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thevillainswhore · 1 year ago

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A Forbidden Invitation

Pairing: Best Friend’s Dad!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 11.5k

Summary: You think a one night stand from the summer, the best fuck of your life, is a done deal — a single, heated encounter that now lives vividly in your memories. But you learn that your actions have consequences when you befriend a new student, starting in the new term, and she invites you over to meet her Dad.

Warnings: Age gap, flashback, betrayal of friendship, manipulation, coercion, reader has severe daddy issues and self esteem problems, derogatory names, daddy kink, praise kink, smut, kissing, nipple play, blowjob, throat fucking, choking, fingering, pussy slapping, p in v sex, squirting.

Author’s Note: Unbeta’d, warning graphics and dividers by @rookthorne

“Come on, babe!” Rebecca whined at the edge of your bed. “You’re telling me a weekend away from this shithole doesn’t sound good?”

It had been a whole hour of your friend begging you to come back home with her for your midterm break and while you usually had the patience of a saint, it was difficult to keep composed as she refused to back down to your unacceptable reasoning.

You sighed, finally closing your laptop with an inwards huff and coming to terms that you would not be getting any more work done. Blowing out a breath, you leveled your gaze onto her.

“Becs,” you treaded carefully, mindful of her feelings. “It’s very sweet of you. But, I really need to get my work finished.” Rebecca’s face fell sullen and you rushed to explain. “I just like my time alone, y'know? I concentrate better.”

Her brunette hair fell over her eyes as she bowed her head. This girl really knew how to put on a show and you playfully rolled your eyes at her dramatics. But as she lifted her head with a pout and her wide, shining ocean blues, you knew you were done for.

Oh no. The puppy eyes.

“Hey!” You pointed at her. “No—stop that! I’m not changing my mind.”

The intensity of her stare only worsened while she slowly gained on you. “But what am I gonna tell my Dad when he asks when you’re not there?”

“Wait.” Clarity hit you then and you held your hand up to stop your friend in her tracks. With a glare you questioned, “Did you already say I was coming?”

The guilty twitch of her eye said it all. “Maybe—“

“Becca!”

“I couldn’t help it!” she swore. “My dad invited you, I couldn’t tell him no.”

“He invited me?” you asked, surprised.

“Yeah. The day we met, he called to see how I was doing—asked if I had made any new friends.”

She shrugged. “We’ve moved around a lot ever since I can remember and trying to fit in somewhere…” Her voice suddenly grew quiet as she solemnly whispered, “I’ve never had a real friend before. You’re the only one who’s been able to stick around for so long and he really wants to meet you.”

The frustration embedded in you faded out to make way for the sudden ache in your heart. To your knowledge, Rebecca was a new student who transitioned to your college in the middle of the recent school year. Both of you had a couple of classes together and the first time you ever saw her still reigned fresh in your mind.

The doors to the auditorium crashed open as she stumbled in late and out of breath to her first class. Strands of her brown hair fell from the messy bun on the top of her head and her cheeks coloured bright red; it pained you to watch her embarrassment as a room of over a hundred stared at her, along with the professor. And so began your friendship when you rushed out of your seat to help her with her huge stack of books, ushering her to the back to sit next to you.

Since then the two of you had been inseparable. Rebecca was a genuine, lovely girl — sweet and a breath of fresh air to your college life. She never failed to let you know how appreciative she was to your kindness of friendship, so even though you had only known her for a short while, it felt as though she was a true friend; one who would be staying around for a while.

Sighing in defeat, there was no way you could decline the offer after hearing she had been gushing over you to her Dad. “Okay, okay—Fine. I’ll come— AH!”

You squealed as she leapt onto you, knocking you back against your mattress as she profusely thanked you while vibrating with joy. The giggles and uncontrolled laughter that filled your room masked the unexplainable dread knotted in your stomach. But not wanting to tarnish Rebecca’s excitement, you let go of your worries for the time being.

Going to the club alone wasn’t an activity you made a habit out of; you understood the dangers of your vulnerability to men who couldn’t take a hint.

However, that summer night — a hazy memory now in the present — forbade common sense and instead, threw it out of the window. Not to be seen again until you woke up the next day.

The stress of the week had gotten too much for you; too many assignments needing to be handed in at once, your parents bombarding you with passive aggressive texts about their ongoing disappointment with you and the cherry on top of it all, you had caught your boyfriend cheating on you with the girl he had sworn you had nothing to worry about.

So of course, that week in particular had tested you. But instead of moping around your dorm room, your mind unhelpfully persisted with the motion to get shitfaced drunk and allow future you to worry about your problems. In the moment, you thought that to be your most genius idea of the week — letting your hair down in a sweaty nightclub around people you didn’t know and not caring about the consequences sounded perfect.

In hindsight, it was probably one of your most beautiful mistakes.

You remembered it all clearly. The newfound freedom of not giving a fuck, the humid air with the bass of the speakers invading your ears — every small detail added to the atmosphere as you were in your own world in the middle of the dancefloor, erotically swaying your hips side to side and running your hands through your hair.

The short cocktail dress you had worn to make yourself feel good illuminated your curves while also giving you the liberty to dance without limit to your movement. You wanted to forget for a while — go crazy and let loose.

Which was why the stunning pair of cerulean eyes that pinned you down across the room from the bar was your ticket to a night of fun — everything you needed at the moment in time. From your vantage point, the stranger looked to be in his forties, but in the best way possible. His form was built, the right amount of muscle carrying his frame and his grown out brown locks tucked behind his ears. No one had ever looked more sexy to you.

Aware of being the center of attention to an attractive stranger, you smoothed your hands down from your hair, seductively over your neck, teasing your glowing skin and finally to your chest. You bit your lip when his hungry stare that soaked your lace underwear focused on your tits, overspilling from your dress and you watched, smug and exhilarated as the unknown man tightened his fist against his tight trouser cladded thighs.

Through the whole night, the delightful burn of his stare never left you. A brand was marked into your skin; a warning to everyone else that you were spoken for — only for the night at least.

If you ordered a drink at the bar, the stranger was a couple of seats down from you, greedily lapping up your figure. If you were sitting in the smokers area, catching your breath and cooling down, he was there too, leaning against the brick wall smoking a cigarette with his attention solely focused on you, no matter the amount of women who were not so discreetly throwing themselves over him.

Even at the end of the night, as you once again danced to the deep bass of the beat among everyone else, he watched you from his own corner, still as enamored with you as the first time your eyes met.

Adrenaline spiked your veins. It was addicting to be the object of someone’s desires, to be seen.

You had only spoken through heated looks and loaded glances, but he was unlike any man you had encountered before. Mysterious and cryptic. You were just as lost in him as he was into you and you couldn’t have cared less that he was obviously older than you. It was what you needed. He was what you needed.

The buzz from the few shots you had taken reached their peak and you decided it was now or never to claim what you so rightfully deserved.

With a bounce in your step, you strutted in your heels through the crowd of people, never taking your eyes off your prize and him neither. He licked his lips as you closed the distance, stopping just before you bumped into the tip of his shoes.

“Listen,” you spoke over the music, determined and resolute. “I’m gonna skip past the pleasantries and bullshit.” The allured stranger raised his eyebrow, intrigued. “You want me and I definitely want you. So, do you want to get out of here?”

Your bravery faltered slightly as you realised in his close proximity how direct you had been. While you were almost certain this stranger was as attracted to you as you were to him, the tiny seed of doubt that a mature man wouldn’t want to hook up with someone as young as you revoked your liquid courage.

But that worry soon disappeared when he gave you a fierce once over now you were up close. A raging storm of lust and desire clouded his beautiful eyes, wild and desperate to get his hands on you. Your breaths came in quick and heavy as he smirked so sinfully. The bastard knew he held so much power in the palm of his hands when his body towered over yours, the difference in size between you not hard to miss. There you could tell the fun had already begun.

The rest of the club became a blur as he brought his mouth down to your ear. You felt each slow and steady breath against the curve of your neck and you were sure even in the darkness, he noticed the goosebumps that littered your skin. “All I need you to know tonight is my name.” His voice was as sexy as you had imagined, a deep, rasped husk that made your legs weak. But it was his next words that almost made you collapse. “Because it’s the only thing you’re gonna be screamin’ for the rest of the night, darlin’.”

Your mind grew foggy at the next sequence of events. The hustle of getting into a car and fiercely making out in the backseat until you arrived at an upscale hotel. Everything happened so fast. One minute you were waiting impatiently at the reception desk and the next you were stumbling into a lavish hotel room, unable to keep your hands off each other as items of clothing flew across the room in your haste to get naked.

The two of you bumped into the array of furniture in the hallway, the thought of tearing away from each other's lips unbearable. Bucky, you learned was his name, was an amazing kisser, his tongue gently teased yours as he threaded his fingers through your hair and he kept a firm grip of your cheeks like he was desperate to keep you close.

“Fuck,” he slurred between kisses. “You’re so— fuckin’— gorgeous.” His eagerness to keep his lips against yours while complimenting you spun you for a loop, unfamiliar to this kind of intensity.

The clink of dog tags were the culprit to halt your motions while he kept on kissing you, traveling down the slope of your neck and to your shoulders to bite your skin. As he was occupied, you took your chance to admire his physique. For a man his age, he was jacked — a toned stomach with several abs sharp enough to cut and two deliciously slender grooves running underneath his trousers to a bulge big enough for you to let an unhinged moan escape.

His body was sickening, he truly had no business to look as good as he did for a man his age. But like hell were you going to complain when all the boys at college disappointed you time and time again. The bar was low and this man had already exceeded your expectations, he was only supposed to be an idea fit for your wildest fantasies. Yet, there he was, real and existing.

Time was of the essence and you wasted none of it as you ripped yourself out of his hold, left in only your underwear, and dropped to your knees without pause to hurriedly remove his belt.

“Oh, shit.” He gulped. “Baby— baby—you don’t have to do that—“

You hushed his assurances and batted away his hands that tried to pull you up without real effort. “No, I don’t have to. But I want to.” Fluttering your eyes, you looked up at him and slyly smirked. “Let me suck your cock. You just worry about having a good time.” With a wink, you unlooped the expensive leather through the buckle and dropped it to the floor, soon after working to unzip his fly and rid him of the offending trousers that stood in your way.

The material slid down his thick thighs and he was left stood in his underwear, black briefs tented from his hard cock. A frenzied need to soothe the urge to get your mouth around him took the reins when you instantly nuzzled into his crotch.

“Fuck me, you’re a needy little slut aren’t you?” He wrapped your hair into a ponytail around his fist, controlling your movements. Though, there was no reason to, eager as you were. You would have done anything he asked.

You did do anything he asked.

You hummed while suckling the tip of his cock over the material of his underwear, “Mhm.” He threw his head back and groaned like a wild beast while you admired the wet patch growing on the fabric before your very eyes. It was unhinged — raw. But your stranger of the night didn’t seem to care, too fucked out as his eyes rolled back from pleasure.

Unable to control your burst of desire, you suddenly shucked his briefs down.

Your mouth fell open at the sheer size of him, an audible gasp echoed over the silence of the marble walls. Never had you seen a dick as pretty or big before and the drool that had gathered in your mouth began to leak out the side of your mouth.

You were aching for him.

With a cocky smile, the man tapped under your chin twice to direct your head upwards. “Up here, darlin’—I want those pretty eyes on me when you take my cock.”

Immediately opening your mouth wide and sticking your tongue out for him, he chuckled breathily at the crazed look in your dilated pupils. “Well, aren’t you just the biggest whore I ever did see.” Grabbing his cock and pressing the tip onto your tongue, he began to slide it forward. “Good fuckin’ job I like ‘em that way. Now open up wide so I can fuck your throat, baby—”

“Babe!”

Jolting out of your memory infused dream with a shriek, you span your head around to Rebecca in the drivers seat of her car. “Oh, there you are!” she hissed, teasingly. “I called for you like ten times. Where the fuck did you go?”

You swallowed the dryness coating your throat and hastily sat up. A hot sweat had settled over your skin and you immediately grabbed your water bottle from the footwell and chugged it down.

Once you had cooled down, you glanced back at your friend, cringing at the raised eyebrow that meant you weren’t getting out of an explanation. “I, uh— I’m sorry I didn’t—um—get much sleep last night,” you lamely replied.

The unimpressed expression on her face told you she didn’t believe you. But you were saved when her face suddenly lit up with glee. “Eek! We’re finally here!”

Had a three hour drive really gone by that fast?

Looking out the car window, your eyes widened when you saw an estate, guarded by iron gates around the whole property, surrounded by acres upon acres of land. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, even when Rebecca began animatedly speaking with someone by the toll station.

Who the fuck was this girl?

Eventually, she pulled up to the house, passing the stone driveway with a water fountain in the middle and cut the engine off. “Come on, you. My Dad’s expecting us.”

You were in a daze while you opened your door, stepping out the car and taking in every inch of the property. You would have never guessed your friend, the most down to earth and humble person on campus, had a lavish lifestyle with all the trimmings. It was clear she didn’t feel the need to brag about her privilege and her nonchalant attitude about it only baffled you more.

The doors to the mansion suddenly swung open and what you could only have presumed to be a butler promptly rushed towards the car. “Miss Barnes, how lovely to see you again.”

Rebecca scoffed and hugged the man without hesitation. “Don’t be silly. You know you don’t call me that.”

Even with her sweetness, he remained as professional then ever and brushed by her to pick up her bags. “Of course, Miss Barnes. Your father is out at the minute, but he has left you a gift by the entryway table.”

With a high pitched scream, your friend ran inside without looking back. It was hard not to smile at her carefree ways and trying to shake the deepening apprehensiveness from the moment Rebecca invited you, you rounded to the boot of the car to grab your luggage.

“That won’t be necessary, ma’am.” The butler immediately stepped forward and swiftly picked up your bags along with Rebecca’s with ease.

“Oh, no that’s okay, honestly! I can bring them in no problem!” You tried detesting, not used to any kind of special treatment.

But it was no use as he kindly insisted, “There is no need to worry. Please relax and join your friend, I believe there is a gift for you too.”

Sighing, you yielded and eventually followed in your friend’s steps, twiddling your fingers anxiously while you walked into the foyer of the mansion.

Carefully crafted marble walls with what you could only guess were decorated with millions of dollars worth of extravagant paintings, lined up neatly up to the grand, spiral staircase where a round oak table sat in front of it.

You instantly spotted two gift baskets, difficult to miss as they were both filled to the brim with an assortment of treats and bright pink tissue paper.

Rebecca was already busy appreciating hers, taking care to read the note her father had presumably left her and gushing over the copious amount of sweet treats, new nightwear and a cashmere blanket, like this wasn’t a regular occurrence to her.

However, it was surprising to see you had also been spoiled; all of your favourites, intricately placed in the hamper. Your eye caught the note addressed with your name on and hesitantly, you reached out for it and unfolded the card — a simple yet polite message inside.

I can only apologise that I wasn’t here upon your arrival.

I’ve heard great things about you from my Becs and I sincerely look forward to meeting you when I’m home.

Please make yourself comfortable and enjoy the contents of your gift basket.

J.B.B.

“Oh, he’s the best,” Rebecca swooned, hugging the white blanket to her chest. “He said he got called into work for a couple of hours so he should be back tonight.

You exhaled, flitting your eyes over your new gifts. The information eased your nerves slightly — you were never any good at meeting parents, whether that be of friends or partners. The dynamic of a happy household wasn’t one you had experience with and the idea of ruining first impressions caused an anxiety you didn’t particularly care to revisit often. Especially now that Rebecca had come into your life — a friend you could absolutely see yourself building a strong bond with.

Realising you had been silent for too long, you spoke up, “Your Dad is very kind.” Your fingers inched forward and ran over the soft material of your very own matching cashmere blanket, it felt like you were touching a cloud. From the corner of your eye, you caught your friend suddenly looking sheepish. “What’s wrong?” you asked, turning towards her.

“I’m sorry about all of this.” She vaguely gestured her hand up in the air, to which you guessed she meant the sheer amount of money that screamed in your face. “I didn’t warn you and I should have. It's just that—” Rebecca’s eyes darted down and she crossed her arms over her stomach, shrinking in on herself.

You stepped closer, rubbing your hand over her arm for comfort. “Hey, it’s okay. You can tell me.”

She took a deep breath before lifting her gaze to you and shrugging. “I didn’t know if your intentions would be good if you knew about the money.”

“Oh, Becs.” Your heart ached at the obvious trauma from her past. Squeezing her arm, you attempted to uplift the sullen mood with some playful teasing. “I became your friend because I couldn’t get rid of you. Although, now it doesn’t hurt to know your family is loaded.”

Reluctantly, the smile grew on her face, turning into a bright grin she no longer could hide. “You’re awful.”

“Tell me about it.” You winked, nudging her hip with your own. “Seriously, you’re a good person and I’m your friend because I want to be. I couldn’t give a fuck if you’re rich.”

The muscles of her body relaxed and she quickly pulled you into a hug. “Thank you, babe.”

“It’s nothing, silly.” You squeezed her one last time before breaking away.

Rebecca sniffled, blinking away the onslaught of tears that were close to falling before cheerfully grabbing her basket. “Come on then, let’s go set up and order some pizza.”

Picking up your own basket, you followed your friend up to her room.

The few hours spent working on your assignments, eating pizza and listening to music flew by. Spending so much time with Rebecca actually turned out to be fun. You usually spent all your free time by yourself, respiting into a hermit because of your inability to enjoy friendly companionship.

But it was to your surprise that you found yourself not regretting agreeing to the trip. The thought of being back at your dorm, wasting your night away by sleeping, watching trash tv and succumbing to the vibator in your bedside drawer begging you to relive a night of passion now seemed sad as you glanced at your friend and the corner of your lip curled up.

That bubble burst quickly when a shout coming from the foyer echoed up to the open bedroom door. “Rebecca, sweetheart—I’m home!”

Instantly, her eyes widened and she shoved the laptop she was using off her lap at once, squealing with joy before leaping off the bed and running downstairs. “Dad!”

Your fingers twitched over the keyboard of your own laptop in anticipation, looking towards the door and sighing in resignation.

Decidingly, you thought it was best to give your friend a moment with her father. Not at all because you wanted to prolong the inevitable as long as possible.

But as a couple of minutes went by, the tick of the pink clock on the desk getting louder and louder by the second, you figured your absence would go noticed and so you begrudgingly shut the lid of your laptop to slowly begin making your way out of the room.

As you reached the balcony at the top of the staircase, you looked down just as Rebecca hugged her Dad tightly. An ache panged in your heart.

You weren’t close with your parents; neither of them checked up on you or asked when you’d be coming home to see them. They only contacted you when they felt like spewing their badly-hidden resentment towards you and the hurt you thought you had buried long ago began to make its way front and center.

You shook your head and cleared your throat. You wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t tarnish your stay with your friend over something so silly — or be scared to meet her parent. So with a deep breath, you glided down the steps.

Rebecca’s Dad had his back turned to you, which meant you only saw his thick head of hair, tucked neatly behind his ears and the muscles of his back straining against the white dress shirt he wore.

You were unable to pinpoint the exact reason a tingle started to form in your lower stomach, the sensation extremely familiar by now, but you immediately scolded yourself and pinched the skin of your thigh to snap out of whatever mood had caused such depravity. This was your friend’s father; get it together.

As you reached the bottom of the steps, your friend’s eyes locked onto yours and her whole face beamed. “Dad,” she gasped excitedly. “I want you to meet my friend.”

You steeled your features; the warmest smile you could manage with the straightest posture possible.

Time stood still when Rebecca stepped back to let her Dad turn around. Your emotions were all under control and you finally felt like you could do this.

But that was until your eyes met and your face dropped. Those blue eyes, those damn blue eyes, you would remember them anywhere.

Bile began to rise in your throat when he faced you completely. Suddenly, you were thrown back to that forbidden night that all started with the same man across the room by the bar, watching you like you were his last meal. Bucky.

You held back a loud gasp, aware that Rebecca was witnessing the interaction. Though, your blood ran cold when his lips lifted into a grin, one you knew a little too well.

The palms of your hands were clammy with sweat and your heart hammered inside your chest. You weren’t sure how to play this, the stifling silence had already been stretched out ridiculously.

Rebecca’s voice broke the quiet with an awkward chuckle. “Sorry Dad, we’re a little stumped. Exams have been kicking our asses lately and the drive over was long.”

Guilt crippled you then. While you could never have known the one night stand who invaded your thoughts daily would turn out to be your best friend's father, it still didn’t change anything — you fucked her Dad.

He finally took his eyes away from you to swing an arm around his daughter and laughed in fondness. “Don’t worry, I understand, Becs—you girls must be exhausted.” He then lifted his gaze back to you. “You must be the one she hasn’t stopped talking about.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. He doesn’t remember you? The lack of expression or recognition instilled a sense of hope within you.

Maybe he had forgotten about your night together — the low lighting of the club you met him at and the haze of alcohol hindering your senses as he took you to a hotel created a perfection concoction of forgetfulness you rationalised.

Eventually, deciding to act oblivious and hope for the best, you stammered up the courage to introduce yourself. “M—Mr Barnes. Thank you for letting me stay in your home.”

“Oh none of that, please.” A shiver raced down your spine, memories of begs and whimpers taunting your mind. “I’m James. But call me Bucky, darlin’.”

It took all the strength you had to trap the moan on the verge of escaping your lips. Yep, you definitely remembered that name.

Rebecca’s Dad stuck out his hand in front of you. “I’m very happy to meet you.” Your eyes darted between his hand and his face and then to your friend. Steadying your breath, you hesitantly placed your hand into his and felt his fingers tighten against yours. He shook your hand, his thumb gliding over your skin.

Tightening your lips in anguish, you replied, “V—Very happy to meet you, too.”

Bucky’s touch lingered against yours until you snatched your hand out of his when Rebecca hopped giddily and clapped her hands. “Oh, this is great! This weeks going to be so fun!”

You didn’t return the sentiment. This week was going to be your worst nightmare come to life — your biggest mistake being dangled on a string in front of you, only reminding you what a piece of shit you were.

“Okay, Dad. We’re gonna catch up on a little more work, so I’ll come find you later.” Your friend grabbed your hand that was limped by your side and started to pull you back up the stairs.

“Hard workers, ain’t you?” he laughed. “If you need anything let me know.”

“Thanks Dad, will do!” Rebecca shouted back down the stairs.

When you had reached the first landing balcony, you couldn’t help sneaking one more tiny glance at the one night stand you never thought you would see again. But your heart skipped a beat as you saw him already looking up at you and he slid his hand out of his suit pocket to wave at you before you disappeared.

You were sitting on Rebecca’s bed, waiting for her return when the inevitable happened.

An emergency she called it, when she slipped her feet into her shoes and swiftly threw on her hoodie, claiming an issue with her neighbour she absolutely needed to handle.

You had tried insisting on going with her, an extra pair of hands to help out. But she instantly pushed away your pleas, telling you not to worry and to focus on your work. That was Becca, a true sweetheart. But you wanted to strangle her then, scold her for leaving you in uncharted territory by yourself.

Nervous and on edge, you couldn’t concentrate on your assignment for the longest time. You consistently made quick glances to the open door of your friend’s bedroom, listened for footsteps upon the landing. Soon enough though, your nerves died down when nothing happened and it allowed you to focus on your laptop, finally becoming fixated on your assignment.

The only unusual thing that caught you off guard by yourself was the sudden heat of the house. You had built up a sweat in your hoodie and, unable to handle it, you took the fleeced material off in a swift flourish, leaving you in a tank top and shorts.

Other than that, you powered through, happy to be finally getting somewhere with your work. You weren’t even sure how much time had passed since Rebecca had left and the worry of how long it was taking her to come home slipped your mind.

Your guard was down while you hummed to the low music, lying on your stomach, back facing the door and typing away as you swung your legs in the air.

“I see you’re working hard.”

Yelping in fright, you almost fell off the bed, the deep grunt of Bucky’s smooth tone scaring you from the sanctuary of his daughter's room. You whipped your head around to see your friend’s Dad leaned against the doorway dressed in a tight black T-shirt and grey sweatpants, his dog tags rested against his chest.

The sight was a difficult one to swallow.

It was instinct to turn around so you were facing him as you raced to shuffle up Rebecca’s bed — a danger, your mind cautioned, to have your back turned to a wolf.

He held his hands out in front of him as he walked towards you, as though taming a frightened lamb. “Hey there, it’s only me. No need to be scared.”

“S—Sorry. I was a little lost in my assignment.” You apologised as you scrambled to gather all of your supplies together, desperate to gain some space from Bucky. “I think I’m done for the night, though. So I’ll just go downstairs and wait for Becca—“

“Hold up.” Bucky sat on his daughter's bed, leaving little to no proximity between you to effectively trap you in. “There’s no rush now, is there?”

Exhaling shakily, you stuttered, “N—No— um, not at all, Mr Barnes—“

“Bucky,” he corrected gently.

“Yes, B—Bucky.” You struggled to test his name on your tongue, not having spoken it since your night together. “I’m so sorry.”

Rebecca’s dad just laughed, amused at your rambling.

A tension, seemingly only one-way, swallowed you whole, threatening to drown you. It was impossible to hold direct eye contact with his ocean blues eyes, ones that ran vivid through your mind in your nights alone filled with heated memories and your biggest — now new favourite — vibrator.

His voice snapped you out of lust filled haze. “Rebecca shouldn’t be too long. Poor old neighbour lost his wife a couple of years back and Becs—the angel she is—goes over to help him when he needs it.”

You could see it. She was the sort to not think twice about helping anyone in need and the thought eased your mind. “Well,” you smiled, hoping you didn't look as awkward as you felt. “That’s very kind of her.”

“That’s my Becs,” Mr Barnes proudly grinned.

The room grew silent once again. Picking your fingernails, you fought to calm the cold, harsh anxiety eating away at you. It still seemed as though Bucky couldn’t remember you, but a nagging feeling in your gut wouldn’t let that settle your nerves.

“I just thought I’d come check on you anyway, sweetheart. Y'know, make sure you’ve settled in nicely for the week.” He smiled while placing his palm on the bed in the small space between you, leaning his weight against it as he got closer.

“Y—Yeah.” You cleared your throat before continuing, keeping your answers short. “Mhm, I’m all good, thank you.” You smiled tightly, hoping Bucky would take the hint to leave, but alas your luck was short.

“What you been workin’ on then, darlin’?” He nodded to your laptop resting on your legs.

“Oh, not much.” You downplayed. “Just a written piece, nothing major— no wait!—” Bucky cut you off as he abruptly swiped your laptop from your lap, the cold ring on his pinky finger brushing against the bare skin of your thigh. Before you could even think of hastily clambering for it back, he already had your laptop open and sitting on his thick thighs as he began reading.

“A psychology major, huh?” Bucky smirked, eyes scattering across the screen to take your assignment in. “Impressive. You’re a very clever girl.”

Heat quickly rose up your neck, warming your cheeks as you were rendered speechless. A heavy ache between your legs left you squeezing your thighs together because of his praise — his words sent you straight back to the night against the hotel’s glassed windows he had brutally fucked you against while worshipping how much of a good girl you were for taking all of him.

Quickly, you shook the intense thought from your mind, scolding yourself for letting it happen an umpteenth time. “Really, it’s nothing,” you said.

Bucky stopped reading your work and looked at you intensely, enough to make you squirm. “You really shouldn’t put yourself down like that.” Placing your laptop on the floor, he smoothly shuffled closer to you. You couldn’t help but stare at the hand he moved into your vicinity. His touch as he laid it on the naked skin of your thigh sent a thrill through your whole body. “Hasn’t anyone ever praised you before, huh?”

His intricate voice, delicate and gentle soothed you and excited you both in equal measure. The previous alarm bells blaring in your head were non-existent when he squeezed the meat of your thigh so tenderly with his large hands. “I— um— I don’t—”

“Nobody told you how proud they are of you?”

