he had never felt so guilty.

———

Skip was relentless. He pulled Peter from spending time with Tony to make him send explicit pictures or videos, made him lie to Tony about buying things when really the money was going to Skip, made him meet up places whenever he wanted for sex.

Peter was being worn down so fast.

He couldn’t even keep up his normal and relaxed front with Tony. He couldn’t.

And his boyfriend definitely started noticing. He saw how tired Peter was all the time. And how often he disappeared with nothing but a weak lie to explain it.

That wasn’t how a relationship was supposed to work. And something was obviously up.

So he knew that he had to confront him about it.

He waited until Peter got home from his latest...well, wherever he went. The younger man came back a mess, a bruise on his cheek, eyes red, lips swollen, walking with a slight limp. The last two bits were honestly the most concerning.

“Peter?” He called gently. “What’s up? Where were you?”

He didn’t really want to know the answer. But he knew that he wouldn’t get the truth. So it didn’t matter to ask.

“Oh- I just had to do a quick. Patrol thing,” Peter lied, gingerly touching the bruising on his cheek. “You know how rough those bad guys can get.”

“Who was it this time?” He knew that Peter wouldn’t have a full story. Questions were key.

Peter bit the inside of his cheek. “No one important. Just some asshole burglar.”

“That managed to bruise you? And do...I don’t know, you look rough.”

The younger man winced. Great, that was exactly what he wanted to hear. He was hoping that he didn’t look too bad. Apparently that was too much to want. “Yeah, I was just off my game. It’s okay, though. I’ll heal.”

“Right....” Tony sighed. He had no idea how to bring it up. How to confront. This was his Peter, after all. He wanted to believe that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. “Peter, you wouldn’t lie to me, right?”

Peter froze in his tracks, tensed up instantly.

Great.

“No. Tony, why would I lie to you? I love you.”

The older man raked a hand through his hair, sighing softly. “I just- you’ve been so distant lately. Obviously something is going on. I just need you to tell me what.”

Peter slowly took off his coat, not noticing the photo that fell out of the pocket.

He had never realized that Skip put the picture there. The one with his face. The one where he commented how Peter still looked the same.

Peter didn’t notice that the picture was there until Tony started reaching for it. And he immediately knew what it was.

“And-“ Tony’s eyes followed to where the picture had fallen to the ground. He picked it up, ignoring Peter’s cries of protest.

It was definitely Peter. Face covered in cum. And it seemed to be recent.

Tony felt his heart being crushed as he stared at the picture. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Peter would never cheat on him. Peter loved him.

But there was the proof that said otherwise.

He finally looked to his boyfriend again, expression unable to hide his pure disbelief.

Peter had his arms wrapped tightly around himself and he was trembling furiously. He hadn’t known the picture was in his pocket. But he couldn’t tell Tony anything about it. He was stuck.

“Is this where you’ve been?” Tony asked, voice quiet. “Been fucking around? Peter-“ he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Peter, what the fuck has gotten into you? I can’t believe you.”

“Tony-“

“No. No, don’t do that. Did you cheat on me? It’s a yes or no question. I only want one word from you. Yes. Or. No?”

Peter broke down, crying harder. There was only one way that he could answer. Because it was the truth and he couldn’t lie to Tony. Even though all he had been doing for weeks had been lying. “Yes,” he choked out, covering his face.

Tony tried to ignore the broken glass he felt that replaced his heart. All his fears came true. Peter had really cheated on him. “Get out.”

“Tony- I can’t-“

“I said get out. You can get your shit in the morning while I’m at work. For tonight you need to leave.”

The younger man sobbed, grabbing his coat and looking around. Was there anything else he needed for the night? He didn’t know. All he could think about was Tony. And that everything was over.

All because of Skip.

He showed up to May’s an hour later, still unable to stop his crying. He was a wreck and he knew it.

She wasn’t sure what happened but knew better than to try to ask. But she did call Tony and leave a particularly nasty message about how she knew she never liked him and he had better watch his back.

Peter got settled in his own room, all curled up and finally calming down. When his phone vibrated with a text.

‘I need a couple pictures. A little inspiration please.’

Then a second message less than a minute later. ‘Actually make it a video.’

Peter stared at the screen for a moment, trying to fight off the tears that threatened to spill again. He couldn’t send Skip anything. He was with May. He couldn’t just hole himself up in the room suddenly. And there was the fact that the walls were so thin.

‘I can’t,’ Peter sent back, holding his breath. Skip didn’t respond well to rejection.

The three dots that signaled he was typing appeared and disappeared a couple of times before anything finally came through. ‘I have digitals of the pictures. I can easily send them with just a couple clicks.’

Even if they were broken up, Peter couldn’t have Tony know what all had happened to him. What was still going on. ‘Fine.’

He sat up to make sure that his door was locked, hands trembling as he started to undress himself after setting his phone up to record.

He so badly just wanted to be free.

———

Peter didn’t see Tony for a month after they broke up.

When he went to get his things Tony had been at work, as he said he would be. And he hadn’t been back to the tower since then. And he did his best to avoid any news about the billionaire.

So he stayed in the dark about it all. He barely even left the house. Except when Skip needed him for something.

Skip wasn’t happy when he found out. He was worried that the lack of contact with Stark would make Peter cave and refuse to do anything else. Plus he wouldn’t be able to get money any more from th arrangement.

But it became apparent quickly that Peter still loved Tony. And would continue to do whatever Skip asked to keep the pictures from making light.

Good.

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #skip westcott #oh yeah we’re doing a skip fic #tw blackmail #tw manipulation #tw noncon #tw dark fic #it’s all bad #and it was really fun to write #which makes me sound really fucked up #oh well #I hope I tagged everything #I’m tired so #brain doesn’t work for tags

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trvelyans-archive · 3 years

Text

something to look forward to

mari wiseman x gray black. 4k words.

Is there a piece of popcorn in your hair?

“Mari, are you listening?”

You snap to attention, finally glancing away from the mirror in the bathroom and rolling your eyes. “Yes, Dad, I’m listening,” you reply, holding your phone between your shoulder and your ear while you tug your boots on. “You must not be, though, because I’ve reminded you more than once that it’s only a ten-minute walk to the train station and that I’ll be perfectly fine.”

“I should just come and get you,” Nick says. It’s past midnight now – you had to stay after your shift ended, cleaning up a puddle of Pepsi on the floor that you found accidentally after kneeling down to grab some popcorn from under the seats – and no matter what you say, he insists that you’re going to run into trouble on the way home (even though you have the grumpiest face in the Chicago area – probably all of Illinois – and there’s probably very few people who would approach you because of it without even starting to consider the whole mind-blind thing). “Did you at least bring a hat?”

You pause. “Yes?”

“Mari –“

“Nick, it’s minus ten.” You zip up your jacket and straighten, reaching to grab your phone to make sure it doesn’t topple to the ground while you swing your bag over your shoulder. “That’s nothing.”

“Alright,” he concedes, sensing that you’re not going to budge. “But… call me if you see anyone acting - I don’t know, suspicious, okay?”

“Don’t you worry enough at work?” you ask, reaching for the bathroom door and pulling it open. “Don’t you get tired of it?”

“Button.” You can hear a smile in his voice. “I never get tired of you.”

You nod at the co-worker by the ticket booth as you wander through the lobby, your boots squeaking loudly against the floor. You don’t know how they didn’t dry in the eight hours they spent sitting in your locker – they’re still as wet as they were when you got here earlier today. Well, yesterday, technically.

Jesus, you’re tired. He should be more worried about you falling asleep on the train than he should be about you getting mugged.

Before you push open the front doors of the theatre, you pause and heave a sigh, remembering that he’s still waiting on the other end of the line. “I’ll call you if I see anyone acting suspicious,” you promise, hoping that you sound sincere. And you are sincere – even you don’t want to die by a mugging-gone-wrong. “And once I get on the train.”

“And once you get off the train.”

That gets a laugh out of you – not an entirely frustrated one, either, which is a feat to behold, at this hour and after this much badgering. While he can just tune into your thoughts whenever he wants to hear whether or not they’re ‘ah, that customer sucked’ or ‘ah, I’m being actively murdered’, sometimes – especially now that you’re an adult with a part-time job – he likes to let you pretend that you have some semblance of privacy (even though you really don’t). “Alright, before and after I get on the train,” you repeat. “Anything else?”

“Nope. Be safe, okay, Button?”

