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justalost4girl · 3 months

Text

ONE

This fanfic is part of my Taylor Swift coded fanfics. word count: 3186

A girl walks onto the stage with a guitar in hand and a smile on her face.

She greets the band, and they greet her back. The shy girl thanks everyone for coming tonight.

Natasha Romanoff grips her glass tighter and orders another shot of whiskey without looking at the bartender, as she can't take her eyes off of you.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

One year earlier…

She finds you at the café. Natasha hates cafés, but she knows your company's head of security comes at the end of every period to get coffee with you; it's been like this for two weeks.

But today, you're alone at a table, and Natasha needs to adjust the plan. She goes to the counter and orders a cappuccino—the same as yours—and looks for a place to sit.

Your eyes meet hers, and for a moment, the redhead ignores the hot cup she's carrying.

You're beautiful

And shy.

Natasha recalls your file and smiles. You were exactly as Skye had described. She sees a chance to approach in the crowded room and clears her throat; she's done this before but feels the need to focus.

"Can I sit with you?" A soft voice pulls you out of the stupor you entered when you looked into those deep green eyes. Eyes that could inspire symphonies, and you believe she's the most beautiful woman you've ever seen, and your brain can't do more than nod, afraid of saying the wrong thing.

She sits beside you, not in front of you, waiting to analyze your computer. The file didn't mention the software you use, so it's up to her to find out before your friend arrives. She positions her coffee well so her field of vision can see anything that appears on the screen.

"I'm pretty sure I've seen you around here; do you live nearby?" She asks, trying to break the ice as usual, but deep down, she feels strange under your contemplative gaze.

"Yes, I live in the building across from Luthor Corp and work there." Your voice shows pride, and your eyes sparkle, Natasha notices. She wonders if you know what your colleague has been developing and the true nature of your boss.

"And you? I don't think I've seen you around here before," you seem genuinely interested. Natasha likes that. Targets are easy, but you are very easy; with just a few words, she already knows where you live and work. For a security analyst, you are far too naive.

And she puts the plan into practice.

"I just moved to the end of the block. There are so many boxes… I needed the coffee to give me energy." She says with an extremely calculated tone. You smile and notice that she has a beautiful corner smile and really seems tired, so you offer to help.

You always offer to help strangers.

And Natasha celebrates the success of the plan while taking a sip of coffee and leaning toward you, complimenting your screensaver. While you give her an excited explanation, she takes the opportunity to see the type of software used and memorizes the access password when you unlock the computer to show how the galaxy theme expands on your computer.

You exchange names.

She's Natalie. Nickname? Nat. The redhead shares similar tastes to yours, and something tells you that coming here alone was the best choice. After all, Nat would never look at you if Luke were around.

You also have a name, but everyone calls you Newton. In honor of your favorite physicist. A development assistant in the security sector with a desk always organizedly messy, in your words. Your boss, Luke, didn't come today because he had an emergency meeting and gave you the afternoon off. Natasha makes a mental note to understand this.

He didn't have any meetings scheduled.

As the coffee finishes, Nat guides you to her house. You stretch your back and even tie your hair up to help with the boxes. Then, you feel a bit disappointed to find there are only two, but you don't complain.

You never complain.

Natasha watches you help organize the books in the living room, chattering away about how you've read most of them and your opinions. You don't notice, however, that they show no signs of use, and amidst some jokes, for a minute Natasha forgets about the mission. Being with you is comfy.

"Wanna order pizza? I know a good place." You ask, sitting on her floor. Your jacket, backpack, and shoes are at the door. She liked how you took off your shoes to enter her house. It's a sign of respect, you say. The file points out the numerous k-dramas evaluated in your account, but she doesn't comment and even finds it adorable. She finds you adorable. Period.

"Sure, but only if you agree to watch something before we go and let me pay for the snack. You were my hero today." Nat smiles, and all that crosses your mind is how random your luck is. Here, sitting on this floor with the most beautiful woman you've ever met in front of you, the word destiny has a new meaning.

She gives you yoga pants and an oversized Star Wars shirt, your favorite saga, to make yourself comfortable. The pizza arrives while you're changing, and she can't use your laptop, but that loses its importance when your heart warms seeing you wear clothes she bought just for you. You feel like you're in heaven for finding someone as big a Star Wars fan as you, because that shirt was only available by order. Everything seems too perfect, you think, but the thought flies when you find out the theory of olives applies to both of you.

Natasha puts on your favorite movie from the franchise, and what was supposed to be just one movie becomes a marathon. She knows all the lines and jokes from each movie, knows curiosities and book details, and that makes you ignore your phone all night.

That night, you fall asleep on the couch.

The sun hits the window, and the redhead opens her eyes and sees you. Your arms are by your side, but Natasha is practically in your lap. Even in a deep sleep, you respect her too much to touch her.

Natasha is distracted for a moment and wonders how much of a spy she was last night. Here and now, looking at your lips in a half smile and your messy hair. Natasha almost feels bad for getting into this mission.

Almost.

She shakes her head and carefully gets off the couch and goes to your backpack, finding a black-covered book and the laptop. The goal? Install a spy program on the laptop. The problem? Natasha's curiosity gets the best of her, and she opens the book.

Your song lyrics, drawing attempts, and poems are a world for her to explore, and only after ten minutes, Natasha remembers the mission. She plugs in a device, pockets it, and waits for the installation, but when the progress bar is only halfway, your alarm goes off, and Natasha has to improvise.

Two minutes until the program is complete.

"Hello there," she says, smiling softly, throwing herself on top of you.

"Ah, now you're Obi-Wan? I thought you were Jar Jar Binks," you say, rubbing your eye and laughing at her offended expression.

Natasha rolls her eyes and starts a tickle war. You squirm, and she lets herself spin on the couch, ending up underneath you.

"Okay, okay, truce. You're not Jar Jar. You're the face anyone would turn to the dark side for," you say, feeling an unexpected courage.

"Does that go for you, Newton?" Natasha says softly, her eyes fixed on yours, her gaze alternating between your lips and your eyes in an almost hypnotizing manner.

"That goes for me, Nat," you whisper, looking at her lips.

You're not sure who initiated the kiss first, but you like to think it was both. The world seems to stop as your lips meet, each touch filled with emotions and suppressed desires. For you, it's a moment of pure magic and connection, an unexpected paradise. For Natasha, it's a reminder of what she could lose, a conflict between duty and desire.

The day passes slowly. She drags you from the couch to the kitchen for coffee and then back to the couch for a make-out session. Natasha has a dominant and bossy streak, and you feel comfortable and safe beside her, as her hands don’t cross any boundaries and remain on your waist. You try a new recipe, talk about the weather, exchange compliments and kisses. The afternoon arrives, and Luke calls you to the office.

You decide to stop by home first but manage to take one of Natasha's limited edition sweatshirts as a promise to meet again soon.

Natasha leaves you at the door smiling like she hasn't in a long time. All for the mission, of course. At least that's what she wants to believe.

She doesn't realize she forgot to send the report to Fury.

You don't realize your laptop is on in the backpack.

Nat is different from any woman you've ever met.

Not that you've met many.

No, but Nat is different. She's kind. She's everything you could ask for in a person. Nat is too good to be true.

"Newton is smiling today?" Luke says, approaching your desk.

"I found my soulmate at the café yesterday," you say, eyes sparkling.

"Really? What's she like?" he asks, placing some files on your desk.

You describe everything, from her appearance to shared tastes, and he smiles like he does with clients.

"Send me the code by 5 p.m., then you can go see your future wife," he says, typing something on his phone and leaving.

You smile and grab your laptop. It's almost dead and turned on. You find it strange but don't question it; after all, the computer is still locked. The memory of Nat's eyes brings you more inspiration, and you jot down about the new shade of green where you found peace.

The afternoon passes in a blur, the leaves fall, and you finally finish the code. Luke is nowhere to be found, something about an urgent meeting, and you decide to send the code by email.

Natasha is at home, with full access to your computer, celebrating the success of the plan. The virus will accompany the file. Luke will open it on the corporate computer, and she can finish the mission. She watches you through the camera, and Natasha misses you for a moment. You are a beautiful collateral damage. Too kind. Too captivating.

She knows it's wrong, but she lets the idea linger in her mind for more than a minute.

Natasha sighed as she shut down the laptop, feeling the weight of the decision she had made. She glanced at the phone screen, hesitant for a moment before typing a quick message to Newton.

"Miss you, come over?" she typed, her fingers hesitating over the keys. It was the first time in a long time that she allowed herself to be true.

"On my way, General Romanoff," you reply, making your usual path with a smile on your face.

☆。*。☆。 Eight months earlier…

One night, as the soft moonlight filtered through the curtains, you were sitting on the couch beside Natasha. She was flipping through your lyric notebook, and after much persuasion, she managed to convince you to sing one of your songs. With a shy smile, your voice filled the room, bringing life to the carefully crafted words.

Natasha watched you with admiration, her eyes sparkling with each note. When you finished, she applauded enthusiastically.

"You have an incredible voice, you know? You should leave this field and sing in a bar. Become famous and rich," Natasha suggested, excitement gleaming in her eyes.

You laughed, shaking your head. "Maybe someday. But if I do, will you promise to be there?"

Natasha took your hand and looked directly into your eyes. "I wouldn't miss any of your shows for anything in this world," she said sincerely.

Later that night, after waking from a nightmare and seeing Natasha, who was now lying on her side, her hair spread across the pillow, you took a deep breath.

Focusing on the woman beside you, you felt a mix of tenderness and curiosity as you admired the peace on her face. Her gentle features seemed even kinder in the quiet of the moment.

Natasha breathed calmly in peaceful sleep, immersed in a world of tranquility that contrasted with the turmoil of your own thoughts.

For a moment, you wondered about the thoughts Natasha kept, about what she dreamed and what made her smile in the silence of that rest. There was something intriguing about the way she moved in the world, near you, an aura of mystery and serenity that deeply attracted you.

You were in love; you felt it intensely and quickly. And for the first time in your life, you felt that this love was mutual. You lay down beside her, lightly touching Natasha's lips with a kiss. She slowly opened her eyes, meeting yours with a gentle shine of surprise and care.