Your eyes glossed over as the shield you had built for yourself started to dismantle. Bucky was right. You were lonely and tired and you worked so hard for little reward. Your parents didn’t tell you they were proud of you, nobody ever told you how good you had been.

Bucky’s hand moved up to cup your cheek, his thumb delicately rubbing over your lip. You melted into his touch too quickly. “Shh, it’s alright, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”

You willingly fell into a dangerous trap he had set out as your eyes fluttered closed. Your friend’s Dad’s caress was so familiar, even after so long — his scent intoxicating and his voice a melody to the scrambled mess in your head.

It didn’t occur to you then, the issue with Bucky inching more forward, almost until his chest was plastered to yours. The thought of his strange comfortability with his daughter’s friend wasn’t worthy of space in your head.

For once you weren’t thinking of Rebecca.

Until the slam of the front door ricocheted up the stairs and into her bedroom. “I’m home, Dad!”

Your eyes shot open and you gave yourself a quick second to get lost in Bucky’s gaze before you leaped up in panic.

You were half expecting him to also worry, to quickly dart out of the room. But instead he carelessly stood up from the bed along with you and combed his hair back with his fingers.

“Dad! Where are you?”

Pure terror. The fear of being caught in a compromising position with Bucky by your friend was overwhelming as your hands shook. Rebecca’s footsteps began to sound over the stairs and you closed your eyes, waiting for chaos.

It was only a couple of seconds after your stomach jumped in frightful anticipation when you felt her presence join you. “Babe, have you— What the fuck are you doing?”

Your stomach lurched. Slowly squinting an eye open, you saw your friend standing in the doorway looking at you in confusion. You steadily tracked your sight across the room, expecting to see Bucky. To your surprise, he wasn’t there anymore.

You opened your eyes fully, the fear easing away some though your nerves were still alight with edginess. “I don’t— I don’t know.”

“Um, okay?” Becca said wearily. “Anyway, have you seen my Dad, I wanted to talk to him before we head to bed.”

This was a chance, you inwardly thought. To tell your best friend about everything while your friendship could still be repaired.

But the probability of disclosing your secret and potentially ruining Rebecca’s life won out. “No. I haven’t seen him.” The lie tasted sour on your tongue and shame clawed its way back to the surface.

Your friend smiled brightly and shrugged. “No problem, I’ll go find him. I’ll be back to work on assignments in a minute.” She exited her room in search of her Dad.

You crumpled to the bed and hung your head in your hands, exhaling deeply. You’re a shitty person, the voice in your head supplied unhelpfully.

After a while, Rebecca had returned to her room and for the rest of the evening, you both worked on your respective assignments; her chattering away happily while you stared at the screen of your laptop blankly, adding nothing to the open document until the two of you decided to call it a night.

Unexpectedly though, instead of getting ready for bed together, your friend showed you to a guest room.

“Becca,” you laughed. “I thought I’d be staying in your room for the night. You know—with you?”

“Well, I told my Dad you liked your own space and he set up one of the guest rooms for you. It's no biggie.” She shrugged.

Right. Because of course you wouldn’t be staying with her when there were an endless amount of spare bedrooms on the first floor alone.

You cursed yourself in that moment, reliving your protests of spending the midterm break alone because of your need for space.

“Are you sure?” You tried again, the vulnerability of being by yourself without the buffer of Rebecca taunting you. “We could have a sleepover! Watch movies and stay up late!”

But she just raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Girl, I know you are dying for a minute to yourself—to relax and decompress.” Holding your hand, she softly laughed. “I practically begged you to come here and you agreed. You’ve been more kind to me in the minute we met than most of my old friends over the span of the years I knew them. So please, the least I could do is give you a break during the nights.”

The guilt ate you alive; her selflessness and naturally good heart steadily chipping away at your conscience. Why the hell did she have to be so nice?

Putting on your best smile, you tried to rid of the nasty voice spitting venom inside your head. You slept with her fucking Dad, you whore — you don’t deserve this. Outwardly, you said, “I don’t deserve this, Becs. It's too much.” A somewhat admittance of the truth; the full story you would take to the grave, if only to keep your friendship intact.

“Oh, hush. Of course you do.” She pushed you away playfully into your new room. “Now go freshen up and get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Clenching your hands in unexplained nerves, you wished her goodnight while she began to walk down the hall to her own room. “See you tomorrow, Becs.” The door closed with a click and you dropped your forehead against the wood with a loud thud.

You could do this, you reasoned with yourself. It was only for a couple of days, and as long as you stayed close to Rebecca and was not left alone with her father, you could ignore your inner thoughts — the vile, disgusting voice that simultaneously begged you to to crawl on all fours to him like a desperate bitch and be ashamed of your sins.

It wasn’t difficult to fall asleep. Exhaustion from the events of a long day and a shower with the most luxurious products you had ever used assisted you with that and you whispered an internal gratitude to the fluffy pillows you laid your head on for helping you escape reality before you closed your eyes.

However, you were awoken from your deep slumber when the rattle of your bedroom door knob interrupted your dreamless sleep. You had to fight the heaviness of your body as you sat up, rubbing your eyes with a groan before you tried squinting through the darkness to no avail.

The sudden thought of your friend coming to annoy you after all surprisingly made you crack a smile. “Becs?” you sleepily called out.

The latch of the door clicked as it steadily creeped open and you rolled your eyes at your friend’s antics. “If you’re trying to scare me then ha ha—very funny, dork.”

Your sight began to adjust, outlines and shadows soon becoming more clear but still a struggle to make out in the late hour.

Though there was no response from your friend. Silence shrouded over the room with only your small breaths to be heard.

You stared at the doorway expectedly, waiting for a response you wouldn’t get. “Becca?” you called out warily once more.

But that time, as the door clicked shut with a deafening loudness, a deep voice — one that definitely did not belong to your friend — answered. “Y’know, you look just as pretty as you did the night we met.”

Cold dread had every muscle of your body locking up. It became clear then that it wasn’t Rebecca that had entered your room. More so a tall figure, clad in only his underwear and his dog tags.

“M—Mr Barnes?” your lips quivered with panic. “What— What are you doing?”

Every clink of the metal around his neck haunted you with each step he made closer. You scrambled up towards the headboard, plastering yourself against the wood.

Pointless when he sat beside you on the bed, bending his knee to lean one leg against your thigh. The feel of his bare skin against yours burned.

“No need to be afraid, sweetheart,” Bucky chuckled. “You know me, don’t you?”

You gulped. Sudden dizziness blurred his face to your eyes and the deprivation of your sight made his touch all the more electrifying when he swept your hair to the side and kissed your shoulder.

A shudder ran down your spine, the strap of your silk nightgown falling down your arm and stripping you of your only defense left against him.

“Mr Barnes,” you tried again, more pleadingly.

“What have I said about calling me that, hm? You know my name well enough by now, pretty girl. You’ve screamed it enough.” His tormenting laugh vibrated through you while he still peppered feather light kisses across your skin.

You begged your body to move, for your hands to push him away and your voice to shout for Rebecca. Alas, you kept to your place, still as stone.

“You can’t— you can’t be here,” you whispered shakily.

Bucky smirked. “Oh really? Is this not my house, sweetheart?” Your nipples pebbled against the silk material covering them as his breath cascaded goosebumps over your skin in its trail. “Been tryin’ so hard to restrain myself since I saw you again this mornin’. But I can’t fuckin’ hold back anymore.”

“You remember me,” you managed to choke out.

Bucky hummed, laving his tongue over the sweat building on your neck. “Like I could ever forget a girl like you.”

The knot in your stomach tightened, each press of his lips over your body immobilising you further. Bucky knew who you were, from the moment your eyes connected in the foyer. The reality set in then — deep and unsettling and delicious, all at once.

“I had to act like I didn’t know you, baby. Couldn’t have Rebecca finding out her only friend knows the taste of her Dad’s cock now, could I?”

You felt sick. Your mind raged in war between a guilty conscience and your own pleasure. To give in would be evil, so horrendously sick and twisted.

A single tear dropped from your watery eyes and slowly rolled down your cheek, the sudden saltiness hitting Bucky’s tongue and making him groan. “Fuck, don’t tease me already, baby.”

“She’s my friend,” you whimpered. “I can’t do this to her.”

Bucky looked up, a soft expression on his face. “Oh, darlin’. I love her too, really.” His lip curled up then, a wolfish gleam in his eye. “But I can’t go another minute without touchin’ you.”

Placing his forehead against yours, his hand traveled up from your thigh, all the way over your stomach until he reached your tits. You squeezed your eyes tightly closed when his forefinger and thumb pinched your nipple through the silk. “Doesn’t this feel good, hm? Doesn’t this feel right?”

Against your will, you released a high pitched keen. “Bucky.”

His chest rumbled in delight, a deep purr in your ear. However, your mind still bartered with itself, unrelenting in its inability to give in. “But what if Becca—?”

“She doesn’t have to know a damn thing, baby.” Bucky turned his head and bit over the pulse of your neck. “It’ll be our dirty little secret.”

Your head was filled with clouds, a fog smothering over any rational thought. Especially with the way Bucky began to sneakily slip the other strap of your nightgown down. He was mesmerising in his actions, his fragile touches that made you feel special.

You so desperately wanted to feel special.

Just like he made you feel back in the summer.

The evil voice in your mind hissed at you — dirty, disgusting, whore. The hopeful one became louder — lonely, unloved, tired.

You were so fucking tired.

The fight in you left. You were a goner, a sacrificial lamb while you tilted your head back to reveal more of you. The walls you so carefully crafted came crumbling down pathetically.

Bucky didn’t waste any time taking advantage of that. “There’s my good girl. Let it happen, baby.”

The moon shone through the window, becoming the only source of light in the darkness and its glow blanketed over the same features as the strobe lights in the club back in summer.

Fate hadn’t been on your side from the moment it cruelly introduced Becca into your life when it had already manifested your demise with her Dad. So who were you to try and change it?

Letting your body take control over your mind, you turned your head, grabbed Bucky by the back of his neck and crashed your lips to his — finally giving into temptation. His answering moan of shock and arousal made you more daring and you snuck your tongue into his mouth too.

Bucky ripped away, a string of saliva connected between your lips. “You still wear the same fuckin’ cherry chapstick,” he groaned, before squeezing your breast tightly. “Fuck—go lay your head at the end of the bed for me, sweetheart. Want that shit around my cock.”

With urgency, you rushed over to the edge of the mattress, lying on your back and making sure your head hung over the bed. Your view was upside down, warped while you watched Bucky stroll towards you with bated breath.

He stood behind you, all menacing and tall — you had never felt smaller in your life, though you liked the feeling with him.

The veins on Bucky’s forearm bulged from his skin as he brought his hand to your throat. Lightly, he caressed his thumb over the junction of your neck. “Do you remember how eagerly you sucked my dick last time?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, the bob of it transcending under his large hand. “I— I do.”

He smirked down at you. “You gonna make me proud again, baby?”

Your eyes glazed over with neediness. “Please—Want to make you proud of me.”

His bright white teeth gleamed with his predatory smile. “Stick out your tongue for me, darlin’.”

Doing as he asked, you opened your mouth and let your tongue hang out, uncaring to how easily you obeyed his commands.

“Good job, sweetheart.” Bucky brought his hands up to his underwear and with a swift pull, his black briefs fell to the ground.

You preened like a cat at the sight of his cock bobbing into your view. The light casting in from the moon glistened over the underside of his dick, the purple head pulsing harshly.

Bucky pumped his cock slowly twice, a premature pearl of cum gathering at the head. “You ready for me, baby?”

Nodding your head hungrily up at him, you whined, “Uh-huh.”

Bucky positioned himself closer to you, your head hung between his spread legs. You waited in anticipation for him to inch forward and slide his length down your throat, but instead he tapped the head of his cock against your wet tongue.

The resounding slap caused you to rub your thighs together in agony, the feel of his heavy weight divine.

“Aw, babygirl,” Bucky teased. “You missed me that much you can’t help those tingles already, huh?” He tapped his length against you again and his eyes fluttered. “There’s more where that came from.”

The desperation to wrap your lips around his cock was overbearing and so you sealed your mouth around him, suckling the tip with a refound hunger.

“Holy fuck.” Bucky’s legs trembled at the shock of your sudden confidence. “Oh, just like that, sweetheart.”

You swiped your tongue around the bulbous head of his dick, moaning rabidly at his salty taste. Bucky’s natural musk was addictive and you tried to shuffle your body closer to take more of his length, but he quickly grabbed your hips to stop you. “Woah—slow down there. Daddy’s the one runnin’ the show tonight, not you.”

You let go of his cock with a pop. “Please, Daddy.” Your pleas were breathless as you panted for air. “Want all of you—please!”

Leaning over until his lips brushed yours, Bucky kissed you deeply before murmuring, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, I’ll make sure you take all of me.”

He stood back up promptly, giving you whiplash in your current state. “Now open that slutty little mouth. Wide.”

Hardly giving you time to do as he asked, Bucky shoved his entire length down your throat. Your eyes widened as you gagged around him.

“Shh, baby. You’re okay, relax.” Opposite to his brutal force, he brushed softly over your chin. “You can handle me. You’ve done it before, right?”

Breathing through your nose calmly was a challenge with his thick cock limiting your intake of oxygen. But you wanted so badly to fulfill Bucky’s wishes. So closing your eyes and willing yourself not to panic, you focused your breaths.

“There we go.” The pride in his tone was exhilarating. “Knew you could do it, darlin’.”

Bucky kept still for a few more seconds, allowing you to get used to the intrusion of the new position before he began to ease his cock out of your throat and gently push back in. “Yeah, you remember my cock don’t you, sweetheart? Your tight little throat feels so fuckin’ good.”

Your hands came up to grip the back of his firm thighs to ground yourself. You felt every inch of him glide down until his tip reached your windpipe and you coughed violently, sputtering around him.

“That’s right, baby. Choke on me.” Bucky upped the speed of his pace then and your nails dug deep into his flesh.

While his actions turned harsh and forceful, your pleasure grew and with your squirming, the skirt of your nightgown began to ride up your body without you realising.

Bucky did though, almost immediately. You couldn’t see how his eyes snapped towards the bare skin of your thighs and lower stomach and to his pleasant surprise, you weren't wearing any panties.

The sound of his laughter while his hips continued to pump into you made your nerves spike.

“My sweet girl,” he cooed short windedly. “You must’ve known I was coming, huh? Not wearing anything under that cute little outfit.”

You squealed, unable to say anything while sucking his cock, though the vibrations of your moans made Bucky’s thrusts falter.

“Fuck—shit, baby. I almost forgot how good you are at that,” he laughed. His hands traveled tantalising over your stomach until he reached the bottom of your nightgown. “Let Daddy see what you’ve been hidin’ from me.”

The silk material unpeeled from your skin as Bucky lifted it over your breasts. Your full body was on display for him and you fidgeted bashfully under his scrutiny. Your sight was compromised, your movements were limited and your thoughts were scrambled.

“Oh, darlin’. You’re a doll, ain’t you?” Bucky’s rough and calloused hands smoothed over your bare skin. He palmed your breasts roughly, just once before inching down to your lower stomach. “Now, you gonna show me what I really wanna see?��

It didn’t take you a second to spread your legs for him, the cold air hitting your soaked cunt.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Open those gorgeous thighs for me, I wanna see how wet my baby girl is.”

Bucky leaned over your body, pushing his cock even further down your throat. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, but your body soon jolted at the feel of his finger sliding through your folds.

You screamed around his dick and tapped his thighs for a breather, which he so graciously granted. As soon as he tilted his hips to let his cock fall out of your mouth, you gasped loudly. “Oh my god— Bucky, I can’t. I can’t I can’t, please—”

Your hoarse voice was cut off when Bucky wrapped his free hand around your throat. “Shut the fuck up and take it.”

His cock laid against your cheek while he looked into your eyes. He forewent easing you into it and instead forced two of his fingers into your cunt. You were about to cry out until he shoved his cock down your throat again with a sigh. “Guess Daddy’s gonna have to keep you quiet—such a noisy girl.”

The clink of his dog tags with each thrust mixed with your gurgles around his cock, a mixture of your spit and precum bubbling around your mouth and running messily down your chin. The stretch of his fingers unprepared was painful and yet it blended perfectly into pleasure. “Mmph!”

“Yeah? You like that, sweetheart?” Bucky choked when he thrusted into your mouth at a particular angle. Taking advantage of his legs twitching erratically, you managed to release his dick and reach further back to his balls.

Wasting no time, you sucked them into your mouth while his cock slapped against your cheeks, smothering precum all over your face.

“Fuck,” he groaned, keeping the steady rhythm of his fingers pumping into your pussy. “You filthy fuckin’ whore—you just want all a’me don’t ya?”

You hummed while playing with balls, using your tongue to tease over his perineum. Bucky was losing his composure fast and the thrill of it made the knot in your stomach tighter.

But not one to be outdone, he ripped his fingers out of your cunt and slapped your clit, hard. You let go with a pop and squealed his name. “Bucky!”

You tried closing your legs, the sensation too overwhelming. Though it was useless with his strength as he held your thighs apart to carry on bringing his hand down firmly on your cunt. “I thought you wanted to play dirty, darlin’,” he growled. “Daddy’s just having some fun.”

Your body jolted with each slap delivered. You took it, even when the pain became too much and you thought you would pass out, until Bucky decided to give you respite. He left your pussy sore and aching as he lifted up away from you. A whine tore from your throat.

“That's what happens when you don’t do as I say.” You were manhandled up and into Bucky’s arms as he sat down against the headboard. He moved you around without a hint of struggle and placed you on his lap, facing away from him. “Good girls don’t disobey Daddy, do they?”

“No,” sighed. His hard, thick length stood firm against your ass, his dog tags soothingly cold against your warm back and you whimpered pleadingly while grinding back into him. “Want it in me.”

Bucky’s laughter vibrated through you. “Yeah, baby? Wanna bounce on Daddy’s cock?”

“Yes! Please!” you cried.

Gliding his hands around to your front, he pinched each nipple. “Well, I’m not stoppin’ you. Go ahead.”

You inhaled deeply, gathering all your strength to lift up on your shaky legs. Using Bucky’s thighs to hold yourself, you tilted your hips up until your heat skimmed over the head of his cock. “O—Oh, oh shit,” you stuttered at the sensation.

Bucky’s head thumped back against the headboard. “God—I’ve fuckin’ missed that cunt.”

His enjoyment allowed you the courage to balance on one hand while your other reached down to grip his thick length. A strangled noise rose from Bucky’s throat, but you ignored it and swept his tip through your folds.

“Look who’s gotten brave, huh?” Bucky laughed breathlessly while he played with your tits. “Not thinkin’ about poor Becs now are you, baby?”

Before the harsh retort could dig deep and make a home in your conscience, you shook your head and let his cock catch on your clenching hole. “Wanna be filled again.”

“Then do somethin’ about it, darlin’.” Bucky rested his chin on your shoulder and you both looked down to where your sex rested on his length. Your stomach sucked in with your uneasy breaths and after internally counting down, you dropped your hips.

“Fuck!” Bucky’s hands gripped your breasts tightly, something to help him through how good the slick glide felt. You did the same, latching on to his meaty thighs. “Shit.”

Your chests rose and fell in tandem, but the sensation of feeling so full made you tighten around his cock. “I need to move, Daddy.”

His mouth moved over your neck as he spoke, “Go on, babygirl. Milk Daddy’s cock.”

With his approval, you began to angle your hips up, letting his length slide out of you until the very head rested snug in your hole and then sank down again steadily. Your breath hitched while your head fell back onto his shoulder.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck—just like that. Keep going for me.” Bucky’s hands smoothed down to your hips and gripped them, helping you move over his cock.

“You’re so b—big,” you whispered. “Forgot how big you are.”

“Oh, I know. But you’re doing so good for me, aren’t you?” he cooed.

“Mhm,” your head bobbed lazily up and down with your motions. “I’m your good girl, right?”

Bucky grunted and made you bounce faster. “The best, baby. Such a good girl for me.”

His dick throbbed angrily inside you, its length scraping your walls and stretching you with its girth. The clapping of your thrusts grew louder, more depraved as you lost control from the divine pleasure. Had you been thinking more clearly, you would have been careful about your volume, but all your inhibitions went out the window long ago.

“Need more,” you slurred. “Wanna cum, but need more Daddy.”

“Shh—I know what you need, sweetheart.” Bucky slithered his hand down your stomach and to your heat. With your legs spread wide over his, it gave him ample opportunity to snake his fingers over your engorged clit and begin circling them.

You squeaked, instantly snapping your legs closed around his hand. “Bucky, wait!—”

But he forced your legs open and slapped your clit, making you jump with a shout. “Don’t you fuckin’ tell me to wait. You asked me for more so you’re getting more, you slut. What happened to wantin’ to make me proud, hm?”

You sobbed as a tear tracked down your cheek. “I— I do!”

“So then you’ll take it—won’t you?” Bucky growled against your ear.

Sniffling, you nodded, panting while bouncing on his cock. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

You hiccuped. “Yes, D—Daddy.”

Bucky hummed in approval and began thrusting up to meet your stride. “That’s more like it.”

You took what he gave you while he fucked up into your pussy. The strain of your muscles was almost unbearable, but you persevered through the pain — to be the center of his attention, to be so utterly wanted felt too compelling to give up.

His thrusts were harsh, rough enough to have your toes curling and his balls to smack against your skin. All those sensations paired with his ruthless circles on your clit blended to build your impending orgasm. “I’m so close,” you gasped.

“Me too, babygirl.” Bucky grunted, biting into his plump bottom lip. “Gonna empty my load inside a’you.”

You preened, the walls of your pussy clenching around his length. “Please.”

Bucky’s hips worked overtime, a ferocious beast taking over in its haze. He brought his free hand up to your cheeks and squished them together. “Who’s Daddy’s little cumslut, huh?”

“Me,” you cried. “I’m Daddy’s cumslut.”

“Fuck yeah you are,” he snarled. “And now that I’ve got you back you’re not fuckin’ goin’ anywhere.”

You were too dizzy to comprehend the weight behind his words, instead you slammed your hips up and down in time with Bucky’s movements, chasing the tightening in your lower stomach.

“You ready for me, darlin’?” he asked.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat. “Uh-huh.”

“Good. Now hold on.” Without waiting for you to reply, he grabbed under your thighs and lifted you. You were held up solely by his arms as he powerfully began to fuck you.

You became mute, mouth hung open on a continuous silent scream. The feeling was like no other; Bucky’s pure strength and huge length tore you apart, physically and mentally.

“Gonna,” thrust, “fill,” thrust, “this,” thrust, “gorgeous fuckin’ pussy.”

Your tongue lolled out of your mouth like a dog, drool dripping down your chin while your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You were on the verge of cumming. “Close.” You had been reduced to one syllable words.

“I know, baby. I fuckin’ know—Can feel you,” Bucky gasped. “Let go for me, darlin’.” It was only when the angle of his hips changed and the head of his cock repeatedly nudged against your cervix that the balance of your orgasm tipped over.

“Hnng—Fuck!” You walls trapped Bucky’s dick in a tight chokehold as your thighs shook in a spasm. He continued to grind up into you, releasing his warm load into your pussy.

“Bucky!” you keened while your walls fluttered around his length. The rush was unlike any you had experienced before and an errant thought that any consequence was worth it to cum like that again swirled through your mind. “Made me— made me cum so hard,” you slurred.

Your high began to simmer down and you felt like you could regain control over your mind until Bucky’s hand came down onto your clit again. “One more,” he breathed into your ear. “Gimme one fuckin’ more.”

Your eyes shot open and you shook your head, rapidly. “C—Can’t,” you managed to croak. “Too much.”

You reached down to try and pry his hand away from you, but he was too strong. “I said I want one more.” Bucky held your arms to your chest then, beginning to rub your clit in fast circles.

An unusual pressure built up quickly and you panicked. “Bucky—something’s wrong.”

But he sucked over your neck, easing your worries. “You’re okay. It's okay, baby. Just let it happen, remember?”

You writhed in his hold, moaning salaciously. “I’m— I’m g—gonna cum again.” The feel of his cock still filling you, his cum seeping out of your whole which each dirty grind he made, the sensation of his tongue against your neck and his tireless fingers was all too much.

“Cum for Daddy then, darlin’.” A couple of circulations later and you screamed out in unimaginable pleasure. Your stomach swooped and the next you knew, a strong pressure forced Bucky’s cock out of your cunt. A rush of liquid sprayed out of you and covered the entirety of the bedsheets.

“There we are,” he grinned wickedly. “Exactly what I wanted.”

It felt like it went on forever. Bucky didn’t let up on his insistent rubbing. But as soon as the last juices squirted out of you, you deflated into his chest, breaths heaving with utter exhaustion. You were too tired to keep your eyes open, body boneless and overexerted. Your body jumped with aftershocks, tiny zings of electricity igniting your nerves.

Bucky finally slowed his fingers down to a stop on your clit. Your back rose and fell with his pants, each puff of his exhales hitting your sensitive skin and making you shiver.

“Holy fuck,” he laughed deliriously. “That was—fuck.”

Internally agreeing, you hummed, incapable of formulating words. Bucky’s arms wrapped around you while he placed a kiss to the back of your head and you enjoyed being surrounded with his warmth and comfort. “You were perfect, babygirl,” he mumbled. “Did so fuckin’ good for me. Made Daddy so proud.”

A wide smile curled onto your face as your eyes remained closed. You were falling out of consciousness, giving in to sleep fast.

“Let’s get you comfy.” You didn’t stir when Bucky began to lift up, or when he rearranged your form so he could carry your limp body in his arms.

Your body bounced with each powerful step he made. Vaguely hearing the room door open, a cold blast of air hit your heated skin and you shivered, snuggling closer into Bucky’s chest.

Your head swam with fuzziness. You couldn’t bear to open your eyes with their heaviness. But you felt as you were delicately placed onto a large, comfortable bed, stacked with pillows and fitted with dry sheets, along with Bucky’s delicious scent that tickled your senses.

A soft kiss was pressed onto your cheek, a firm hand curling around your waist and just before you could succumb to sleep, you heard his last words. “You get some rest now, sweetheart. We’ve still got a whole week ahead of us.”

You were sure the mortification would hit you in the morning. Pure regret sinking deeply into your skin and making you feel sick to the core.

But you also knew now that any chance of quitting your best friend's dad had been lost. Because Bucky was a guilty pleasure, a rush you couldn’t bear to give up — no matter the consequences and no matter who it would inevitably hurt.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one shot

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cxrrodedcoffin · 1 year ago

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Don’t Call Me Kid - Aaron Hotchner

“don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby, look at this godforsaken mess that you made me.”

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Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Reader confesses their feelings for Hotch, they have an angsty yet adult conversation about it.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: I was originally not going to give this a happy ending but I got too sad writing it and changed my mind, also yes i’ve been writing a lot don’t criticize me lol

TW: alcohol mention, angst, age gap, slight physical touch (all respectful, nothing sexual), slight implied daddy issues, fem reader

Rating: G

——

Aaron Hotchner was not a man one could approach without a level head. He was rational, always thinking of the most reasonable course of action, weighing every outcome before making any decision. He had to be, as hasty decision-making had cost him more than he cared to discuss.

You knew that, you’d worked under him for two years now and although he didn’t discuss his private life all that frequently at work, these weekly team meetups at the local bar taught you more than enough about him as a person. The usual stoic head of the team was kind, funny, encouraging, albeit a bit quiet until he knew you a bit better.