“Will do. Bye.”

“Love you,” Nick replies. “Bye.”

The call clicks off before you have a chance to say ‘love you’ back, and after spending thirty seconds deliberating whether or not you want to call him again to do so, you decide against it and brace yourself before pushing out into the night.

Thankfully, it’s snowing outside, and you take a minute to tilt your head back and let the snow hit your face. Most people might complain, but you like the snow. It makes everything in the city look pretty… dreamlike, almost. Still, after breaking yourself out of your reverie, you sigh and stuff your phone in your pocket, regrettably beginning to feel the tips of your nose and ears getting cold already. It’s minus ten, you remind yourself, gritting your teeth and dragging your boot-heavy feet down the sidewalk. And you’ve survived worse. Worse weather, and…

Well, worse.

You sigh a second time like a melodramatic dog that hasn’t yet been fed by its owner and glance up just in time for you to notice a man wandering down the sidewalk towards you. Late forties or so, with a leather jacket and slicked back hair – is he a mobster? He walks like a mobster, at least ones that you’ve seen in movies, and – it’s Chicago. He could very well be a mobster.

Should you call Nick?

You opt not to this time, but tighten your fingers around your phone anyway and hold your breath as he gets closer and closer, close enough that you’d probably be able to pick him out of a line-up if he tries anything, and then, in the span of about two seconds, he walks directly past you without even looking over, leaving you shaking in your boots for more than one reason and sufficiently not-mugged. (No word on whether or not you’re sufficiently not-frostbitten, though.) You’re almost disappointed – do you not look put-together enough to at least try mugging? – and then you remember that going unnoticed by as many people as possible is something you usually like, so you let your phone fall to the bottom of your pocket and keep walking. A little faster, this time, though - just to be safe.

Which is good, because it hasn’t even been a full minute when you hear footsteps behind you – quick, careful footsteps, too close for you to run away from.

Oh, well. It was good while it lasted.

“Mari?”

You frown and turn around – sure enough, Grayson Black is standing behind you, a package of toilet paper stuffed under one arm and a paper grocery bag hanging from his opposite hand, his golden-brown hair tucked beneath what looks like a hand-knit toque.

Great. Just your luck. He looks like he stepped out of a Whole Foods advertisement and you’re wearing a coat that’s about three winters old and smell like stale popcorn that someone put way too much butter on.

“Hey, Gray.” You smile at him, trying to pretend that you hadn’t convinced yourself you were within an inch of imminent death. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh – just walking home from the store.” He frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“Work,” you say, pointing to the theatre down the block. Grayson follows your finger and then sighs.

“Right.” He turns back to you. “Sorry, Nick told me you were working, I was just… surprised to see you out so late.”

“It’s okay,” you reply. It’s not like you have any friends to go clubbing with, so you can understand his confusion. “Uh – okay, well… See you later?”

“Are you going to the station?” he asks. Why is he still frowning?

You nod. “Yeah.”

“I’ll walk you,” Gray offers.

“I – what?” You shake your head. “No, it’s fine.”

“And it’s late.” He takes a step closer, but not close enough to break the unspoken barrier between you. “Besides… Nick will kill me if he finds out we ran into each other and I didn’t walk you.”

Of course he’s only offering for Nick’s sake. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I won’t tell him.”

“Mari.” God, the way he says your name is a prime example of why every girl in Illinois has a poster of him of their bedroom wall. “Can you let me walk you to the train station?”

You stare at him for a second, sticking your tongue against the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling too wide. “Okay, yeah, sure. When you ask so nicely.”

He laughs and moves closer until you walk side-by-side with the usual distance between you, though it feels much bigger tonight – actually, considering his arm is sticking out half a foot farther than it does most of the time because of the package of toilet paper stuck under it, the gap probably is bigger than usual. You glance around at the street while you walk, listening to the crunch of snow under your boots and the gentle hum of passing cars. God, you’d kill to be in a nice, warm car right now – you should’ve taken a cab.

Actually, no, you’re glad you didn’t. You’re probably safer (and happier) on the street with Gray than you are with a potential Ment cab driver.

“So.” You turn to Gray, and he turns to look at you before you even say anything. “Another late night run for Arizona?”

He laughs again, and you try not to let yourself feel too pleased with yourself about it, because he could just be doing it to be polite, right? “No, not this time,” he answers. “Just some… ah… dish soap. I’ve been out for a week, and…” He grimaces, and you get the sense he’d reach up to scratch the back of his head if he had a free hand. “I finally ran out of plastic cutlery tonight after dinner.”

“Mmm… Well, that’s a good reason for a midnight run to the grocery store if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Of course, a couple cans of Arizona just so happened to fall into my basket, and – it would be rude of me to say no...”

“Yeah, yeah, totally.” You smile. “That’d be downright heretical, and Fortitude has a reputation to keep.”

Gray laughs, louder this time, and you feel your smile widen. “Anyway, enough about me,” he says. “How was work?”

“Ah… it was okay.” You shrug absently, feeling his eyes on you while you do (even though he should be looking at the ground so he doesn’t slip on a patch of ice and fall on his ass). “Had to stay late and clean up, which was gross, but… According to Nick, I have some cookies waiting for me when I get home, so that’s nice.”

“Something to look forward to,” Gray agrees, nodding.

As if anything compares to this.

“Yeah,” you say. “Something to look forward to for sure.”

“Are you getting excited for the Academy?”

You cringe. As thrilled as you were to get accepted into Aeon, the prospect of finally starting there is nowhere near as thrilling. Though it’ll be nice to have classmates that are strictly non-Ments – at least when you’re not working with Sally’s class – the idea of being back in any kind of school isn’t… well, that isn’t something to look forward to. Still… “Yeah, kinda,” you answer. “Not ready to go back to school, I think, but I also don’t want to be scraping gum out from underneath movie theatre seats for the rest of my life.”

He makes a face. “That sounds… gross.”

“Yeah,” you reply. “It is. But I’ve snuck into a couple movies so far and watched them for free, so… it’s an okay trade-off, I think.”

“Sounds like it,” Gray muses. He turns to you. “You’re really not excited to go to Aeon?”

“I said kinda!” you protest.

He smiles. “You shouldn’t be nervous, Mari.”

You’re the one to make a face this time. “Who said I was nervous?”

“No one had to.” He angles his head in your direction like he’s sharing a secret. “I can tell.”

“And Nick told you.”

“Nick… may have mentioned it.”

“I’m not nervous.” You’re lying, of course, because you’re nervous about everything. Right now, only half of your brain is tuned into the conversation because the other half is nervous that you’re going to slip on the ice and break your neck, which would both be not hot and so embarrassing that you’d have to write off your friendship with Gray entirely for the rest of your life and become a full-time hermit whenever he comes over for dinner. “I just… I don’t know…” You kick a block of ice and watch it skitter through the fresh snow in front of you. “I don’t want to disappoint Nick.”

“You could never disappoint him,” Gray responds. “You’re brilliant.”

“Psh. Not even Nick could get away with saying that.”

“He didn’t.” Gray adjusts his grip on the package of toilet paper. “I mean, I’m sure he thinks it. I meant that… I meant that I think you’re brilliant.”

Sure, that could be a really cute compliment Gray gave you, but you’re probably just being too optimistic, right? Like – sure, he’s nice to you and brought flowers to your graduation ceremony and sure, he gave you that cute teddy bear for Christmas and sure, he once brought over a 6-pack of Dr. Pepper for dinner because you were having a bad day and he knows it’s your favourite, but… “Gray,” you sigh. “British people say everything is brilliant.”

He laughs. You can’t tell if his cheeks are pink because of how cold it is out or – well, for other reasons that are so impossible that you don’t let yourself continue that train of thought. “That’s true,” he says. “But I mean it. From the bottom of my heart.”

You don’t know what to say to that, but you don’t say anything. Thankfully, you don’t think Gray seems to mind, because he doesn’t say anything else, either.

There’s a crosswalk coming up, and even though no cars are coming and you could easily get away with some perfectly safe jaywalking, you stop and press the button (ha) anyway and wait for the light to turn, figuring you don’t want to risk it if Gray wants to report anything back to Nick. (Because Nick could very well assume that you jaywalking is something to be grievously concerned about.) Although, on second thought, you’re not sure Gray’s paying very much attention right now – he’s glancing across the street with his eyebrows furrowed, a distant look in his eyes. He must be thinking hard about something, so you elect not to interrupt him.