"Nat," you started, feeling your heart racing with emotion overflowing in your words. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

A radiant smile formed on her lips, her eyes reflecting tenderness and joy. She nodded slightly, without saying a word, but making it clear that her answer was yes.

☆。*。☆。 Six months earlier…

You walked out of the office with firm steps, Luke by your side. For the first time in months, he mentioned it was for security measures, and you didn't mind, too excited to introduce your oldest friend to your girlfriend. The usual café was just a few meters away, and Natasha, watching from afar, noticed the smile on Newton's face as she entered the establishment.

"Hello there!" You exclaimed eagerly upon seeing Natasha, who smiled back warmly as she greeted you. "You're here! I missed you," Natasha said, warmly embracing you. She caught the familiar scent of Newton and momentarily lost herself in the comforting sensation.

"Yes, and accompanied this time. Nat, this is Luke. Luke, this is Natalie," you introduced them, your eyes shining with affection for Nat, your girlfriend.

"Natalie! You're as beautiful as she said," Luke complimented Natasha with a gallant air, earning a playful eye-roll from Newton. Natasha noted the dynamic between the two, the way Luke enjoyed subtly teasing her.

"Maybe Newton is onto something after all," Natasha replied, laughing softly as she observed Newton and Luke interact.

Luke was at ease, responding to Natasha's light questions with calculated calm. He didn't reveal much personal information, maintaining a professional and careful demeanor in his responses. Natasha tried to probe him about his work and interests, but Luke skillfully deflected, keeping the conversation on superficial topics.

During a momentary pause, Luke received a call on his cell phone. He discreetly stepped away to answer it, while you and Nat continued chatting. A few minutes later, Luke returned with a serious expression.

"Newton," Luke began, catching both your attention. "I just received an important call. We need to prepare for a trip to Seattle in a week. We have a client that requires our personal attention. We'll be there for a month."

You nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility on your shoulders. Natasha couldn't contain her excitement upon hearing about the trip. It was the perfect opportunity to gather evidence against Luke's criminal activities. She spoke with anticipation in her eyes. "That's great! I'd love to come along, if possible."

Luke seemed surprised by Natasha's suggestion, his gaze becoming more cautious. "Natalie, I'm not sure if…"

"I have family there, I don't need to know many details, I just didn't want to be away from Newton," Natasha said persuasively, while Luke looked at her with a wary gaze.

You smiled at Nat and kissed her gently. "Of course, you can come, right Luke?"

Luke nodded resignedly but with a faint smile. "Alright, then get ready for the trip."

While observing the tension in his voice, you recalled how meticulous he had been with security recently. First, insisting on buying a new computer for you, claiming it was safer and more efficient. Then, personally supervising the building's security system update. At the time, you thought it was just part of his protective nature as head of security. Now, however, looking at him, there was something in his behavior that made you wonder if he was hiding something.

The idea of betraying you was unbearable. If only she could find something to justify her mission, she could decide what to do next. She could stop everything, tell you the truth, and run away to Greece, or anywhere far from here.

On the flight, Natasha kept herself discreet, but every glance exchanged between you two left her more conflicted. You were excited about the trip, unaware of the internal turmoil Natasha was facing. She wanted to protect you, but how could she do that when she herself was the threat?

Upon arriving at the destination, Natasha checked into the same hotel as you, but Luke made sure she had no access to the meetings. He was vigilant, observing every interaction between you. You, on the other hand, seemed happy with the opportunity to explore the city alongside Natasha, oblivious to her true intentions.

Every night, as you fell asleep, Natasha stayed awake, lost in thought. She looked at you, feeling a mixture of tenderness and guilt. She knew she needed to act, to find something that would change everything. But until that happened, she stayed by your side, cherishing the time she still had.

Natasha Romanoff had no idea she wasn't the only one playing this game.

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Two - July 9, 2024

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Comments are appreciated :)

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #last kiss tv #taylor swift fic #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x reader

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astrayas · 7 months

Text

Pressure Point

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x fem reader

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex

WC: 6k

Summary: When you run into Toji Fushiguro for the first time in years, you find him in the most unexpected position: as your new massage therapist.

18+!!!

Ao3 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“…So she wasn’t able to make it in today. I’m so sorry for the short notice!”

You sling your bag back onto your shoulder and rub your neck, masking your disappointment with a polite smile.

“Oh…that’s a shame,” you say. You were really looking forward to your appointment today. Your usual masseuse is nothing less than an artist, and you’ve got plenty of knots to work out right now. “Well, when’s the next time she’s free?”

“Since you’re one of her regulars, I think we could work you in tomorrow…” the manager chirps, clicking at her computer. She takes a few minutes, clearly unfamiliar with the software. They’re really understaffed today. “But…oh! Actually, there is someone available to take you right now.”

“Oh?” You perk back up again, which is all it takes to strain your muscles. You wince just a bit. You really need some relief.

“Yes! He’s actually our top massage therapist. His new clients normally have to book him months in advance, but it looks like he had a cancellation today. I can go grab him, if you’re interested!”

You deflate just a little. Him? You’ve never seen a male massage therapist, and you weren’t planning to start today. Then your shoulder whines at you again, as if to protest your hesitation, and you’re rubbing at it before you realize it.

Well, if he’s really that good…

“Um. Sure,” you force out. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all!” She springs to her feet and graces you with a polished customer service smile. “Please, have a seat. I’ll go let him know.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, a rush of nerves guiding your short, stilted steps to the nearest chair. You flop into it and try to reason with yourself. If you get uncomfortable, you can just leave. But he’s their top massage therapist. He obviously knows what he’s doing, and you really need—

“Nuh-uh. I don’t do walk-ins.”

A loud, gruff voice booms from the hallway, clearly audible through the thick waiting room door. Whoever’s speaking doesn’t seem to care about indoor voices. You have to strain to hear the manager’s response.

“She’s not a walk-in!” she argues. “She had an appointment, but Rei called out at the last minute.”

“Sounds like that’s Rei’s problem, then.”

After a few seconds of silence, you stand up. This sounds like more trouble than it’s worth. You can wait another day; you’ll just tell them you’ll reschedule.

“Come on! This client’s been coming to us for years. We can’t lose her!” the manager pleads.

“You can’t lose her. I’ll be just fine.”

Your lip curls in disgust as you hoist your bag over your aching shoulder. People book this guy months in advance? Whatever. You can just leave and call them later. But as you turn to walk out the door, you hear one last exchange.

“Ugh…how about this? I’ll give you a few extra days off next month.”

You pause mid-step.

“…I want a week.”

“A week?”

“I’ve been working my fingers to the bone for you for God knows how long. I want a week, or I walk.”

Another long, heavy silence, but you’re still listening.

“…Fine. Fine. I’ll make it happen. Just go out there and be pleasant, alright?”

“I’m never anything but,” the gruff voice hums, and you can just barely hear the manager groan as the door flies open. The strap on your bag slides down your shoulder at the same moment, and you look down as you pull it back up with a grimace.

“You must be the one Rei stranded today. Nice to meet you. I’m—“

He freezes mid-sentence. When you finally look back up, you freeze, too.

“Toji…” you murmur.

You’ve lost count of the years it’s been since you and Toji Fushiguro parted ways. But you could go a century without seeing that face and still recognize it. The scar on his mouth, his fierce green eyes, his strong, chiseled frame…none of it’s really easy to forget.

But it’s his most unforgettable feature—his big, wolfish grin—that traps you in place when it’s clear he recognizes you, too.

“Well, well,” he croons, an irritating melody ringing in his voice as he holds the door open and extends his hand. “Come on back, ma’am. Last door on the left.”

You shuffle past him without so much as a “Thank you” and grip the strap of your bag tight. God, why did it have to be him? Out of all the people who could have walked out of that door, why him?

You step into the room he pointed you to and take it in with wide eyes. This is certainly a step up from your usual setup with Rei. It’s bigger, but the atmosphere is so much more intimate. Soft, ambient music drifts through the room. Candles flicker on select small tables lining the perimeter of the space, playing on the velvety flower petals artfully arranged on the floor and the massage table. It’s downright romantic.

But it’s the table itself, lying in the center of the room, that draws most of your attention. It’s plush and oversized, draped in crisp, clean linens and adorned with a fluffy duvet and a lavish pillow. It almost looks like it was made for sleeping instead.

And it looks…sturdy.

“So. Been a while since you up and vanished,” Toji says with little ceremony, shutting the door behind him. “What have you been—”

“So is this a sex thing? Is that what you do here?” you blurt out. He blinks at you, mouth falling slightly open, and crosses his arms.

“Wow. That’s the first thing you say to me in six years?” he rasps.

Six years. It’s been six long years.

You blink back at him a few more times before you register what you just said, and you slap a hand to your mouth several seconds too late.

“Uh—shit—” you stutter, your hand rising to slap your forehead. “I didn’t mean—”

After some lengthy floundering, which he lets you do in perfect silence, your hands finally drop to your sides, and you heave a deep sigh.

“I just—this is a big bed—”

“You mean a massage table.”

“And apparently you’re the most requested guy here—”

“Because I’m a good massage therapist.”

“And you were a criminal the last time we talked!” you finish. Your voice rises a little more than you intended, and that goddamned knot in your shoulder spasms. You rub at it desperately and take a calming breath.

Something like a low growl rumbles in Toji’s chest as he strolls over to the sink and washes his hands.

“If I’m remembering correctly—and I am—you weren’t an upstanding citizen back then, either,” he flings back. He dries his hands, turns back around, and leans against the counter, looking you up and down. “At least my crimes were impressive.”

You set your bag on a nearby chair and scoff at him. “Yeah. So impressive I just couldn’t bear to live in your shadow anymore.”

“Cute,” he sneers. “You want the damn massage or not? Because you clearly need it.”

“Oh, like you can really tell—”

“Your right shoulder. That one’s obvious.” He pushes himself away from the counter and closes the distance between you with just a couple steps. “You keep rubbing at it like a maniac. But the way you’re standing right now tells me you have pain in your lower back, too. Right about…” He circles behind you, a shadow of a grin growing on his face before he disappears from your sight. You shiver when he rests a large, strong hand exactly where the small of your back hurts the most. “...Here.”