About a year into your time with the team you let slip that you’d never explored the city, and Rossi wasted no time letting Aaron know about it. A week later he was driving you around, explaining the history behind the popular monuments you had requested a visit to, then spending an hour at the Folger Shakespeare Library to admire the historic architecture and impressive selection of literature, and ending the day at the Moongate Garden, watching the sunset on a bench surrounded by cherry blossoms.

From that day you knew if there was anything you needed, all you had to do was ask. He’d shown you your favorite restaurant, the coffee shop you sat in every free morning you had, reading books he’d suggested you read. You didn’t want to admit it, but you had fallen hard for him, and over the last year those feelings became harder and harder to push down.

It was 2 a.m. and the bartender had announced last call, earning a disappointed groan from Penelope.

“We were just getting started!” She whined, her speech slightly slurred.

“You’ve had more than enough for tonight Babygirl, let’s get you home.” Derek caught her waist, steadying her as she rose from the booth the team had been sitting in.

“I better get going too, Will has to work early so I have to take Henry to school in the morning.” JJ added, playfully rolling her eyes.

The rest of the group finished up their drinks, wrapping up the current conversation before shuffling out of the bar. You said your goodbyes, giving parting hugs before pulling out your phone, ready to order yourself a rideshare home. Your cell service was almost non-existent and the app was taking forever to load, the chill in the air causing goosebumps to form on your bare legs. You raised your phone in the air, trying to gain a better signal as you walked back and forth in front of the bar, growing increasingly frustrated.

Aaron exited the bar as you made another pass by the entrance, tripping as your ankle wobbled in your heels. He was quick to catch you, helping you find your footing once more.

“Do you have a ride home?” He asked, offering you his suit jacket for warmth.

“I’m trying to order a taxi but the app won’t load.” Your frustration was evident, each tap of your finger against the glass of your smartphone just a little too firm.

“You don’t live far, correct? I can walk you home.” He offered, his hand still lingering on the small of your back to steady you. You weren’t drunk, not by a long shot, but you didn’t handle your liquor the best and although you were mostly there mentally, your center of gravity had been better.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to go out of your way for me.” You countered, always raised to decline at least once when offered anything to remain polite.

“I want to make sure you get home safe, it’s really no trouble.” You knew he was earnest, always such a father figure to every member of the team. You put your phone in your bag, throwing it over your shoulder before turning to walk down the street that led to your apartment building.

You walked in silence for a while, his hand hovering behind you just in case your clumsiness kicked in along your walk. His suit jacket was surprisingly warm, the stiff fabric shielding your bare arms from the cold. You weren’t sure why you’d chosen to wear a short sleeved blouse when it was nearing the end of fall, but you suspected it subconsciously had something to do with how well the v-neck showed off your cleavage. You felt a bit pathetic sometimes, finding any way you could to attempt to pull his attention. It never worked, Aaron respected you too much to stare at your figure no matter how provocatively you dressed.

After a few blocks your heel caught on a storm grate, making you stumble forward. His reflexes were impressive as ever, his arm reaching out to catch your waist.

“I swear I’m not usually this clumsy.” You joked, straightening your skirt as you started again on your journey home. He didn’t say anything, but the slight smile his lips formed told you he found your try at humor in an awkward moment amusing.

“It’s just around this corner, I’ll be fine from here.” You tried to wave him off, dying to disappear into your apartment to prevent further embarrassing yourself.

“I’m walking you up to your apartment, I need to see you home safe.” He stated, turning the corner with you. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, his domineering yet caring tone making your heart race. This was all becoming too much, the protectiveness, the slight touches, you could feel something burning in your chest, the urge to spill your guts growing stronger by the minute.

He waited for you to punch in the code to the front door of your apartment building before holding it open for you, following you to the elevator up to your floor. You took the quiet ride up, him continuing to follow you down the hallway to your apartment when the doors opened. You opened your bag, fiddling around for your keys for a moment before finding them, your hand shaking as you tried to unlock the door. You finally got it, pushing open the front door and stepping into your messy living room.

“How are you getting home?” You asked, setting your bag on the small table next to the door.

“I’ll order a taxi, I’m just glad you’re home safe.” He began to pull out his phone, and the liquid courage coursing through your veins told you to invite him in.

“Do you want to come in while you wait?” You offered, handing his suit coat back to him. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and making sure to lock it, never too cautious.

He laid his suit coat over the back of your coach, taking a seat before taking out his phone again to order his ride.

“It won’t be ready for another 30 minutes, I hope I’m not overstaying my welcome.” He was far too courteous, and all you wanted to do was tell him how badly you wanted him to stay forever.

“You could never.” You told him, kicking off your heels before sitting next to him on the couch. You took a deep breath, trying to settle yourself as you picked up the book that was resting on your coffee table. You watched over the top of the pages to see him glancing around the room, scanning the contents until he stopped on the media console across the room. He stood from his place next to you and walked over to it, taking a knee to get down to the same level as your record collection.

“You have impressive taste.” He stated matter-of-factly, his long fingers brushing across the spines of each album. You gave a quiet ‘thank you’ as he began to pull a record out, and you placed your book down again to see what had caught his eye.

“I didn’t know you listened to The Beatles.” He held up the jacket of the band’s white album, looking to you in slight disbelief.

“Of course, The White Album is one of the greatest of all time.” You were excited to talk music with him, it was a topic you’d never discussed before and you were always eager to learn more about him. That may have been to your own detriment, because the more you learned about him, the harder you seemed to fall.

You knew a relationship between the two of you could never happen, he was your superior, not to mention twenty years your senior, but something felt like it was pulling you to him no matter how many guys you tried to distract yourself with.

“You never fail to surprise me.” He smiled, the outer corners of his eyes crinkling just so. You could’ve died right there, content to collapse into a puddle of yearning. You didn’t know what came over you, but you found yourself clearing your throat as a rush of adrenaline coursed through you.

“Aaron, I have to tell you something.” Your voice shook, but you remained strong in your conviction.

His faint smile turned to a look of concern, quickly rising from his knee to join you on the couch again.

“What is it?” He questioned, brow furrowed as he angled his body toward you.

“I-It’s, nevermind.” That burst of adrenaline quickly faded, his eyes on you feeling like a cigarette burn.

“Y/N, whatever it is, you can trust me. I understand if you’re not comfortable telling me, but don’t let fear hold you back on my account.” He reassured you, resting his hand on your knee sympathetically. You had to do it, there was no way you could face him every day if you brushed him off without an explanation.

“I’m in love with you.” You blurted out, hanging your head, too afraid of what his reaction would be to dare look him in the eye. The silence that sat between you two felt like it carried on forever, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. After what felt like an eternity he cleared his throat, still holding his hand on your knee.

“Why do you feel that way?” He asked, trying to understand where this was coming from. He couldn’t deny that he had felt chemistry between you, but it wasn’t something he could ever entertain acting on.

“Over the last year I’ve gotten to know you in ways I never dreamed I would, I’ve never felt this way for anyone before, even those I once thought I loved in the past. You’ve been so kind, Aaron, you’re an incredible friend, father, leader, how could I be anything but amazed by you?” You felt as though you were rambling, but he seemed so invested in your answer that you didn’t care if what you said was rational.

“I understand.” He confirmed, turning silent as the gears turned in his mind. You could tell he was fighting something internally, the look of concentration on his face seeming almost painful.

You pulled your knee out from under his hand, your nerves convinced that he was looking for a way to fire you without creating an HR nightmare. As quickly as you pulled away he had moved closer to you, his hand finding its place on your knee once more.

“Look at me.” He said, thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin. You did as you were told, tears threatening your waterline as you did your best to hold his gaze.

“I’m not going to lie to you, you are a very charming young woman and I’d be honored to pursue something more intimate with you, but we can’t. I’m your superior, and you’re young enough to be my daughter.” He explained, the pain in his expression serving to break your heart in two.

“I don’t care.” You were not thinking rationally in that moment, your heart speaking for you instead of your head.

“You should, this is your future.” His tone held frustration this time, finding your childish response disappointing.

“I am not a child Aaron, I can make my own decisions.” You told him, a tear slipping down your cheek as you grew increasingly frustrated with his stonewalling.

“I know that, but you’re young, you have so much to experience and you shouldn’t put that on hold for me, or anyone else for that matter.” Even through his anger he was just trying to steer you in the responsible direction, thinking more about your future than whatever desires he held.

“I have all I’ve ever wanted, my dream has always been to work for the FBI. I don’t have any delusions of grandeur, I never have. I want a job where I’m doing good and a family to come home to when all is said and done.” You explained, and it wasn’t a lie. It’s not that you weren’t driven, you clearly had to be to even make it to the bureau, but that was as far as you wanted your drive to take you.

“For this to work, I can not be your boss, and I won’t ask you to step down.” He continued evaluating each possible risk in your dynamic, and for once you were one step ahead of him.

“You don’t have to, I put in for a transfer to the financial crime unit last week.” You finally let the other secret you’d been keeping slip, and you watched his face drop in disappointment.

“The team is going to miss you more than you know.” He told you, wishing he had known so he could have convinced you otherwise.

“I know, but I couldn’t bare the thought of being around you every day while I feel like this, and I was fascinated by the way their team handled the case we partnered with them on last month. The timing felt right.” You explained, needing him to know that it was not his fault, but a conscious decision you made.

“I just want to try.” You pleaded one last time, hoping he’d let his walls down just this once.

“If this is really what you want, I’ll take you out next weekend. If we’re going to do this, I’m going to do it the right way, you deserve that much.” He gave in, letting himself do something personally risky for the first time in years.

“I would love that.” You agreed, all of the anger and frustration that had been building up over the last year finally starting to dissipate ever so slightly.

How it would pay off, only time would tell, but for now, you were content to just get to know him more and show him who you are the best you can.

——

Part 2 can be found here

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kingdom-of-peace · 3 months ago

Text

Spotlight. pt.2| N.R

Older!News Anchor!Natasha x Younger!Female! Professor Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, one of the most recognized faces in television, finds herself under unexpected scrutiny when a young academic’s lecture on media ethics gains traction online — setting the stage for an unlikely rivalry that blurs the line between enemies and something else entirely.

Warnings: 18+, age gap (natasha late 30s, reader 27ish), cult mentions, language

Word Count: 6.5k+

A/N: Omg, thank you so much — I didn’t think this would be so well received! If you spot any grammar mistakes, feel free to let me know! FYI english isn't my first language.

You arrived at the university just before seven, coffee in hand, your scarf still dusted with the remnants of the city’s unpredictable weather, although in passing you had heard that the weekend would be sunny. The sandstone building loomed, as familiar and impersonal as always, but there was a certain comfort in its old bones—the worn edges of its stairwells and the quiet hum of thought that seemed to linger in its hallways. Maybe, had you gotten a more restful sleep the night before, you would have appreciated the stillness of the building. But instead, you'd spent hours at your dining table the pervious evening, preparing for today’s lecture, only to fall asleep in the unforgiving chair. You’d only been roused when the stabbing pain in your back sent sharp signals to your brain, warning you that if you didn’t move soon, you'd be crawling into work in the morning. You really hated that weekend lectures were a thing nowadays.

As you fumbled with your keys, trying to find the right one for your office lock, you heard footsteps rounding the corner, followed by Darcy's voice calling out to you with a grin. She jogged over, laptop tucked under one arm, her hair only slightly wind tousled.

“Professor Hot Take, fancy seeing you here in the flesh,” she said. “Good morning to you too. And what’s that supposed to mean?” you replied, sarcastically. Darcy rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with playful disbelief. “You can’t be serious. You haven’t seen?”. “Seen what? I’ve been going over my presentation for today all night.” you stated, still distracted by the lock. “Only a chronically offline person like you could miss it. You’re auditorium lecture from Thursday is all over the internet.” Darcy replied while leaning against the wall beside you, watching you finally fitting the correct key into the lock.

“The public’s calling it ‘the lecture of the century.” She continued, while you invited her in with a snort. “Ha, very funny. The auditorium was practically half-empty. And of the people who stayed, half were students sent there by Vision to write a graded essay on the topic, full-well knowing it would be recorded. He made it a requirement, just to support me for my first public lecture here. Looking at all those sleep-deprived faces made it painfully easy to assume no one cared to actually listen.”

“Well, I was there on Thursday, and like you know, I thought your talk was brilliant. Apparently, so does half the nation,” Darcy said as she began clearing a pile of books from the couch in your office, dropping them unceremoniously onto the floor before sitting down. You really needed to start organizing things, you thought, watching her struggle to carve out enough space to sit. At the moment, your office looked more like a battlefield than a workspace. But then again, after your abrupt appointment to a professorship last semester, you had barely found the time to adjust. You’d thought you knew the university inside and out but actually holding a secure teaching position was an entirely different story.

Darcy’s last remark yanked you out of your spiral. “Half the nation?” you deadpanned. She gave a nonchalant shrug, clearly far too pleased with herself. “Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating but it turns out one of the students actually paid attention. They put together a short video compilation of your lecture and uploaded it. From there, it sort of... spiralled. Nothing huge, but it was trending for a few hours yesterday.”. You blinked. “Trending?”. Darcy nodded, clearly enjoying your disbelief. “Yeah, people were talking about it—quotes, commentary, a few armchair essays. Sure, there were some superficial takes on your delivery or how ‘stern academia looks cool again,’ but overall? Some genuinely clever insights. Thoughtful discussion, even.”

She paused for effect, smirking. “Though I’m sure it didn’t hurt that you used The Hour’s host as a prime example. I swear, I don’t know a single person who doesn’t have the hots for Natasha Romanoff. And online? That gets dialled up to hundred.” You rolled your eyes, already regretting your rhetorical choices but also a slight worry settled in you that maybe it had not been a good idea to single out the news anchor like that.

You had used her because, quite frankly, everyone knew her. Billboards of her face and show were plastered across the city like a second skyline. She was the easiest, most visible example of everything you were critiquing. The redhead had practically presented herself on a silver platter to you. But of course, you were just an up-and-coming academic—a newly appointed professor, still carving out space in the university ecosystem. She probably didn’t even know about your lecture. And even if she did, she’d likely dismissed it without a second thought, laughing at your age and inexperience the way so many before her had.

“Well, I’m glad at least one student cared enough about the state of our modern media landscape,” you said with a tired smile. “It was probably just a one-time fluke. People will forget about it by next week. And, for the record—I don’t find her hot.” Darcy barked out a laugh, flopping back against the armrest, a few books threatening to fall over. “Liar. I’ve only known you for a little less than a year, but even I can tell—she’s totally your type. Athletic, mature, intelligent… I mean, come on. To this day, I’m surprised she’s still single. If you can believe what the gossip magazines are printing.”

You let her ramble, referring from making fun of her for reading those pretentious gossip articles. Once Darcy hyper-focused on a topic, she could go on for hours. You tuned her out gently—not unkindly—because the last thing she needed to know was that she was absolutely right. Natasha Romanoff was, regrettably, very much your type. But that wasn’t the point. To you, she represented everything wrong with the media landscape: curated personas, manipulated narratives, the illusion of authenticity projected through high-definition screens. You might find her attractive, sure, but that didn’t erase the fact that she stood for a system of influence you fundamentally distrusted.

“Anyway,” Darcy said, pulling you back to the present, “you know you’ve got that panel discussion tonight, right? I’ll probably come with you but no promises. I still have to finish grading those papers.”. “You’ve already had a deadline? It’s barely mid-October. Your students must hate you.”. “Oh, they do. But not me they hate Banner. It’s his class and essay, not mine. I’m just stuck with the grunt work since he’s supervising my PhD.” She groaned, standing and brushing off her jeans. “I look forward to the day you both have the same academic title, and he can’t boss you around anymore. He even tried pulling rank on me once—and he’s not even in the media department.” You smiled, watching her gather her things.

“Well, don’t tell anyone yet,” the brunette added as she reached the door, lowering her voice, “but I spoke with the dean. He’s agreed to let me begin drafting my PhD thesis this semester. So maybe putting Professor Banner in his place isn’t as far off as we thought.”. “Congrats! And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. Message me if you want to go to the panel together tonight.” You replied to hopeful that Darcy could pull it off.

She gave you a playful salute before disappearing down the hallway toward her shared office in the far wing—one of the temporary spaces cobbled together after a burst water pipe had flooded the computer science building last winter. Until repairs were finished, a handful of displaced researchers had been housed in your department’s extra offices. In a way, the chaos had worked in your favour. You liked your colleagues well enough, but most of them were significantly older, talking more about retirement plans than publication deadlines. They had families, routines, lives you hadn’t quite stepped into yet.

Darcy was only a year older, working on her doctorate in computer science after returning from a few years abroad teaching children programming through a humanitarian education initiative after graduating from university with her master’s degree. You’d only met her thanks to that burst pipe—and honestly, you were glad for the accident. Though half the time, you had no idea what she was talking about, especially when it came to anything related to her field of study, but she made everything here feel a little less isolating.

While sitting at your desk, getting ready for your first seminar of the day, your mind kept drifting back to what Darcy had said. She was probably exaggerating “viral” she most likely just meant the lecture had sparked a thread or two on the university's public forum. Still, you were curious. Maybe there were some thoughtful comments, even a bit of useful criticism you could use to refine the talk if you ever revisited the topic in the future. You turned on your computer, already dreading the inevitable flood of emails that greeted you each morning. Lately, it felt like they multiplied overnight. And sure enough, the moment you logged in, your inbox pinged with new messages.

But what caught you off guard was the sheer volume. In bold red letters at the top of the screen: 1.356 new emails.

You blinked.

You didn’t think you’d ever received that many emails in a whole month, regardless a day—not even close. And as you began to scroll, it became clear these weren’t just from students or university staff. A few addresses stood out immediately—news outlets, academic professionals from other universities and just random people. Hesitating only slightly, you clicked on a few promising ones and began to read.

The first email you opened was from a student—one you vaguely remembered seeing in the middle row on Thursday:

Subject: Thank you for the lecture

Hi Professor,

I just wanted to say how much I appreciated your talk the other day. It was the first time someone actually articulated the dissonance I’ve always felt watching the news, especially when it comes to public image versus actual reporting. It helped me reframe how I approach media critique in my own research paper.

Kind regards,

Michelle Jones

You smiled. That alone might’ve been worth it.

The next email, however, took a sharp and unsettling turn. It came from a fringe news outlet you’d never heard of their logo a chaotic mix of all-caps slogans and shadowy graphics. The tone immediately set off alarm bells. Instead of engaging with the nuanced critique you had offered in your lecture, the message launched into a bizarre tirade against Natasha Romanoff. Not only did it ignore your actual arguments—it went so far as to accuse her of being part of a secret cult allegedly seeking immortality through occult rituals. You felt a tightness in your chest. This wasn’t criticism. It was delusion, cloaked in the language of dissent. And worse still, your words had apparently given them more ammunition—not to analyze media structures critically, but to reinforce their own conspiratorial fantasies.

A wave of guilt washed over you. That had never been your intention. You hadn’t meant to vilify Natasha Romanoff personally—only to question the media dynamics she, willingly or not, had come to symbolize. But judging by the next few emails, you weren’t the only one being taken out of context. Several congratulated you specifically for “finally taking her down,” painting her as emblematic of everything wrong with public media.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. Perhaps you should’ve framed the critique differently—less anchored to a single figure. Maybe you should have cited several anchors, even ones you considered far more problematic. You hadn’t chosen the topic for your lecture to provoke anyone. Not really. The criticism had been sitting in the back of your head for years—accumulated slowly, not from outrage, but from exhaustion. Watching news programs blur into branded personalities, debates reduced to soundbites, tragedy wrapped in sleek graphics.

You remembered late nights during your master’s, sitting with a mug of cheap tea, watching segments not for content, but for structure. Timing. Tone. The way a camera angle could turn opinion into something that felt like fact. It wasn’t about one person. It was about all of it. And yet, now that it had a face—her face—you weren’t sure if the argument could remain purely structural.

Thankfully, the fourth email brought a welcome change of tone. It was from someone working with an NGO focused on media literacy in underserved communities. The person was interested in incorporating your analysis into a training module for younger audiences and new educators. You immediately drafted a short, polite reply, expressing interest and requesting more information. It wasn’t all noise. At least some people were listening with the right intentions. The final email before you quickly exited the mail tab read:

Subject: The one

Hi,

I don’t even go to your school, but someone posted the clip on online. Just wanted to say: hottest professor energy I’ve ever seen. Please tell me you’re single.

— Anonymous admirer 💌

You stared at that one for a couple of seconds, then immediately hit delete.

Still, you needed a moment to collect your thoughts. Apparently, it wasn’t just a couple of forum posts. Something had resonated, and that was a strange and humbling feeling. A quick search confirmed your suspicions—your name now appeared in multiple headlines, often in tandem with the ginger woman. Some articles offered praise, others criticism, their tone ranging from thoughtful engagement to blatant sensationalism. Maybe Darcy hadn’t been exaggerating after all. You could only hope that this unexpected attention wouldn’t carry unforeseen consequences.

---

On the other side of town the first light of morning filtered through the sheer curtains, slicing across the polished wooden floors of Natasha’s apartment. She was already awake. Sleep had not been a reliable companion for some time now—something she had long come to accept.

By 6:00 a.m., she had finished her run—five miles through the quiet of the city’s pre-dawn streets, the air sharp against her skin, her breath steady and measured. She liked the silence. It kept her focused. Running, gave her a clarity no editorial meeting or studio debrief ever could. Back in her apartment, she worked through a set of circuits—push-ups, planks, shadowboxing—barefoot on the mat in her sunlit living room. The rhythm of it all was familiar. A discipline she had taught herself long before television studios, prime time shows and the expectations of millions. The kind of discipline that didn’t depend on whether the headlines liked her or not.

Liho, stretched luxuriously by the window in the morning sunlight, tail flicking in irritation when Natasha exhaled a little too sharply during her last round of burpees. “You’re welcome to join,” she muttered, towelling sweat from her neck as the cat narrowed his eyes at her before resuming his nap.

After a quick shower, she moved into the kitchen, the scent of dark roast filling the space as the machine hummed to life. Waiting for the coffee to brew, Natasha crouched down by the kitchen counter reaching for the familiar tin of cat food. Behind her, Liho let out a sharp meow—half impatient, half theatrical. “I know, I know,” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder. “You act like I forget every morning.” Liho trotted closer, tail flicking, and let out another insistent noise. “Yes, your suffering is very real,” she added dryly, scooping the food into his dish. “I was five seconds late. Call the press.” He immediately dove into the bowl, purring with self-satisfaction. “At least one of us gets what they want without a fight,” Natasha muttered, standing back up just as the coffee machine let out a final hiss.

With one hand she sipped from her mug; with the other, she scrolled through her inbox. She had received far more emails than usual overnight. Most were flagged by her assistant, but a few had slipped through the filters—some congratulatory, others speculative, and a handful vaguely threatening in the way that people with too much time and an internet connection could be. It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last. But there were also mentions of the university lecture, snapping Natasha back to the very thoughts that had consumed her the night before. It was enough to sour Natasha’s mood for the rest of the morning— not even her sacred PB&J sandwich could redeem it.

After breakfast she dressed in her usual subdued layers: tailored black pants, a crisp charcoal blouse, soft makeup, hair in a loose braid. She never dressed to impress. She dressed to control the room before she even stepped inside it. By the time she left her building around midday, Liho was curled up again in his favourite spot by the radiator, and Natasha had already planned three responses to three different questions that might come her way on today’s editorial meeting.

She didn’t believe in being caught off guard.

Luckily during the car ride, she had already forgotten about the social media dilemma involving you. Entering the network building on a weekend felt like stepping into a mausoleum—quiet, cavernous, and absent of its usual pulse. The lobby was nearly empty, save for Charlie, the elderly security guard who had already been something of a relic when Natasha was just starting out. She greeted him with a familiar nod, a rare warmth softening her expression. He had been one of the reliable figures those early, unforgiving intern days—offering quiet comfort after her first professional humiliation, when a superior had reduced her to silent tears. Charlie never said much, but he’d slipped her those strange old-fashioned sweets only grandparents seemed to know existed. It was a small gesture, but one that had kept her from walking away after week one. And for that, she never forgot him.

When Natasha reached the newsroom floor, it felt just as quiet and lifeless as the entry hall. She made a beeline for the meeting room, where Maria, Pepper, and a few other familiar faces were already gathered. People who kept the gears of the operation turning behind the scenes.

The weekend was reserved for planning the following week's segments, as her show aired during the weekdays. Natasha entered the room, a few tired "good mornings" greeting her as she took her seat. “So, who wants to start?” Maria took charge, her voice cutting through the room with authority. Immediately, Thor, a muscular man and one of the senior technicians, launched into a passionate discussion about new gadgets that could be useful for Wednesday's show. Natasha didn’t pay much attention, her focus instead on her laptop as she typed away, trying to catch up on the flood of emails she hadn’t had time to respond to at home. She drifted in and out of the conversation, nodding occasionally when she found herself agreeing with a point.

Finally, the conversation shifted to the actual content of the show, and Natasha straightened up in her seat, her attention fully snapping into focus. Now, it was time to weigh in. “I think we should consider, trying to get an interview with the person replacing Senator Rumlow, maybe on Tuesday?”. On it," Pepper replied, her attention already snapping back to her phone. Despite being Tony Stark’s personal assistant, she played a pivotal role in managing all the major programs. Natasha couldn’t help but think that Tony better be compensating her properly. Pepper Potts was indispensable. In her eyes, there wasn’t a person more reliable or capable in the network.

“And the segment for Wednesday needs to hit harder. We’ve been playing it safe lately, and honestly, the audience can tell. We need something fresh, something real. So why not send somebody over actually reporting on the ground about those protests in France.”. "I could ask Loki or Bucky," Maria suggested, jotting down some notes. "I already know Loki will say no," Thor replied with a sigh. "Our sister Hela just bought a new house downtown, and we promised her we'd help with the move next week." Natasha often wondered how the three of them were still on speaking terms. If you believed the office gossip, their family history, especially the sibling dynamics, were filled with intrigue and backstabbing. But, as the saying goes, blood is thicker than water. Natasha, however, had never put much stock in that notion. "Then it's Bucky," Maria decided, tapping her pen thoughtfully. "His French is better anyway. Anything else? Or can my team go over the final script for Monday?".

The room fell into silence. “Alright, that’s it for today. See you all on Monday. Natasha, I will send you the final draft by tomorrow morning.” Maria announced, dismissing the team and getting an approving nod by the news-anchor. As Natasha stood up to leave, she was called back by Pepper. “Natasha, wait... I hope you didn’t forget about tonight’s panel discussion at the old theatre.”

Natasha let out a frustrated huff, recalling the event she had noticed in her calendar during the drive to the studio the previous day. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck there this evening. She was long overdue for a quiet weekend with Liho, curled up on the couch with a few old Hollywood classics. But the panel host was a renowned publishing house, where Natasha had published her second book last year— a book that had held the number one spot for months and, as per her contract, she still had to promote it the following year.

“Tonight’s panel is the last event on your promotion schedule, you’ll only have to got to their annual Christmas Party after that.” Pepper said with a sympathetic smile. Natasha let out a quiet sigh. “Yeah, I haven’t forgotten. Any idea who else is on the panel?” Pepper pulled out her phone, looking at her notes. “Let’s see… Carol Danvers is on the list—she’s wrote something about media portrayals of the military. Then there’s Steven Strange, the famous internet doctor. He’s apparently talking about social media and its impact on medical diagnosis.” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a circus already.” Pepper laughed. “Wait, it gets better— our Wanda is on there too. She published some kind of modern guide to witchcraft. Although it also addresses the portrayal of witchcraft in the media. No idea where she comes up with this stuff, but it’s selling.” Natasha shook her head. “Of course it is.”