Now that there’s a lull in conversation, you find your eyelids beginning to flutter. You stayed up late last night after falling down a Wikipedia rabbit hole – that’s why you shouldn’t watch documentaries at three in the morning, you think to yourself - and Nick had to wake you up at noon to make sure that you weren’t late for your shift, so… Yeah, falling asleep on the train sounds like a pretty likely scenario.

Gray shifts his weight back and forth from one foot to the other and once again adjusts his grip on the toilet paper package – as he does, though, it topples out of his grasp and lands perfectly in between your feet with a soft, snowy thump. You bend down to grab it the same time Gray does, of course, because you’re the two most awkward people in the world, and there’s a three-second pause before you finally reach for the toilet paper and scoop it into your arms because it would be too awkward now not to.

“Don’t worry, I can take it,” you say before he can protest. “You have your… uh…” You gesture to his bag. “Hand full, anyway.”

He tries to protest anyway. “Mari, let me –“

“No, it’s okay.” You smile pleasantly at him. “You’re walking me, so I can… you know… take one for the team.”

He deliberates for a second before nodding – you think he might only do that because the crosswalk light has started beeping at you. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The snow is starting to lighten up, now – you can see the train station in the distance. It’s still a few blocks away, which means you more than enough time to make a sufficient fool of yourself. (Or perhaps, continuing the theme of the rest of the night, a not-fool of yourself?) “You know, uh, if you think I’m so brilliant…” You’d put air quotes around it if your fingers weren’t too cold. “Maybe we should have a Scrabble rematch soon?”

You, Nick, and Gray ended up playing a round last time Gray came over for dinner, but Nick stopped halfway through because he was getting bored and decided to go try mixing a new drink instead. Usually you would’ve complained – you like to wipe the literal board with him whenever you can – but it was hard to complain when you were sitting across the coffee table from Gray and splitting a plate of cookies like a couple of little kids. (It’s hard not to feel like a kid around Gray – shy and long-limbed and awkward. Like Bambi, but less cute because you’re a human and also, just generally, not cute.) “I still can’t believe you beat me...”

“Is now a bad time to remind you that I was my school’s valedictorian?”

“Yes, it’s a terrible time,” you reply, watching Gray grin out of the corner of your eye. “English was one of my best classes! I’m supposed to be good at Scrabble.”

“Well… maybe you’ll be better during our rematch.”

Okay. Keep it cool, Mari.

It only sort of sounds like you’re arranging a date with the love of your life and he’s not even taking a couple seconds to be weird about it.

“Oh, I will be better,” you say. “That’s a promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Do you work tomorrow?” He sniffles – he must be cold. This is what he gets for wasting his night walking you to the station instead of going back to his nice, warm apartment. “Maybe I could pick you up after your shift and train with you back to your house.”

“Oh, uh –“ You clear your throat. “Yeah, I work tomorrow! I think I get off at six?”

“Okay, great. Just let me know if – erm, that changes or… something.”

“Yeah, I will,” you reply, a little taken aback.

What in the world is happening?

Did you actually get stabbed by that maybe-mobster, and awkwardly making plans to play Scrabble with Grayson Black is your purgatory?

“Uh… I just – I hope I remember to tell Nick,” you comment. “Not that he’s ever bad when you show up on our doorstep unannounced and ask for dinner…”

“I – I don’t ask,” Gray stammers, “he offers before I can even get a word in, and – and I say yes because it would be rude not to!”

“Mmm… sure.” You shake your head fondly. “You’d probably eat Nick’s dinners every night if you could.”

“Yes, but for the company,” he says, smiling. “Not for the dinner.”

“Not entirely for the dinner.”

He laughs. “Alright, you got me. Not entirely for the dinner. But…” Clearing his throat, he adds, “Mostly for the company.”

You can’t exactly disagree. Nick could serve you a plate with nothing more than an uncooked chicken breast on it and you wouldn’t even care as long as Gray was there to get salmonella with you.

You’re nearly at your stop, you realize suddenly. You’re both disappointed and relieved – disappointed because you always hate to leave Gray, but relieved because things have gone too well so far and you’re starting to get suspicious. It’s just like you always say (to yourself) – you’re not lucky. You’re incredibly unlucky. If something is going well, it means that something incredibly unwell is going to happen as soon as possible.

You pause before you reach the stairs to the train platform and turn to Gray to say goodbye.

“Well… here’s my, uh… stop.”

Gray looks at you. “Here it is,” he repeats.

“Thanks for walking me,” you say. He tilts his head, almost in question, but you continue – “You really didn’t have to.”

“Mari.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch carefully as Gray raises a hand like he’s in a trance, reaching out to you like –

Like what?

Is he going to kiss you?

He blinks and the trance breaks, shattering into a thousand little pieces like a snowy sidewalk under a winter boot. “Oh, sorry,” he says softly, and you don’t miss the way he backs up a half-step. Did he really forget about the… well, everything? He never forgets. Gray drops his hand before raising it to his head again, moving it in little circles near his temple. “You have a –“

Following his movements, you reach up, and –

Of fucking course. There was popcorn in your hair the whole time! You make a note to guilt Nick about distracting you when you get home.

“Damn it.” You pull it out of your hair – how did it get so tangled in there? – and toss it onto the ground, hoping that he’s not going to call you out for littering. (Would that even count?) “Thanks.”

“Uh… you’re welcome.” Gray smiles at you again, and though it’s awkward and a little forced, it’s still a Grayson smile. “I should… let you catch your train,” he continues, running his free hand over his head before scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I should let you get back to – uh – doing dishes?”

He nods, laughing. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds right.” With one last lingering look, he smiles a little wider. “Goodnight, Mari. Get home safe.”

You smile back at him, suddenly bashful. “Yeah, you too.”

Should you watch him leave? No, that’s weird, right? You stand under the streetlight and consider it for several seconds before realizing that you’ve watched him for too long already, and then you shake your head, turning to the stairs and bracing yourself to trudge through the snow that’s gathered on top of them (as if you need anything else to be unnecessarily difficult today). The platform is relatively empty when you reach it, save for a couple of teenage girls and a man in a business suit looking entirely out of place at this time of night and at this weather, and you take a seat on a bench, settling in while you wait for the train to come.

You’re much more aware of how cold it is out now that Gray’s gone – even the sweat on your hands feels like it’s going to freeze – so to distract yourself, you look around the platform for something to entertain you. You manage squint at a weird-looking piece of graffiti a few feet away from you when you hear footsteps approaching.

Sure enough, when you turn around –

“Mari,” Gray says. “I’m sorry, I forgot the –“

He points to your lap, where you’ve diligently placed his package of toilet paper.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” you say, picking it up and holding it out to him from one end so he can grab onto the other. “I totally forgot.”

“No, that’s alright, I forgot too,” Gray assures you, because of course he does – when is he ever anything but nice and diplomatic? Once he’s tucked the toilet paper under his arm again, he chuckles to himself and continues, “Alright. Erm… goodnight again, Mari.”

“Goodnight,” you reply.

With the toilet paper returned to him, he gives you a short, stilted wave before he turns and heads for the stairs again. You force yourself to look the other direction, making a mental note not to stare at him whenever he walks away from you.

You make a couple other mental notes on the train home, too, though it’s mostly in an effort to keep yourself awake. You definitely need to get more than four hours of sleep tonight if you have a long shift again tomorrow, especially since Gray’s coming over; you probably shouldn’t wear new jeans to work in case you run (or, more accurately, sit) into any more puddles, and you might as well bring a hat with you next time you leave the house, because there’s a spare sitting on the shoe rack near the door, anyway.

You definitely make a note to double-check your hair for pieces of someone else’s half-chewed popcorn before leaving the theatre from now on, too - then, when you think about the possibility of running into Gray outside work after all of your shifts from now on, you decide that you should probably triple-check, instead.