You spin back around and scowl at him. He holds his hands up in an innocent gesture.

“Yeah, those are my biggest problem areas,” you mutter.

“Then let’s take care of ‘em,” he proposes, sauntering over to the door. “Believe it or not, I am a professional now. I take my clients seriously.”

His eyes glint when he turns the knob.

“Even petty thieves like you.”

Your blood pressure instantly shoots through the sky.

“Don’t think I won’t—” you start, unsure of what vague threat you’re about to make, but he’s already halfway out the door.

“I’ll give you a few minutes to get undressed,” he nearly sings. “Start out face-down.”

And with that, he’s gone. The door shuts with a click, leaving every stupid knot in your back to tense up and scream even louder. You don’t even bother hanging your clothes on any of the hooks nearby, opting to pelt them to the floor instead. Infuriating. He’s infuriating. He’s every bit as infuriating as he was all those years ago, when you were just two delinquents among many wreaking havoc in town.

Back when you thought he was the sexiest, funniest, dreamiest guy on earth.

You smack some petals off the table before you settle under the sheets, lying on your stomach. Whatever. It’s not like the feeling was mutual. What did you even see in him back then, anyway? Other than the eyes and the muscles and the voice and the face and the—

Toji knocks on the door.

“You decent?” he calls from the other side.

“No,” you sniff. “But I’m under the sheet. You can come in.”

He chuckles as he lets himself back in and promptly closes the door. You can only see his feet as he walks past you and stops at the counter, and he shakes a bottle.

“Alright. So, I know your shoulder and your lower back are your biggest problems right now, but I’ll find your other pressure points as we work,” he announces, instantly professional. “But first, I need to ask if you’ve got any areas I should avoid.”

“Nope,” you inform the floor. “It’s all up for grabs.”

He laughs again, and you curse yourself under your breath. What an atrocious choice of words.

“Good to know,” he hums. Ugh. He sounds too pleased.

Your heart skips as soon as he pulls the sheet down from your shoulders all the way to just above your backside. He gets straight to work, starting by feeling for tight areas.

“Yeesh. You’ve got trigger points all the way down your back,” he marvels. “It’s almost impressive.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” you sigh.

You have to admit it: even now, even as he just searches and assesses, his touch is divine. It must be thanks to those dexterous fingers, those powerful hands, his shocking familiarity with every part of the human body…

You squeeze your eyes shut in a desperate bid to push the thoughts out. Stupid. Stupid. What a stupid crush you had on him. You start talking just to fill your head with something, anything else.

“How’d you even fall into this line of work? It’s not—“ Your breath hitches when you hear him squeeze some oil onto his hands and rub them together. “It’s, um…just not a career path I ever thought you’d take.”

You can hear the grin in his response. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to help people?”

You answer with some snorting laughter, which tells him enough.

“Thought not,” he sighs. “No point in lying, then.” His hands work their way to the rough spot on your shoulder, and you brace yourself. “Honestly? It’s good money. That’s all there is to it.”

“That I believe,” you answer, screwing your eyes shut when he starts working that knot. This is going to be a rough session, you just know it.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” he mumbles, genuine shock lining his voice. “What do you do these days?”

“I’m just an office worker,” you grunt. You take a deep breath when he digs in again.

“An office worker and…what? A cage fighter? A trapeze artist? These are insane knots for an office worker.”

“I’ve got—phew—I’ve got really bad posture,” you mutter. You squirm under his movements.

“Clearly. You must be hunched over 24/7.”

This time, you don’t answer him. Deep tissue massages can hurt, sure, but this is on a whole new level. You bear with him for about another minute before you wave him away.

“God, Toji, are all your clients masochists?!” you cry, glaring at the floor. You keep lying flat on your stomach, waiting for the pain to ebb away.

“…Some are,” he croons.

Your hands tense at your sides. “So it is—”

“I’m joking, damn,” he huffs. He switches to your other shoulder and, mercifully, handles it with a lot less pressure. “I mean, I’m sure some are. I wouldn’t know. People just come to me when they’ve got injuries and chronic issues. When it comes to that slow, painful deep tissue massage, I’m the best around.”

“Solving pain with pain,” you remark. He slides down to the middle of your back and digs into a spot just to the left of your spine. “That does sound right up your alley.”

“...I see you’ve still got a mouth on you,” he grumbles, and whether consciously or not, he pushes down especially hard. You suck in a breath and screw your eyes shut. “How’d you land a cushy office job with your attitude?”

“I learned when to keep my mouth shut,” you fight to answer, focusing on your breathing. “I was wondering the same thing about you, based on that conversation I heard in the hallway. Do you always talk to your managers like that?”

“Ha!” He pulls his hands away and rubs some more oil between them. “Only the ones who can’t afford to lose me. Business has been booming since I started here. And, damn, you should see the tips I get.”

“Tips?” you squawk, pushing yourself onto your elbows and staring up at him. “What do you mean, you get tips? What do you do to earn tips?”

“Um.”

Toji clears his throat and looks to the side. It’s only when he physically covers his eyes with his hand do you realize you pushed yourself so far up you nearly exposed your chest.

“Oh. Sorry…” you mumble, flopping back down. Heat erupts on your skin. You’re really excelling at making an ass of yourself today.

“What’s with you?” he grunts. He presses a palm against that sore spot at the small of your back. “We’re allowed to accept tips here. Why are you so sure I’m just doing weird sex stuff?”

Before you can answer, he starts applying pressure to the spot. Lots of it. To your surprise, it actually feels…good. So in lieu of a response, you simply let out a groan that lasts a little too long. And just beneath it, just for a moment, you swear you can hear a pleased sound humming in him, too.

“Don’t tell me…” His thumbs rub the small of your back in slow, deep circles. “...you were hoping for it?”

Your eyes shoot open. But he pushes in again, granting you deeper relief, and you lose the will to snap back at him. Not when he’s finally easing all that tension.

“Are you disappointed I don’t offer any special services?”

“Gimme a break,” you manage to say. But that’s all you say before his hands slide down to your glutes. Over the sheet, of course, like a professional, and he’s stroking them like any professional massage therapist would. But that doesn’t change the fact that, in a less professional sense…his hands are still on your ass.

“Well, I don’t blame you,” he boasts. He slides a little lower. He’s…really working those glutes. “I know why I really get so many requests. I know why my tips are so great. I mean, just look at me—”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you spit, wriggling out of his hands and flipping onto your back. You’re careful to keep the sheet over your chest this time. “I heard enough of that for a lifetime back in the day.”

“Hey. I’m not done with your back,” he pouts, frowning at you.

“Can we come back to it later? You’re gonna break it at this rate.”

“Coulda just asked me to be gentler.” He lifts the sheet away from your left leg and takes your foot in his hand. “I can do that.”

As if to prove his point, he uses a single thumb to gently stroke the inside of your arch. Exactly where it aches after a long day in heels. How did he know that was a sore spot, too?

“I listen to my clients,” he continues, stretching out your foot and sliding up your leg. He starts kneading the lowest part of your thigh, just above the knee. “Another reason why I end the day with so much extra cash.”

“I get it,” you mutter. “You have an awesome job and you make lots of money because you’re super hot. Congratulations.”

“Super hot, huh?” he whirs. “I mean, I know, but it’s nice to hear from that mouth you allegedly know how to keep shut.”

“Ugh.” You desperately try to focus your attention on the soothing motions of his fingers. “Can’t believe I used to have such a big crush on you.”

For a moment, for a fleeting, measly fraction of a second, his hands jerk. Then they pick back up as usual, gliding a little farther up your thigh. It takes him a few seconds to answer.

“Did you, now?”

Your brows furrow, but you keep your eyes closed.

“C’mon, Toji, it was so obvious,” you sigh. “There’s no way you didn’t know.”

“I really didn’t,” he says flatly. His fingers dig a little deeper into your skin. “We ran with a big group, remember? I…didn’t get to see you as much as I wanted to.”

You shift a bit under his touch. “As much as you wanted to?”

“...See? You didn’t know I had a thing for you, either.”

His fingers linger on your thigh, rubbing the same spot over and over. Finally, you open your eyes. You sit up to rest on your elbows and look right at him. And in the dim, flickering candlelight, you take a moment to really study his face for the first time in six years.

Six years that haven’t done much to age him, really. His jaw is still strong and sharp. The deep scar etched into his lip still hasn’t faded. His hands, which you’ve become very familiar with today, are still powerful, with veins and tendons that ripple just beneath the skin, with fingertips calloused but not rough. And his muscles are still toned and strong, if that tight black t-shirt has anything to say about it.

“Well. What could have been, right?” you murmur. You glance to the side and let your head fall back onto the table; you can’t bear to hold eye contact any longer.

After a long, tense moment, he pulls the sheet back over your left leg and moves to your other side.

“...Yeah. What could’ve been.”

He moves up your leg the same way he did the first, every knead and stroke therapeutic, but something feels different about his touch. It’s more…clinical. Truly professional now. Like you’re just any other client.

You fight the sinking feeling in your chest. The fact that he never showed he was interested in you stings a little, but that doesn’t matter anymore. There’s a reason you left the way you did. Toji wasn’t good for you, and you weren’t good for him. Nobody in that group you ran with was good for each other. You had to leave while you were still just a petty thief. Before you started racking up “impressive” crimes like him.

Toji’s still quiet as he pulls the sheet back over your legs and moves to the head of the table, settling on a rolling chair and scooting forward. You open your eyes again but look at nothing in particular. You don’t know what to look at. You don’t know what to say.

His hands slide under your shoulders, searching for that especially tight spot again. The moment he finds it, he digs in. You clench your teeth and bear it. Working out a knot can hurt. He’s doing his job. Just let him do his job. Just let him—

“Why’d you leave?”

Your eyes fly back open. His hands haven’t stopped working, but they have slowed.

“What?” you squeak.

“Why did you leave?” he repeats. You glance up and find him staring right back down at you, those deep green eyes glimmering even in the dim light. “Why did you just up and leave like that? No note, no nothin’?”