As one of the hosts of the network’s morning show, Wanda and Natasha often crossed paths in the early hours—just as Natasha was leaving and Wanda arriving. Despite the chaos of the network, and the constant shuffle of faces moving in and out of meetings, studios, and green rooms, Wanda had become something of a quiet constant in Natasha’s mornings. Their shifts occasionally overlapped just enough to form a rhythm of casual exchanges and unspoken camaraderie. It wasn’t unusual for Natasha to catch the scent of peppermint tea and hear Wanda humming some old folk tune just as she was packing up her things. There was comfort in it.

Wanda, in all her colourful scarves and slightly chaotic energy, always seemed to see right through the practiced edge Natasha wore like a second skin. They never talked long—ten minutes in the hallway, maybe fifteen in the makeup chair if timing allowed—but Natasha valued those moments more than she let on. Wanda never pushed, never pried, just offered easy conversation and a smile that made the end of a long night feel a little less heavy. She didn’t have many friends in the building. But she considered Wanda one of the few—or at least someone she could confide in, to some extent.

“There’s also someone new—they added another name last week. Some academic who just published their PhD through them. I haven’t looked them up yet, but I can if you’re curious,” Pepper offered waving her phone and pulling Natasha out of her trip down memory lane. “Don’t bother,” Natasha said, brushing it off. “Anything I need to prepare for?”. “Not really. Karen Page is moderating, and I’ll send Peter to film some clips for socials. Just try to look like you don’t want to escape five minutes in.”. “No promises,” Natasha muttered with a smirk. She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. “Alright, see you on Monday. And Pepper—try not to live here over the weekend.” Pepper waved her off. “My home is where my phone is.”

—

You glanced at the time again and exhaled sharply. Still a few hours left until the panel. Part of you wished you could simply email in a cancellation—make up something vague about a personal emergency or a scheduling conflict. You’d never done anything like that before, but the idea wasn’t as unthinkable as it should’ve been.

You hadn’t expected anyone to care about your PhD thesis—it was never meant to ignite anything more than a few nods from graduate students and, if you were lucky, a polite citation in someone else’s paper. And yet, here you were, suddenly part of a public conversation about media, far outside the safe confines of academia.

Your gaze drifted to the file folder still sitting at the corner of your desk—the printout of your thesis proposal marked up by your supervisor, the final version that supported your Thursday lecture, the research that had consumed most of your adult life. You had always believed in the value of distance. Of analysis without personal entanglement. But maybe that wasn’t an option anymore in today’s world.

You didn’t even know who else would be on the panel. You hadn’t looked. That had been a deliberate choice—or an act of denial, depending on how generous you were willing to be with yourself. Still, you told yourself, it would be fine. Two hours. A handful of questions. An audience of people who would forget your name by next week. With a sigh, you gathered your belongings, preparing for your second seminar of the day.

A few hours later a sharp knock rattled your office door. You looked up from your screen, blinking in surprise. The person outside didn’t bother waiting for an answer—pushing open the door with the urgency of someone used to dragging academics away from their desks.

“Seriously?” she said, hands on hips. “We were supposed to meet fifteen minutes ago. I waited. Like an idiot. In heels.” You squinted at the clock in the corner of your screen. Shit. You hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed. “I lost track of time,” you muttered, standing up and hurriedly grabbing your coat from the back of your chair.

“Obviously. Come on, we’re late and not fashionably.” As you followed her down the hallway, your thoughts were already spiralling. You didn’t want to be doing this. A panel discussion on a weekend evening? These kinds of public-facing events were supposed to be for pop-scientists, TED talk types, the ones who made flashy graphs and dramatic pauses. Not people like you, who spent nights buried in literature reviews and fought imposter syndrome on a rotating basis. You didn’t know how to perform. You knew how to write. And there was a difference. The thought of sitting on that stage, surrounded by people who breathed publicity like air made your chest tighten. What if you said the wrong thing? What if someone asked a question you couldn’t answer? What if they laughed not out of amusement but condescension?

“I still don’t get why your publisher made you do this,” Darcy said, holding the door open for you as the two of you stepped out into the brisk evening air. “Like, since when is academic critique mainstream?”. You shrugged. “I guess it is, when it intersects with media. Everyone has an opinion on media, even if they’ve never read a single study about it.” Darcy gave you a sidelong glance. “Still. I hope they’re paying you. Or at least giving you some expensive alcohol.”

You didn’t reply. You were too busy calculating how long the panel would run, and whether anyone from the faculty would be there to judge your every sentence. And somewhere, beneath all that, you were still hoping—irrationally—that it would all go by fast. That you could say your piece, disappear quietly, and maybe even catch up on sleep after. But you understood how these events operated, once the discussion ended, it was customary, almost expected, to mingle with the audience and engage in polite small talk. You still hadn’t looked up the other panellists in your office—doing so would’ve only added to your anxiety in the final hours. But maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have ended up late, which somehow felt even worse.

To make up for lost time, you and Darcy made a valiant attempt spiriting toward the nearest underground station. Proving to be significantly harder for your companion, her heels transformed her stride into something resembling a deer taking its first steps. Breathless and slightly dishevelled, you managed to squeeze into a train just before the doors closed. Thankfully, it wasn’t too crowded for a Saturday evening. You caught sight of your reflection in the window and immediately tried to make yourself look remotely presentable—adjusting your hair, fixing your collar—the little things you had meant to do in the staff restroom, had time been on your side. As you mournfully remembered the change of clothes left behind, tucked away beneath your office desk.

During the short ride, the two of you exchanged updates about your day. Darcy, as usual, launched into a semi-dramatic retelling of her ongoing war with Professor Benner’s unreasonable workload. Halfway through, she leaned in and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone, but I may have told him I finished grading everything… I skipped a few just to be here for you tonight.” Her grin was sheepish, but sincere. In that moment, your irritation about running late softened. You really were lucky to have her.

Soon enough, you arrived at your stop: The Old Theatre. True to its name, the building had once stood at the very peak of the city’s cultural life nearly a century ago. You remembered coming across references to it in some research papers—how it had later served as the city’s first television studio, one of the early strongholds of a big national broadcasting network. If your memory served correctly, Howard Stark one of the city’s most well-known historical figures had been the visionary behind it. He bought the building when it faced foreclosure and later gifted it to the city, which to this day uses it as a kind of civic venue available for rent.

You and Darcy approached the side entrance at a brisk pace, having noticed the unusually long line forming at the main doors from a distance. Ticketing had already begun, and the crowd seemed larger than anticipated for an event so rooted in academic and media theory. The popularity of the discussion appeared to have outgrown its niche origins, you thought. Missing the crowd at the main entry doors, primarily consisting of younger and middle-aged women, many of them holding merchandise and printed photographs of a striking redhead, suggesting that the panel’s appeal extended far beyond academic interest and had drawn in a dedicated fanbase cantered around a particular media personality.

Inside, you were met by a woman whose name slipped from your memory almost as soon as she introduced herself. Her tone was curt, her posture rigid with barely concealed disapproval as she gave you a sharp look—first for your lateness, then for your choice of clothing, which her eyes seemed to assess like an item in need of return. She informed you, in a clipped voice, that the organizers had attempted to reach you multiple times. You offered an apology, explaining that your phone had been on silent—a habit born more of disinterest than oversight, as you rarely used it, even in your personal life.

Without much pause, she added that there would be no opportunity to meet the panel moderator or introduce yourself to the other speakers. Time was short. You still needed to pass through hair and makeup before the event began in half an hour.

---

Natasha was seated in the guest lounge, the scent of setting spray still faint in the air. She had just finished with hair and makeup and was, for once, pleasantly surprised—the stylist had known exactly how to work with her features, accentuating rather than masking them, a rare positive occurrence.

Across from her sat Carol Danvers, a fellow network colleague she occasionally worked out with at the private gym in their building—Carol lived just a few floors below her. While their shared discipline fostered a kind of mutual respect, their conversations rarely extended beyond reps, sparring and workplace discussions. Carol’s interest didn’t exactly align with Natasha’s, adding to that both women seemed to be in different stages in life, Carol had just recently welcomed her first daughter with her wife, Maria Rambeau—a renowned photographer in the city.

Next to Carol was Dr. Stephen Strange, unmistakable even out of his clinical setting. Natasha had interviewed him once for a special segment on digital misinformation in medicine. Though they hadn’t spoken much since, she had followed his occasional op-eds and lectures from a professional distance, intrigued more by his shifting media persona than his actual subject matter. Wanda Maximoff joined them a few minutes later, her energy softer and more eclectic than the others.

“I thought I was the last one out of make-up,” Wanda said, settling into one of the lounge armchairs and glancing around. “But I only see four of us—shouldn’t there be five?” Strange, still sipping on a coffee that had long gone cold, gave a nod. “I heard the last panellist is running late.”. “Oh, I hope they made it,” Wanda said, her tone genuinely concerned. “I think I saw someone rush past a few minutes ago,” Carol chimed in, glancing up from her phone. “Could’ve been her. Don’t really know what she looks like”. “Oh good,” Wanda said with a soft smile. “I’m really curious about their take. The publisher sent me a draft of her thesis before the release. I would like to put a face to the name.”. Strange gave a quiet hum of agreement. “I only skimmed the opening chapters, but it’s definitely got something. She’s tackling some uncomfortable truths.” Carol replied, munching on a few cashews.

Natasha, leaning back on the couch, recalled a few weeks ago when a heavy box had shown up at her apartment—one of those promotion deliveries from her publisher, stacked with new releases and promotional materials. She hadn’t paid much attention at the time, just scanned the covers, noting that one book stood out for its stark, minimalist design. The presenter vaguely remembered finding it odd to have an academic paper included in a promotional package. She’d set the box down in her office and forgotten about it, buried beneath a growing pile of scripts and scheduling notes. She tried to recall the author’s name but came up blank. Just as she was about to ask Wanda for confirmation about the title of the book and author’s name, a crew member entered the lounge, brisk and all business. “They’re ready for you on stage. Walkout in five.”. The four panellists stood, smoothing jackets and crew checking microphones, conversation cut short as they filed toward the wings.

—

You barely had time to catch your breath as you were ushered down a narrow hallway and toward the right wing of the stage. A production assistant guided you with a practiced urgency, headset crackling with cues from the control booth. You were late, underprepared, and not even sure why you had agreed to this in the first place—except, of course, for the obligation to promote your work, as the publisher had insisted. You silently hoped Darcy had managed to get a good seat as she had been quickly pushed towards the audience seating upon your arrival, a swift "break a leg" slipping from her lips as she was escorted away.

The stage lights spilled into the side corridor, casting long, warm beams across the narrow passage just as Karen Page’s voice rang out clearly from centre stage, conversing with another female voice. As you reached the curtain’s edge, you found a woman already standing there. She turned at the sound of your hurried steps, her warm expression tinged with curiosity. Her eyes narrowed just slightly, recognition dawning. “Wait… I’ve seen you before,” she said, her voice low enough not to carry. “You’re the one from that lecture about media and public perception. The one that’s been all over social media.” You gave a small, breathless nod, not sure how to respond. Recognizing Wanda from brief glimpses of a morning show you’d seen in passing, though you couldn’t quite recall which network it belonged to.

Wanda smiled, a little wider now. “I hadn’t connected the dots. I read your thesis when the publisher sent it over—but didn’t have a face to match to the fire behind those words.” Natasha had to know about your lecture, Wanda thought. Nothing ever slipped past her. But the real question lingered: did she know you were going to be here tonight? She tilted her head slightly, her voice thoughtful. “This is going to be interesting.”

You furrowed your brows, unsure if that was meant as encouragement or a warning. Wanda glanced subtly across the stage toward the opposite wing, where Dr. Strange and another figure waited in the shadows—someone tall, poised, arms crossed. The studio lights obscured the face, but the silhouette felt familiar, almost instinctively recognizable. You hadn’t looked up the other panellists. You hadn’t had time. “She’s not known for pulling punches,” Wanda added, casually. “Especially when she feels attacked. Just… be prepared to hold your ground.”

Before you could ask who, she meant, the stage manager signalled. Wanda gave you a quick, reassuring glance, then disappeared behind the curtain. A few minutes later, Steven Strange was called onto the stage. You remembered attending a few of his guest lectures back during your undergraduate years at university. Your cue was only moments away when the name of the familiar-appearing person was announced. At first, you weren’t sure if you’d heard it correctly—the audience had grown noticeably louder, a subtle shift in energy rippling through the theatre. But as Karen Page began to read the brief introduction, the words confirmed what your instincts already suspected. There was only one person that description could belong to Natasha Romanoff. The face of The Hour. A few seconds later, Natasha would be experiencing the same rush of recognition and disbelief upon hearing the name of the professor who had occupied her thoughts since the night before.

A/N: Revelations. Revelations. Things are about to get heated next time around. Thanks for reading, and Happy Easter to everyone who’s celebrating! :)

Tags: @nebthetautora @womenarehotsstuff @caramelcat123 @doddledoo @jassgunner

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romonova #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel #the avengers #black widow #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha x reader #nat x reader #natalia romanova #natalia romanoff

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flemingsfreckles · 10 months ago

Text

Ol’ College Try (18+)

Synopsis: UCLA!Jessie x UCLA!reader You and Jessie finally have bedrooms no longer in a dorm room, meaning you finally have the chance to explore a new step in your physical relationship using a strap on.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), first time using a strap on smut, its a little awkward and clumsy, strap on (R Receiving), Oral sex (R receiving), little bit of frustration and embarrassment, language.

WC: 3.9k

A/N: Hi, I haven't posted smut in months, literally since July, I sort of fell out of the mood for writing it, I'm working on getting back into it but we'll see. I’ll also be honest, I finished writing this and couldn’t bear the idea of rereading it so I’m sure there’s errors, I apologize.

“You have to promise not to laugh when I turn around.” You rolled your eyes behind your girlfriend’s back at her sudden change from confident to less than, all due to some silicone and leather.

“I won’t babe, I promise, just come over here.”

“I feel like it looks weird.” You watch as Jessie swivels her head to peek at you over her shoulder. You had been watching the way her arms and back moved as she maneuvered.

“You can take it off if you’re not comfortable.” You reassure her from where you were laying on the bed, blanket pulled up around your chest, you were shirtless and had been okay until Jessie’s warmth had left as she moved off the bed, suddenly feeling chilly.

“No, I want to at least try, it’s just new and different. What’s that saying they have? ‘Give it the old college try?’”

You smile at your girlfriend “I think it’s technically ‘Ol’ not ‘old’ but yeah babe, it’s okay if you’re nervous, I am a bit.” You admit. You and Jessie have been dating since the third month of sophomore year at UCLA, now upperclassmen, you were able to move off campus and you each had your own apartments just a few minutes from each other. With the new living location came new bedrooms, bedrooms that weren’t shared with another student, bedrooms that didn’t have a lofted twin size bed, bedrooms that didn’t have paper thin walls.

You both had returned to school early for pre-season, her for soccer and you for cross country meaning when you weren’t at practice, your roommates weren’t home and the two of you had a lot of free time. No classes, assignments, projects, or other school responsibilities had started yet. Reveling in your reunion after spending the summer apart, you and Jessie had found yourselves making up for lost time, often in the sheets of each other's beds. Which led to you the other day texting Jessie, being too shy to ask in person, asking if she’d want to try using a strap on you. She had quickly agreed before telling you to send her what you wanted and she’d buy it.

You had been eager to try it, testing out new waters in your relationship. Jessie had giggled when you opened your front door for her this morning, she held a bag out to you with a silly grin. “I feel like everyone can tell what’s in the bag.” She said as you opened the top, peering in to look at the toy. You sweetly rolled your eyes at your girlfriend’s bashfulness, taking the bag from her hand.

It wasn’t long after she arrived that the two of you were in your bed, Jessie’s body weight holding you firmly to the mattress as she kissed you.

You kissed her back hard, enjoying the feeling of Jessie’s hands roaming your body while yours ran up and down her sides. The two of you made out, quickly losing your shirts, throwing back your head as Jessie’s lips came to rest on your neck.

“Don’t, I’ve got photos tomorrow.” You gently remind her as you start to feel her start to suck on the skin. A dejected noise falls from Jessie’s lips as she releases the suction, causing them to vibrate slightly against you. She moves on, kissing down your chest to give attention to your breasts. Your fingers tangle themselves in her hair, pulling gently, gaining a hum of appreciation from Jessie this time. The longer you make out the more impatient you get, starting to grind up into Jessie, trying to hint to her you were ready to move on.

Jessie finally climbs off of you and heads toward where you had placed the bag earlier on the chair in your room, beginning to mess around with the harness and toy, leading to now where she’s shyly peeking over her shoulder at you with the harness fastened around her waist and thighs.

When she finally turns around to face you, your eyes drop to her waist and your stomach clenches at the sight, your beautiful girlfriend and between her legs the bright blue toy. It somehow looked larger sitting against her body.

“Come ‘ere.” You wave her over, hoping to boost her confidence back up as you can see the way she avoids eye contact with you. She crawls onto the bed, waiting for a moment before moving over to you.. As she leans over the toy sticking out pokes you in the stomach. “Hey!” You quickly move your hand down to grab it, moving it away from jabbing into you.

“Oops sorry, I didn’t think about that, not used to having anything there.” She says, laughing slightly as she looks down to see your hand holding it. “Hand on let me just.” She says before pulling the toy to be flush against her stomach.

With the toy no longer separating you, she leans down, finally reconnecting your lips. She kisses you for a moment before letting her hand trail between your legs, her fingers moving the cloth of your panties to the side. You sigh as her fingers begin to work between your legs, collecting your arousal before coming to your clit to rub slow circles. She continues touching you, pulling small noises of appreciation and approval from you as her fingers work.

“Jessie, come on.” Whining into her ear and bucking your hips she finally gets the message and pulls her hand back.

“What, are you ready?” Jessie pulls away from your lips.

“Yeah, I guess.” You could feel a small pit of nerves growing in your stomach, you’d hadn’t done this before, you trusted Jessie, she wouldn’t intentionally hurt you or make you uncomfortable, but it was new to both of you. You make a quick movement to remove your underwear before tossing it to the side and putting your legs back on either side of Jessie.

Jessie sits back on her knees, hand falling to the base of the toy. Her other hand comes up to rest on your inner thigh, pushing it slightly outward, her eyes falling between your legs. A smile comes across her face and you have to look away for a second from her intense stare.

“Hand me that.” Jessie points to the bottle of lube sitting next to your head on the bedside table. You grab it, passing it to her and watching as she opens the bottle, pouring on the liquid. She brings her hand down to begin spreading it. “Oh, it’s kind of cold.” She looks at her hand for a moment, rubbing her fingers together before adding “and slimey.” The bottle gets returned to the side table and Jessie slides herself closer to you, the tip resting on your stomach.

“Just go slow.” You say, putting your hands around her shoulders and lacing your fingers together behind her head.

“I will.” She nods down at you before breaking eye contact to look down where her hips rested between your thighs. Jessie maneuvers and you feel the toy now sitting against your core. She moves it around again before looking up at you quickly then back down, adjusting her hips again causing the toy to move. You feel the tip of the toy bump against a place you definitely didn’t want it going. “Wait.” You push against Jessie’s chest and she looks up, nervously. “Um, higher up, that’s the wrong-”

“Oh my god.” Jessie immediately inches backwards from you. “I’m sorry.” You watch as she drops her head in embarrassment. “I know where it is with my fingers.” She mumbles to herself, her confidence slipping away more and more the longer she has the appendage on.

“Babe, it’s fine, here I’ll help.” You reach down to where the strap hung gently grasping just above where Jessie’s own hand was wrapped around the girth. You take the tip, letting it glide across your clit before beginning to move it downward slowly. “There.” You gently push the tip into yourself before removing your hand placing it onto Jessie’s shoulder. “Go ahead.” You say looking up at your girlfriend who still had a hint of fear in her eyes.

She gives you a small nod and you watch her body begin to move and you feel the pressure of her hips angling forward, the toy beginning to push inside. You can tell by her gaze that she's unsure of what she’s doing, watching you for approval. “Is this fine?”

“Yeah, I’m good, keep going babe.” You nod up at her. She gives you a quick smile before her concentration face returns, her eyebrows furrowed and her bottom lip being tightly bit between her teeth, her eyes wander to where the two of you are connected, still moving her hips towards you ever so slightly. You bite your lip, starting to feel a larger stretch as Jessie continues to push forward. It wasn’t painful, but there was a definite tightness as Jessie bottomed out.

It takes a moment but Jessie’s hips finally are flush to yours and you can feel the fabric of the harness against your legs. Lying there you try your best to relax your muscles, still feeling a little nervous and unfamiliar with what was happening. You're unsure of where to put your legs, did you leave them lying on the bed? Should you bend them, put them around her waist maybe?

“Does it hurt?”Jessie looks between where your hips touch and back up to your face.

“Not exactly, it's just bigger than your fingers.” Your eyes trail to her hands that lay on either side of your waist, Jessie had good fingers, long, thick, but nowhere near the girth of the toy.

“Just let me know when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, maybe try pulling back a bit.” Your fingers dig into her shoulders, anticipating discomfort when she pulls back, only finding it to be not uncomfortable, just weird.

“Right, okay.” You watch, her face still contorted in confusion and concentration. She slowly shifts her hips backward again, just a small amount and the drag of the toy inside of you has you sighing, a noise that causes Jessie to freeze. “Are you alright?”

“I’m good babe, keep going.” You encourage her, giving her shoulder a squeeze, before letting your nails gently rake along the skin of her back. She pushed back in the small amount she had pulled out before pushing back in again.

Jessie slowly pulls back again, this time she drops her head, watching the toy slide out of you. You can see her eyes widen in amazement as she watches.

“Like what you see?” Bringing your hand to her chin you gently pull her face up to watch as she blushes.

“Yeah, it’s good, it’s hot.” She says looking up at you. Jessie gets lost looking at you for a moment, her hips stalling for a bit before she picks up her motion again.

“You can try going faster, or maybe harder?” You’re not fully sure what’s going to feel good. Jessie nods, her curls bouncing in front of her face. Her face is trying to mask a level of uncertainty. “Don’t be so nervous babe, it’s just me.” You bring a hand up to her rosy cheeks, hoping the gentle touch of your fingers will reassure her again.

“I just don’t want to hurt you.” The sincerity in Jessie's voice is cute you think, she was really worried about hurting you more than anything. You also knew her concerns would likely prevent her from fully letting herself go, it would take some time and practice.

“You won’t, fuck me like you mean it.”

Her eyes widen at your vulgar ask before a small smirk comes across her face as she looks at you. She drops to her forearms, her chest meeting yours as she ruts harder into you. Her strokes become firm, a loud noise of her hips meeting yours fills the room for a second before you start hearing Jessie’s ragged breathing in your ear.

“Oh, fuck Jess.” Your words spur her on, she pushes herself up again, thrusting faster, using the full length of the toy.

You get lost in the sensation, letting small moans of pleasure fall from your mouth. Muffling your moans Jessie kisses you hard as she continues to speed up her movements. Her trusts are a bit uncoordinated, a hard one, followed by some quick ones, she’d then slow down, then some shallow, some deep. It wasn’t bad by any means, just unpredictable.

You feel Jessie pull slightly too far out, the tip falling toward the bed but notice she thrusts her hips forward. You bring a hand to her waist giving her a gentle push “Hang on, you slipped out.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s fine.”

“I’m not good at this.” You watch as she starts to frown, the little bit of confidence she had gained a moment ago dwindling.

“It’s the first time Jess, it’s okay.” Your fingers draw lazy circles across her back, feeling goosebumps arise on her skin.

“Does it even feel good?”

“I mean,” you hesitate, not knowing how to exactly answer. Before you can clarify why you hesitated, Jessie talks.

“I’m sorry.”

“No baby it’s not you. I think I’m nervous, and it’s just something new, and it feels good but not in the mind blowing orgasm way,” you pause looking up at Jessie, you didn’t want to take a hit to her ego. “It’s good though, just like you being inside of me, it’s nice.” You blush as the words come from your mouth, having to break your gaze with Jessie.

“Okay. Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yeah, for a bit maybe? But, can you add more lube please.”

Jessie gives you a smile and a nod, reaching onto the bedside table and adding the liquid onto the toy. When Jessie begins to move again she gently runs the head of the toy across your core, letting it bump against your clit, causing your breath to hitch. You feel the tip at your entrance again and you nod at Jessie when she looks up confirming she’s in the right spot.

There’s a different sensation when she pushes into you this time, you feel as though you’re filled again just how you should be, not even realizing how empty you felt before. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Good?” Jessie cocks an eyebrow at you, you can see the slight smirk across her face, pleased with the reaction you had from her movement.

“Mmmhm.” You hum up at her with a nod.

Jessie lowers her body onto yours, causing the strap to shift deeper inside of you, as the warmth from her chest comes to rest on yours. It feels close, intimate, her body covering yours, your legs wrapped around her back, her face tucked tightly into the nape of your neck. You can hear her heavy breathing as she picks up again thrusting into you. In this position her thrusts are slower but more even, less sporadic, she has more control.

As you go to wrap your arms around Jessie’s back, her hands find yours first. She takes both of her hands interlacing your fingers and bringing them up to rest by the sides of your head.

With each thrust into you Jessie gives your hands a gentle squeeze. It’s a simple gesture, holding hands with Jessie but in the context, it’s overwhelming. “I love you.” You hear her mumble against your skin before she places a kiss.

“I love you.”

After a couple thrusts, Jessie releases one of her hands from yours and brings it between your bodies, she fumbles around before her fingers find your clit and she begins rubbing circles in time with her thrusts. “Is this okay?”

You suck in a breath, the mixture of Jessie’s fingers and the feeling of being full is a new sensation, one your body is still trying to process. You focus on her fingers, fingers that knew your body well, they knew what you liked, what made you feel good and that's what they were doing, making you feel good. “That's good baby.”

Despite the added pleasure from Jessie’s fingertips, you can tell you won’t cum from this. Too in your head about the toy, the newness, the unfamiliar territory, it had you slightly on edge and not the edge you wanted to be on.

“Jess.” You say gently, you hoped telling her wasn’t going to make her feel inadequate.

“Yeah?” She picks her head up from your neck, you can see the small sheen of sweat on her forehead, her baby hairs stuck to it.

“This feels good, I promise, I just don’t think it’s going to, ya know, get me there.” You cringe as you say the words, worried about what her reaction might be.

“Oh.” Her expression is surprised for a moment before her face falls, appearing disappointed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, babe it’s not your fault.” Holding her head in your hands you caress her cheeks. You think about what to say. If you mention you don’t feel comfortable enough, she’d blame herself for that though, it had nothing to do with her but Jessie always put her performance, in school, on the field, or in bed, on herself, even if it wasn’t her fault. You had to choose your words carefully with her. “It’s not you I promise. It’s me, I’m just not, I think it’s just I’m not used to there being something inside, it’s good, just new and I’m not quite used to it enough.”

Jessie nods in your hands but doesn’t say anything. You pull her down bringing her ear to your mouth. “Baby, you always make me feel so good, this is no different, you can still make me cum without the strap, that’s even better when you think about it, you don’t need a toy, it’s all you Jess.” Releasing the hold on her, she sits back up, careful not to move the toy around too much while still inside of you. “You always make me feel good babe.” You groan out as Jessie moves to trail her tongue down the side of your neck.

“Should I pull out?” Jessie asks, looking down at her waist.

“Yeah go ahead.” You try and relax as she pulls her hips back, pulling until the toy falls out. You notice Jessie's attention being pulled down to where the toy was now. “Hey.” She looks back up at you with a small half smile. “It’s okay Jess.” You pull her by the chin, bringing her mouth to yours, the toy sticking into your stomach again as she tries to lean over to kiss you. She giggles as her hand again reaches to press the strap up against her abdomen.

The two of you kiss, her tongue gently running over yours, softly pulling on your bottom lip with her teeth, causing you to let out a deep moan. She kisses your cheek, down to your jaw and up to place a sloppy kiss just below your earlobe.