#oc: mari #pairing: mari x gray #my writing #my ocs #hi. this is bad. sorry.#ALSO GRAY IS PROBABLY INCREDIBLY OOC SORRY #there is no point to this except me seeing the option to give button a part time job at a movie theatre and getting excited about it #bc it's so MARI !!! it's as mari of an option as Every Single Morbid option !!!#anyway yes here's this. do with it what you will.#also this is so fucking long for no reason sorry LKSDJFLDSJFLKDS #I JUST WANTED TO TALK ABOUT. THEM BONDING AND BEING DOMESTIC OK.#THEY PLAY BOARD GAMES. THEY HAVE INSIDE JOKES. THEY BANTER. ALRIGHT. IS ME WRITING THAT A CRIME.#ok anyway thanks for reading this tags if you read them loVE YOU BYE !!#long post #mind blind

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btxtreads · 4 years

Text

Let Me Move You

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: HIT IT

↳ Pairing: Choi Yeonjun x Reader

↳ word count: 2.2k words

↳ rating: G

↳ genre: fluff, uh what the fuck did i just write

Y/N released a breath and tucked her phone in. Her body was swallowed by Yeonjun’s letterman jacket—hiding her cropped top underneath it. She slowly sneaked down the stairs, only to be faced with her father at the bottom.

“Where are you going, missy?”

Y/N gulped, smiling awkwardly as her phone rang in her hands.

“Uh, library!” She said, chuckling awkwardly. “Soobin and I are meeting there. Yep.”

Her father’s eyes fell to her jacket.

“That Soobin’s too?”

“Yep,” she nods, pointing to the letters at her chest. “Says Choi right here.”

“I didn’t know Soobin’s name is Yeonjun now.” Her father deadpanned before gesturing over to her phone. “Decline. you’re grounded on weekends, remember? And a boyfriend—since when?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You’re kissing him on your phone.”

Y/N’s face twisted up in realization when she realized her lockscreen was—indeed—her kissing Yeonjun with Soobin standing next to them. With an angry glare, Y/N pressed decline on the call. Shit.

“Dad, I promise you can kill me when I get back. I really have to go.” She pleaded, walking forward before her father pushed her back gently.

“You’re dancing, aren’t you?“

“Dad—“

“Didn’t I tell you to stop?” Her dad sighed. “Honey, this can’t get you into Seoul Institute.”

Y/N ran a hand through her hair, a sad smile on her face. Her father only frowned, arms crossed as he waited for his daughter’s response. Y/N pursed her lips.

“I know,” she nodded solemnly. “but I can’t give this up, Dad. For the first time, I actually feel good about what I’m doing.”

At her father’s raise of an eyebrow, she continued.

“When I dance, I actually feel like I’m alive—like I’m someone besides books and a 4.0.” She explains. “That’s why I have to do this.”

Her father shook his head before gesturing up the stairs.

“No. You go back upstairs and study.” Her father commanded firmly. “And you’re going to tell me all about your boyfriend before I actually allow you to date.”

“But—“

“I said no, Y/N.”

Y/N stopped, turning around. She locked her gaze with her father defiantly, sighing. She pinched the bridge of her nose, guilt creeping up her chest as she gripped the banister.

“Sorry, dad.” Y/N sighed. “You can yell at me when I get back.”

Before her father could reply, Y/N lifted herself up and jumped off the banister and booked it towards the door. She grabbed the car keys from the hooks and with a triumphant smile, she ran over to the car.

“She’s not answering me, either.” Soobin cursed as his call hung up on him as well.

Yeonjun sat against the wall, biting his lip anxiously. Beomgyu sat on the benches next to Taehyung and Kai, the three of them peeking out the stage to watch the performances.

“Stop pacing, Bin.” Yeonjun hissed, standing up. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Is she here yet?” Soobin asked, ignoring the older.

Yeonjun sighed, fishing out his phone from his pocket and calling Y/N with fists clenched in anxiety.

“Hello?”

“Y/N!” Yeonjun cried with relief, ignoring Soobin’s frantic eyes as he conversed with the girl. “Why weren’t you picking up?”

“I, ah, ran into some problems,” he can hear her wince. “but I’m figuring it out, babe. I’ll call you in a bit.”

“Wait—“ Yeonjun gasped as the phone hang up. He stared at his phone—his lockscreen of the girl staring back at him. “She hang up on me.”

Soobin blinked before collapsing on the chair dramatically.

“I’m going to die.”

Y/N sighed as she hung up the phone, hands frantically adjusting the car mirrors and the chair accordingly. seeing her father’s figure exit the house, she quickly moved to lock all the doors in the car. Her father zoomed towards the car doors, trying to pry it open and failing miserably.

“Y/N LN, open the door!” Her father demanded, pounding on the car windows.

The girl only winced, sticking the key into the ignition. His father gasped as the car roared to life.

“Y/N, open this door now!”

“Sorry, dad!” She replied.

“You can’t do this, Y/N—What will your mother say? Dancing, a boyfriend?” Her father berated.

“I-I’m sorry! I-Mom would want me to be happy.” Y/N replied. “Dancing, Yeonjun—I can’t let them go. Sorry, Dad!”

Her father gaped as she gripped the steering wheel.

“Yeonjun, is that him?” Her dad said. “Is he the one telling you to do this?”

Y/N turned to him.

“No, dad. He’s the only one who told me to listen to myself—for once.” Y/N smiled. “That’s why I love him. I’m sorry.”

Before he could think of an answer, Y/N pressed down on the gas.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” She cursed as she pressed hard on the breaks, screeching as her body lurched forward when the car skidded to a stop. “Sorry!”

“What the fuck.” She mumbled to herself as she pressed back down on the gas, pulling the car back to the right route. “Shit, shit.”

Finally, she pulls over with a scream—leaving the car haphazardly parked on the crosswalk on the front of the venue. She yelped as she pulled the key from the ignition, cursing to herself as she pulled the keys out of the ignition. Y/N picked her phone out of the front seat, thrusting the keys out to an approaching valet.

“Please, I have to go now,” She pleaded as she picked up the incoming call. “Hello?”

“Babe?” Yeonjun gasped. “Where the fuck are you?”

“I’m sorry, I ran into some shit.” Y/N cried. “But I’m here—I’m running!”

Y/N sighed in relief as she stopped short, bumping into a pink-haired figure by the stage entrance.

“I’m sorry—Jun!” She cried, reaching out and grasping the boy’s face and pressing a quick kiss on his lips. “I’m here.”

“Babe!” Yeonjun gasped, eyes wide as he clutched her waist. “What happened?”

“I almost got into a car crash—“

“What?”

“They’re dancing now?” Y/N asked, looking out to see Soobin, Taehyun, Beomgyu and Kai dancing on the stage. “Wha-What time did our stage start?”

Y/N bit her lip as her eyes fell onto the clock. 5:53 PM.

“Around 5:50? We couldn’t hold them any longer,” Yeonjun said, squeezing her waist. “but you’re here now, aren’t you?”

Y/N bit her lip, looking back at him and running her hand through his hair.

“Why didn’t you go up there?”

“I didn’t want to dance without you.” Yeonjun smiled. “Now, come on.”

He placed another quick kiss on her lips and pulled her out the stage—eyes locking towards the audience entrance.

“Babe? Time to dance?” Y/N told him, making the boy point over to the entrance. “What?”

By the doors stood her father, smiling softly as he watched the show. His eyes locked with hers, making the girl gasp. With a slight, encouraging nod, the girl released a soft giggle. The door opened once more, revealing Yeonjun’s parents.

“Guys, what the fuck?” Soobin hissed as he ran over while Beomgyu and Taehyun did their solos. “Our routine’s about to start. You two ready?”

Yeonjun gave one last smile to his parents, turning over to Y/N and laying a soft kiss on her forehead.

“I’m ready.”

Y/N smiled up at him, sighing in relief as the music for their routine started. With a smile, she squeezed Yeonjun and Soobin’s hand.

“Ready.”

And she danced like she’s never danced before.

The Emeralds stood side by side in the lobby—sparkling perfectly in silver outfits. At the front stood Sooah in an emerald green gown. Her eyes were dark and stormy, hands clutching the small silver trophy in her hands as she glared over the group cheering loudly as they toppled out of the auditorium.

“TXT! TXT! TXT!” Soobin, Beomgyu and Kai screamed as they ran out to the lobby.

In front of them, Taehyun waved the gigantic golden trophy up in the air—the words Hit It 2020 Champion clearly stamped in block letters across the front plate. Behind them was Y/N and Yeonjun, smiled on their faces as they trailed behind the boys hand-in-hand. Sooah sighed in frustration as Y/N giggled, leaning her head up and pressing a soft kiss on Yeonjun’s jaw as their friends celebrated and took photos of each other with the trophy.

“Congratulations.” Sooah deadpanned as she approached the couple.