“Because…” You take a deep breath. It’s been a while since you’ve thought about those days. “Because I just couldn’t keep going like that. I couldn’t keep spending every day scoping out targets, planning which stores I’d hit next. I had to get out and make something of myself. I did it, and…look, you did it, too.”

“But why did you leave like that?” he carries on, his voice tinged with something close to desperation. “Why did you just disappear? Do you know how much that killed me? To just lose you like that, overnight, no explanation?”

You fight against a new sensation in your chest. It’s something rising, growing, gnawing.

“Because if I’d said anything, you would’ve tried to make me stay,” you answer.

“I couldn’t sleep at night wondering what happened to you.”

“You were the only one who could have made me stay.”

“When I could sleep, you were in my dreams.”

“You never needed me, Toji! You didn’t need me then, and you don’t need me now!”

“Fuck you for thinking that. And fuck you for just leaving.”

“Fuck you for making me think you wouldn’t care!”

He doesn’t respond to you before he flies to his feet, takes a breath, and walks back to the other end of the table.

“Lie back,” he says. “We’re not done with your massage.”

“Huh?”

“Lie back,” he repeats. “I’ve got some more pressure points to work out.”

“Uh…alright?” you mutter, and slowly, you settle back onto the table and stare at the ceiling. Goosebumps rise on your skin when he pulls the sheet back from one leg again, lifting it all the way to the top of your thigh this time. He squeezes some more oil onto his hands and rests his palm on your knee.

“Did you know you’ve got a lot of tension down here, too?” he asks, his voice low.

“I mean, it wouldn’t surprise me. I’m tense everywhere.”

“You really are,” he confirms with a soft laugh. “Like…when I was massaging your legs, I kept feeling you tense up when I got around…” His fingers snake their way to your inner thigh. “Here.”

You suck in a breath. “Well, that’s a sensitive area, so…”

And you’re sure you’re tensing up now. But the heated exchange you just shared is still ringing in your ears. That would leave anyone tense, right?

And it’s normal for your legs to part when they’re tense…right?

Your other leg has only moved a few inches away. But it’s a shift big enough for Toji to notice, and he glances down with a smirk.

“Is it, now?” he purrs. His fingers crawl a little higher up your leg. “Sensitive here, too?”

“Uh-huh…” you murmur, gripping the sheet below you. He’s reaching pretty far up. If he keeps going, it won’t be long before he finds out just how sensitive you’ve been from the moment he started touching you.

But you don’t stop him. You don’t want to.

“And how about—” he starts, but he stops himself when his thumb swipes across one part of your inner thigh a little too quickly. Like it slipped on something slick.

Your eyes shoot over to him. Well, secret’s out now. But still…you were dripping that far down your leg? That’s almost embarrassing.

His expression, though, suggests he doesn’t think so.

“Oh…” he whispers with a heavy voice, a strained voice, a voice that tells you all professionalism just flew out the window. “I think I know where you’re holding a lot of tension.”

Your heart flutters when his fingers dance their way up to the source of all that tension, when his knuckles graze it with all the pressure of a feather. It starts to ache the same way it did for him years ago, when you thought he never had eyes for you.

“Think you can help me with it?” you invite, parting your legs a little wider.

That little smirk grows into the same wolfish grin he first greeted you with. One finger, one long, strong finger, circles your entrance and slides in. You’re melting and moaning in the same moment, relishing the new ferocity lighting up his eyes.

“I think I can,” he breathes, sliding his finger in and out, up and down. “A special service just for you, since you’re just so damn—” Another finger slips in to join the first. “—tight.”

He waits until he’s up to his palm before he curls both fingers upward, searching for that spot, the source of all that pressure inside you. It takes him all of a second to find it. He beckons back and forth, up and down. He spreads his fingers ever so slightly, settling on a pressure that commands all your attention to that area.

You whimper and close your eyes. There’s so much you want to say. You want to find out where he learned to do that. You want to tease him, ask him how much he’s practiced. But this moment would be better spent, you remind yourself, simply enjoying this instead. So you part your legs a little wider and let him demonstrate just how well he’s learned to use his hands.

He leans forward just far enough to let you glue your hands to his shoulders. As he does, his other hand comes down to push just above your pelvis, his palm grazing your clit, and that tension rises higher and higher.

Then he leans in a little more. Every flicker of the candles reveals a new detail you’d missed in his face before. Every night of sleep he lost. Every day he thought of you. Every test he faced to make something more of himself, just like you did. Your hands work their way up to cradle either side.

And that’s it.

His lips are on yours, and his fingers pump faster. You claim each other in a kiss six years overdue, a kiss so desperate and needy and vicious it nearly consumes you. His tongue finds its way into your mouth and explores it freely. His teeth dig into your lower lip, a gesture as rough as his massage, but it brings you nothing but pleasure.

Pleasure that grows and grows and grows with all that tension he’s working out of you, so close to releasing. Your eyes start to flutter; your nails sink into his shoulders; your walls clench tighter and tighter.

“There it is,” he murmurs, encouraging you to keep going. “Let it loose. Let it out. Let me feel you let it out.”

The palm he’d left on your stomach presses down a little harder, condensing all that pressure into a volatile ball. His fingers beckon your pleasure forward quickly, deftly, and you writhe when you feel your tension threaten to release all at once.

And it releases like an explosion, knocking your head back and pushing your back up from the table. You try to buck your hips, but his hold on your pelvis is so strong that you ride out your ecstasy between his hands instead. Your walls convulse around his fingers uncontrollably, which he holds in place until your tumultuous release fades to gentle ripples.

And when those, too, die down, he captures your lips in another greedy kiss.

“How’s that tension?” he asks with a sly grin.

“Hmm…” You hold a finger to your chin and pretend to think. “Better, but I think there’s still some left.”

Your eyes flick down to his pants, which do little to hide what kind of tension he might be feeling now, too.

“If you’re still up for helping me work it out, I mean,” you add, letting the rest of the sheet fall from your chest. He allows himself a brazen, longing glance at it before he stands back up and pulls his fingers out, making you jerk.

“For such an important new client? Of course,” he hums. And like he just can’t help himself, he’s already slipping a thumb under the waistband of his pants. “If you could just get face-down again, ma’am.”

You giggle and flip back onto your stomach, tossing the rest of the sheet to the floor. Toji lets out a low whistle of appreciation when he finally sees you completely uncovered.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. And that table proves just as sturdy as you imagined when it barely even jostles as he joins you on it, pushing your legs apart and settling between them on his knees. His hands roam across your body, drawing hard lines between your shoulders, down your back, up and across and around your ass. You turn your face to one side and rest it against the plush table, enjoying every movement of his skilled fingers.

“Goddamn, goddamn,” he repeats, just to really drive the point home. He keeps one hand on your ass while the other pulls itself away. A couple fingers slide up and down your slit, just long enough to make it tingle, and then…he’s lined up with your entrance. A wave of anticipation ripples through you, emerging only as a faint shiver.

“So. Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna push down and push in,” he says, palming the small of your back. “Still gotta work out those knots, after all.”

“Wow. Truly dedicated to your craft,” you snicker.

“Like I said, I’m a professional. Now, breathe in…”

“Huh? Why?”

“Just do it. Breathe in…”

You look back at him with a raised brow, but you do as he says and take in a deep breath.

“And out…”

You breathe out a lot more quickly than you were planning to when you start feeling pressure everywhere. His thumbs are digging into your back, stroking it in even circles. But he’s pushing into you at the same time, filling you out slowly, completely. The arousal that’s practically pooled inside of you lets him slide in easily, but it still takes a second to adjust to his size. Your face falls back onto the crisp linen sheet beneath you, your eyes closing and your lips parting as you embrace that delectable fullness.

“Good?” he asks behind you once he’s fully buried in you, and one hand slides back down to grab your ass.

“Very good,” you confirm.

You and Toji groan in tandem when he pulls his hips back, dragging himself slowly along your walls, and pushes back in. The moment you relax around him, he thrusts a little faster. And faster, and faster, and faster, until he has to secure a hold on your hips.

What a pro, you think to yourself with a smirk. How did he know? How did he know this was just the pressure you needed?

“Just when I was starting to forget about you,” he growls, snapping back against your hips. He doesn’t spare a single inch every time he drives himself back into you. Your jostle forward and bunch what you can of the sheets between your trembling fingers. “I was just starting to forget you, and you had to go and waltz back into my life. That’s just like you.”

Your answer barely comes out as anything more than a few pathetic whimpers. “Then maybe this time—fuck—you shouldn’t—”

His fingers bury themselves in your hips.

“Let me—”

He leans forward until his chest meets your back, his hot breath tickling the nape of your neck. His rhythm starts to falter.

“Go.”

Your words must spark some new flame in him. Because he’s pounding into you mercilessly now, driving deep inside you and hitting that perfect spot again and again. You whimper, you mewl, you muffle your groans against the pillow, and your walls start to flutter around his cock.

“You think I’ll let you go now?” he snarls, a low, rumbling sound that reverberates through your skin. “No. Not now. Not when I’ve finally got you like I’ve always wanted you.”

He plants ravenous, messy kisses against your neck. His teeth graze your shoulder, threatening to clamp down and make good on his claim.

Shit. You’re getting close again. Your groans rise until he has to hold a hand against your mouth.

And you know you should keep it down, lest you ruin this good job he’s landed for himself. But you can’t stop a wordless cry from trying to push its way through his palm when that tension shatters inside you again, releasing wave after wave of ecstasy. He shudders and hisses behind you, his hips snapping and jerking and stuttering until he pulls out of you. His release lands on your back a moment later.

For a few seconds, neither of you say anything or move a muscle. You simply soak in the afterglow six years in the making, your ragged breaths overpowering the soft, ambient music. Then Toji finally breaks the silence with a simple remark:

“Fuck.”

“Fuck,” you agree.

You stay on your stomach, eyes closed, as he pushes himself off the massage table and pulls his pants back on.

“Just a sec,” he mumbles. You simply nod, lying motionless where you are as he wipes his mess off your back. “And…hour’s almost up. I’d like to keep working out your knots all day, believe me, but I do have a client coming in.”