“Can I eat you out?” She whispers following it with a couple more kisses down your neck.

“Please baby.” Your voice comes out more needy and wanting than you expected. You can feel her smirk against your neck and she continues to kiss across your chest, teasing you ever so slightly, taking her time moving down your body.

“Come on Jess.” Your hands find their way to her shoulders and you gently push her down where she was already headed, between your legs. She gives in, letting you push her between your legs. As she goes to lay down, the toy catches on the bed, preventing her from being able to fully lay down.

“Fuck this.” Jessie says sitting up and scrambling off the bed to remove the harness. You laugh at your girlfriend’s frustration with the toy as she pulls and fiddles with the various straps, until the harness loosens and falls off her waist. “Not funny.” Jessie grumbles, placing the toy onto the nightstand.

She wastes no time climbing back between your legs, her hands picking up your thighs and bringing them over her shoulders. She brings her face to your core, her tongue beginning to lick long strokes, appreciating your taste and the feeling of having her mouth back on you. She hums into you. Giving you a few more long licks, Jessie begins to pay attention to your clit.

She gives it a few flicks, her tongue firm before a slow circle around the nerves, her eyes locked on yours intensely watching as you roll them back, enjoying the feeling of her. “You’re so good at that babe, fuck.” You watch as Jessie's eyes light up at the praise. She always liked being praised, being told she was pleasing you. You feel her increase her pressure, adding more suction with her lips, putting all of her focus onto your clit.

“God Jess.” Jessie moans into you in appreciation of your words. Your hand finds the top of her head, running your hand through her hair before gently scratching her scalp, knowing the action spurred her on. You feel yourself finding the edge that you had been looking for, feeling the tightness in your stomach growing, the tightening of your thighs, your muscles all tensing. Your hand holds Jessie's head tight to you, your other hand fists the bedsheet tightly as you peak. Your hips thrust against Jessie's tongue, you feel her hands try to hold your hips steady to let her keep pleasing you, a groan of her name falls from your lips followed by a whine, beginning to feel the sensitivity of your post orgasm. Your hips buck a few more times, trying to escape the now gentle stimulation that Jessie was giving you to work you through your orgasm.

The grip on your hips loosens and Jessie pulls her tongue away after giving you one final featherlight lick, looking all too proud of herself and cockly when she pulls up, resting her cheek on your inner thigh.

“What?” you say, knowing she was just proud of herself. She always was, Jessie would get so cocky watching you fall apart from her touch.

“Nothing, I just love you.”

“I love you, ya dork, come up here.” You motion for her to come kiss you and she does, resting her body weight onto you for a moment as you lips meet. You kiss for a bit before Jessie rolls off of you, lying beside you, draping an arm across your waist.

“Thank you for trying that with me.” You quickly glance at the strap that was still sitting, covered in lube and your slick, on the bedside table.

“I’ll try anything for you baby, I just want to make you feel good.” Jessie says as she leans up, planting a heavy kiss on your lips. “I think I just need more practice.”

“Well I’ll always be interested in practicing with you Jess.”

A/N pt 2: here’s part 2, tumblr is being a pain and not posting it under the tags

#jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #jessie fleming blurb #canwnt x reader #woso smut

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twisted-dork · 4 months ago

Text

Jason Meets May Parker (AKA The Woman of His Dreams Because She Beat Up the Joker)

Jason Todd wasn’t a romantic.

He wasn’t the type to believe in love at first sight or fate or any of that Hallmark crap. (He may read romance books but that’s fiction therefore it has different rules so it doesn’t count!)

But standing in front of May Parker for the first time—the woman who had, without hesitation, beaten the absolute hell out of the Joker—he thought, Yeah, I’m in love.

He hadn’t planned to meet her like this.

After all, he had questions.

Who the hell was she? How did she take down the Joker with nothing but a baseball bat and sheer rage? Why did the kid she was protecting act like this was just another Tuesday?

So, naturally, he did what he did best.

He followed her.

Which, in hindsight, might not have been his best idea, because when she caught him lingering outside the library where she worked, she hit him in the chest with a hardcover book.

Hard.

May: “You gonna tell me why you’re lurking like a creep, or do I need to hit you again?”

Jason, stunned, looked down at the book she had just used as a blunt weapon.

Jason: “…Did you just hit me with ‘War and Peace’?”

May: “It was the closest thing I had. Want me to try ‘Moby Dick’ next?”

Jason, for reasons he couldn’t explain, grinned.

Jason: “Well I would appreciate it if you didn’t, you pack quite the heat.”

Jason didn’t lie that hit actually hurt which only made him more curious on just how strong she is.

May: “Well from what I’ve seen here in Gotham I think that’s a good thing?”

She smirked putting her hand on her hip.

Once Jason convinced her he wasn’t a threat (and after she made him hold out his hands so she could check them for clown makeup because she wouldn’t be surprised if The Joker sent people after her), May allowed him to sit with her inside the library.

She watched him warily over the rim of her coffee cup, the same way one might watch a stray dog that had wandered in off the street—curious, but not quite trusting.

Jason, on the other hand, was watching her.

Because she was different.

She wasn’t scared of him. Wasn’t intimidated by the leather jacket, the scars, the general air of menace that usually made people keep their distance.

No.

She just looked… tired.

Tired, but not weak.

And damn if that didn’t make his brain short-circuit a little. He had only planned to feel her out. Figure out what kind of person she was.

But then (the boy who was kidnapped,) Peter ran up to her, tugging at her sleeve.

Peter: “Aunt May! I finished my book! Can I get another one?”

May smiled, ruffling the kid’s hair in a way that spoke of effortless familiarity.

May: “Sure thing, sweetheart. You want another science book?”

Peter: “Mmhmm! I wanna learn about quantum physics!”

Jason blinked.

Jason: “…You’re like, five?”

Peter (scowling): “I’m sevente—!”

May m: “Careful. He’ll start monologuing about multiversal theory if you’re not careful.”

May cut Peter off handing him a book and smoothing down his curls.

And that was it.

That was the moment Jason knew he was completely and utterly screwed.

Because the kid was hilarious, and May Parker was somehow both the most terrifying and most comforting person he had ever met.

And Jason Todd?

Well.

Jason Todd had always had a thing for dangerous women with big hearts. He didn’t say it aloud, but he knew then and there that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Not just because May had wrecked the Joker like it was personal (which by the way he sees how much she loves the kid it’s unsurprising).

Not just because Peter was the most sarcastic seven-year-old he had ever met (at least he’s not trying to stab him like Damian would).

But because she reminded him of the kind of person he wished he had when he was a kid.

Fierce. Protective.

Unyielding in the face of cruelty.

And even if she didn’t know it yet, she had just gained an unofficial bodyguard in him.

Because Jason Todd wasn’t about to let someone like her face Gotham alone.

Not now.

Not ever.

——————————————————————————————————————

I’ll be making a taglist soon so if you want to be tagged then just request in my ask

Masterlist

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msbigredmachine · 5 months ago

Text

Finding Angel: 2

A/N: Thank you all for a wonderful response to the first chapter. I appreciate it!

Here's chapter 2.

MASTERLIST

The diner is quiet, a stark contrast to the neon-lit chaos of Exotica. It’s one of Naima’s favorite spots, a place where she can escape and think. Roman holds the door open for her, his imposing presence drawing a few curious glances from the late-night patrons. They slide into a booth near the back, the worn leather seats creaking softly beneath them.

Naima orders coffee, while Roman opts for tea. The nondescript gesture makes her smile. Most men she knows wouldn’t touch tea, insisting on something stronger, more masculine. But Roman doesn’t seem to care about appearances. He is comfortable in his skin, and his confidence is magnetic.

They stay at the diner for hours, their conversation ebbing and flowing. Roman finds himself captivated by her high-pitched laugh, the way it lights up her entire face. He notices so much about her, maybe too much; the way her fingers tap rhythmically against the table when she’s thinking, the slight tilt of her head when she is listening intently, the sparkle in her eyes when she talks about the things she loves.

“So, what do you do for fun?” he asks, a playful glint in his eyes.

Naima's smile is soft and she doesn’t hesitate. “Well,” she begins, “I got a few. I model, I create content, but my absolute favorite is teaching dance classes a couple of times a week.”

Roman’s brow arches in surprise, his gaze shifting from his mug to her face. “Really?”

Naima nods, her smile widening at his interest. “Yeah. There's a local studio not too far away from here. That’s where I teach. Hip-hop, jazz, Afrobeats…pole,” she winks at him, making him laugh. “I’ve been doing it for a few years now, and I upload the videos on my YouTube and Instagram pages. It’s something I’m really passionate about. It’s my little escape from everything else.” She pauses, her voice softening. “It’s a lot of work but I love it. It’s my way of staying grounded.”

Roman’s expression softens even more. He hears the passion in her voice, sees the way her eyes light up, and it only makes him more curious. “That’s amazing. How did you get it started?”

Naima exhales, thinking back. “It started with private lessons, actually. I was helping a friend train for an audition, and word just kinda spread. More people started reaching out; dancers, performers, even people with no background in dance who just wanted to learn. At some point, I realized I had something real, something I could build on.”

Roman nods, taking it in. “So you went from that to having your own company?”

She smiles. “Pretty much. The studio space came later, but yeah. It wasn’t easy, though. I had to network, put myself out there, find the right people who believed in the vision. But I love it. Seeing people connect with movement, watching them gain confidence; it’s more than just dancing. It’s self-expression, release…therapy, in a way.”

Roman watches her, the admiration clear in his orbs. “That’s dope as hell,” he murmurs. “You built somethin’ legit, somethin’ meaningful.”

Naima shrugs, but there’s a quiet pride in her eyes. “Yeah…I did.”

Roman smiles, impressed. “Maybe you could show me a move or two sometime?”

Naima laughs. “I could, but you’d have to work really hard to keep up. I don’t teach any easy routines.”

He chuckles, leaning in slightly, teasing. “Well, I’m pretty competitive. You might be surprised.”

She shakes her head, still smiling, feeling a little more connected to him than before. His interest in something so personal to her stays on her mind. She didn’t expect to open up in such a casual way, but she’s glad she has.

“Sounds like you got a lot going on,” Roman goes on, admiring the way she seems to balance so much. “I respect that. You’re not just dancing…you’re putting something real into the world, something that matters. That takes dedication.”

Naima feels a warmth spread through her chest, and the quiet sincerity in his voice makes her heart flutter just a little. “Thanks, Roman,” she says, meeting his gaze. “I really appreciate you saying that.”

“Of course. What you’re doing is special, Naima.”

For a moment, she basks in the glow of his words, but then her smile turns slightly bittersweet. “I try. Gotta make do with it, after my plans for world domination got derailed,” she adds with a shrug.

Roman’s eyes narrow curiously. “What happened?”

Naima’s gaze shifts away, her lips pressing together briefly. Something unspoken lingers in the air between them, a flash of pain in her eyes. “Very long story. Trust me,” she says, her tone final but not unkind.

Roman doesn’t press further, sensing that the moment isn’t right. Instead, he nods, letting the silence between them settle. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says simply.

Naima huffs a quiet laugh, giving him a small, skeptical smile. Sure, okay. Maybe one day. Not that it really matters…she seriously doubts she’ll ever see him again after tonight.

“You’re a great dancer, though. I saw it tonight,” he points out, his deep voice carrying a note of conviction.

Naima feels her face flush. “I appreciate that.”

“For real. You just…don’t seem like you belong there,” he says quietly. “Not like the others.”

Naima tilts her head, watching him closely. “What makes you think that?” Her voice is calm—too calm. Like she already knows what he’s about to say.

Roman holds her stare, unwavering, like it’s been all night. “It’s the way you carry yourself. You’re not just performing for an audience. You have control. You know exactly who you are. And that’s rare in a place like the club.”

She considers his words for a moment before letting out a soft laugh, more thoughtful than amused. “Maybe you’re right,” she admits. “I’ve learned to navigate life by my own rules. That’s why I’m where I’m at, and not anywhere else.”

Roman continues to study her, his expression shifting just slightly. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pry, but something about her words settles deep. It’s the first real glimpse beyond the surface, beyond the walls they’re both still carefully holding up.

“You ever think about leavin’?” he asks, his voice low, barely a whisper.

Of course. The dreaded question. “Sometimes,” she offers, her tone tinged with uncertainty. “But it’s complicated.” There is a brief, yet heavy pause before she speaks again, forcing her tone to shift to something more playful. “Why? You wanna try and convince me to quit this job? Whisk me away somewhere?”

Roman chuckles, the sound as warm as his tea. “If you want me to.” And he leaves it at that.

Scoffing softly, she glances down, absentmindedly fidgeting with the silver bracelet on her left wrist. The movement draws Roman’s attention, and he catches sight of the small butterfly tattoo just inside her wrist.

“What’s the story behind that?” he asks, nodding toward it. “And the other butterflies on your hip?”

Naima hesitates, then turns her wrist to show him. “They’re reminders. Butterflies go through so much to become what they are. It’s my way of telling myself that even when things get tough, I can still transform into something bigger, better.”

Roman stays quiet, as if letting her words settle. Then, without a word, he reaches out and takes her hand, his fingers warm against hers. He lifts her wrist to his lips and presses a soft, deliberate kiss to the ink. The gesture is unexpected, intimate in a way that makes Naima’s breath hitch.

“You’re cool as shit,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing gently over the tattoo. “Don’t let anyone, including yourself, tell you otherwise.”

For a moment, silence stretches between them, charged with something neither of them expected to feel tonight. Naima exhales, shaking her head with a soft laugh. And just as she starts to pull away, her fingers hesitate. Then, subtly, she loosens her grip, shifting just enough so that their fingers intertwine.

It’s a small thing. Barely anything.

But the sparks between them right now? Crazy.

“You’re not like most men I meet,” she comments, realizing just how much she enjoys staring into his eyes.

Roman smirks, leaning back slightly. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It is.”

When the conversation finally lulls, he glances at his watch and frowns slightly. “It’s late. Let me drive you home.”

Naima arches an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “What are you driving? Some flashy sports car?”

Roman chuckles, shaking his head. “Not exactly.” He pulls out his phone and sends a quick message. Minutes later, a sleek black Rolls-Royce Ghost pulls up outside the diner.

Naima’s eyes widen, and she bursts out laughing. “Of course. Big baller shit.”

Roman laughs with her as he stands and extends his hand. “Come on. Let's get you home safe.”

She takes his hand, his grip firm yet easy, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. As they step out of the diner, the night air wraps around them, cool against the warmth lingering between their palms. Naima doesn’t overthink it—won’t let herself—but there’s a feeling settling deep in her chest.

Something about tonight feels different. Unfinished. Like a story just waiting to be written.

The ride home is quiet but intimate, the hum of the Rolls-Royce’s engine a soothing backdrop to the charged silence between them in the back seat. Roman's arm is draped around her waist, pulling her close as she rests her head on his shoulder. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the faint scent of his cologne all combine to create a cocoon of comfort and tension that neither can deny.

Roman’s fingers idly trace circles on her hip, his touch gentle and soothing. Naima tilts her head slightly to look up at him, her dark eyes drinking in the sharp plane of his jaw, his chiseled cheekbones right above his thick beard. The faintest smile plays on her lips as he looks down, catching her eye.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she teases.

“I’m just taking it all in,” Roman answers, his deep voice resonating in her ears. His hand moves to cup her face, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone. “Taking you in,” he continues, his gaze dropping to her lips for the briefest moment before returning to her eyes.

Naima smiles and snuggles closer to him, enjoying his warmth as his arm tightens around her. They remain that way for the rest of the drive, the tension between them building with every passing second.

The car pulls up in front of her home, a modern apartment complex tucked away in a quiet part of Atlanta. Roman steps out first, rounding the vehicle to open her door. His presence is imposing yet effortless, the way he holds out his hand—solid, sure—making it impossible to ignore the pull between them.

Naima slides her fingers into his, warmth spreading through her chest as he takes her duffel bag without a word, his easy confidence making it feel natural to let him. She leads him through the entrance, the soft click of her heels against the tiled floor the only sound between them.

The elevator doors glide open, and as they step inside, the space suddenly feels smaller. Closer. The air shifts, thickening. Naima presses the button for her floor, then leans back against the mirrored wall. She can feel his gaze, the weight of it sending a slow shiver down her spine. She grips her keys a little tighter, the metal cool against her palm, a poor distraction from the heat licking at her skin. When she turns her head slightly, their eyes meet in the reflection.

Neither of them speaks, but the charge between them says everything.

The elevator hums as it ascends, a tortuously slow climb. Roman’s fingers flex around the strap of her bag, and for a moment, she swears he’s debating something. The anticipation coils between them, thick and electric.

By the time the doors slide open, Naima exhales a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Roman follows her out, handing her bag back as they stand there. Their fingers brush in the exchange, a fleeting touch that sends a spark racing up her arm.

Her heart pounds.

She looks up at him, lips parting, and Roman tilts his head slightly, eyes hooded, searching. She swallows hard, gripping her bag tighter.

“Thanks for the ride,” she murmurs, though it feels like the least important thing she could say right now. “And for tonight.”

Roman nods, his gaze lingering on her. “I should be thanking you,” he says. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a conversation that felt...real.”

Naima smiles shyly, her pulse quickening. “Same here.”

They stand there a little longer, neither wanting to say goodbye. Finally, Roman leans in, his hand gently cupping her cheek. His touch is tender, but his eyes hold a fierce intensity. Dipping his head, he presses his lips to hers, kissing her slowly, deeply, and Naima feels herself melt into him. Her hands find their way to his chest, feeling the strength beneath the fabric of his shirt as they get lost in the moment.

When they finally pull apart, their breaths mingling in the cool night air, Naima hesitates. Her logical mind is screaming at her to say goodbye, to end the night here and let him go back into the elevator. But her attraction to Roman is immense and seemingly stronger than reason.

“Do you wanna come in?” she asks, her voice just above a whisper.

Roman searches her face, his dark eyes filled with both desire and caution. “Do you want me to come in?”

Naima nods, the truth spilling from her lips before she can second-guess herself. “Yes.”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. He follows her down the hallway, his hand in hers as they make their way to her front door. The air between them thickens with anticipation, as she unlocks the door and lets him in.

The living room is a blend of warmth and quiet luxury, the kind of space that feels effortlessly inviting. A plush sectional stretches along one wall, its velvety texture accented by an array of throw pillows in soft neutrals—ivory, champagne, and deep charcoal. A thick, cream-colored knit blanket is draped casually over one arm, a contrast to the sleek, asymmetrical coffee table in front of it. The table’s modern design is softened by the small details on top—a lit candle labeled Warm Vanilla & Cashmere, a stack of choreography notes bound neatly with a ribbon, and a single glass of water with a slice of lemon floating inside.

The muted glow from the wall sconces casts a golden hue across the room, complementing the deep mauve and taupe tones woven throughout the space. Roman’s eyes track over to the open-concept kitchen, where the white quartz countertops gleam under the dim lighting. A fruit bowl sits on the island, overflowing with fresh oranges, apples, and bananas, next to a neatly arranged mason jar full of wooden cooking utensils. There’s a subtle scent of lavender in the air, likely from the discreet diffuser plugged into the far corner.

Everything is carefully put together, yet lived-in. Feminine, but not overwhelmingly so. Comfortable, but still carrying an understated elegance…the kind of balance that tells him she has a taste for the finer things but doesn’t go out of her way to flaunt it.

Roman takes it all in, his dark eyes lingering on the details before settling on her. Naima watches him, shifting slightly, suddenly aware of how much this space reflects her.

“It’s not much, but it’s home,” she mutters, toying with the hem of her shirt, as if playing it down will make his gaze feel less intense.

Roman doesn’t say anything right away. He just nods, slow and assured, before looking back at her. “It suits you,” he murmurs.

And for some reason, that makes her stomach flip.

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of her curly hair from her face. The simple gesture sends a shiver down her spine, and she finds herself leaning into his touch.

The tension between them is palpable now, a current of electricity that neither can resist. Roman’s hands meet her waist, pulling her flush against him as he leans down to capture her lips in another searing kiss. This one is different; hungrier, more desperate; as if they’re both finally giving in to the pull that has been tugging them close all night.

Naima’s hands slide up his chest, her fingers tangling in his hair as she deepens the kiss, their tongues tangling together. Roman groans softly, the sound vibrating against her lips as his hands roam up her back, anchoring her to him.

“Naima,” he rasps, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. His gaze is dark, filled with desire, but also restraint. “Tell me to stop, and I will. I mean it.”

She stares up at him, her heart racing. His care, his need for her consent, makes her chest tighten in the best way. It’s not something she’s used to, and it only deepens the pull she feels toward him.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, her voice trembling with raw emotion, her lips brushing against his as she speaks. “I want you.”

He closes his eyes briefly, exhaling as if her words are the permission he needs to finally let go. “Are you sure?” he asks, cupping her face.

Naima nods, tugging him closer if that is even physically possible. “I’ve never been more sure.”

His restraint shatters, and he kisses her again, more hungrily this time, pouring every ounce of pent-up desire into it. Naima responds eagerly, her fingers finding the buttons of his shirt and fumbling to undo them. He helps her, shrugging out of the fabric and tossing it aside, revealing the thick muscles and intricate tattoos etched beneath. Her hands trace the lines of ink, her touch reverent.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs, breathless just touching him. He feels so good.

Roman smiles and finds her lips again. “Not as beautiful as you.”

They take their time, their movements slow and deliberate as they undress each other. Roman’s hands find her skin, warm and eager, but it’s her breasts that steal his focus. Big, round, and perfect in his grasp, his palms mold over them, relishing their weight, his thumbs sweeping over her pierced nipples with a reverence that makes her shiver.

“Damn,” he mutters, his voice thick with appreciation. His dark eyes drink her in, lingering as if trying to commit every curve to memory. “So damn beautiful.”

Naima feels the heat rise to her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. She especially can’t look away from that monster hanging between his thighs. She swallows, wondering how the heck it’s going to fit. Her thoughts are interrupted when he pulls her back into his embrace. The intensity between them grows with every kiss, every caress. It’s as if they’ve done this a hundred times, yet every touch is new and electric.

He lifts her effortlessly, carrying her toward the sectional like she’s weightless. A fire has been ignited that threatens to consume them both. As Roman lays her down, his large frame covering hers on the plush couch, they both know there is no turning back. The connection between them is undeniable, and tonight, they will explore it fully.

The delicious heat of his naked skin on hers, his thick, heavy dick nestling against her pussy, ekes a moan from her mouth into his...especially as he grinds against her, his heavy shaft nudging along her clit and making her ache for him to be inside of her. It spurs her to reach down between their bodies and curl her hand around him, thick and long and hard.

“Damn,” she breathes, mesmerized.

Roman pulls back slightly, his eyes wide as she begins to stroke him up and down. "Naima..." he says, his voice husky, "I…shit…I don’t have any condoms. I didn’t exactly plan on...this." His eyes search hers, his desire tempered by concern.

Naima smiles at his thoughtfulness. "I like that you’re careful," she whispers, reaching for her purse and pulling a Trojan out. "I’m on the pill, but I don’t take chances either." She places it in his hand. "Now, where were we?"

Roman grins and kisses her again, this time more fervently, knowing they’re both on the same page. Her heart rate accelerates watching him roll the condom over his intimidating length, meeting his eyes as he hooks her thighs around his waist. Bracing himself on one hand while the other guides his dick inside her wet, waiting pussy, they both exhale throaty groans as her walls stretch around his invasion, breaking her in with his girth.

Jesus…

He forces himself to still and let her adjust to him, his mouth on hers to soothe the trembles of her body. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” he whispers against her lips.

“No,” she shakes her head and kisses him, hot and hurried, “I can…I can take it.”

“Good,” he says with a low, rumbling growl. He rolls his hips, thrusting into her, out and back in. Naima feels the pleasure threatening to snatch her from her own body, only tied down by the luscious heat that anchors her to the couch with his grinding strokes. He’s taking his time, exploring her body as if it’s something sacred. He whispers her name like a prayer, his heavy panting warming the side of her throat as he rocks in and out of her, drawing moans and soft cries and sparking sensations that feel otherworldly.

“Oh, fuck, Roman…”

“Baby, you’re so tight…feels so good,” he groans. He hitches her long ass legs higher on his hips, groaning as the move nudges him even deeper inside of her. She can practically feel him in her stomach. She dares to look down, to watch all that dick piston in and out of her, her cream coating the thick length, granting him easier access inside her. It’s the hottest thing she has seen in a long time. It’s even hotter, the way he looks at her, like she’s the only woman in the world. It’s overwhelming and grounding all at once. Her hands caress his broad shoulders and his long hair as their foreheads touch, sharing delicious, breathy kisses as they move in perfect rhythm. She’s letting herself go in a way she hasn’t in years, surrendering completely to the moment.

“Oooh, just like that…mmmph, fuck!” Her pleas dissolve into desperate moans as she nears euphoria. As though sensing it, he pushes deeper, tapping the bottom of her pussy, making it clench around the base of his cock. Her eyes widen as jolts of pleasure rip through her body as it spasms, making her come harder than she’s come in so long.

“Mmm, you came for me, baby?” Roman grins, withdrawing from her and dipping his face between her thighs. “Let me taste it…”

Her back arches off of the couch when his mouth spreads over her folds, his warm, long tongue lapping up her sweetness. Resting an arm over her stomach, his other hand wraps around her thigh to hold her still as he delves deep, working her pussy with frightening expertise. The sound of her heartbeat and the sloppy slurps of his skilled mouth thud in Naima’s ears as she fights back tears from how good he’s making her feel. She claws at locks of his hair, her head thrown back into the pillows, letting out a squeal she can’t control as another intense orgasm crashes into her with the force of a tsunami. She feels her body deflate, panting softly as she throws her arm across her face. Roman’s chuckle rattles in her ears as he moves her hand away to kiss her, both moaning as they exchange the taste of her.

“You’re fucking incredible,” she sighs.

His smile widens as he turns her onto her stomach. He kneels behind her, nudging her knees apart with one huge thigh, and pulls her hips back, the action rubbing his erection against her wet entrance. With his chest flush on her back, he brushes her hair away from her neck to kiss her shoulder. He eases his dick back into her, growling at the slick sensation that engulfs his length yet again.

“Shit, baby…”

"Tell me, baby girl. This feel good?" He moves slowly, pushing in and pulling out in gradual, deliberate strokes.

“Yes…it’s…better,” she groans, goosebumps sprouting from his warm breath in the crook of her neck. The swipe of his tongue on her skin makes her pussy tighten, her increasing wetness slipping him more easily inside her. Naima reaches up to slide her fingers through his hair, her lips meeting his in a sloppy, hungry kiss. She presses her face against his, their labored breaths joined as one.

"Naima...fuck, baby, your pussy feels amazing..."

Her breath catches at the lust clouding his eyes. Boldly, she licks at his mouth, whispering back to him, "Your dick feels amazing too, I love how deep you are…"

Roman feels his dick twitch at that. Everything about this woman is sexy as hell. Her body, her husky voice, he’s taken by it all. He feels her begin to move, his breathing growing ragged at the sight of her round, supple cheeks bouncing off his dick, grinding back on his groin, her groans washing over him as she dares to take him even deeper inside her. Roman’s palm smooths over her stomach, sliding up to grope her breast, pinching her nipple, making her cry out as lightning zips through her.

“Fuck!”

Gripping her waist in his big hands, Roman regains control of the pace as he thrusts harder and deeper, giving her every thick inch of him, reveling in her increasingly loud moans. “Mmm-hmm, take this dick, baby, you asked for it…damn, this pussy squeezin’ me,” he growls, giving her ass a smack.