Y/N’s eyebrow raised as she turned to the girl.

“Huh?”

“For winning.” Sooah pursed her lips, turning over to Yeonjun. “I’m Sooah.”

Yeonjun only grinned, nodding as he held Y/N closer to him.

“I was told.” Yeonjun nodded curtly. “Thanks.”

“You two are cute,” Sooah smiled, nodding silently as she walked off—followed by the Emeralds as she held her hand up. “See you around!”

Yeonjun blinked as Y/N laughed, Soobin sidling up to the couple with a scrunched nose.

“What did she want?”

“Nothing,” Y/N laughed. “You done taking pics?”

“No, but some guy is looking for hyung?” Soobin shrugged, pointing over to an approaching man in a blazer.

“Who?” Yeonjun asked as the man appeared.

“Hello, Mr. Daniel. I’m Han Jaesuk from Seoul National University, head of the newly established dance department.” The man introduced, offering a calling card. “May I speak to you about a possible scholarship offer?”

Yeonjun’s mouth dropped open as he turned to Y/N and Soobin.

Soobin smiled in encouragement as Y/N giggled, urging him to leave. While Yeonjun and the man talked a few feet away, piles upon piles of brochures and papers offered to the confused pink-haired boy, Soobin fidgeted in his spot.

“Y/N, there’s something I have to tell you,” Soobin sighed nervously. “And, um, whatever happens I hope you won’t be angry at me.”

“Hm?”

“Remember how we we’re so nervous that one day that we won’t be able to study together so we passed a shit ton of applications to multiple universities?” Soobin bit his lip, wringing his fingers. “I—I got a response from one of them.”

“Oh?” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I got it earlier just after we performed—I think I want to go there instead.” Soobin mumbled, biting his lip as he lowered his head.

“Oh,” Y/N only smiled, laughing as she reassured the boy. “Bin, It’s okay. Remember? Whatever happens—wherever we go, whatever you do, you’ll always be my best friend.”

Soobin smiled in relief, hugging the girl tightly.

“I’ll miss you, you asshole.” Y/N smiled, burying her face in his chest. “So, where are you going?”

“Actually,” Soobin smiled sheepishly, eyes falling onto Yeonjun before looking back at the girl. “Biology. I’m taking Pre-Med at Seoul National University.”

Y/N blinked, eyes wide before scrambling to pull her phone out of her pocket.

“That’s today?” Y/N cursed.

“Wait—“ Soobin’s eyes widened. “Your—Your application, you applied too—“

“Yes, you dick!” Y/N hissed, opening her email. “Here—It’s here it says—“

Y/N suddenly freezes, a gasp falling our of her lips. Soobin bites his lip anxiously, bouncing on his heels as he waits for the result. Yeonjun arrives, a smile on his face as he plucks the device out of the girl’s hand. He wrapped his hands around her body, lips pressing on the back of her head before he read the announcement.

“Dear Ms. Y/N L/N. We are please to inform you that you are one of the 1,500 passers of the Pre-Medicine Biology at Seoul National University.” Yeonjun read. “Should you choose to enroll in our University, please submit the following forms and requirements to the Office of Admission on or Before January 15.”

“Is-Is that good?” Y/N asked dumbly, watching as Soobin froze.

“You guys, we’re going to fucking college!” Beomgyu screamed as he jumped on Soobin happily. “I’m in Seoul National University’s Business program, too!”

Soobin released a small scream as Kai and Taehyun cheered behind them. Y/N turned to Yeonjun, who only smiled and held up the envelope in his hands.

“Guess who got a free ride to Seoul National University’s new dance program?” Yeonjun grinned, making Y/N laugh—tears in her eyes as she cupped his face.

“You-You got in?”

“They just launched this and they got renowned dancers from all over the world. They’re just handpicking a bunch of students and when they saw I was back they—“ Yeonjun gasped, words stuck in his throat as Y/N pulled his head down to crash her lips on his.

He smiled, closing his eyes as he kissed her deeper—drowning out the sounds of everyone—Soobin’s sobbing, Beomgyu’s screaming, Kai and Taehyun’s screeching—as they drowned in one another.

It was there, in that moment, that everything finally fell into place.

All was well.

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inkstainedfanfics · 4 years

Text

Cinnamon Latte

Request: Hey there! May I request something for the au trope prompt? Cedric Diggory + coffee shop!au + strangers to lovers + 23: “you know that your book is upside down, right?” I’m a hoe for both Cedric Diggory and coffee shop au’s😭

Word Count: 2,983

Pairing: Cedric x Reader

Requested by: @badass-dora-milaje

He first comes in on a Monday, frazzled, blond hair messy and stuck to his forehead from the rain outside. He’s cute, you decide, as he stands in front of your register, looking up to the menu board with a hopeless look.

“Need some help?” You ask, setting aside the dishes you’d been cleaning. You’re alone in the store, one of your first shifts by yourself since you started working here a month ago, and you’re intent on making a good impression. Alone means you get complete control of the music, and it’s not like the store ever gets super busy after the morning rush, anyway, so you have plenty of time to read between orders. And in this small town you’ve only just moved to, people’s orders are predictable, meaning you can have most of them ready to go by the time they come flying through the doors.

But this guy is new, and he sure looks like it as he looks to you with pink cheeks, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m a little lost.”

“You look like it. What do you like?” You ask as you dry your hands.

“Ummm, water?”

You laugh. “You can’t come into a coffee shop and leave with just water. Come on, there must be something you’ll like. How about a cinnamon latte?”

He shrugs, still utterly hopeless, but you take that as a yes.

“Great! That’ll be two sixty-five.”

As he counts out his change, you start making the latte. It’s one of the simpler drinks to make here, which is only half the reason you chose to recommend it. As you do, thunder rumbles outside, and you dare a glance back at the guy at the counter. He’s clad in a sweater and jeans, no jacket. Isn’t he cold? While late fall isn’t necessarily freezing here, it’s certainly not wonderfully warm, especially in a rainstorm.

“Do you,” he asks as he sets the last coin on the counter, “live around here?”

“I’m new here, actually. Just moved here a couple months back. What about you?”

“I grew up here.”

“No kidding? It’s a nice enough town. Or, what I’ve seen of it, at least.”

“What do you mean?”

You shrug. “I just haven’t really gotten out to see much of it yet.”

He leans against the counter, head cocked to the side as he watches you put the whipped cream atop the coffee. “Why not?”

“It’s so small that everyone feels…close. Like, I don’t know.” Your cheeks warm. “It’s really nothing. I’ve just been busy with work here and…” and nothing, really. The town just seems so close-knit that there’s no room for you. The drink’s done, though, so you have an excuse to trail off. “Here,” you say, setting the drink in front of him. “One of my personal favorites.”

He picks it up gingerly. You’d made it to-go, since few of the town’s residents ever lingered in the tiny lobby, with its two tables and single booth, but the man seems in no rush to leave. Because of the storm outside or your company, you’re not quite sure.

“It won’t hurt you,” you say as he carefully takes a small sip. “So?”

“Delicious,” he says, though he’s unable to hide his grimace.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s…strong?”

“I’ll put less cinnamon in next time.”

“It’s not that. It’s the coffee.”

“Espresso,” you correct.

“Espresso?” He raises his eyebrows. “Oh no.”

“It’s fine. It’s not that much. I can use coffee next time, too. That’ll be weaker.”

“No. No.” He squares his shoulders like this is some fight with the drink. “I need to get used to drinking coffee.”

“Why’s that?”

His cheeks tinge pink. “I just…it’s something all my friends like to drink,” he says, though he stares determinedly at the drink.

“Where do they get their coffee from?” Most of the people you see rushing through here are older, harried fathers and mothers rushing to work. Not many younger adults. “I haven’t seen many younger people come through.”

He rubs the back of his neck again. “Down the street?”

“There’s a coffee place down the street?” You must’ve failed to have seen it, then, because you could swear this is the only shop in the small town.

“Yeah. It’s small. Nothing, really. Do you, uh, do you like coffee?”

“Well, I do work at a coffee shop.”

He sighs and looks down to his drink. “I’ll like it. Eventually.”

You pick up a rag to wipe up the espresso that had splashed on the back counter. “Are you staying here long? Because I’d be careful sitting on those chairs if I were you. I don’t think anyone’s used them in years.”

He seems about to say something when he notices the clock above the espresso machine. “Is that the time?”