You blink your eyes back open. For a moment, you wonder if you should say what’s on your mind. If this one-time reunion should stay a one-time reunion. But with or against your better judgment, you decide to voice what you really want, instead.

“I’ll just have to come back for another session, then, right?”

You flip back over and sit up to find him already grinning at you.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he chuckles as he finishes buckling his belt. He steps up to you and takes your face in his hands, rubbing a soothing thumb across your cheek. His eyes flick to your lips, and he steals one more long, hard, greedy kiss before he takes the dirty towel with him to the door. “...I’ll give you a minute to get dressed.”

When he shuts the door, you hop off the table onto shaky legs and fumble to put your clothes back on. You comb your fingers through your hair and adjust your skirt, ready to face the world after a truly satisfying…massage.

The manager’s still sitting at the front desk when you walk back into the waiting room. She looks up from her computer and greets you with a big smile.

“Wow, you look happy!” she pipes up. “I take it Toji took good care of you?”

“Yeah,” you say, hoisting your bag back onto your shoulder. Funny. He didn’t spend that much time on it, but it already feels so much lighter. “I feel great.”

Toji appears in the doorway, wiping his hands on a new towel, smirking at you and leaning against the frame.

“I’m so glad to hear that! So, did you want to—”

“Book her for next week,” Toji says so nonchalantly, like he’s just finished up an average session. The manager beams at you, clearly pleased that their center could make it up to you after their blunder today. Toji looks right at you, too, when he shares another note.

“She’s gonna be one of my regulars.”

#toji x reader #toji fushiguro #toji x you #toji smut #jjk #jujustu kaisen #toji x y/n #jjk smut #jjk toji

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sovonight · 21 days

Note

Hi!! I love your art!! Please tell us more about your OC 🥲 💕 Also what equipment do you use? Any good (kind of affordable) tablet/computer/software/brush recs for someone who wants to get into digital art!!

for tablets, i've been using huion's inspiroy H1161 for about 4 years now, and i previously used a monoprice tablet (i have a quick review & comparison of it with wacom here). there are tablets with and without displays, and even if you're interested in a display tablet, i'd still recommend starting with a basic drawing tablet just to get used to things and see how you like it. i've found that i personally don't like drawing on display tablets, which is great bc display tablets are expensive

for art programs, you can start with free programs to get used to things (like krita, firealpaca, etc--i haven't used them myself so i don't have personal recs) or paid programs like paint tool sai (my old favorite) or clip studio paint (which i use currently, and they run sales periodically so you can get it at a discount)

out of the paid programs, paint tool sai is more approachable and beginner friendly. clip studio paint can be pretty intimidating as a first-time art program, was intimidating to me when i first got it, and i'm still learning new things about it. what really led me to switch from sai to csp though is the 3d model support (which is what lets me make these) and the expansive asset library (which has brushes, 3d models, textures, auto functions, etc). some assets are paid, but plenty are free, and csp occasionally gives away "clippy" that you can use to buy paid assets

and about radri, aw thank you for asking! hmm, idk what to say that hasn't been said... she's just really shy and afraid and cringe but in kind of a cute way (to me). i just think it's funny for her to have such a terrifying reputation and then you meet her in person and she's struggling to catch the innkeeper's attention to book a room

#sovo answers #pov you're an assassin trying to strike up a ''i'm going to kill you >:)'' conversation with her but she keeps slipping away #and avoiding eye contact bc she's afraid you're going to ask her for directions and she does Not want the pressure of answering #and when you're finally like 'i'm TRYING to kill you!!' she gives a sigh of visible relief before absolutely murdering you #art tips #radri of candlekeep

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bucky-fricking-barnes · 5 months

Text

Someplace Like Home

Title: Someplace Like Home

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: Canonical violence, minor injuries, minor blood, non-descriptive mentions of hospitals, mild language

Summary: Y/N owns a hostel in Croatia. When the very handsome Grant comes to work for her, she falls hard and fast for the new handyman.

A/N: This story takes place between Civil War and Infinity War, when Steve is on the run. There are a handful Croatian phrases/words used, which are translated at the end of this fic. Don’t ask me why all my Steve stories suddenly have foreign languages in them. As always, thanks for reading and supporting my writing in all the ways you do. Enjoy!

Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

Your morning starts off slow, like it always does, and after the handful of guests have finished breakfast and left to spend the rest of the day at the beach or in the mountains, you settle yourself behind the front counter and pull out your laptop. The dirty dishes can wait until later—Ana will be here in an hour, and she prefers doing the dishes over going over the books, so you have an unspoken deal that you’ll do the bookkeeping if she cleans up after meals.

You’re just opening up the software on your laptop when the front door opens. The bell above it jingles as a man steps in, bringing with him a warm gust of air. June has been unseasonably cool, but today is the warmest it’s been in weeks. You’ve kept most of the windows open all morning, even though it was still a bit chilly.

“Dobro jutro,” you greet. You carefully shift the laptop off to the side a few inches, being careful not to mess up the carefully arranged papers you’ve sorted out on the counter.

“Kako vam mogu pomoći?”

The man has a gray hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s tall and blond, a dark blond that looks golden in the light from the outside but brown in the shadows. His thick beard and mustache are well-trimmed. You automatically open up the leatherbound reservation book and reach underneath the counter for a key.

“Dobro jutro. Uh, govorite li engleski?” asks the man. He smiles politely, and you smile back, nodding.

“Of course,” you answer. “How can I help you?”

His eyes move to the pen in your hand, already poised over the next open spot in the reservation book. “I’m not here for a room. I’m here about the opening for a handyman.”

Surprised, you close the book again and tuck it back under the counter where it belongs, along with the key you’d grabbed. No one has come about the open position since you’d posted it months ago in the local cafe. Not even a sign outside the hostel has helped.

“In that case, my name’s Y/N. I’m the owner here.”

“Grant,” he replies, his hand already held out for you to shake.

You oblige with another smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Can I ask how you found out about the position? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around town.”

He nods once. “I just moved here from Italy, and from Switzerland before that.”

“So you’re making your way through Europe, then?” you ask. You’re not entirely surprised—he looks rugged enough that he could handle a long backpacking trip or several months of solo travel, unlike some of the college students you normally have traipsing through your village.

“In a way,” he answers. “Truthfully, I’d like to settle down someplace, but it’s been a rough few years. I haven’t quite found the place that feels like home yet.”

Secretly, as you listen to him explain the various European cities in which he’s lived, you wish that he’ll come to feel at home here. Brdonik isn’t large enough to be on any maps, but it’s been your home for almost a decade now, and you can’t imagine a better place. The whole community bands together, and people look out for each other. There’s enough tourism from backpackers and small cruises that you’re not totally isolated, but you’re still far enough removed that your daily life isn’t saturated with commercialism and the big city nonsense you often hear about through your guests. You’d experienced it enough before coming to Croatia, and you don’t ever plan on going back to the life you’d had before you moved.

“To answer your question,”—Grant’s gentle continuation pulls you from your thoughts—“I saw a flier posted in the cafe down the street. I stopped there for lunch.”

“What did you order?” you ask. You prop an elbow up on the counter and level him with your gaze.

“Is that important?

“If you want this job it is. You can tell a lot about a person based on what they order at a restaurant.”

He smiles a little. “I got the turkey sandwich.”

You consider his choice for a moment before giving him a nod. “Simple, but respectable. A clear tourist choice, but I like it.”

“You can’t go wrong with a turkey sandwich,” he adds.

“It’s a classic!” You smile back at him and then come around the counter into the main part of the lobby. You grab your clipboard from its hook on the wall.

“Let me give you a tour,” you tell him. “I’ll point out some of the things that need fixing, and then you can tell me if you still think you’re a good fit.”

Grant agrees, and he walks beside you as you lead him through the hostel. You show him the currently unoccupied rooms, as well as the common areas, and you give him plenty of time to inspect the stalled projects and major fixes that he’d been in charge of. While he looks around, you watch him carefully. There’s something familiar about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on, but he doesn’t set off any alarm bells in your head like some of the previous candidates had. He’s respectful of the property and the few lingering guests you come across, and Grant is polite enough to open doors for you as you approach them. He speaks softly and clearly, and his sense of humor is well-timed. Somehow, despite his hulking frame and obvious strength, you feel safe around him.

Eventually, you lead him to your office. Grant takes the seat in front of your desk and you close the door behind him, then sit behind your desk and pull a pad of paper from the drawer. He’s almost too big for the chair you normally reserve for college-age backpackers looking for a few days of housekeeping work. He’s relaxed, though, and he rests both arms on the thin wooden armrests as you get out what you need. You sneak a glance at him as you sit upright again. His eyes move slowly and carefully over the framed photos and documents on the wall, taking in each one of them individually before he moves onto the next—your college diploma from NYU, a photo of you with your family the last time they came to visit, a certificate of operation from the local government. His backpack is leaning up against the front leg of the chair and his left leg, and you briefly wonder how he’s afforded to travel so much. The bag looks brand new, and high-tech, too. Is he a tech mogul of some kind? A grown-up trust fund kid? Did he steal it, or is he just really good with money?

“You’ll have to excuse me, I don’t have any questions prepared for you,” you tell him as you reach for a pen.

He nods and looks back at you. “You weren’t expecting me to walk in today, I understand.”

“Either way, I have to say that so far, I’m very impressed with you.” You glance up again and give him a polite smile, then look back down as you write his name and the date at the top of the page. “What did you say your last name was again?”

“Carter,” he says.

Nodding, you add that at the top and make your first bullet point.

“Grant Carter. Are you named after someone? That seems a pretty traditional name for a guy your age.” You immediately cringe at the question. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. You don’t have to answer that.”

Chuckling, Grant shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. My mother was a big fan of Ulysses S. Grant.”

“The 18th president?” you ask, grinning wide.

He nods and lets out another small laugh. “That’s the one.”

“He’s not normally up there on peoples’ lists of favorite presidents.”

“She had her reasons, I guess,” Grant shrugs.

You hum a little with a smile and look back down at your almost empty legal pad. You have a million questions that you want to ask, and more that you know you should, but you allow yourself to think for a moment before you look up again. Whatever you ask has to be the right mix of the two.