Naima cries out from the sting of his palm, clinging to a throw pillow in complete bliss as he feeds her with deep, pounding backshots to her g-spot that makes his heavy ballsac slap against her clit and her eyes roll in the back of her head. She can’t believe how present he is, so focused on her. How good it's felt from the first minute. It’s been a perfect mix of passion and tenderness and wild abandon.

Roman peppers more kisses along her neck, nuzzling his face in it as his balls tighten, sounding him off for his own climax. “Come for me again, Naima. Soak my dick, give it to me,” he orders.

There’s something about the command of his voice that compels her body to obey right away. The sky seems to fall as she comes a third time, her thighs shaking as her pussy gushes. Roman’s deep moans mingle with hers in a sweet symphony as he tumbles into his own orgasm, his cock twitching and pulsing inside her. Naima loves it, loves the crack in his deep voice as pleasure melts his big frame down to nothingness.

His thrusts finally slow, languid and lazy, letting her milk him thoroughly while they consume each other’s moans, his hand massaging her breast as he keeps her close to him like precious porcelain.

The room takes its time to stop spinning as they lie tangled together on the couch, their bodies gleaming with sweat, still buzzing with the aftershocks of their magic coupling. Roman’s arms wind around her, holding her tight as he presses a kiss to her temple. Naima rests her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. She can’t believe what’s just happened. Can’t believe that sex like this still exists, that she can have such mind-blowing back-to-back orgasms. That this man—so different from anyone she’s ever met—treated her like she was something precious the entire time. She wishes she could have more. She wishes it didn’t have to end tomorrow like she knows it will.

As sleep begins to tug at her, she picks the next best option, “Please stay.”

Roman pulls the throw blanket over them both and kisses her forehead tenderly. “I’m right here, baby.”

Roman’s phone buzzes loudly on the coffee table, jarring him awake. The soft morning light spills through the blinds, highlighting the peaceful expression on Naima’s face as she lays curled against him. For a moment, he debates ignoring the call altogether, but when the screen lights up again with Jimmy’s name, he rolls his eyes and reluctantly answers.

“What?” Roman’s voice is a low growl, still rough from sleep.

“Mannn, don’t ‘what’ me, Uce,” Jimmy shoots back, sounding annoyed. “Where you at? The jet’s ready and we’re waiting. Jey and Sami are here, but you MIA. Wassup?”

Roman exhales heavily, his free hand gently brushing Naima’s hair as she stirs slightly. “The jet can wait.”

Jimmy’s laugh comes through the phone, sharp and knowing. “Oh, it’s like that? You still with that stripper chick? Angel?”

“Jimmy,” Roman warns, his voice dropping.

“Relax, Uce. I’m just sayin’,” Jimmy teases. “Pussy gotta be bomb if you keepin’ us all waitin’. Jey gon’ be mad at your ass though. He was talking about her all night.”

Roman shakes his head, his patience wearing thin. “Too bad. And I said, I’ll get there when I fucking get there. That’s all y’all need to know.”

Before Jimmy can press further, Roman ends the call and sets the phone back down. He leans back against the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment before looking down at Naima, who has begun to wake.

Her eyes flutter open, and for a moment, she just looks at him, her expression unreadable. “Morning.”

“Morning.” His smile is soft and his kiss is even softer.

“You’re still here,” she comments when he pulls back. At the slight frown on his face, she shrugs, smoothing her hair. “Most guys don’t usually stick around,” she answers bluntly; the truth.

Roman lets his thumb graze her chin. “I ain’t most guys. And I wasn’t going anywhere without seeing your pretty eyes one more time.”

Her heart flutters, and she smiles wider, flattered and relieved. "I’m glad you stayed," she whispers.

Roman leans in, pressing another kiss to her mouth before sitting back. “Me too. I hate that I gotta leave.”

Naima nods, trying to mask her disappointment. “It’s okay. I get it. You’ve got your people waitin’ on you,” she says softly, guarded again. “I can’t keep you here.”

Roman shakes his head, his brow furrowing as he reaches for her hand. “Truth is, I wanna see you again,” he says earnestly.

She stares at him, struggling to keep her neutral expression intact. “You barely know me, Roman. We just met.”

He chuckles softly, the warmth in his chest growing. “I know enough. I know that you’re different. We spent a lot of last night talking and laughing, which I hardly do...It felt like we’ve known each other a long time.”

The intensity of his gaze has her looking away, unsure of how to respond as she processes his words. She feels the same way too…She likes him, more than she’s ready to admit. But she’s also cautious. It’s just one night. The last thing she wants is to fall into something that will only leave her hurt. Again.

“Are you sure?” she asks hesitantly, “I mean…I’m just a strip-”

“Don’t,” he interrupts gently but firmly, his large hand coming up to cup her cheek. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’ve spent hours with you and I still want more. Last night wasn’t just fun...it was real. At least to me.”

Naima’s heart is battling with her head. She really wants to believe him, to trust that this isn’t just a fleeting moment for him. “What do you even see in me?” she presses, her voice laced with vulnerability.

Roman’s expression softens. “I see you, baby girl,” he says smoothly. “Not Angel. Not the dancer. You. Smart, funny, beautiful as fuck, Naima.”

Her heart clenches at his words, and for the first time in a long time, she feels seen in a way that goes beyond the surface. But doubt still hovers like a dark cloud. “What happens when you leave? When reality sets in?”

Roman smiles faintly. “We'll make our own reality,” he says confidently, picking up his phone and handing it to her. “Here. Put your number in. And take mine, too.”

Naima hesitates for a moment, then reaches for her own phone on the coffee table and gives it to him. She taps in her digits, saving her number for him. “There,” she says, swapping their phones back. “I’m in your phone.”

“And I’m in yours,” Roman says, his voice soft as he eyes her.

She laughs lightly, shaking her head. “You’re persistent as fuck, aren’t you?”

“When it comes to something I want? Always,” he replies with a smirk.

He stands reluctantly, gathering his clothes and slipping them on. Naima rises too, wrapping the throw blanket around her before walking him to the door. As they reach it, he stops, looking down at her.

“I’ll call you,” he says.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she replies with a smile, her voice teasing, though the sincerity is still there.

“I’m not the type to break promises,” he insists confidently. “And I’m not the type to walk away from something that feels so special.”

Naima’s eyes soften, and for a split second, it feels like the world has paused around them. There’s no rush, no obligation. Just the two of them, standing on the edge of something new.

Roman steps closer and wraps his arms around her in a warm, lingering embrace that neither seems ready to end. She buries her face in the curve of his neck, inhaling his scent—whiskey, cedar, and something undeniably him—and feeling an ache she doesn’t quite understand.

His large hands span her lower back, silently promising that this is not goodbye, just a ’see you later’. She clings to him, her fingers tracing soft patterns over the muscles beneath his shirt, reluctant to let go.

Pulling back to rest his forehead gently against hers, his thumb caresses her chin, near her lips. He leans in, capturing her mouth in a tender kiss. It’s neither rushed nor fleeting; it is gentle and filled with the quiet passion of a man who doesn’t just want her for one night. Naima kisses him back just as deeply, savoring the taste of him. Time seems to stretch, their shared silence speaking louder than any words can.

When they finally part, their breaths mingle, neither ready to fully break the connection. Placing a soft kiss on her forehead, his lips linger for a moment before he pulls back, his eyes searching hers one last time.

“I’ll see you soon, baby girl,” he vows, his voice rough but soft, like gravel smoothed by the sea. “Take care of yourself.”

Naima nods, her heart thudding in her chest, the sadness of him leaving creeping in even though she’s just met him. “I will. And right back at’cha,” she whispers.

Roman gives her one final brief, sweet kiss before stepping away. As he walks out the door, it feels as though a piece of him stays behind, wrapped around her like the memory of his embrace.

She smiles as she closes the door, leaning against it as her heart races. They only just met, but it feels like something she doesn’t want to let slip away.

And on the other side of the door, Roman feels the same, a hopeful smile brightening his handsome face.

That maybe, just maybe...they’re both ready to take this chance.

It's all sunshine and roses now...but not for long...

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millermouth · 5 days ago

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𝙭𝙤𝙭𝙤

Masterlist || Harry Castillo x Reader || Part V: Clause & Effect

Summary: You spend a sunny afternoon with Nate, slipping easily into old habits and laughter that feels too good to question. When you reach out to Harry the next morning, it’s cold and all business—a sharp contrast to the time you’d shared just days before. || fake dating, tabloids, Gossip Girl AU, socialite!reader, richgirl!reader, NYC, reader is in her mid 20s, old money lifestyle, trust fund babies, age gap, rich people problems, little bit of sugar daddy vibes || a/n: I'm bacckkkk from vacay woo! somehow had the brain power to do some editing today hehe enjoy! another dialogue heavy chapter friends x

Blair hadn’t exactly suggested that you go with Nate when he asked to talk with you. No, she had practically shoved you out of the Saks on Fifth Avenue. And when you’d flashed your eyes over your shoulder at her hard push out the door, you’d seen her smirking as she said she’d call you later for details.

And maybe you should’ve resisted, maybe you’d thought about it, meant to tell him that you couldn’t, shouldn't, but then Nate looked at you with that summer-in-the-Hamptons boyish grin and said “Want to walk?” and your body betrayed your better judgement before your mind could catch up.

Now here you were, two blocks later and a green tea in hand next to a boy from your past.

The city had softened in the afternoon light, something slower and charming about this pocket of the Upper East Side. The sun filtered gold through the budding sycamores, the street noise reduced to the occasional car horn or distant bark. In the little triangle park you wandered into, the grass had just been cut, releasing the sweet green scent of spring into the warm air. Tulips lined the edge of the lawn, yellow and blush pink, reaching lazily toward the sky.

You stole a glance at him over your coffee lid. His hair was a little shorter now, a little more kept. The sleeves of his white polo were pushed up just enough to show the tan from the early spring boat rides with his mother, a tradition you wondered if they still shared.

“So, tell me, have your ears been ringing?” you asked, turning toward him with a teasing smile.

He blinked, then grinned. “Should they be?”

“I was just telling someone about you last night.”

“You’re making me nervous now,” he said with a smile, sipping his Americano.

You shook your head, licking the remains of tea from your lip, “No, no. Always good things. I couldn’t imagine anyone saying a single negative thing about you, Archibald.”

“Mm. I feel like you’ve got plenty of dirt on me, Montclair.”

You smiled despite yourself. Dammit if that cheeky smile didn’t make your stomach somersault.

“What have you been up to?” you asked, dragging your eyes away from his.

He ran a hand through his sun-lightened hair, shrugging. “Trying to get my foot in the door with the governor’s office. I’ve been meeting with the current mayor, doing all the typical schmoozy, mayoral handshake things before my name can get anywhere near a ballot. My assistant thinks I should start fundraising.”

“Fundraising?” You raised a brow. His family was one of New York's wealthiest, after all. “You?”

“More like... collecting favors. Gaining support,” he said, giving you a cocky little smirk.

You snorted. “Of course. Good ol’ money politics.”

“I prefer to call it strategic networking.”

“Well, I’ll spread the good word.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

He slowed then, and you felt the shift in his body language, the way he angled toward you, the way his eyes found yours with just a hint too much stillness.

Around you, the breeze tugged at the hem of your skirt. A couple on bicycles passed by with their music blaring. A pigeon fluttered into the low branches overhead. You could feel the city humming around you, and still, it was like the noise dropped away.

“What happened to us?” he asked quietly.

Your breath caught, your hand tightening around the paper cup. “I—what?”

“You and me,” he said, stepping closer. “We were good, weren’t we?”

“Yeah but…Nate, don’t you remember? You were so focused on becoming the next president of the United States one day, and I… well, I was busy partying and... not doing anything at all. Actually, I think your exact words were: You lack the ambition I need in a partner.”

He grimaced like you’d smacked him. “Jesus. See? Told you you’d have some dirt on me.”

“I hardly think honesty counts as dirt. You were right. You probably still are.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, voice low.

Your pulse flickered.

“Okay,” you said, biting your lip. You looked away, pretending to focus on the nearby tulips, but your mind was a minefield. Harry’s face flashed across it — chocolate brown eyes that were like molasses and sugar, his hands, his lips on yours. And the damn lie that held you together, this fake relationship stitched out of spite and image control and damage management.

And now here was Nate, so easy going and kind, looking at you like he meant every word.

His hands came up suddenly, settling at the bends of your elbows, and his touch was warm and all too familiar. A little too tender.

“Can I take you out sometime? Like old times.” he asked.

“I…”

Your chest tightened. Should you tell him the truth? That you were seeing Harry, that it wasn’t anything real, that you’d love to see him again, to try again. Should you tell him you were a wreck in last season’s clothing, pretending not to unravel under the weight of your parents’ disappointment? That maybe you weren’t the girl worth taking out anymore?

But instead, you smiled, soft and unsure. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He smiled like that was all he needed. Like it was everything, and he pulled you into a hug.

You didn’t resist as your arms wrapped around his neck, and his around your waist, and you felt him breathe you in.

“You still wear Chanel?” he murmured against your hair.

You pulled back to look up at him. “You remember?”

“Gave it to you every Christmas, didn’t I?”

Your heart thudded and you nodded. Your eyes searched his face, the boyish gleam in his expression, the dimple in his left cheek, the thick lashes that framed his too-blue eyes. And in that moment, it almost felt easy again.

A sudden hiss broke the quiet.

You barely had time to register the sound before a fine mist caught your ankle, a cold spatter against your calf. And then, like some cruel twist of fate, a full arc of water burst from the lawn beside you, catching the breeze just enough to spray across your bare legs and your entire skirt.

You yelped, stumbling back with a high-pitched squeal, your hands lifting instinctively. “Oh my god! Not my Valentino—!”

The words were screeching and panicked as you danced out of the sprinkler’s reach, clutching your skirt to keep it from danger. Your shoes were already darkening, delicate satin turning damp in spots.

Nate was doubled over, hands on his knees, howling with laughter like this was the funniest thing he’d seen in weeks. “Oh no,” he gasped through breathless laughter, “the horror! Whatever will you do, princess?”

You glared at him, though you could feel your own laughter threatening to break through — bubbling up in your chest, effervescent and sharp.

Without thinking, you stepped back toward him, grabbing his wrist and spun him, with surprising force and strength, straight into the sprinkler’s spray.

You woke to warm light spilling through the soft pink curtains and the gauzy canopy above your bed, the morning sun casting delicate patterns across your sheets. For once, it felt like the light belonged there, all gentle and golden— unbothered. You stretched slowly, smiling to yourself, the memory of yesterday still humming somewhere beneath your skin.

Reaching for your phone, you scrolled absently, surprised to find your notifications empty. No missed calls, not even a Gossip Girl ping.

How uncharacteristically quiet.

Maybe it was time to change that.

Harry hadn’t arrived by the time you got to Ladurée later that morning. So you chose a table outside, one perfectly positioned in the sunshine, just enough to warm your bare shoulders and for anyone passing by to notice you and snap their photos.

You ordered two sparkling waters, his espresso, your latte and proceeded to scroll absently through your phone. Time passed in loops, watching the people drift past in pressed trousers and their work attire, dogs and shopping bags and quiet conversations weaving together like a hum.

You didn’t look up until the light shifted with a shadow casting long across the iron chateau table. You felt the tension in the air, low and tight like an impending storm cloud.

“Oh,” you said, startled. “Hi. Sit, I think this is a good spot for—”

“We need to sit inside.”

Your brows lifted. Harry didn’t meet your eyes. There was a tick in his jaw and unfamiliar scowl carved deep between his brows, as if it had settled there overnight.

“O-okay…” you said, rising carefully, phone in hand. You signaled the waitress you’d be moving and followed him wordlessly into the quiet interior. The back table he chose was tucked in shadow, far from the sunlight, far from the onlookers you thought you were trying to grab the attention of.

The patisserie inside was tasteful. Mosaic tables, floral wallpaper, soft pinks and ivories in curved crown molding. It was elegant and soft and inviting. But nothing about Harry was soft today.

He dropped into his seat with a heavy sigh.

You sat too, quietly. “Is everything okay?” you asked as the waitress placed your drinks in front of you. “I got you coffee,” you added, almost as an afterthought.

Harry gave a short nod, barely even a grunt passing his lips in thanks. Instead, he set a leather briefcase down beside him and unlatched it with a sharp flick. From it, he drew out a few sheets of paper — and then one thicker object, glossier, heavier. When he laid it on the table, your stomach dropped.

Your expression cracked before you could stop it. “Oh god—”

“What were you thinking?” Harry's voice was low, taut.

“I didn’t know anyone saw us, I—I’m so—”

“Sorry?” he cut in. “You don’t look like it. From the looks of it, you’re having the time of your life with him.”

You looked down, ashamed. Your fingers trembled slightly as you touched the edge of your cup.

“Are you not taking this seriously?” he asked. “Do you understand what this means for my family? For Camilla?”

You opened your mouth but couldn’t find the words. Your throat had closed up. You felt heat rising behind your eyes, something tight and sour pulsing at your temples. He was looking at you with something darker than anger. Something close to disappointment.

“I didn’t see anyone,” you said weakly. “I just…we were catching up, he came out of nowhere, wanted to talk. It wasn’t—”

You took a deep breath and swallowed. “I didn’t mean for Camilla to—”

“If you don’t want to do this anymore,” Harry cut in again, voice like stone, “if you want to run around town with your ex-boyfriend, that’s fine. But I’m not going to be part of it if that’s the case.”

You stared at him, stunned. Your voice rose a notch, defensive and tight. “You’re the one who asked for this, for front page news and–and—”

He didn’t blink. “Don’t misunderstand me, Miss Montclair. I don’t give a damn what they write about me.” He tapped the magazine cover like it disgusted him. “But you’ve made my family look foolish. You’ve given the press another reason to treat Camilla like a punchline. After everything I’ve done to get her out of it.”

He leaned back slowly, crossing his arms. His voice cooled even further, “Do you understand how that feels?”

You blinked at him, the words slicing too close. “What? Do I know how that feels? Harry, all I ever am is center stage. I don’t get the luxury of choosing when people look at me. I can’t escape it.”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t break his stare.

“Seems to be exactly how you like it.”

You inhaled sharply, fury beginning to rise. “Are you serious? Fine. You don’t want this anymore? Cool, we can end it right here. Have a nice life, Harry.”

You pushed back your chair, the metal legs screeching slightly on the tile. You stood, wanting to walk, to vanish through the gilded doors, to disappear for once in your life without someone following, watching, reporting. You wanted just five minutes where the world didn’t have your name in its mouth.

But before you could take a step past him, his hand was on your arm. It wasn’t demanding or painful, but just a softness, his thick fingers wrapped around your forearm, bare skin on bare skin.

“Sit. Please. I’m sorry.”

You stared down at him, silent. And for a moment, you saw more than the ire beneath his eyes. You saw how tired he was, how melancholic he was underneath it all. It reminded you of just the other night, of the soft spoken words exchanged, when it was only the two of you, just four walls and two people who felt unseen by everyone around them.

You stood like that for a beat longer, torn between the fire still hot in your chest and something else rising up behind it. Then you sighed, lips pressed tight, and slid slowly back into your seat.

Harry exhaled too, but it didn’t ease the tension in his frame. He leaned back in his chair, jaw tight, arms folded as he stared off, away from you, toward some spot on the far wall like it might tell him what to say.

The silence stretched taut and uncomfortable, like the pause before a verdict.

Then finally, his voice, low and quiet: “I don’t want to end this.”

You paused. That wasn’t what you expected. Not after that performance. You tilted your head, still bristling. He finally looked at you again.

“Do you?” he asked, and the question echoed between you.

But you felt it, that weight of everything. Of Nate, the way his laugh still made something inside you flutter, like a reflex you hadn’t grown out of. You thought of how easy it would be to fall back into that old rhythm with him, comfortable and familiar. He was everything your parents wanted for you — shiny and clean and appropriate. With Nate, you could smooth your edges and no one would question it. They’d call you mature. They’d call you healed.

But it wouldn’t fix this. It wouldn’t undo the photo, or the headline, or the way Harry had looked at you when he dropped that magazine on the table. You’d humiliated him, you’d jeopardized Camilla’s well being by not thinking about the outcome of a simple stroll in the park with an ex boyfriend.

You owed it to Harry to not walk away when things got hard. And you weren’t about to give your parents the satisfaction of being right.

“No, I don’t.” you whispered, surrendering.

Harry’s eyes met yours. “Are you certain?”

He wasn’t condescending or sarcastic. He was just… asking. So gentle and soft spoken despite your expression of petulance. And you realized that it wasn’t something you often got. Someone asking what you wanted.

“Yes, I’m certain,” you said, a little more sharply than intended.

He nodded once, calm and settled. Like something in him had been exhaled. He moved the magazine aside, tucking it beneath a stack of printed pages.

“What is that?” you asked, eyeing the pile.

“I had my lawyer draft a contract.”

Your heart jumped. “A contract? Jesus, Harry!”

“This is serious, Miss Montclair. I thought we had an agreement. I can’t keep relying on good faith alone.”

He was revving you up on purpose, he had to be.

“Oh, you asshole.”

“It’s still entirely up to you,” he said coolly, ignoring your jab.

You stared at him, pulse quickening. “Can you just give me something? I can’t even tell where your head is anymore.”

“I want to protect my niece.”

You looked away, toward the street outside. Cars passed slowly. A woman pushed a stroller past the glass. Life moved on without you.

“I meant about me.” you said quietly.

Harry sighed, “Does it matter how I feel about you?”

You met his eyes again. “Yes.”

He leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on the table between you, fingers clasped together, “I think we have great potential to change this around. But only if we’re on the same page about things.”

You ignored the fact that that was not, in fact, what you meant at all by your question.

“…Okay,” you murmured. “What does the contract say?”

He shuffled papers around before handing it to you.

“It outlines the rest of the time we have together. Up through the Hamptons trip. No other relationships, no going on other dates. And then logistical things, mostly. Lodging, transportation, your allowance.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “My what?”

He sighed. “There’s a credit card I opened for you. You’ll need it if you agree to continue.”

“This is insane. I don’t need your money.”

“On the contrary, you do.” he nodded, “Isn’t that partially why you’re doing this with me? Besides, there is…there’s one other clause.”

“Oh god. What now?”

“My mother wants to meet you.”

Your face froze. “Excuse me?”

“It’s your decision. But if you do sign, I’ve already arranged a stylist to help you prepare. Margot. I’ll give you her address, of course. She’ll take care of everything.”

“My clothes are fine,” you snapped, arms crossed.

“I don’t doubt that,” Harry said, voice gentler. “But my mother is… particular. Margot knows what she likes. Please. Just trust me.”

You looked at him then. Long and hard. He wasn’t smirking or playing. There was something tired in his eyes. Something cautious.

You sighed, then picked up your latte, sipping as you read through a few lines of the contract.

Both parties agree to maintain the appearance of a committed, exclusive relationship for the duration of the agreement. Neither Montclair nor Castillo shall engage in any romantic or sexual relationships with outside parties, nor participate in public behavior that would suggest otherwise.

Montclair agrees to meet with Mrs. Evelyn Castillo at her residence, located at 834 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY, on MAY 10TH at 12:00PM, for the purpose of establishing social rapport and satisfying familial expectations.

Montclair is granted access to a Castillo Holdings credit account for incidental and appearance-related expenses, not to exceed a total of $50,000 USD without prior written approval. Said funds shall be used solely in service of upholding the visual and social standards of the arrangement.

This agreement shall remain in effect through JUNE 20TH, concluding with the final appearance at the Montclair family’s summer estate in East Hampton during the WHITE PARTY FUNDRAISER FOR HENLEY’S YOUTH CENTER, unless terminated earlier by mutual consent or in response to a material breach.

You held the papers in your lap, scanning them with narrowed eyes. “So…what do you want from me?”

Harry frowned. “Excuse me?”

“When I meet your mother. How do you want me to act? Do we go full spoiled brat, or do I tone it down? Act like a proper young lady?”

He tilted his head slightly. “I… just be yourself, I suppose.”

You groaned. “Myself? You must not want to impress her much.”

“You’re being impossible.”

“I’m just asking a question, Harry.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You stared at him for a beat. At the curve of his shoulders, drawn tight beneath that button-down. The dark smudge beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. Whatever this had cost you, it was clearly costing him, too.

You looked back down at the contract. The words blurred a little from how long you’d been staring at them. Your name printed in legal font. The terms of your worth itemized and assigned deadlines.

It should have made you feel small.

Instead, it made you feel… necessary. Like this was something only you could do.

You flipped the packet slowly, thumb pressed to the crease as you found the dotted line at the bottom.

“Do you have a pen?” you asked.

He looked up, blinking a few times. Instead of answering, he just reached into his blazer pocket and handed you a silver pen that was heavy and engraved with Castillo Investments. Probably custom. Of course it was.

You uncapped it, signed your name at the bottom without a flourish, and slid the papers back across the table toward him.

He took them with a nod, signing his own name.

Then, without saying anything, he pulled a sleek black card from his wallet — a Castillo Holdings AMEX — and set it gently beside your latte. A second later, he was pulling out two business cards to sit next to it.

“Here,” he said. “That’s Margot’s number. And my driver’s. He’ll be outside at eleven tomorrow for you.”

You took the card and pocketed the phone numbers, sliding them all into your purse.

The both of you sat in silence for a long moment.

“I… I really am sorry, Harry,” you said finally, your voice low. Honest.

He nodded mournfully, “I know.”

You looked down, fingers brushing the edge of your now-cold latte. “So when I meet your mother…” you hesitated, glancing up at him, “do you think she’ll like me?”

It was quiet for another long moment, then, for the first time all morning, Harry smiled. Just a small one, but it softened the edges of his face.

“You’ll know when you see her,” he said gently.

You gave a faint nod, lips twitching despite yourself.

“Thank you,” he added, voice quieter now. “For… continuing with the agreement.”

You looked over at him, held his gaze for a moment, and nodded.

Another pause settled between you, more comfortable this time.

“Well,” he exhaled, collecting his things, “I don't see a reason not to use this whole outing to our advantage, right?” he said finally, a slight lilt returning to his tone.

You raised an eyebrow, eager to lighten the mood again. “What exactly are you proposing?”

His mouth twitched. “A kiss goodbye?”

You gave him a look. “I’m starting to think you liked kissing me, Castillo.”

He chuckled a little, standing and tossing cash on the table. His hand found the small of your back as you moved to the door, firm and steady, guiding you outside.

“Don’t get so ahead of yourself, it’s only our second kiss,” he murmured, lips brushing close to your ear, and you had to force the blush away from your cheeks.

Outside, the city was buzzing again. A black car already idled at the curb, sleek and imposing with tinted windows. Harry opened the door and turned to you.

“For you,” he said, like it was nothing.

You blinked. “I—I wasn’t expecting—”

“You agreed,” he said, that subtle firmness shutting your mouth. But there was a glint in his eye now, something amused and warm.

Right, the newly signed contract. The terms, the conditions, the performance. The job you’d already nearly blown. You’d agreed to this, afterall.

You sighed, stepping between him and the open door. “Well… thank you.”

His voice dropped, suddenly all business, and his eyes flickered behind you and back to you. “We have an audience, Miss Montclair.”

You willed yourself not to look, but you could feel the invisible weight of a hundred eyes, phones angled, pretending not to watch. Gossip Girl working in real time.

This was why you came, anyway. The reason for meeting at the patisserie to begin with, wasn’t it? The photo op. The performance. You looked up at him, heart beating a little louder than you meant it to. You took a big breath before smiling up at him.

“I’m going to kiss you now, Harry,” you said softly.

His mouth twitched. “Why do you make it sound like a threat?”

Stepping in, you slid your hands beneath his blazer, grazing the fabric of his shirt, fingers brushing the buttons at the center of his chest. His arm came up, caging you gently to the ajar car door, and the city faded at the edges.