You glance at it. It’d been broken earlier, but you’d managed to dig some batteries out of the back of a drawer in the office and set it this morning. “Yep.”

“Shoot. I’m late.” He begins to back up, stepping toward the door. “Thank you,” he says, raising the cup.

“I hope you end up liking it!” You shout after him as he pushes the door open and rushes back into the rain.

Alone again, you settle down with your book, but the thought of that cute guy and his drink makes it hard to focus, until you give up and just grab the mop, cleaning the store before the post-work rush can begin.

****************************************

He doesn’t show up on Tuesday, but on Wednesday, at two forty-five, when you’re bored out of your mind, he shows up. The bells chime, alerting you to someone’s presence. Expecting Mrs. Keene to be early, you hop to your feet, but when you set your book down, you see it’s instead the cute guy from Monday. His hair’s still messy, but he’s grinning at you, and he seems a little less lost.

“Back so soon?” You tease, leaning against the counter as he makes his way to you.

“I told you, I need to get used to the taste of coffee.”

“I don’t blame you. Same thing?”

“Same thing, please.”

You smile. “Do you remember what it was called?”

He opens and closes his mouth twice, then, with a sheepish smile, shakes his head. “It was cinnamon.”

You laugh. “You’re halfway there. Cinnamon latte.”

“Cinnamon latte,” he says quietly to himself, and you have to hide your small smile. “I didn’t expect to be tested.”

“Well, you should’ve, because now you’ve failed.”

“How can you fail me if you don’t even know my name?”

You glance at him over your shoulder. His smile’s handsome, especially as he toys with a useless stack of business cards piled on the corner of the counter. “Touché.” A pause. “So?” You ask, returning to making his drink.

“Cedric,” he says. “Diggory. I would’ve introduced myself earlier, but you have the name tag and I didn’t even think…”

“That I couldn’t just read your mind?”

He bows his head, chin dipping against the warm orange of his sweater. “Sorry.”

You set his drink in front of him. “You apologize too much.”

He snorts. “I think this is the first time I’ve apologized.”

“And it’s unnecessary. Honestly, you’re one of the first people to introduce themselves to me.”

“They don’t introduce themselves?”

“Well, some of them do, but they’re in such a rush to get to work that it’s hard to place name to face. But Mrs. Keene certainly has.”

“Oh, I bet. She loves to talk.” He takes a sip of the latte. “Delicious.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” and he forces a smile after taking another sip.

“You’re one of the worst liars I’ve ever met.”

“You have no idea how happy it would make my dad to hear that.”

“He’s a stickler for rules?”

He hesitates. “No? Not really. He just…thinks a lot of me. Expects a lot of me.”

It’s your turn to hesitate now. You’ve only known Cedric a couple of days. What are you supposed to say about his family? That you’re sorry? That doesn’t seem right. Nor does pressing the issue and asking further about his family dynamics. He’s cute, but you’re not sure you want to hear about that just yet.

Thankfully, he spares you from any attempt at answering with a soft laugh. “Sorry, that’s a lot to tell you.”

“There you go apologizing again.”

“Sor—” he catches himself. Pressing a hand to his forehead, he shakes his head. “It’s a curse.”

“Apparently.”

You continue chatting, discussing your old hometown, your families, the way the weather has jumped from cold to hot in only a few days. When he finally takes his leave, citing a meeting with a friend, you’re surprised to see a full hour has passed, and you can’t stop smiling the rest of the evening.

****************************************

You have the cinnamon latte ready when he walks in on Friday, sitting and steaming on the edge of the counter when the bells chime. He’s smiling already as he brushes his hair from his eyes. He has something under his arm, pressed against his yellow sweater.

“One cinnamon latte,” you say, returning his smile and nodding at the mug. “Ready to go.”

“I’m getting too predictable.”

“Makes my job easier.”

“Hmm.” He grabs the drink. “No pop quiz today?” He asks before taking a sip.

“Not today,” you say, humming as you start on a latte for yourself.

“That’s too bad. I’d actually studied.”

“Oh?” You ask, raising an eyebrow as you pour some coffee into a small cup.

It’s a book tucked under his arm, and now he holds it up for you. “Yeah. Rented a book from the library and everything.”

You bark out a laugh when you see what he’s holding. Gourmet Coffee Drinks and How to Make Them. “You actually did study. Wow.”

His cheeks turn a light pink, but he’s smiling. “I wanted to pass.”

“Okay. So, I guess I can make a quiz special for you. Let’s start easy. What’s in a latte?”

“Espresso and steamed milk.” He rattles the answer off quickly. He saw this one coming.

“For most people, yes. You get coffee and steamed milk. How about a cappuccino?”

“Espresso and…milk foam.”

“Mmhmm.” You grab the cinnamon shaker. “Now…what about an americano?”

“That’s…”

“No cheating!” You say over your shoulder when you hear the flip of pages.

He flips the book closed. “It’s espresso and cold milk?” He asks, wincing, knowing already he’s wrong.

“Close.”

“Really?”

“Espresso and hot water. And not,” you say, setting your drink on the counter and raising an eyebrow, “anything for you.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Doesn’t sound like it. Thank the heavens for your expertise in cinnamon lattes.”

“It’s my job. Oh, and that’ll be two sixty-five again.”

He pulls out two bills and digs in his pocket, counting out exact change. What a thoughtful customer, not forcing you to do math today. “Don’t you ever get bored in here?” He asks.

You shrug, watching as he holds out a handful of coins. You hold out your hand, and he drops the coin in it, the tips of his fingers brushing your palm lightly as he does so. Your own cheeks warm in response, and you internally scold yourself. It was an accident. “Sometimes, but I can read while I’m here.”

“What are you reading?”

“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” At his surprised look, you roll your eyes and lean against the counter, chin in hand. “I didn’t choose it, really. It was a gift that happened to be on the top of one of my moving boxes. I’ve been too lazy to unpack everything so far.”

“How is it?”

“It’s all right. I’ve read better; I’ve read worse.”

He laughs softly and leans forward, elbows catching the edge of the counter. “A stunning recommendation.”

“Hey, I didn’t recommend it. I just said I’m reading it. My recommendations, as you see,” you say, gesturing to his latte, “are always top notch.”

“Well,” he says, swirling the cup, “you were right about this.”

“I told you. I’m great at recommending things.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

A silence falls in the coffee shop, broken only by the soft acoustic music you have playing over the stereo. He’s leaning against the counter, elbows on the edge, grey eyes crinkling with his smile. The slightest hint of stubble lines his jaw, you notice. When you meet his gaze again, he seems more serious, the easy smile replaced by a searching look, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe, and you realize just how near you are, both leaning against the counter. The smell of his cinnamon latte wafts up to you, and you can’t swallow the knot in your throat. You’re close to him, you realize with a start, very close.

Clearing your throat, you shove away from the countertop, cheeks burning, heart suddenly pounding. Why? He’s just a guy. A cute guy. A cute, funny, charming guy, but just a guy. He leans away, too, clearing his throat and gathering up his coffee book, tucking it under one arm. You know, as he sets his coffee down so he can run a hand through his hair, that you actually just might be a goner for Cedric.

Great.

“Mind if I sit here?” He asks, gesturing to the small booth.

You shrug, turning your back to him to hide your own nervousness. “All yours.”

The booth creaks as he settles into it. Though you take a rag and cleaner to it everyday per store regulations, it’s rarely ever used. In your short time working here, nobody’s used it for anything but waiting for their coffee.

Soft music fills the small shop, and you quietly hum along as you set to cleaning the store again. There’s no need for it, but it keeps you busy, and keeps you from looking at Cedric. Occasionally, he flips a page, but you’re very aware of his gaze and how often it seems to stray to you.

Finally, having rewashed all of the dishes, counted the register’s cash twice, and checked the supplies in the back room, you have no other excuses, and you return to the stool behind the counter and pick up your book. You’re about to sit down, hesitate, then head back to the machines and whip up another cinnamon latte.

“Here,” you say, stepping around the counter and to the booth’s small table. “On the house.”

“For me?”

“I don’t see anyone else here,” you say, setting your own drink and book down. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“Please,” he says, half standing as you go to sit. Some old gesture of chivalry or something. His cheeks redden, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep your nervous laugh from escaping. He settles back into his side and picks up his book. A minute passes, the both of you sipping your drinks, reading, and pretending not to be sneaking glances at one another. He’s virtually a stranger, for heaven’s sake, but you can’t help yourself. He’s cute and charming, and it’s not like you know anyone else in this town. At the very least, you’ve found someone that could be your friend.