“You’ve lived in a lot of really impressive places,” you begin, and Grant nods in confirmation. “Why come here? There are plenty of larger cities with more job openings. Better paying job openings,” you add.

“You sell yourself short,” Grant easily replies. He sits forward a little, his elbows sliding closer to the ends of the armrests. “Your town is beautiful. It’s comfortable, and a bit secluded. I’m looking for something quieter.”

“A lot of people are, but we’re not often what they want in the long run. How long are you planning on staying?”

Grant stares at you for a long moment before he replies, “Until I’m needed elsewhere.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s a bit cryptic, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask for a clearer answer.”

“I plan on staying indefinitely, but if it changes, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Not quite satisfied with his answer, you still scribble down the response and make a second point on the next line down.

“Do you have handyman experience?”

Grant shakes his head. “But I’m a quick learner and I’m stronger than I look. Whatever I don’t already know how to do, I’ll pick it up quickly if I can get the information from someone or somewhere.”

I highly doubt you’re stronger than you look, you think, forcing yourself to look down at the paper and write, rather than at him. You already look pretty damn strong.

“Do you have a previous employer I can contact? Or references?”

“I can have that information to you by the end of the day.”

You nod and keep writing, and you don’t look up as you say, “We don’t typically provide housing for employees, as we’re a small enough village that commute isn’t an issue, but given that you’re new to town, I’m going to assume that you don’t have a place to stay yet.”

“No ma’am, I don’t.”

“I can get you set up in a room here, if that’s alright with you. I won’t expect you to work outside of normal business hours, except in an emergency, but that’s the same even if you lived off-property,” you tell him, looking up. You don’t lift your pen, and it’s a little satisfying to see that Grant looks mildly surprised. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could be surprised by anything.

“You’re hiring me?” he asks.

“Should I not?”

He quickly recovers and shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “I was just surprised that you’re not waiting until after you’ve seen my references.”

“Are you a horrible person?”

“I don’t think so, no.

“Are you a terrible employee?” you ask, putting your pen down on the desk.

“I’m loyal to a fault.”

“Should I be concerned about criminal activity?”

Grant laughs. “I’m a model citizen, though I did steal a piece of cake when I was a kid.”

“I’ll be sure to inform the local authorities,” you tease, grinning. You slide the notepad onto your desk and stand, holding out your hand for him to shake. Grant obliges. “You’re hired, Mr. Carter. If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled in before your first day tomorrow.”

“I’d like that, thank you,” he replies.

“I won’t take the room out of your salary unless it prevents us from taking guests, but I don’t see that becoming an issue, except maybe in mid-July,” you tell him as you move around the desk to the door. “The handyman position pays 800 euros a month. You’ll be paid bi-weekly in check or cash, whichever your preference. We don’t have direct deposit here. If you need an account in town, there’s a bank down the road.”

“Cash is fine,” he says. He picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder before following you back out into the hallway, then out to the lobby. You make a pit stop at the front desk to grab a key before heading up the main staircase.

The private, single person rooms on the third floor are a little older, and you briefly worry as you climb the stairs if the beds will be able to hold Grant’s weight. You don’t use them as often now that you’ve finished transforming the old hotel into a hostel. There’s a thin coating of dust on the handrail and you make a mental note to give this floor a thorough cleaning tomorrow while he’s occupied, that way you won’t be intruding.

You lead Grant to the end of the hall, where the rooms are slightly larger and the windows overlook the ocean. While the view is great, most of your summer guests only fill the dorm-style rooms, so you’re fairly certain you won’t be missing out on any profit by giving him this room.

“Here we are,” you say, and you open the door before stepping aside so he can enter first.

Grant ducks through the doorway and flips the light switch, then looks around in silence. You wait in the hallway, holding your breath as he makes his inspection.

“This is nice,” he finally says, looking back at you. He drops his bag at the foot of the bed. “You’re sure it’s alright if I stay here?”

You wave one hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”

Your phone chimes in your back pocket and you pull it out, quickly reading the notification. It’s only mildly urgent, but you can feel Grant trying to look occupied as he waits for you to leave, so you look up and gesture back towards the stairs with your phone.

“I’ve gotta take care of something, but you’re in luck. Every Thursday night we host a group dinner for the guests. The food is all cooked by a chef from a local restaurant in an attempt to promote the local cuisine, so you’re welcome to join us, or I can recommend some other restaurants in the area, if you want to explore a little bit more. We eat at seven.”

Nodding, Grant smiles and crosses the room to pull the key from where you’d left it in the lock. “I’ll see you at seven. It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You too, Grant. Welcome aboard!” You smile once more, then turn and head back down the hall. His door closes as you reach the top of the stairs, and suddenly, you can’t wait for dinnertime.

You occupy yourself for the majority of the day by compiling a list of projects for Grant, as well as contacting the references he sends you using the email address on the hostel’s website. He gets glowing reviews from each and every person on the list, though they all seem a little confused when you first ask about him.

Grant comes down to the first floor at five minutes to seven, and you’re just greeting the first small group of guests to arrive back from their excursions when he steps down from the bottom step. You glance over and give him a quick, acknowledging smile before turning back to the guests.

“Dobor dan! How was your time at the beach?” you ask. They reply politely in a mix of English and their own native language. You vaguely recognize it as French. You’re about to tell them in English about the dinner schedule, hoping that they’ll understand at least partially, but Grant begins talking in rapid-fire French before you even open your mouth.

It takes everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping straight through the floor. None of Grant’s references had mentioned he was bilingual, and neither did he. It feels like it should’ve been obvious, however, given that every single person he’d talked to had mentioned his incredible intelligence and ability to pick up skills quicker than anybody they knew.

Still, you watch in stunned silence from behind the front desk and Grant chatters with the guests. He leads them from the lobby and into the adjoining sitting area, where you hear them sit down and continue to talk. Someone laughs, and then Grant does, too. It’s a deep, mellow baritone, and you catch yourself grinning before you manage to stifle it.

When the next group of guests walk in, you guide them into the sitting room with the others. Grant catches your eye as you turn the corner, and when he smiles, you swear that your heart stutters in your chest.

He’s your employee, you chide yourself, and you turn your back on the group on the premise of prepping a plate of cookies for the coffee table.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” you say as you set the plate in the center of the group. Grant translates for you, first in French, and then in a language that sounds almost Spanish, but you know enough of that to know that it’s something different. All the guests nod in agreement.

You settle against one of the heavy wood bookshelves and watch quietly as Grant chats with the guests, switching fluidly between languages whenever he turns to a new person. It’s amazing, so you simply stay silent as you listen to the flurry of foreign words in the sitting room. You’ve never heard the pre-dinner conversation so lively. It brings a new warmth to the hostel, and you can’t help but smile as you watch the guests come alive, even though they’re exhausted.

“Dinner is ready!” Ana calls. She pokes her head in the door, and she smiles wide when she sees the guests talking excitedly. Every seat is taken. When she turns to look at you, you only grin.

“What’s going on?” she asks, stepping closer so she can lower her voice. “Who is that?”

You lean in, whispering, “His name is Grant. He’s the new handyman, and apparently, he speaks multiple languages.”

“Apparently?”

“I didn’t know when I hired him! This,” you gesture with one hand towards the circle of guests, who have started to rise now that Grant has passed along the message about dinner, “was a surprise to me, too. He just started talking to them on his own. I didn’t ask him to do anything.”

Ana raises her eyebrows, giving you a meaningful look. Before you can scold her for trying to meddle in your love life, she slips away and Grant appears at your side.

“Who is that?” he asks.

Goosebumps erupt on your arms at the sound of his deep voice so close to your ear. He’s leaned down so you can hear him clearly, and though he’s not quite in your space, he’s still close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. It should feel stifling in the early summer heat, but it’s comforting, and you turn towards him with a bright smile.

“Ana. She’s the manager when I’m not here. I’ll introduce you later. How come you never told me you spoke all those languages?” you ask.

Grant just smiles back at you. “You never asked.”

“I’ll make sure to add that to my list of questions for the next time I have to hire someone.” You gesture at the line of guests filtering through the doorway to the hostel’s dining room. “We should eat. Most of the guests have spent all day hiking or at the beach, and they’ll be hungry. Our local chefs are all amazing, so the food always goes quickly.”

“What’s on the menu?” Grant asks. He starts to walk and you fall into step beside him, noting how he angles himself sideways and stoops through the doorway so that you’re not squashed into the doorframe. It’s a miracle he doesn’t hit his head on any of the lowered ceilings or hanging decor in the building.

I’ll have to warn him about the lights in the rooms on the second floor, you note.

“Punjene paprike. Stuffed peppers,” you translate. You pause and watch as the guests choose their seats, silently making sure there are enough chairs. When it’s clear you’ve done the math correctly, you look over at Grant. “How many languages do you speak?”

He shrugs and surveys the long table filled with food. People are already piling their plates high and chattering with their friends and family, and the room is filled with amicable noise. The sun coming in from the windows is golden. The windows face south, which is one of the many reasons why you’d first purchased the building. It needs a lot of work, and it always has, but the view of the ocean from the dining room windows, along with the way the sun illuminates the whole room, helps make all the work worth it.

“This place is beautiful,” says Grant, quietly. “You’ve done well.”

You look over at him, surprised at the praise. It warms you from the inside out, and you smile when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard.”

He nods, and after a moment, he gestures towards the table. There are two empty seats beside each other, near the far end of the room. Ana has taken the seat across from them and she’s already begun to eat.

You follow Grant across the dining room, and you try not to act surprised when he pulls out the chair and helps you sit before taking the spot beside yours. Ana catches your eye as you reach for a dish, but you look away. You can’t risk having her embarrass you in front of the guests.

Or Grant, the cheeky little voice in your brain adds, but you quickly push the thought to the far reaches of your brain. Showing your hand—and your burgeoning feelings for Grant—right now is something you need even less.

“So, you’re from New York?” he asks.

You look up from where you’re pulling a napkin into your lap. “What?”

“Your degree. It’s from NYU, so I’m assuming that you’re from the States.”