You leaned in, catching his lips with yours, soft, steady, practiced. You let your mouths meld together, long and slow and deep. You tilted your head a little, pushing up into him more.

But underneath the choreography, you were trying to say something else. That you were sorry. That you weren’t trying to humiliate him. That it must have felt like such a blindside, to wake up with his niece on the cover of the magazine, his own face, his own…what were you? Fake girlfriend? Making a fool of all of you.

You kissed him harder, bringing your hand up to his neck, pulling him in for more. His lips slanted to yours, his free hand going around your waist.

Look at me.

Look at us.

See how much I like him?

I’m sorry, Harry.

When you pulled away, it was only because you had to. Because if you didn’t, something might give. His hand lingered at your waist for half a second longer than necessary. His gaze found yours, steady and searching.

“Goodbye, Miss Montclair,” he said finally, voice low, rough around the edges, something unreadable curling beneath it.

“Bye,” you breathed, softer than you meant to, your body still humming with the contact, your mouth tingling from where he’d kissed you.

You slid into the car, the door closing behind you with a final, padded thud. The sudden quiet felt jarring, making your ears ring, like the air pressure had shifted. The tinted glass turned the world outside to shadow, and the cold leather pressed into your thighs, clashing against the warmth still blooming in your chest, your neck, the flushed skin below your collarbones.

Your phone was buzzing, and when you looked down, it felt like everything was falling back into place as it should.

THE CONTRACT

taglist: @ovaryacted, @boscogirlsworld, @or-was-it-just-a-dream, @marisemonteiroo, @obsessedwithjustaboutanything, @umadirectioner, @yslgreen, @blogwagenzmom, @ch0c01atech1p, @vickie5446, @silksepia, @maiamore, @avengersfan25, @indiegirlunited, @tofics, @magicxmiller, @stevie75, @littlcdarlin, @primadonnasdream, @spacelatinos4life, @15christyxoxo,@shivispunk, @brinapedroswife, @evysian, @danzer8705

#xoxo #Harry Castillo #harry castillo x you #Harry Castillo x reader #x reader #Harry Castillo fic #materialists #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #gossip girl au #gossip girl

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azzifuddsdimple · 4 months ago

Text

Final Seconds. (Pazzi One Shot)

Okay so I’ve never written anything before. Like EVER. But it’s 3 am and i was bored so I tried it. I had an idea than it kinda just fell off… sorry. But enjoy I guess

1.3 k words

There was 7 seconds left in the fourth quarter. Uconn Vs South Carolina in the championship. The match everyone was talking about, was at, was watching. It has been a tough battle, both teams fighting back and forth to regain the lead.

Paige started off strong, she currently had 33 points and 9 assists. Azzi started a little slower, but like always, the 3rd quarter is where she shined. She scored 18 that quarter, bring her total to 27. Sarah was as reliable as ever. Kk was doing Kk things. And aubrey’s presence on the court was a much needed defensive energy.

Still, they were losing. South caroline had just went on a run, closing a previous 5 point lead from uconn. So now there’s 7 seconds left, South Carolina up by two. Uconn gains possession of the ball from a missed layup on SC’s side, immediately Geno calls a timeout.

The five players head to the bench, including Paige, Azzi, Sarah, Kk, and Aubrey. Their team had already cleared the bench, making room for them to rest as everyone gathered around to listen to Geno.

“Listen ladies. We’re down by 2 points, we have 7 seconds left to either win, tie, or lose. And I don’t do the last two. So here’s the plan.” Geno says. He pulls out the clipboard and draws up a play. Paige to inbound it to sarah, sarah back to paige, and finally paige to azzi in the corner.

The team nods as they listen to the game plan. Paige is listening to coach but also notices Azzi’s leg bouncing, a nervous habit she knows her girlfriend has. Paige subtly places her hand on Azzi’s knee, giving it a soft squeeze. Azzi looks up to paige, a silent tell that she appreciates the touch. Paige gives her a small smile before they both look back to coach.

The refs blow the whistle, signaling the end of the timeout. Both teams break out of their huddle and take the court. The crowd is electric, everyone shaking with anticipation. Azzi though, shaking with nerves. Paige comes over to her girlfriend and walks next to her as they get to their spots.

“Az, look at me.” Paige starts gently

Azzi seems to break out of whatever daze she was in as she looks at paige, “Yeah P?”

“I know you’re nervous, but listen to me. You are the best shooter I know, you have been killing this game. You’re Fucking automatic Azzi. And you know that no matter what happens a game isn’t defined by one basket. So don’t be so tense, relax baby. Everyone trusts you, you’re our shooter, my shooter… so shoot.” Paige speaks to her.

The words seem to set deep within Azzi, a new found surge of confidence taking over her. She gives paige a small smile. Paige smiles back. The pair exchange a small nod before paige moves to inbound the ball.

The fans are so loud Paige almost doesn’t hear the whistle, but she notices the play start.

Sarah gets to her spot, paige launches it to her. Sarah catches it like she always does. Azzi starts to move as Sarah passes the ball to paige. Paige gets the pass, she doesn’t even have to look to know Azzi is right next to her in the corner. She passes it to Azzi. Azzi adjust the ball in her hands as a defender closes in on her. She hesitates a second before she releases the ball, the buzzer sounding just after it leaves her hands.

The ball soars through the air as the commentators words hang in the silence.

“Bueckers to Fudd for three…”

Silence. The ball bounces once off the rim. Silence. Once more. Silence. The ball starts to settle until finally… it drops.

“YOU BET!” The commentators voice rings out and everyone goes crazy. Immediately Azzi feels herself being damn near tackled. Paige was already wrapping her arms around her, hugging her tight and spinning her slightly.

“Thats my shooter. I fucking love you baby.” Paige whispers to her with a wide smile.

Less than seconds after that, the whole team comes rushing to Azzi as they all celebrate together. You can barely hear anything over the roar of the crowd but the emotions are obvious.

They quickly grab their shirts and hats, putting them on. Champions. They did it. They finally did it. They got their ring.

Paige makes eye contact with azzi from across the court where they had been separated admits celebration. The confetti still raining down as paige makes her way over.

Azzi meets her halfway. Time around them slows, the outside voices fade as they lock in on eachother. They finally come face to face, wide smiles on their faces but also tears in their eyes.

“We did it.” Azzi whispers softly, her voice emotional but not bad emotions.

“Yeah we did. Together, just like we’ve dreamed of since we were 14.” Paige says her voice a little weak with emotions.

Azzi laughs softly, her chest filling with emotions. She reaches out, taking Paige’s hand in her own. They know there’s people watching, knows people are filming, but right now they don’t care.

Paige intertwines her fingers with Azzi, using that to pull her into another hug. This one is softer. It’s been their dream for so long to win a championship together, they want to stay in this moment for as long as they can.

The photos that would later get posted online are simply beautiful. Both of them slightly crying but holding onto eachother so tightly. Their teammates tease them relentlessly as the celebration goes on, telling them how obvious they are.

“Girl boo, yall might as well just kiss. It’s not like it’s a secret.” kk jokes and rolls her eyes. Sarah laughs a little and nods in agreement.

Paige rolls her eyes but turns to Azzi, a silent question in her eyes.

“I meannn technically the season is over.” Paige says with that cocky grin of hers.

“You’re not wrong.” Azzi hums lightly.

Paige smirks and wraps her arms around Azzi’s waist, resting her forehead on the shorter girl’s. The cameras were very much still rolling, both girls knew that but neither pulled away.

“Okay baby” Azzi whispers

Paige’s eyes widen and she looks at Azzi. “Yeah?”

Azzi nods, a soft and nervous smile on her face.

Paige smiles softly, one hand moving up to cup Azzi’s cheek. Azzi leans into her touch, the cameras, players, and fans getting every moment of it.

“I love you”

“I love you too Paige”

And just like that, they close the gap. They ignore the loud reactions from the fans, the people behind the cameras, even their teammates cheers, and most importantly Kk’s wolf whistle.

They pull back, both with dopey smiles. They rest their foreheads against each other again, savoring the moment. They’ll deal with everything later. Right now they just want to celebrate their victory, not only for winning the trophy but to the promise of being in the history books. Everything they did when they were kids built up to this moment and they get to share it together.

Their future would take them till death. Both of them growing old together, still the same amount of love in their eyes from all those years ago. They would tell the grandkids stories about them, how they win the championship and everything that happened after that. Laying side by side on their beds, they hold hands until the last 7 seconds. Their last “I love you’s” were also their last words. They like to think that even in death or after it, it’ll always be them together. No one or nothing could come between them. Azzi and Paige. Peanut Butter and Jelly. Signing out. Till the next.

#uconn wbb #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi

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periprose · 10 months ago

Note

Can I have a Logan Howlett x Angel!Fem!Reader where Logan sees the reader in the kitchen having a bit of a meltdown and uncomfortable feeling over holding a knife (for like, cooking reasons or smth) and he calms her down because the reader just doesn’t want to hurt anyone :(? I’d appreciate it thanks! (I’ve seen you wanted more Angel reader, so im here to reciprocate :3)

AHhhh this fits so well Anon (maybe unintentionally so, the previous fic had a little snippet about Angel's mom trying to stab her when she was young...) but I love your brain. I made it a bit longer and added some stuff and it's set before the previous Logan Gains a Guardian Angel fic (LGGA for short) so they're not together yet.

Knives Drip Chocolate (or, Logan Gains a Guardian Angel)

Word Count: 2.9k

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt with comfort, mutual pining, idiots in love, mild traumatic flashback stuff (but no violence)

LGGA Masterlist

Logan is always ready for a late-night snack.

It’s hard for him to feel full, a lot of the time– he didn’t always have the easiest access to food, and he’s known for a while, if there’s a brief period in his immortal-like life where he can just relax about food and supplies, he shouldn’t take that for granted.

Plus with an accelerated healing factor, sometimes his body starts digesting food too quickly, leading to faster body repair, but nothing to feel satisfied about.

So he’s got tons of cravings. Something that you are constantly bothered about, even now, as Logan knocks on your door, asking yet again if you’d accompany him to the kitchen.

Not that you actually mind. Sometimes you think you’d follow Logan into hell if he asked nicely enough, despite your occasionally evasive attitude keeping him on his toes.

“Angel, please. I’m starving.” Logan’s grumpy complaints are muffled behind your door, and you wonder why a nearly 200 year old man needs you so badly, to be by his side, when he’s spent so long being a loner.

“I’m coming.” You yawn, pulling yourself out of your bed– Storm is your roommate, and she’s passed out, stone cold. You quickly finger comb your hair, and fix your giant t-shirt, so your shoulder isn’t so exposed.

Silly, because you know Logan doesn’t care.

It’s bad. It’s really, really bad, because you don’t want to get attached to Logan, not when he’s sure to toss you aside like he’s done with the rest of them eventually. But you can’t help yourself– Logan is easy to be around, he knows your fears and little quirks, and he has never treated you like you’re so different for being a little quiet, like him.

You know everyone has noticed. When you open your bedroom door, and Logan stares at you for a moment– an unreadable, soft glance in his eyes, one that you could choose to ignore, but don’t, as you stare back at him– you know all the other X-Men see it. Some silly crush you have on him, that clearly confuses Logan himself as he shakes his head, and pulls you by the arm out of your room, your PJs and hair askew.

Logan himself looks good, you have to admit– wearing lazy sweatpants and a white tank-top, his arm muscles looking especially defined tonight– and you pull your arm away, embarrassed that you give into these feelings so easily.

He’s only ever going to be your best friend. Even now, there’s nothing romantic about the way Logan asks if you want a ham and cheddar sandwich, too. He’s just looking out for you.

Jean, Scott, and Storm have literally asked you, more than once, if you and Logan had maybe slept together, or kissed, or anything that would be a culmination of some supposed lust, in which case you always laugh awkwardly and deny everything.

Your excuse is that it’s deeper than that, and it’s one-sided. What would be the point of bringing it up if it would just end in heartbreak?

“Earth to Angel.” Logan shakes your arm, breaking your stride. “Hey, that’s kind of funny, isn’t it? You’re always up in Heaven. Daydreaming about who the hell knows what.”

“Haha, Logan.” You mockingly say in a deadpan voice. “What is it?”

“Your wings are flexing a little bit, again, like they’re about to open. They’re kind of pulsing.” He says it in a soft tone, ushering in some concern he has, and you find yourself wishing that you were someone normal, someone that Logan didn’t have to care so much about.

It’s not that you’re not happy to have his concern, it’s just that you don’t know what to do with it. Thank him for it? You have never been used to people looking out for you.

“It’s fine. Sometimes I get muscle spasms, it’s nothing to worry about.” You mutter, knowing it has to do with anxiety, but Logan looks a bit unconvinced.

“Okay. But if you keep having weird tremors, I’m taking you to the hospital wing so you can get diagnosed.” Logan states, and you open your mouth to argue, but he tuts. “No arguing about this. Last thing we need is for you to die from stress or cancer or something.”

Your heartbeat quickens, not at the mention of cancer, but because Logan used we and now you’re just thinking about how you’re always together.

Not like that, though.

“Okay, Logan. I get it.” You shake your head. “I won’t die.”

“Not yet. We got snacks to eat.” Logan agrees, as he leads you into the kitchen.

Logan’s got you working on making hot chocolate as he makes the sandwiches, pan-frying them till the cheese is hot and melty.

It’s not really a common mix, you think, but you’re just happy to be helping.

“Careful. Milk boils over fast.” Logan comments from next to you, mostly focused on his own side of the stove, and you roll your eyes.

“I know that.” You retort, but as you look away from the stove for one second, the pot of milk nearly does boil over, and you swear, reducing the heat quickly.

Logan starts laughing. “Told you.”

You shove him lightly, and he has a stupid grin on his face, one where you know Logan takes such joy in teasing you at times. Like this is one of the greatest pleasures in life.

You move the milk over to the counter, to let it cool, and then remember something semi-important.

“Logan? Don’t forget, Scott wanted extra ham for the Hawaiian pizza they’re making tomorrow–” As you’re reminding him, Logan wordlessly shows you the empty ham package, telling you that he used all of it for the sandwiches.

“You snooze, you lose.” Logan shrugs, and you close your eyes in partial defeat, trying not to laugh at his antics.

“I guess, but you never seem to lose, and Scott’s always chewing me out for your ‘mistakes.’” You point at yourself, tongue poking through the side of your mouth, and Logan raises his eyebrows. “Tell me: Am I snoozing, or are you just lucky that I take the blame?”

“Ah, Angel… you’re obviously asleep.” Logan smirks, and you scoff at his audacity, having expected a semi-apology from him. “No one ever said you had to take the blame for my snacks. You could’ve just told him it was Jean, and he wouldn’t have asked any questions.”

You blink at him. “Lying to our team’s leader aside, why Jean?”

“C’mon. Scott’s crazy over her, they’ve been together for however long, and he can never say no to her. It’s the perfect excuse– he wouldn’t even ask her about missing food, so not to offend his sweetheart.” Logan pauses, a thoughtful look taking over his features, and he scratches his chin. “I guess love really is blind.”

“Wow. You had that takeaway based on gaslighting both Scott and Jean? You really are an unfeeling old man.” You giggle, and Logan glances over at you, his face heating up at your laugh, a sweet sound that always pushes a warmth into his chest.

If Logan was honest, he understands Scott perfectly. Sure, he could play the part of the curmudgeonly old man, and lie to you– but in truth, he was doing that because he likes you.

Just like Scott. Logan likes you so much, that he would honestly lie to you just to protect your relationship– whether that be about missing food, or if you talk about some other dude someday, and he has to pretend he’s all ecstatic for you, as he often worries about.

He knows it’s bad. And he doesn’t like it, either. Logan insists to himself, in pure self denial, that this love he has for you doesn’t exist, because he would rather be given even a little bit of your presence as a friend, than to be entirely shut out by you upon imminent rejection.

But even he knows he protests too much. Of course he loves you, how could he not?

Logan thinks of you as his personal guardian Angel. It’s silly, of course– but you’re the one who helps him make better choices, doing the right thing more often than not. He’s an idiot– you’re a beautiful genius of a woman, and it bothers him so deeply that you keep to yourself.

He looks over at you. You’re chopping up a bar of dark chocolate, and your gaze is intensely focused– Logan has seen the same expression on you when you’re beating up a bad guy. You’re thinking, murmuring something to yourself, probably thinking about hot chocolate.

Your eyes turn wide, glassy, and you inhale sharply.

Logan immediately comes to your side. “Angel?”

Logan’s voice doesn’t fully register to you.

The knife gleams in the low lighting of the kitchen, as you turn it over and over in your hand, dark brown chocolate smudging the blade, and then you look down to your palms.

Where your hands are covered in dark, melted chocolate, after you’ve been holding the chocolate bar to chop it up– the liquid is almost amber in hue.

“...blood.” You whisper something unintelligible, but Logan catches the last word.

You retch to yourself, hyperventilating over the counter, back hunched over, the knife still clenched in your palm.

“Angel, hey–” Logan squeezes his way between the counter and your right arm, where your hand is holding the knife, and he firmly pulls it away from you, grabbing it blade-first without even thinking about it, and you gasp, shouting at him to get away.

Logan stops, at a loss for words. You’re trembling, you’re no longer holding the knife, but you can’t stop looking at your hands.

He grabs your arms a bit more gently, turning you towards him, and you’re lost in some train of thought that Logan can’t stop.

Mom sliced up one of my hands once… it’s been years, but it looked just like this.

Then I got her back, by accident… it was an accident, Angel.

“What’s wrong?” Logan looks down at you in fear, worry that something may actually be very wrong, and you haven’t told him a thing.

He thinks he shouldn’t have assumed you were always alright. He knows you aren’t– he just finds it difficult to surpass your avoidant attitude. He’s never seen you have a full blown panic attack like this before.

Your wings are subtly twitching again, folded against your back, but threatening to open up to full expanse, and you shake your head, lip quivering, as you look down at the floor.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” You utter so softly, so heartbreakingly tiny, and Logan feels himself turning cold at your words, wondering if you’d really done something that terrible.

With a kitchen knife, of all things. He wants to hug you firmly now.

He knows even if it was true– there’s no way that was your fault, no way Logan wouldn’t have sussed that out based on instinct.

“It isn’t…” Logan starts, wanting to say it wasn’t your fault, but he doesn’t know how that will go over with you. “You’re not going to hurt anyone. Where is that coming from?”

“Just a bad memory.” You say with a shaky breath, the most information you’re willing to give him at this moment, and you know– you know– Logan is never going to be satisfied with that answer.

You don’t want to scare him off. This is the first time you could even say you have a best friend, and you don’t want Logan to pity you or feel like you were incapable of taking care of yourself. You don’t want him to see you like your mother did.

Logan frowns. Then, instead of asking you a question, he traces the back of your wings, which causes a shiver in your body.

You close your eyes, expecting to feel tense, scared, and horrified, but instead you feel calm, almost placid. Being touched by Logan makes you feel like everything is going to be alright.

Your wings stop shaking, and Logan hands you a wet paper towel. You wipe your chocolatey hands, which puts you at ease, seeing your clean hands again.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to make you my caretaker.” You whisper, always worried about others’ perception of you, and Logan shakes his head.

“I don’t mind, Angel. As long as you’re alright.” Logan has a tentative look on his face, and you’re almost embarrassed, that you like being taken care of so badly, and he hugs you tightly, arms wrapped around your back, a near bone crushing hug that has you nestled in his chest, fit under his jaw as he places his head on top of yours.

Your heartbeat slows down. You’re not panicking any more, but it seems like Logan, too, is reaping some sort of benefit by being so close to you. He inhales deeply, and the sigh rumbles through his chest into you.

You could almost cry. You spent so much of your childhood never being close to anyone, and being held is cathartic in a way you can’t even describe.

Logan doesn’t let go until you do. Then he has the audacity to look a little sheepish, like he had done something un-Logan and uncool, and you almost feel pained, like you should push him away, and go to sleep on your own.

It’s such an odd feeling, to both want his concern, and to wish you never needed to do so.

You stare up at him, and Logan smiles, a soft smile that he hopes reads as comforting rather than a snarl, and you can’t help yourself for what you ask next.

“Could I sleep in your room?” You ask, biting back the immediate disclaimers of it’s okay if you don’t want to. “I’m just better when I’m around you.”

There’s also the thing of waking up Storm if you enter back in now, and explaining that you had yet another panic attack. She’ll be mad.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.” Logan murmurs, wondering if you meant to make that sound so devotedly sweet, something that causes his insides to seize a little.

He feels better around you, too.

You’re usually good at hiding this side of yourself from him– it’s another step deeper, another step too far into your relationship to take back– and now you worry you’ll never really be able to separate.

Logan ruffles your hair, and all is right again.

He makes you eat at least a bite of the sandwich, and sip a little hot chocolate– the rest is placed in the fridge for some other mutant to eat.

Logan won’t let you go to sleep without a meal, or in this case a few nibbles, if he can help it.

“Moods are worse on an empty stomach.” Logan grins, and you smile, feeling a little more at ease.

“You’re not you when you’re hungry.” You joke, and Logan rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, save that for when we’re pilfering Kurt’s Snickers bars.” He snorts.

Logan leads you to his room, oddly silent the entire time. It’s not that Logan isn’t typically quiet, it’s that it feels more tense. He’s keeping to himself, and he doesn’t seem to have anything against you– he has only a kind expression for you, when you meet his eyes.

Finally, you both arrive to his bedroom door. Logan is lucky– he doesn’t have to room with anyone– and you’ve been in here plenty of times.

Still, that doesn’t explain why it takes him a second to enter in the room, as you follow him in.

It’s sparsely decorated in here– one poster of the Calgary Flames is on Logan’s wall, and there’s a mug with random, assorted pens on his desk. His bed has never been filled with loads of stuffed animals and pillows like other X-Men (read: Jubilee) would have. There’s a pile of assorted flannels, jackets, and scarves hanging off a coat rack.

It’s comforting, though. Logan is a simple man, and you like being close enough to understand him, to see the small remnants of things he likes.

“Well. The bed’s there, if you’d like. Don’t let me stop you.” Logan points to the bed, and he starts walking towards the leather recliner next to the window.

“Logan. Stop.” You grab him by the arm, and he pauses, slightly scared, mostly enthused by what you’ll say next. “It’s okay with me if we sleep next to each other.”

“...Okay.” Logan watches as you climb into his bed, hoping it’s comfortable, and doing a weird thing of personally memorizing the way you lay and snuggle down, in case you never do this again.

You’re next to the wall, so Logan stays on his side, lying down close to the edge of the bed. And you’re keeping your distance– so is he.

You turn, and Logan is already looking at you. He glances away.

“Good night, Angel.” Logan utters softly, and with that, you turn to your side, to fall asleep.

When Logan wakes up, he freezes, so not to move you. Somehow, through out the night, you ended up snuggled around him, sprawled against his chest, your arms lightly wrapping around him.

He loves it. He’s glad to see he’s been useful for once– he gave you a good night’s sleep.

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vaguely-concerned · 10 months ago

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Eight Little Talons Reread Thoughts

Which, I’ll level with you folks, is mostly just me gushing about Teia and Viago and how much they should kiss because of who I am as a person, but maybe also some actual observations sprinkled in. This is still my favourite story in Tevinter Nights, I think, there’s so much Character Stuff in it. Let’s go!

Viago hated carriages—no amount of plush seating could make up for the inevitable ache of being knocked around like weighted dice. But decorum insisted, and he would not be outclassed by his fellow Talons.

Vs.

“You didn’t take a carriage.”

“My luggage did. But I couldn’t resist the opportunity for a country jaunt.” She nodded toward the thoroughbred Taslin strider grazing on the top of the hill. “Andoral so rarely gets a chance to let loose in Rialto.”

“You named your horse after an archdemon?”

“Don’t worry, Vi. I won’t let him nip you.

You know… Andarateia might gain some illusion of normalcy by standing next to the most paranoid wound-up-tight repressed man around to provide contrast, but I think it’s crucial we keep in mind that she is also nuts. Naming your horse after an archdemon IS an insane thing to do in the world of Thedas huh. I suppose she genuinely seems to think of Caterina Dellamorte as a warm maternal figure and is in love with a tetchy snake of a guy too, it does all start to add up when you look at it like that.

— Beneath the smooth samite, he felt like a sinewy ball of tension. Teia suspected contact of any kind made Viago uncomfortable. It would explain why he swathed himself in indigo from chin to toe and refused to remove his gloves during dinner.

He offers his arm to her and doesn’t pull away when they meet Caterina — only when Dante shows up. Interesting (and possibly part of why Caterina seems to consider the two of them a cleverly stabilizing package deal when they get along lol). I love the mix of playful seduction and genuine fond, intimate knowledge and interest Teia has for him all the way through too — speculating about his childhood, trying to divine his thoughts and intentions, testing to see how he reacts to different things. And it’s so sweet that she seems to regard him with this affectionate amusement and fascination (which he seems to be afraid means that she’s mocking him but is, I think, just another level of appreciation she has for him. Correctly. Because he’s one of the funniest people in Thedas both in concept and in practice. Accountant brained-ass noodle arm Vetinari homage poison specialist. Teia’s neurotic purse dog of a man. Sole royal bastard who willingly chose to have a boring Antivan day job (killing people) and makes spreadsheets about it.)

— “Not exactly welcoming, are they?” Teia whispered, her breath warm against his ear.

Viago’s grip tightened on the head of his walking stick.

I swear to god courtney woods is so fucking good at writing romantic and sexual tension. One sentence!!! She drops in a one-sentence detail and it says everything!!!! She has such a knack for consistently adding these details without getting overindulgent or spelling it out too much that I really admire, I tend a bit more towards indulging too much as a writer that way myself so her sense of where to show restraint has me in awe

— “Don’t ‘Nonna’ me, Andarateia Cantori,” Caterina snapped, although the heat in her voice had lowered to a simmer. “Not even my actual grandchildren call me that.”

“Well, considering who your grandchildren are,” Teia responded, “I’m not surprised.”

“How is Master Lucanis?” Viago asked.

Hell yeah Lucanis mention! Can’t wait to see how their dynamics will turn out in-game, we could be in for some truly spectacular and absurd workplace comedy nonsense if we’re lucky

— As always, Viago had with him his leather case of poisons and antidotes for toxins typically hidden in ingredients such as olives, truffles, pasta, lamb, cheese, cream, and alcohol. But he had not expected eggplant.

This is one of the funniest things I’ve ever read, I love Viago so much he’s such a perfect weirdo. Reader, he had not expected eggplant.

— Taking a deep breath, Viago focused on tying his cravat—an ordinarily simple task except now Teia was running her hands across every surface in his room, and his fingers kept slipping on the final knot. “It would help if you removed the gloves,” Teia remarked. “Surely your own cravats haven’t been tampered with.”

Viago being just… seethingly horrifically despairingly horny every time Teia shows up is so amazing, and Teia clearly paying A Lot of attention to his hands and his reactions at all times… again, courtney woods s tier sexual tension provider.

— “No,” she said, crossing her arms. “Not until we boil some water.”

Viago raised a brow. “Eight people were poisoned in this room.”

“Then run your little tests to make sure it’s safe, but I refuse to look at another dead body until I’ve had my coffee.”

I must take care to repeat: teia is also fucking nuts (affectionate). It’s SO FUNNY that her slightly lighter and softer moral take on being a Crow means she does feel bad about the servants ending up in the crossfire, but she will also demand that viago make her coffee with their horrifically bloated corpses still strewn about the room fhdsjka.

— Teia had often imagined what it would be like to kiss Viago. She told herself it was only natural. He was handsome, in his own way, and wound up so tight that she likened him to a giant knot. He was a challenge to untie—to twist and pull and loosen until the tension gave way and he unraveled, laying bare all his secrets. But knots were a delicate business. Tug the wrong way and you could end up with a noose.