You take a deep breath, working up the nerve to finally say, “good book, then?”

“Hmm?” He looks over it at you, then nods. “Yeah. Very good. Riveting stuff.”

“Must be,” you say, fighting a laugh, “if you haven’t even noticed you’ve got it upside down.”

He opens his mouth, then looks to his book. Cheeks red, he laughs at himself. “I do, don’t I? Merlin’s beard.”

“What?”

He shakes his head in exasperation. “I’m sorry. And no,” he says, holding up a finger when you try to interrupt him, “I’m not unnecessarily apologizing. You deserve it this time.”

You set your own book down and lean back in the booth. “Do I?”

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to read, but I keep getting distracted and I just—I think I need to ask you on a date. I’m sorry if this is too forward, or if you’re uncomfortable. I know we haven’t known each other long, and I keep coming to your work, and maybe that’s weird, but you seem nice, and you’re funny, and I really enjoy talking to you. But if you’re uncomf—”

“I’m free at five,” you say, biting your lip in a failing attempt not to laugh at his rambling worry. As if you aren’t interested in him as well. “And I could still use a tour of the town.”

He takes a deep breath, then releases it in a half-sigh, half-laugh of sorts. “You’re not creeped out?”

“Me? No. Why would I be?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing. Just, my friend, Fred, he said I’d be making your nervous, coming in here every day. And getting the book. He and his brother actually have money on whether you’d kick me out or not.”

You shrug. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I need a tour guide, and I don’t really want to hear about every single memory Mrs. Keene has of this place.”

“No, I can’t imagine you do. So, it’s a date, then?”

“Sounds like it.” You smile at him, and just then, the bell rings, and Mrs. Keene and her husband enter. Three o’clock, then. “I should…” you say, gesturing to them, and Cedric nods. His cheeks are a bright red, but he can’t stop smiling.

“Yeah. I’ll be here. Reading, hopefully.”

“Book right-side-up?”

He grins and flips it around. “This time, yes.”

As you round the counter, Mrs. Keene is already talking, rattling off the order you know by heart, and you find you don’t really hear anything she’s saying, heart thudding, glancing at Cedric as often as he glances at you. Five o’clock can’t come soon enough.

#cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #cedric x reader #HP FIC #fluff #cedric diggory x you #cedric x you #coffee shop au #oh man this got out of hand #this was supposed to be like a third this length #i did research on coffee drinks for this #why is this so long #but thank you for the request! I really enjoyed writing this!#i'm just shocked it was so long bc I didn't know what to write when I first sat down to create it #I do love Cedric though #I hope you like this!! if you want a drabble size I can do that too #have a fantastic day!#badass-dora-milaje

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mandoalorian · 4 years

Text

Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Prologue

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Eventual smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption.

But in this chapter - themes of a sexual nature.

Author’s note: Everything in bold italics is a flashback. Yay! This is the first part of my sugar daddy/sugar baby Maxwell Lord x f!reader Christmas fic. If you want to be tagged in future parts please let me know! Enjoy x

MASTERLIST | SUBMIT REQUESTS

PREVIOUS - PROLOGUE - NEXT

It was an exciting day for the staff at Black Gold Cooperative, and exciting days at Black Gold Cooperative were often hard to come by. Every year Maxwell Lord would begrudgingly allow his staff to take a few hours out of their work schedule to help decorate his main headquarters in time for Christmas. Christmas music boomed throughout each floor as everyone from secretaries, associates, chefs and cleaners would help each other engage in festive decorating. It was so much fun, everyone was beaming and laughing. The staff made sure to enjoy every second of it because they knew by tomorrow it would all be over.

Brittany, one of Maxwell Lord’s three assistants, had designated her input to the main lobby as she ushered in loggers who had cut down the forest’s biggest Christmas tree. They were pushing it into the lobby but struggling to get it through the double doored main entrance. Fern and pine cones nudged off the tree and rolled along the red carpet in the entryway.

“What are you just standing there for? Go help them!” she commanded the doorman, Andreas, with a roll of her eyes. The tall and strong built doorman walked over to the loggers and asked them if they needed any help.

Brittany turned around when she saw the dazzling yellow gold fairy lights strung delicately along the grand staircase. Her heart stopped when she saw the man of her dreams walk down them. Her very own prince Charming. Maxwell Lord was in a daze as he looked around the lobby of his company’s headquarters. Christmas lights sparkle and shine all around him, tinsel and banners strung up over paintings and portraits. Maxwell would never involve himself with the Christmas decorating but he did have a duty to check that it wasn’t overly tacky each year.

His dark blonde hair glistened golden under the fairylights that surrounded him, and he looked so incredibly smart in his light blue suit jacket, lilac shirt and royal purple tie with matching pocket square. Of course he looked just as smart every day but it was always special when he chose to wear colour instead of just chiaroscuro. Brittany caught on to Maxwell’s confused expression when his eyes locked onto the struggling loggers and his doorman pushing a Christmas tree through the double door.

“What’s going on over there?” Maxwell asked as his other assistant, Stephanie, who handed him his go-to black coffee. Brittany approached him with a wide smile.

“They’re struggling because we decided to get a bigger Christmas tree this year. They’ve spent the past half an hour trying to push it through the door.” Brittany explained, scrunching her nose up in dismay.

“And who’s idea was it to get a bigger Christmas tree?” Maxwell asked, folding his arms against his chest. The loggers had finally pushed it through and were now trying to position it just by the left of the grand staircase. Maxwell huffed out an annoyed sigh as he saw the mess of fern that had trailed in behind the tree.

“Andreas’ idea.” Brittany pointed at the exhausted doorman who was now covered in dirt from trying to move the Christmas tree. That was a lie. It had been Brittany’s idea to get a bigger tree. Stephanie narrowed her eyes and shook her head at her colleague.

Maxwell Lord sauntered away from his assistant’s and to the shop that was located just by the main reception help desk. He’d go there everyday and purchase the same bar of chocolate and chat up the lady who he had working behind the counter.

Everyone continued with their decorating, humming the lyrics to Do They Know It’s Christmas by BandAid which had just been released that week. Seeing everyone so jolly lit a fire in Maxwell’s heart. It reminded him of his own childhood.

The only reason he kept up with the tradition of decorating Black Gold Cooperative for Christmas was because his father used to allow it too. And it was one of the only times of the year he got to spend with him. Maxwell remembered the way his father would lift him onto his shoulders and encourage Maxwell to put the star on the top of the tree. Once the young boy managed to do so, the whole of his father’s office would cheer and applaud for him. The pride was something that elated a young Maxwell and he loved the validation that he got from, not only his father’s inferiors, but most importantly, his own father.

Maxwell would accompany his father around the office and watch as he gave gifts to his employees. He was more than generous, handing things out such as expensive bottles of champagne and tickets to Santa’s grotto to those he knew had families.

“I want to go see Santa,” a young Maxwell wailed one year.

“And what could you possibly want to see Santa for?” Maxwell’s father laughed, pinching his son’s chubby cheeks. “You already have every single toy you could possibly want.”

Maxwell frowned, his chocolate brown eyes sparkling. “I want to meet Rudolph the red nosed reindeer.” the child admitted, folding his arms and puffing out his cheeks.

“I see.” Maxwell’s father chuckled before picking his son up and planting a kiss on his forehead. “You know daddy’s busy, but what if you ask mommy to take you?”

“Mommy never takes me anywhere.” Maxwell frowned sadly and his father nodded understandably, his arms tightening around his son as he hugged him. He knew his wife was an absent mother but there was so little he could do about it.

“Maybe next year, huh son? Would you like that? Daddy can try and get some time off work.” Maxwell nodded sadly as his father put him to the ground. “Now go to your playroom. I want you to finish writing your Christmas list so we can send it to Santa Claus.” His father encouraged. “Remember I want you to do your best cursive handwriting. Can you do that for me?”

Maxwell nodded happily before padding away to his playroom. Despite his father’s empty promises, he never got the chance to meet Santa Claus or speak to Rudolph the red nosed reindeer. He never got to experience the same things as other children his age did.