Nodding, you allow him to serve one of the peppers onto your plate, and you heap an extra serving of rice onto the side of your plate before handing him the bowl. You don’t want to assume he likes anything, especially since he ordered one of the most American things on the menu at the cafe.

“I am. I grew up in Manhattan, and I decided to stay there for college. Once I got my degree in hospitality, I decided it was time I see more of the world,” you tell him.

“Why Croatia?” Grant asks.

You shrug and pick up your fork. “Honestly? I don’t know why. I didn’t even mean to come here. I ended up on the wrong train and decided to stick it out. I figured it would be a fun experience either way, but I fell in love with it here. On my second day here, I saw that this building was up for sale and I had just enough money in my savings to buy it. It was a big risk, but I think that it was worth it.”

He looks around the room, listening to the conversations for a few moments before he smiles. “I think so, too.”

“Where are you from?” you ask. “You’re clearly American.”

Grant laughs at that, nodding. “I grew up in Brooklyn. When I was old enough, I served in the army for a few years, and since then I’ve just been… traveling.”

The army thing makes sense, and you file that information away for later. The two of you start to eat, exchanging a few more words throughout the meal. Grant offers to help Ana with the dishes. She’s giddy at the proposal, so you let them head into the kitchen as you help guests arrange their plans for the next day. You find yourself straining to listen for the sound of his voice during the quiet moments, however, but by the time the dishes are finished, Grant tells you that he’s exhausted and he wants to get a good night’s rest before his first day on the job. You wish him goodnight from the front desk, then wait for Ana to appear and barrage you with a million questions about the new handyman.

You learn quickly that there’s even more to Grant than meets the eye. He’d been telling the truth in his interview—he’s deceptively strong, and he really does learn quicker than anyone you’ve ever met. His Croatian improves leaps and bounds in the first few months at the hostel. By the end of the summer, he’s practically fluent, even if he does bumble through some of the more complicated phrases with a faint blush on his cheeks.

The longstanding projects for the hostel are all completed by the end of August, leaving you scrambling to keep Grant busy. When you can’t find anything to do, however, he busies himself by exploring the far reaches of the island, speaking with the guests in a myriad of languages, and keeping you company in the lobby or in your office. His presence, which had once seemed much too large for the old brick building, has settled. He seems at home in the armchair you buy for the corner of your office, and he’s become a fixture in the doorway of the lobby, where he likes to stand and watch traffic pass by.

It’s on one of the hottest days of the year that you first get a glimpse behind Grant’s ever-friendly facade. You’re behind the desk, going through the reservations for the upcoming week, when there’s a shout from outside. The front door to the hostel is propped open in an attempt to let in a breeze, and Grant has taken up residence in his normal spot. You’ve only just processed the shout when there’s an explosion. The floor beneath you shakes and shudders, and you grip the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep upright.

Grant whirls around and fixes his eyes on you. He’s scanning you, up and down, searching for any sign of injury.

“Are you okay?” he asks. You nod, swallowing thickly, and peer over his shoulder. There’s no sign of what’s happened outside, but you can hear screaming and shouting. There’s a gunshot and you flinch.

“Stay here, and stay hidden,” says Grant, and you know in an instant that it’s an order. “Stay quiet and don’t let anyone in. Okay?”

Nodding again, you drop to a crouch, then curl up on the floor with your back against the desk. You clutch your phone in one hand and listen as Grant closes, then locks the door. When he doesn’t appear behind the desk, you crawl over to the side and look out into the small lobby. He’s gone.

Your arms shake beneath you and you have to fall back against the desk for support before you fall flat on your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you listen to the commotion outside. There are no more explosions, but you hear more screams and shouts, followed by a crash and gunshots. Your heart pounds in your chest as the noise gets closer and closer. You know that Grant was in the army, so he must have military training, but the thought of him outside—the thought of him in danger—makes you want to puke.

There’s a thud against the front door and you flinch. Your body tenses and you curl up in the fetal position, trying to maintain your breathing. It doesn’t work, however, and when there’s another bang, you scream.

“Molim! Molim, let me in!”

You look around the edge of the desk again. It’s a woman on the other side, and the desperation in her voice propels you to your feet and into the lobby without a second thought. You twist the lock and yank open the door.

A slim woman dressed entirely in black grins at you. Her eyes are a shocking shade of electric blue and her teeth are bright white—a stark contrast against the mask that hides the rest of her features.

“Sorry, dragi,” she says, and you gasp when she reveals the gun in her left hand. With the other, she reaches out and grabs you. “You’re coming with me.”

“No!” You fight against the woman’s grip, and when you lift your eyes to search for help from someone else, you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

Grant is lifting a car off someone. He lifts the car and tosses it aside with a heave and a grunt, and then he’s fighting someone hand-to-hand. The man in black is clearly trained because he gets in a few hits, but Grant never stays down for long. He’s slowly forcing the man back down the street, towards the beach, instead of towards the line of shops that’s on the other side of the hostel.

There’s a blast as another explosive goes off, this time in a restaurant diagonal from your front door. Stone and rubble flies in every direction. The street is empty of people, thankfully, except for the people Grant is fighting. Somewhere down the street, a car alarm is going off, and the light from the harsh midday sun is almost blinding. Your ears are ringing from the blast and the alarm. You think you scream at some point, but you’re not sure.

The man that Grant has been fighting has been thrown back by the blast, but Grant is still standing, as if he’s anchored onto the pavement. There’s a metal car door in his hand. He’s gripping onto a piece of the leather interior, and the red painted finish on the outside has been battered by the flying debris. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

The woman drags you out of the hostel and onto the street. She wraps her arm around your shoulders and places the gun against the side of your head. You stop struggling then, and your breath catches in your throat as your heart begins to pound even harder. Your vision is going blurry along the edges, but not enough to miss the way Grant’s jaw clenches when he catches sight of you.

“Captain Rogers!” the woman shouts.

He throws a second man off of him and turns fully towards you and the woman. “Let her go!”

In your ear, the woman chuckles. It’s low and dark, and full of malice, and you shiver. You close your eyes and pray that it’s all just a bad dream.

“Not until you come with us,” the woman replies.

“Leave her and the others out of this.”

When you open your eyes, Grant is looking past you at the woman. The light reflects in his deep blue eyes, and it’s then that you realize what he’s been hiding from you.

How did I miss it before?

“Steve Rogers,” you choke.

He looks at you again. “Y/N…”

“You’re Steve Rogers.”

There’s a pause as he watches you with clear regret, and then the woman laughs, shocking you out of your revelation.

“How precious!” she exclaims. “Your little boss had no clue who you were?”

“Let. Her. Go.” Steve takes a step forward and the woman’s grip on you tightens. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes you when she pushes the gun harder against your head, making you crane your neck to one side.

Two new men in black come up behind Steve. He turns his head slightly, listening to their approach, but he doesn’t move. You can tell that he’s calculating what to do next.

There’s a moment of clarity as you watch them launch themselves at him. Steve fights like he was born for it—and maybe he was, you rationalize—and as he easily overcomes them both, you have a revelation that’s nothing short of a rock at the pit of your stomach.

Steve has to get out of this alive. So many people count on him, and they always have. Though you know that there are a lot of people all over the world who consider him a criminal, you also know that there are a lot of people just like you that think Steve deserves a place of honor for all that he’s done and all the sacrifices he’s made.

The safety on the woman’s gun clicks off and Steve freezes. The two men take advantage of that, and they grab his arms, pulling them tightly behind his back and pushing him to his knees. He falls with a grunt. One of the men grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back until he’s looking at you and the woman from his place on the ground. He doesn’t fight back.

“Steve,” you plead. “You have to fight. You can’t let them take you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he replies. He shifts his gaze to the woman without moving his head. “If I go with you, you’ll let her go?”

“You have my word.”

Heat swells in your eyes and you know that you’re about to cry. “No! Don’t trust her, Steve! You can’t believe her!”

The woman jostles you and you close your eyes on instinct. A tear slips down your cheek.

“Shut up,” she growls.

You swallow thickly. At your sides, your hands and fingers have gone numb, and your legs are barely holding you upright.

“Alright,” Steve agrees. “I’ll go with you.”

A sob bursts through and the woman releases you. She practically throws you to the ground, and you have just enough time to get your arms out in front of you before you hit the road. Pain shoots up both limbs and the pavement digs into your forearms. From where you lay, you watch the men pull Steve to his feet. He moves with them and doesn’t fight back as they drag him to a black cargo van on the perimeter of the blast zone.

“Steve!” you scream. Your voice breaks and your throat feels raw as you push yourself up and stumble in their direction. The movement sends pins and needles into your hands and feet, but you do it anyway. Your limbs feel completely out of your control as you attempt to go after them.

Steve looks back at you. He’s too far now for you to make out his expression, but you can see that he’s trying to tell you something. The man on his right shoves his shoulder and he’s forced into the van.

“Let him go! Steve!” You start to sprint, running after the van as the back door slides shut and the woman, who climbed into the driver’s seat while you were getting to your feet, begins to navigate it through the rubble from the explosions. The tinted windows keep you from seeing Steve inside and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

“Someone help me! Stop that van!”

You run until you physically can’t. The van is long gone, and when you collapse onto the street, a crowd gathers around you. People are murmuring and asking you questions. There are too many hands, too many faces, even if many of them are familiar. Your vision swims as you’re rolled onto your back. The summer sun beats down on you harder, and you try to focus, but all you can manage is a mumble of Steve’s name before you lose consciousness on the pavement.

When you wake, the soft beeping noise is enough to tell you that you’re in a hospital. You open your eyes, expecting to be greeted by white walls and bedding, and maybe a wall of cabinets with a sink. Instead, there’s a slanted wall of glass windows, each separated by a pillar of concrete. Thin, almost invisible computer screens with golden text are scattered around your room, each displaying charts, figures, and data in a language you can’t read. Some are embedded into the walls on either side of the bed, while others float above white counters that look more like control panels for a spaceship. There are scans of someone’s body and brain—your brain, you realize after a long moment—that spin in circles on the floating screens.