I know I KNOW they have sex so weird and intimate and no one even takes their clothes off during it I know it in my heart

— “Do you not think you’re attractive?” Viago turned on her, his ears pink. “Ten people are dead.”

She didn’t back down. “And whoever’s responsible will pay, but that has no bearing on this conversation.”

“It could be me.”

Covering her mouth with both hands, Teia doubled over, laughter spilling from her lips. “It’s not you.”

He looked as if she’d slapped him. “I’m more than capable of killing everyone here.”

“Don’t tell me you’re offended!”

“It is offensive,” Viago protested. “Professionally.”

Teia please tell me you love me not only for my body and fashion sense and numerous and fascinating neuroses but also my extensive knowledge of poisons and capacity to cause death

— Again, Viago felt like a lute string. With every challenge, Teia twisted the pegs, tuning him, until she found what she wanted. Which is what, exactly? he asked himself, not daring to listen to the number of answers that bubbled to the surface of his mind.

You know Viago I think we should let her try some scales here at least. See what happens. (There’s no explicit sex in this story but everything that’s going on is nevertheless so kinky fdsjak. I think Teia could convince Viago to show a flash of his naked wrist and have a reaction like a sheltered young Victorian gentleman seeing an exposed ankle and a playful wink for the first time)

— As if she could feel the sudden rush of shame within him, Teia brought her hands up to rest on Viago’s hips, holding him in place. His thumb stilled as he realized her breath was short. Her pupils dilated. Before he could stop himself, Viago nuzzled his forehead against hers, his nose brushing her cheek. Teia’s hands snaked up his chest to run through his hair. She tugged him forward. He braced himself on one arm, while the other curled around the small of her back.

This whole scene is unspeakably good of course but it’s always the detail of ‘his nose brushing her cheek’ that does me in the most. The longing!!! The yearning, the intimacy, the awkward perfect clumsy physical reality of it!!!! If he kissed her here the magical potion thing on her lips would have been immaterial, the results would have been the same without it!!!!!! The tug of war between longing and fear!

— oblique Zevran mention! <3 as the ultimate failson of house arainai, granted, but as I believe he might argue here: ‘ah, but you have heard of me, no? :>’. Babe I support you so much go out there and raise hell/kill whoever you want to I got your flower

— Big shoutout to the author for managing to pull off an entirely workable ‘And Then There Were None’ plot in the background here, even though the real meat and potatoes going on is the character and relationship development (and what meat and potatoes they are too)! It’s not an easy thing to do even in an abbreviated, more of a homage sort of form and balancing it with everything else going on is a feat

— Caterina 100% knows Teia is in Viago’s room when he’s supposed to be isolated and just doesn’t care lmao. (They act like such teenagers in that scene where she knocks on the door and they haven’t even kissed yet I’m dying). Caterina seems like a terrible person but it’s impossible to not feel for her a little, trying to keep Talons in line seems a lot like herding (very horny very carrying sharp objects) cats

— Standing outside her ex-lover’s room, Teia tried to quell the violent drumming within her. Normally, she didn’t need to come down from a physical encounter. Seduction—like any form of manipulation—was about control. She could enjoy herself, but Teia always made sure to hold the upper hand. Viago had shattered that control without so much as a kiss.

I feel like this is a sneaky common trait that actually is part of what makes them so compatible (and the playful negotiation of which must feature prominently in their sex life eventually lmao): they are both HUGE control freaks. (Indeed it might be hard to be a successful Talon without this trait.) Teia and Viago both strive for control of themselves and their surroundings so deeply, she’s just much more extroverted, psychologically minded and soft power focused going about it (not unlike Caterina, whose power is built more on fear than charm but works along the same lines), while he’s more coldly intellectual and uh materialist? I want to call it? about it. Which makes perfect sense considering their backstories! Teia came from nothing in a monetary sense but has found she excels at moving people, hearts and minds style — and she’s very good at it, she is everyone’s favorite — so that’s the source of power for her, and Viago is not very charismatic or interested in people naturally but grew up seeing how status, wealth and power have their own clinical gravity that can be used, and also that people can never be trusted to watch out for you in that system.

If Thedas has a Machiavelli-equivalent to ask whether it’s better for a ruler to be feared or loved they would both instantly give their answer with their whole chest and then squint at each other like ‘babe how do you live like this’ lol

(Also this line of thought has me wondering what the hell Caterina’s partner/spouse(s) would have been like — she must have at least two children to account for Illario and Lucanis, I wonder if she was ever married and what that looked like.)

— I really like the oppressiveness and claustrophobia you get from the descriptions Teia uses in Dante’s room — it feels so icky and sticky with history and sad and confining, and the way she keeps pushing herself through it anyway is weirdly melancholy to me.

— I also like how their flaws/traits that drive them apart at the crisis point have follow-up consequences outside of their relationship before they reconcile. Teia’s penchant for manipulation and pushing on people indirectly causes the death of someone she once cared about (I mean, fuck that guy, not crying any tears for Dante or his broken bottle, but like in the overarching principle of the thing lol). When she goes too far with it or gets careless, she renders other people vulnerable and helpless in ways she doesn’t anticipate. (Rightfully or not this seems to be part of what scares Viago so much about it, he has this fear of being dissected for whatever she finds interesting and then abandoned when she’s tired of it, the whole underlying being a footnote in her life when she could clearly be something uh a lot more in his anxiety.) Meanwhile Viago’s insistence on self-reliance and reluctance to engage in human contact leaves him easily isolated and nearly results in his death. (And even when Teia saves him he has a hard time giving her full credit in favour of his many neurotic coping mechanisms lmao disaster man.) But when the two of them work it out to understand each other better and come together as a partnership, they’re such a force to be reckoned with that it brute forces the resolution and return to stability near the end. (Well. A significantly reduced version of stability to be fair but y’know better late than never.)

— Also: delicious detail that she is actually the closest you might get to a self-made woman/Talon, and he is definitely at least not in a position to fully dodge the nepo baby allegations — he wants so bitterly to be entirely independent and self-sufficient and not reliant on anyone, and yet it’s his connections inherent to his birth that have helped him get here, while she wants so desperately to have people to rely on because she comes from nothing and has known what it is to be that alone and unprotected. He knows protection and gifts — and love — can easily be taken away and used to control you/render you helpless in your vulnerability from how his father treated his mother, and she knows you have to try to hold on to something in other people or it’s just you and the dirt and you die. Which is what they’re really talking about in that scene where they argue, and it’s why they’re both right and wrong at the same time and it’s so tasty. It’s really Teia asking ‘Will you ever trust anyone? (will you ever trust me, or will you put up this wall every time no matter what I say or do?)’ and Viago going ‘Will you never take precautions to protect yourself against this hurt? (will I have to be the bearer of bad news about how the world really is every time?)’ and neither of them realize that’s what they’re taling about and it’s why it all explodes so badly. (I mean. Factually both came to the wrong conclusion about who the murderer was for fairly good reasons, so there’s also that haha.)

— I wonder if we’ll see Bolivar or the heirs to the houses left Talon-less in the game itself. I’m guessing they probably won’t have big roles, at least, but you know just as background flavour, especially since Crow!Rook is already within the de Riva uh household as it were. I think Viago is still sensibly mid-table at Fifth Talon in Veilguard and Teia remains Seventh? So at least they’re not messing around with that rank order during the occupation

— In semi-not teia and viago news (I am a character first writer and reader I canot change this), it’s neat to see it outlined just how much the Talons really are just merchant princes with some more added knives and cultural weight behind them. They are at the end of the day running businesses, no matter the mystique ™ you wrap it in. (Which I think Viago would be the first to tell you and Teia might try to argue against at least a little haha. Being a Talon is what you make of it you live your truth girl kill awful men you’ll never run out of contracts!!)

— Can’t believe the Crows have self-congratulatory ‘top 10 murders in history!’ classes as part of the training. Do you think Zev sat through those. Probably, if Teia did, right. Now there were some entertaining hours around the campfire during the Blight I’m sure

— Viago understanding but not accepting Teia’s offer to help him with an alibi and at first angling it as being out of hesitancy to accept help/rely on someone, and then later unveiling the added element that he knows Teia respects and loves Caterina and doesn’t want her to have to lie to her for him… Viago is nothing so simple as secretly nice deep down but he IS horrifically in love with and desperate to be kind to specifically Teia and it gets to me okay

— I’d forgotten that DA’s passionate love affair with toxic yuri and some recreational bury your gays extended to Guili and Lera in this fdskjah. Would it really be Thedas without it I suppose (considering the genre of the short story it’s fine with me in this case, though, everyone’s dropping like flies in this even the straight people that’s just equality)

— Viago was not a typical Antivan. He liked facts—checklists, numbers, precise measurements. Heart palpitations, clammy hands, tight pants—Viago did not like these things. In fact, he would go so far as to say he hated them. Mild curiosity was his favorite mood. What Teia had elicited in him was akin to an internal natural disaster.

I simply love him so so much. Mild curiosity was his favorite mood. He failed to account for the eggplant. He’s so annoyed at being poisoned and dying horribly and it literally never occurs to him that anyone would help him until he wakes up in Teia’s lap. He organizes all his poisons by puns. He uses his potentially last breath to argue with Teia about his precise state of dress or undress. Have we finally found him, the perfect man?

(Also between Reyes and Viago Courtney Woods does such a good line in guys who’d really rather be emotionless machines of practical violence and monetary gain but find themselves down so horrifically catastrophically bad that it cracks them open to reveal a soul they aren’t all that happy to discover they have lol)

— When Viago woke, it felt like someone had drained the blood from his body and replaced it with sludge. But it wasn’t all bad—someone who smelled like coffee and cinnamon was playing with his hair. . . . Her fingers resumed stroking his hair. It felt better than the water. It felt better than anything.

Unspeakable. Don’t look at me.

— Viago reaching out and touching Teia’s cheek with his bare hands without a thought and all his tenderness and reverence for her laid bare in turn is something that can actually be so personal and it only took very nearly dying to get there (also… he’s presumably still half-naked through all of this while cradled in her lap. Amazing.). Can’t believe bare hands to cheek feels like third base with these two. And his fucking THOUGHTS through all of this… Don’t cry, he doesn’t deserve your tears, no one does (I don’t, I don’t want to be something that causes you pain) AOUGH

— Vaguely related: the implication in how that part is built is that he’s reaching out specifically to gently dry away her tears, right. Double AOUGHHHHHH not only does he manage to not be selfish or unfair in asking her not to cry he does that instead… there’s hope for you yet messere de riva

— Teia with the red-hot poker standing guard over Viago while he ‘looks like a king in judgement’ and does the Poirot in the library exposition is everything and so hot what the fuck. She a snacc she attacc but most importantly… she protecc, she’s so fucking cool lol. they’re both really smart, but she’s clearly the brawn as well as the social skills (hey manipulation is such an ugly word!) and he’s the logistics and realpolitik on two long thin nerdy legs, absolute power couple. She’s the gaslight he’s the girlboss together may they gatekeep this invading army out of antiva

— You guys… this might come as a surprise I have tried to keep it on the down low but. I really do love the world of Thedas so very much. I love the people and the places and the history and the stupidness and the brilliance so much. We must save the world because everyone I love lives here. Let this be a secret between just you and me we can’t let people know we sit/have emotions etc.

— A servant approached to take the cage in Viago’s hand.

“Careful,” Viago warned. “He bites.”

“I can’t believe you’re keeping that snake,” Teia said, shaking her head. “It almost killed you.”

“Which is more than any man can say. He deserves my respect. And a good home—with all the mice he can eat.”

“But did you have to name it Emil?” Teia asked, making a face.

“An homage. You’re always telling me to recognize my fellow Talons.”

Andarateia ‘names her horse after an archdemon’ Cantori x Viago ‘keeps the deadly adder that nearly killed him as a pet and names it after the last guy who failed to murder him’ de Riva. Freak well and truly matched. Soulmates, no notes, I’ll do borderline anything for these two to make it, goodnight.

#dragon age #dragon age meta #tevinter nights #viago de riva #andarateia cantori #teia x viago #I have gone and been extremely me about this again and I could apologize but you know and I know... I'm going to do it again #so I won't insult you thus by even pretending I'm sorry and have learned my lesson lol

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xoxorealitygalore · 6 months ago

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Plan B 5

Jey Uso x Afro-Brazilian OC

Summary: In her thirties and single after a breakup, Hamisa decides she wants to become a mother, despite her friends' and family's objections. Unable to wait any longer, she chooses to have a baby on her own. However, she unknowingly ends up using her ex-boyfriend sperm after he drunkenly swapped her donor’s sample for his own. As Hamisa raises her child, she starts noticing striking similarities between her ex-boyfriend and her baby, leading to questions about the true origins of her child's conception.

Plan B Masterlist

Taglist: @xbriexx @christinabae @blackchickinthedesert @princess-saki1 @skyesthebomb @raya-hunter01 @theusotwinzcom @yana3sworld @mindairy

Liked by belmirawoo, itsmebayley, uceyjucey, and 4,783,913 others

hamisawoo Another year older, another year bolder. Being born on Valentine’s Day, a day to celebrate love, not only for others but for the most important person in my life: myself, fills me with so much joy and gratitude. Reflecting on the journey so far, I’m overwhelmed with appreciation for all the lessons, challenges, growth, and amazing souls I’ve encountered along the way. Life truly has a way of surprising you, and this past year has been a testament to that. Every high, every low, every twist and turn has been a stepping stone that’s led me closer to my true purpose. I’m more excited than ever for the adventure that lies ahead.

This birthday feels different, more special than ever. It's a reminder of how far I’ve come, of how much strength I’ve gained, how much wisdom I’ve acquired, and how much more there is to learn and explore. 36 feels like the perfect mix of reflection and anticipation. It’s a time to look back and appreciate the journey so far, but also to look ahead with hope, confidence, and excitement. Life continues to unfold in beautiful, unexpected ways, and I can’t wait to see where it takes me.

Here’s to continuing to chase my dreams, to stepping outside of my comfort zone, to being bold and unapologetic in my pursuit of happiness, and to embracing every single moment with open arms. I’ve learned that life is a series of beautiful moments, some easy, some challenging but all full of growth and love. Thank you to everyone who’s been a part of my journey so far, your love, your support, and your positive energy have made all the difference. I’m so grateful for each and every one of you.

Cheers to another year of growth, new experiences, and endless possibilities. Here’s to making 36 the best year yet and to living each day with purpose, passion, and love. 💖💫 #BirthdayVibes #ValentinesDay #36AndClimbing #GratefulHeart #AnotherYearWiser #NewBeginnings #LoveAndGrowth #EmbraceTheJourney

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Hamisa stirred in the bed, the quiet hum of the morning surrounding her as the first light of the day streamed softly through the sheer curtains. Her eyes, heavy with sleep, struggled to focus as her daughter, Jhream, crawled energetically all over her.

The room was bathed in a gentle, golden glow, the sun beginning its slow climb into the sky, illuminating the cozy space in soft warmth.

“Mama!” Jhream squealed, her little hands reaching up toward her mother’s face, the excited sound filling the room.

Hamisa couldn’t help but smile at the sheer joy that radiated from her daughter. Her giggles were infectious, lighting up the room in a way only a child could.

Hamisa rolled over with a soft, contented yawn, stretching her body beneath the weight of the comforter, her muscles still heavy with sleep. The past few weeks had been a blur, with travel, work, and the constant joy and challenge of motherhood.

But today was different. Today was her birthday and the first one she would celebrate with her daughter.

"Okay, Jhream, I’m up," Hamisa murmured, blinking slowly as her eyes adjusted to the bright morning light. Her voice was warm, still thick with sleep, but there was a lightness to it. A sense of happiness that came from the simple joy of being with her child.

The peacefulness of the morning was broken only by her daughter's playful squirming and gleeful laughter, but there was something comforting about it. The sound of a child who had no concept of time, no awareness of the rush of the world outside. For Hamisa, these small moments of chaos were a grounding force. They were a reminder of what mattered most.

She sat up, her muscles protesting but slowly coming to life as she cradled Jhream in her arms. The little girl’s hands clapped together in excitement, and her joyful babble filled the room, a melody of innocence and love.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jhream. And happy birthday to me,” Hamisa whispered, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s soft, chubby cheek.

Jhream responded with an excited squeal, her baby-like babble sweet and endearing, as though she were trying to mimic her mother’s words.

Hamisa’s heart swirled with emotion as she gazed down at the baby girl in her arms. The day held so much more significance now, with Jhream in her life. Not only was it a day to celebrate love, but it was also a day to celebrate herself and the new woman she had become after becoming a mother.

After a few moments, Hamisa stood, lifting Jhream gently in her arms as she began to prepare for the day ahead. She had work to do. SmackDown was in Washington, D.C. that evening, and she would be backstage interviewing the wrestlers. But it was also her birthday, and she was determined to find joy in the little moments before she had to work tonight.

The shower was next. Hamisa and Jhream hopped in, the warm water cascading over them as Hamisa hummed a soft tune, enjoying the warmth of the water and the peaceful rhythm of their morning routine.

The sound of the water mingled with Jhream’s laughter as she splashed in the tub, a reminder of how much she had grown since those early days of sleepless nights and endless feedings. Now, here they were, both together, in a place of calm after the whirlwind of the past few months.

Once they were both dressed, Hamisa chose a comfortable outfit for the day, a simple black shirt paired with leggings and white and black Nike high-tops. She wanted to be stylish but also practical, as her day would involve a lot of moving around, both for work and for the plans that Joshua had set for her birthday celebration.

Jhream, of course, was dressed in a similarly stylish outfit: black pants and a white shirt, paired with her own white and black Nike high-tops, matching her mother most sweetly. The two of them looked effortlessly coordinated, a picture of understated comfort as they prepared to step out into the world.

Hamisa carefully packed Jhream’s diaper bag, checking off the items she would need for the day like extra diapers, wipes, a change of clothes, and a few snacks to keep the little one happy throughout the morning. She grabbed her duffle bag with her essentials and made sure to grab the Nuna stroller and car seat for Jhream. With everything in place, they were ready to start their day.

The elevator ride down to the lobby was filled with the usual excitement of Jhream’s giggles and squeals as she explored the world around her. Hamisa glanced at her phone as they waited, checking the messages that had come in overnight.

Her friends and family had all been busy sending well wishes for her birthday, which was always special, especially since it fell on Valentine’s Day. It was a day that was shared by many, but the messages from those who truly cared made her feel special, made her feel seen.

As the elevator doors opened with a soft chime, they stepped into the lobby of the hotel. The energy of the morning seemed to be building as they made their way toward the exit, and that’s when Hamisa spotted Jon and Trinity standing before them, broad smiles stretched across their faces.

Jon immediately crouched down to tickle Jhream, causing the little girl to erupt into delighted giggles. Her laughter filled the air, a sound so pure and joyful that it seemed to lift the spirits of everyone in the lobby. Trinity smiled warmly at the energetic little one, waving at her excitedly as she bounced in her stroller.

“Happy birthday, Hamisa!” Jon and Trinity said in unison, their voices full of genuine excitement and joy.

“Thank you,” Hamisa said, her smile reaching her eyes as she greeted her friends. The warmth of their affection made her feel even more appreciated on her special day.

As they made their way toward the hotel entrance, Jon and Trinity revealed their plan for the morning. “We’re having a Valentine’s Day breakfast,” Jon announced, his voice filled with excitement.

Hamisa chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I don’t have anything planned. I was probably just going to walk around the city with Jhream before heading to the arena,” she replied, the idea of a quiet morning stroll appealing to her in its simplicity.

Jon grinned mischievously. “Well, that’s not all. You have a gift waiting for you,” he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Hamisa raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “How do you know that?” she asked, her tone playful. She hadn’t expected any surprises, but now, Jon had piqued her interest.

“Jhream told me,” Jon replied, his grin widening as he glanced down at the baby in the stroller.

Jhream, who seemed to be fully aware of the conversation happening around her, giggled in response, as though she were in on the secret. Hamisa couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of her daughter being involved in such a fun little conspiracy.

And then, just as they were about to exit the hotel, a familiar face appeared. Joshua walked toward them, carrying two beautiful bouquets of red roses in his hands. One bouquet was small, just the right size for Jhream to hold.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jhream,” Joshua said, his voice filled with affection. He presented the flowers to his daughter, who immediately let out a joyful cry, her little hands reaching for the roses.

“Dada! Dada!” Jhream cried out, her face lighting up with excitement at the sight of her father.

Joshua turned to Hamisa next, handing her the larger bouquet of roses with a soft smile. “Happy birthday, Hamisa, and Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, his voice sincere and affectionate.

Hamisa felt a wave of warmth wash over her as she took the flowers from him. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice soft but filled with gratitude. The bouquet was beautiful, and the thoughtfulness behind the gesture was something that made her feel deeply loved.

After Jon and Trinity said their goodbyes and went on their way, Joshua turned to Hamisa, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Come on, let’s go start your birthday slash Valentine’s celebration,” he said, his voice full of excitement.

Hamisa, now fully awake and eager to enjoy the day, looked up at him with curiosity. “Where are we going?” she asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“First breakfast, then your first birthday surprise,” Joshua answered with a wink as he took her hand.

Hamisa’s heart fluttered with anticipation. This was her day. Her birthday, her Valentine’s Day and she couldn’t wait to see what surprises lay ahead.

Joshua led them to his rental car, and as Hamisa looked him over, she noticed that they were matching with all three of them wearing simple outfits, completed by their white and black Nike high-tops. Hamisa shook her head, they always somehow ended up matching. Now everyone is going to think they planned to coordinate with each other.

Joshua placed Jhream’s car seat in the back of the car. Joshua made sure he secured the car seat and then got into the front seat while Hamisa climbed in next to him. He glanced over at Hamisa and smiled.

“Let’s go!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. Jhream screamed in excitement from the backseat, clearly delighted by the prospect of the day ahead.

“She’s a mini-me for real,” Joshua said, smiling fondly at his daughter in the rearview mirror.

“She got nothing from me,” Hamisa teased, pretending to be sad.

“She got your hair,” Joshua pointed out with a chuckle.

Hamisa rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. The simple banter between them made her heart feel light, and as they drove to their breakfast destination, she realized just how much she had to be thankful for.

The car ride was filled with laughter and light-hearted conversation. Hamisa glanced at Joshua, watching the way his face softened as he glanced at Jhream through the rearview mirror. His love for their daughter was evident in every glance, in every smile, and in the way he spoke to her.

"Where are we going for breakfast?" Hamisa asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. She hadn’t expected to be swept into the excitement of the day so quickly, but now she found herself looking forward to every moment.

Joshua gave her a playful look, one that suggested he was relishing the mystery of the day. "You’ll see," he said with a wink, clearly enjoying the suspense.

The city of Washington, D.C. was still waking up, the streets quieter than usual as the early morning light began to illuminate the buildings, casting long shadows that slowly faded into the brightness of the day.

The car hummed along, and Hamisa felt a sense of calm settle over her. She’d never been one to make a big fuss over her birthday, but today felt different. It wasn’t about grand gestures or extravagant surprises. It was about sharing simple, meaningful moments with the people she loved most.

As they pulled into the parking lot of a charming little café, Hamisa’s eyes widened with surprise. The building, with its rustic exterior and large windows, had a cozy, welcoming vibe. It looked like the perfect place to spend a relaxed morning.

"Surprise," Joshua said, his voice soft and warm. "I thought this would be a good spot for a quiet breakfast with the two people I love the most."

Hamisa couldn’t help but smile at the sentiment. "It’s perfect," she replied, her heart swelling with gratitude. She knew that it wasn’t about the place or the food, but the thought and care behind it.

They got out of the car, and Joshua helped Hamisa with the stroller. Jhream, who had been giggling in the backseat, was now wide-eyed and curious as she gazed around, taking in the new sights. The little girl clapped her hands excitedly, her joyful energy filling the air once again.

Inside the café, the atmosphere was warm and intimate. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mixing with the sweet scent of pastries and bread. The décor was simple but beautiful wooden tables, soft lighting, and plants hanging from the ceiling, giving the space a cozy, almost homey feel. It felt like a place where time slowed down, where you could just sit and enjoy the company of those around you.

Joshua led them to a corner table by the window, where the sunlight filtered through the glass, casting a soft glow on the table. Hamisa took a seat, settling Jhream into her lap, and Joshua sat across from them, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he watched Hamisa’s reaction to the surprise.

"I thought we could have a quiet morning," he said, his voice tender. "Just us three. A little break from the chaos of the world."

Hamisa nodded, her heart full. "I love it," she said, glancing out the window at the city beyond. "It’s exactly what I needed."

The waitress soon arrived, her smile warm and welcoming as she took their order. Hamisa, content at the moment, wasn’t in a rush. She had no reason to hurry as today was about the small moments that made life beautiful.

As they waited for their food, Joshua pulled out a small box from his bag. "Before breakfast," he said, holding it out to Hamisa, "I have something for you."

Hamisa raised an eyebrow, surprised by the gesture. "Joshua, you’ve already given me the roses…"

He smiled, his eyes twinkling. "This is just a little something to make your birthday extra special."

Hamisa opened the box, her breath catching when she saw what was inside. Nestled in the velvet lining was a delicate charm bracelet. It was gold links engraved with Jhream’s initials and charms, each one representing a piece of her. It was a beautiful and meaningful piece of jewelry that Hamisa could wear every day.

Tears welled in her eyes as she looked up at Joshua, her voice choked with emotion. "It’s perfect," she whispered. "I don’t know what to say."

"You don’t need to say anything," Joshua replied softly. "I just want you to know how much you mean to me. How much our little family means to me."

Hamisa’s heart swelled with love. The simple gesture, and the thoughtfulness behind it. It was perfect.

After a quiet, intimate breakfast, they headed to Hammer & Stain Rockville, a craft studio known for its unique, hands-on experiences. The space was alive with creative energy as all types of couples, families, and friends were gathered around tables, painting and creating their masterpieces.

The studio had a variety of activities, from pottery painting to personalized signs, and the air was filled with laughter and the soft hum of conversations.

Hamisa looked around, taking in the colorful displays of art and craft supplies. Joshua had arranged for them to create personalized items as a family, and it was the perfect way to spend time together on her special day.

They sat down at a table together, and Joshua set to work on a wooden sign, while Hamisa painted a small canvas, her brush strokes slow and thoughtful. Jhream, who was already entranced by the array of colors and textures, tried to grab the paintbrushes, giggling as she smeared a little bit of paint on her fingers.

"This is perfect," Hamisa said softly as she worked, glancing over at Joshua. "I love that we’re doing this together."

Joshua smiled, his expression soft and content. "Me too," he said. "Every little piece of our lives matters. Every moment we spend together is special."

As the afternoon drew on, they finished their projects and packed up their things, feeling proud of the small, beautiful creations they had made. The simplicity of the activity, the shared experience, was exactly what Hamisa had needed a reminder that love wasn’t always about grand gestures, but about the little moments that made life worth living.

By the time they headed back to the hotel to get ready for SmackDown, Hamisa felt more relaxed and content than she had in a long time. The day had been full of surprises, laughter, and connection. There had been no rush, no pressure. Just love. As they made their way back to the hotel, Hamisa couldn’t help but reflect on how lucky she was to have this life. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real, and it was hers.

Joshua helped her get Jhream ready for the trip to the arena. After a quick change and a few final preparations, they were ready to head out.

As they left the hotel, Joshua leaned over and kissed Hamisa on the cheek. "Thank you for being born today."

Hamisa smiled, her heart full. "Thank you for making my birthday and Valentine's Day so perfect," she replied.

They made their way to the car, ready to finish the day with the energy and excitement of SmackDown ahead.

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