"Mr Lord, I was thinking we position the Christmas tree here. Decorate it with black and gold baubles, of course— oh, and tinsel too. What do you think?" Brittany asked, interrupting her boss’ thoughts. She twirled her finger in the air, gesturing for the logger’s to rotate the tall pine tree into a slightly new position. "That's much better. Now, Amanda wanted an angel on the top, bit I was thinking a gold glittered star would be much more fitting-"

The star at the top of the tree. Just like his childhood. Maxwell shook away the painful memories. He held his hand out, in a motion that would connote ‘stop’. Brittany listened. "I don't care." Maxwell said, looking up at the tree and shaking his head. Brittany’s grip tightened around her clipboard as she followed her boss to the grand staircase.

"Right, of course. My bad sir. But I was thinking how nice it may be, for you to have a Christmas tree in your own office?"

"And what purpose will that serve?" Maxwell asked with half a sigh before taking a sip of his espresso. His face soured at the bitter taste and he threw the practically full cup into the trash. He had forgotten how fast his hot drinks would turn cold during the incoming winter period. "What the fuck does it take to get a decent coffee around here?" He muttered to himself, but loud enough for Stephanie to hear. Stephanie scowled. No matter what she just couldn’t make a nice coffee.

"It would look nice," Brittany beamed. "Festive."

"No." Maxwell replied, checking the time on his gold wristwatch. Slightly alarmed, he turned away from the lit up staircase and he began to approach the elevator, Brittany continuing to follow quickly behind him.

"Sir, don't you like Christmas?" Brittany asked her boss curiously.

"No." Maxwell repeated, his voice just as monotone as before. He really didn’t want to talk about this.

"But why not?"

"Brittany do I pay you to ask me questions?" Maxwell snapped, spinning around on his heel and grabbing his assistant by her chin. She looked up at her boss, fluttering her dark eyelashes which framed her emerald coloured eyes.

"No sir." She replied innocently, biting her lower lip. Maxwell smirked, his grip tightening on her.

"What do I pay you for?" he growled quietly, his face just inches away from hers.

"You pay me to look pretty and be there whenever you may need any assistance." Brittany remembered his exact words from the day he hired her.

"Good girl," Maxwell praised. "I don't appreciate all these questions from you. You want to put your mouth to good use? I suggest you shut up and head to my office. Undress yourself. I'll be five minutes."

Brittany nodded with an eager smile spread across her face and bolted up the grand staircase. Once Maxwell had shared a few polite sentiments and signed a few autographs from the loggers who had come in with the Christmas tree, he took the elevator to the 22nd floor of his office.

Amanda, who was manning the desk outside of Maxwell’s personal office, rolled her eyes as she noticed Maxwell following Brittany in there just minutes after. Knowing what they’d both be up to, she continued filing her nails - trying to get the perfect shape when her colleague, Stephanie, practically fell out of the elevator when the door slid open to the 22nd floor of Black Gold Cooperative’s headquarters.

In shock, Amanda dropped her nail file on the floor and her head bolted upright, gaze following a heaving and panting Stephanie. Stephanie ran to the desk, grabbing the corners so hard her knuckles turned white, panic spread across her face.

"Stephanie, what's wrong?" Amanda asked, tilting her head slightly.

"She's here." Stephanie was gasping for breath, fear prevailing in her ice blue eyes. Stephanie didn’t have to say who exactly had entered the premises because her tone said it all.

"That's impossible." Amanda scoffed, rolling her eyes and picking her nail file up.

"I saw her," Stephanie continued. "Downstairs. In the lobby. I was trying to make Mr Lord a new and improved espresso and she just threw her fur jacket on me - like I was some kind of coat rack. She'll be up here any second now. Where is Brittany?"

That’s when the fear dawned on Amanda.

Now also panicked, Amanda looked at the large double doors at the end of the room which led into Maxwell Lord's personal and private office. Stephanie's gaze followed and her ruby red lips parted into a perfect ’o’ shape. "She's not… is she?" Stephanie shook her head in disbelief. Amanda nodded her head, agreeing to Stephanie’s insinuation. "What the hell do we do?!"

"Oh no oh no," Amanda began pacing around in circles behind the desk. "They don't train you for this!" She exclaimed, holding her head in her hands. "I think we better go tell them that she's here before she walks in on them."

"Are you kidding me?" Stephanie gasped, placing a hand on her hip. "Fine. You go. I do not want to be the one who interrupts Maxwell Lord IV when he's in the middle of you-know-what."

"He'll be grateful!" Amanda pointed out, urging Stephanie enter Maxwell's office. "Look, what sort of guy wants his mother to walk in on him going down on a random girl?"

Stephanie rolled her eyes. "Mr Lord doesn't go down on any of us."

"He goes down on me." Amanda smiled proudly.

"You're lying." Stephanie tutted.

"Am not!" Amanda argued.

Neither of the girls noticed Mrs Maxine Lord walking straight past them and into her son’s office. She froze at the door and a wicked smirk planted across her lips when she saw a disheveled Brittany wipe her face with a silk handkerchief, provided courtesy from her boss. Maxwell’s brown eyes widened as he saw his mother standing there with her hand on hip. Brittany was practically shaking in fear as she discarded the handkerchief and tightened the ponytail in her hair.

“Mrs Lord!” Brittany exclaimed with a teary eyed but polite smile. “How unexpected it is to see you. Can I get you anything?”

“You can leave.” Maxine said bitterly. Brittany nodded and ran out the office. Maxwell zipped his pants up and slouched into his chair as his mother took a seat opposite him. “Do you want a lawsuit?” she asked her son with a frown.

“What are you talking about?” Maxwell sighed, taking a comb and fixing his dark blonde hair.

“You keep fucking your assistants. One of them will rat you out and try suing. I just know it.” Maxine shook her head, placing her Chanel purse on her lap. “And Maxwell, I don’t want the future heir of Black Gold Cooperative to be the child of some no good under qualified assistant. Heaven forbid.”

“Mother, why did you come here unannounced?” Maxwell sighed, wanting to change the subject immediately. Maxine composed herself before forcing a grin.

“I spoke to president Reagan,” she beamed. “He said we can host this year’s Christmas gala at the White House.”

“Okay?” Maxwell rolled his eyes and took out a stack of papers from underneath his desk and began flicking through the pages. He figured if he looked busy, then maybe his mother would leave him alone.

“Maureen will be there.” she cooed, snatching away the papers that were in her son’s hand.

“And?” Maxwell sighed again, frustration building up inside of him as he looked at his fingers, thinking her abrupt action had given him a paper cut.

“Oh come on Maxwell!” his mother exclaimed, annoyance prevalent in her voice. “Think about it. Your future child’s grandfather could be president Ronald Reagan! And Maureen is quite the natural beauty. I mean - before she had all that work done. It would truly be great for the business. Can you imagine the publicity?”

“Do you hear yourself?” Maxwell shouted and stood to his feet. “I am not interested in Maureen, nor will I be attending this ridiculous Christmas gala. Jesus Christ - I don’t even support Reagan.”

“Yes you will attend the gala Maxwell, because I say so.” Maxine raised her voice just as loudly as her son, asserting her authority. “I think you’re forgetting your roots. Your father founded the annual Black Gold Cooperative Christmas gala. Now imagine how he’d feel if he knew you had no interest in showing up.” Maxwell’s heart stung and he dropped his head in shame. She was right. He would be disappointed. “I will page you the details,” Maxine promised. “In the meanwhile - I want you to sort this dirty business you have going on with your assistants. You want a whore? You could at least pay them for being your whore.” she spat in disgrace.

Maxwell knew his mother didn’t mean her words and the last thing she would want is her son frolicking around with someone who he paid for sex and sex only. She wanted him to find a suitor who was just as wealthy and well respected as him.

However it did strike him with an idea. What if he were to hire someone who could be there for him whenever he needed that release? His assistant’s were on thin ice and he understood that there was always the potential of an impending lawsuit. That would be more than damaging to his reputation.

He needed someone new. Someone who would be more than happy with satisfying his sexual desires. Someone he could easily come to a mutual agreement with him. He’d have his lawyer draft a contract. But it wouldn’t be easy. If it got out to the public - that Maxwell Lord was looking for a partner just to simply gratify his sexual needs - the tabloids would eat him up. Luckily, Maxwell Lord was cunning, scheming, and he had the perfect idea.

❆❆❆

Taglist: @100layersofdaddyissues @mrschiltoncat @honeymandos @thisisthe-way

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #smut #max lord #max lord x reader #wonder woman 1984

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