A hiss makes you flinch, and you quickly look away from the brain scan to where a young, dark-skinned girl is walking in through a set of sliding glass doors you hadn’t seen before. Her white, high-necked sheath dress looks nothing like hospital attire, especially since it’s sleeveless and only has mesh to cover her shoulders and a few inches below her knees, but she’s holding a tablet and looks so serious that you wonder if maybe she’s not a regular doctor. After all, this doesn’t seem like a normal hospital. Where are you? Did the men in black come back to get you, too?

“Y/N, it’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” she asks.

Her accent is jarring, and you blink. When you go to speak, you have to lick your lips a few times. They’re dry, and your mouth feels so much like sandpaper that for a moment you don’t think you’ll actually be able to say anything at all.

“Where am I?” you finally ask in return. “Who are you?”

She smiles briefly and checks something on her tablet, then glances over at one of the floating screens off to the side. Seemingly satisfied, she locks the device and sets it aside.

“My name is Shuri. You’re in Wakanda. You will be safe here.”

You frown. “Wakanda?” None of the hospitals even remotely close to the hostel hold that name, not even in passing, but it sounds familiar.

“Yes. We’re friends of Captain Rogers. When we heard about his capture, and how you were involved, we brought you here.”

Tears burn hot in your eyes as the memories from the street outside the hostel come flooding back all at once. How long have you been in the hospital? Who’s looking for Steve?

“We have located him already,” she continues, and you inhale sharply, shifting in the bed as you reach up to wipe your face. “And the Dora Milaje has been sent to retrieve him.”

“The what?” you ask. Your voice shakes and you swallow hard in an attempt to steady yourself.

Shuri smiles again. “The Dora Milaje. They are our special forces here in Wakanda. Let me ask again, how are you feeling?”

You move in the bed a little bit more, testing your limbs for stiffness or pain. Surprisingly, there’s very little. “I’m… I’m okay, I think. Confused, mostly. Thirsty.” Your stomach growls, so you quickly add, “Hungry.”

She laughs and nods, then picks up her tablet. Shuri taps a few times before glancing down at something through the slanted windows.

“Someone will bring you food shortly. I’ll also have someone come change the bandages on your hands and wrists. Your injuries are healing nicely. You should still rest a while longer, but I will make sure you’re notified when Captain Rogers has been safely returned.”

Nodding, you sit back against the pillows, but you quickly sit up again with a gasp. “The hostel! Ana!”

“We’ve sent someone to assist Miss Mitrovich in your absence,” Shuri soothes. She steps closer to the bed and you lie back as she approaches. “There were very few repairs that needed to be done to your building, but they are taken care of, and all your guests are safe. I have already dispatched a team of Wakandan specialists to help with the rebuild of Brdonik. We are also installing a security system in your building.”

You sigh in relief and close your eyes, swallowing against the dryness again. You lay in silence, listening to Shuri as she moves around the room and mutters to herself. When you finally open your eyes again, it’s because she’s greeting someone as the sliding glass doors hiss open for a second time.

“Grant,” you murmur, and he gives you a weak smile from just inside the doorway. You correct yourself, shaking your head. “Steve.”

“Grant is my middle name,” he quietly explains. “And Carter…”

“Agent Carter,” you finish. “I see the connection now.”

While waiting for your food, you’ve slowly been piecing together the different parts of Steve’s life that you knew, trying to get the full picture. You’ve known him personally as Grant, the quiet man from Brooklyn that is good with his hands, always knows exactly what to say when you’re in a bad mood, and is a hit with every guest that crosses your threshold. On the other hand, you also know him as Steve, the All-American super-soldier that’s plastered across every history textbook you’ve ever been given. He’s also the super-soldier that you’ve watched on the news, listening to reporter after reporter praise him like he’s a god, then publicly curse and shame him on their next breath.

Shuri quietly excuses herself. You stare at Steve as she leaves through the sliding doors behind him. There’s a cut above his right eyebrow, and blood caked in his beard, right below a nasty split in his lower lip. He’s standing lopsided, like he’s keeping the weight off his right foot, and he looks like he could use a shower and a long nap.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He nods again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For dragging you into this,” Steve answers. He sighs. “For getting you hurt. For putting you in danger.”

You shake your head and sit up a little more in the bed, allowing the pillows to prop you upright. “None of this is your fault.”

“It is, and—”

“And nothing,” you interrupt. You give him a stern look and he presses his lips together with a wince. “You didn’t know that there was any danger. If you had, wouldn’t you have left?”

After a second, Steve nods, and you continue,

“And if you’d been able to stop it from happening, you would’ve, right?”

Another nod and you smooth the surprisingly soft hospital blanket over your legs.

“Then it’s not really your fault, Grant. Steve,” you correct again, more firmly this time. You’re still coming to terms with the fact that he’s not 100% who he said he was.

“But you still got hurt. I still put you in danger just by being there. I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. I got too comfortable, and too close, and I was careless.”

You purse your lips and watch him for several moments. Steve stays still under your inspection, waiting for you to say something.

Finally, you tell him, “I don’t regret what happened, and if I had the chance to go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t. I’m not in mortal danger, and you’re safe again. The hostel is being taken care of. None of the guests got hurt. Tourism might be down for a couple months but…” You shrug. “It’s the end of the busiest season anyway, and I have enough savings that I’m not going to worry.”

Steve shakes his head at you, then turns to look at the screens. He doesn’t seem to be actually reading them, but he puts his hands on his hips as he stares at a spinning scan of your hand and wrist.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

He turns back. He’s silent for a few seconds as he watches you fidget with the hem of the blanket in your lap. “No,” Steve finally replies. “I don’t.”

“Me neither.”

When he doesn’t move, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You’re not dressed in a normal hospital gown—someone has put you in leggings and a tunic of some kind—but you still shiver when your bare feet touch the floor.

“Y/N—” Steve limps towards you, holding both hands out to steady you if you lose your balance. You don’t, and he stops a few feet away.

“I don’t regret any of it, Steve,” you say. You start to close the distance between the two of you even more. “Not a single minute.”

“Volim te,” Steve murmurs.

You freeze, now within arm’s reach. “What?”

“Volim te.”

Your brain is working a mile a minute to catch up with what he’s said. Steve shifts in place, wincing as he transfers the weight to his injured leg.

“You should get that checked out,” you quietly tell him, glancing down at his leg.

He stares at you, as if he was expecting a different response. You know he was, but you’re suddenly so overwhelmed by everything that it’s the first thing out of your mouth.

“I—” You close your eyes and shake your head, letting out a small self-conscious chuckle. “I’m sorry. I love you too, Steve. I do. I love you. I don’t— I don’t know why I said that. I guess I’m just worried—”

He cuts you off by stepping into your space and cupping your face with one hand. His fingers thread up into your hair and he tilts your head back so he can press his lips to yours. Your arms fall limp at your sides for a second, but then your brain catches up. You close your eyes and reach up to put one hand on the back of his neck. The other slides around his waist, pulling him closer as he kisses you.

Steve’s body is warm and though he winces with pain, then pulls away slightly to touch his fingers to his busted lip, neither one of you actually moves away from the other. You stay close enough to feel the heat from his breath on your skin.

“You need to eat,” he murmurs.

“And you need a doctor,” you reply.

He smiles a little, more just pressing his lips together than anything, and kisses your forehead. You close your eyes again when he lingers.

“Don’t go,” he says as you step away.

You frown and crowd close again, and you place both hands on his chest. “Steve?”

“No. I mean, you should go now, but…” He struggles for a second, trying to find the words he wants to say, and you wait patiently. “What I meant was: Don’t go back to Croatia. Stay with me.”

“What about the hostel? What about Ana and the guests?”

“I’ve heard you say a thousand times that she could probably run the place on her own. Plus, it’s the end of the busiest season, and after everything that’s happened, tourism will probably be low. You said it yourself.”

Steve reaches up to pull your hands off of him, but he holds them and rubs little circles over your knuckles with his thumbs. He watches you carefully, giving you his full attention. His eyes are deep and blue, and the crinkle between his eyebrows has disappeared completely now that he’s sure you’re okay.

“So, what? I’d stay here in Wakanda? What would I do?” you ask, frowning. “They don’t really have tourists here, do they? It’s not like they need a hostel.”

“No, but I need a partner.”

“Don’t you already have partners, Steve? What about the Falcon? Or Black Widow? Or even your friend that you told me about—James? Isn’t he a superhero, too?”

Shaking his head, he answers, “That’s not the kind of partner I need, Y/N. I don’t need a partner to fight with. I need a partner that I can live with. Someone to make a home with.”

You stare at him for a second, allowing your brain to process what he’s just said, and then you give him a slow, sly smile. Inside, you’re giddy and jumping up and down, but all you do is pull your hands in a little more so he has to step closer to you.

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I guess I am.” His ears are starting to turn a bright shade of pink, and it’s beginning to creep along his cheekbones as well, just above his beard.

Steve’s still holding your hands captive, so you simply raise an eyebrow. “Do you have a place to live here in Wakanda? Or are we going to be staying here in my hospital room until you find one?”

He shrugs and grins back at you. “King T’Challa gave me an apartment.”

“The king gave you an apartment?” You pull your hands away and step back. You can’t hide your disbelief, though deep down, you figure it’s very likely that the king tried to give Steve more. He’s a hero, even if most of the world doesn’t believe it.

“The princess was just in here going over your medical information, and you’re shocked that he gave me an apartment?” Steve asks, a smirk on his face.

You gape at him even more. “You’re kidding. Steve, that was not—”

“Princess Shuri. She’s made most of the technology around here, and she oversees the recovery of important patients. Like you,” he adds.

“If I’d known—”

He leans in and kisses your forehead again. “You don’t need to bow or anything. They don’t do that here, though I’m sure she’d appreciate a thank you the next time you see her. Maybe compliment one of her inventions. T’Challa says she likes that.”

“The next time?” you hiss. “Steve—”

This time, he laughs at you. It’s a full-bodied laugh, unlike the sparse chuckles you’ve gotten out of him since his return, and you relax. You smile, too, a real smile that makes your cheeks ache as you press your burning face against his chest. Steve wraps his arms around you. His body shakes as he laughs, but he quickly settles down and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you tell him, not letting go. In fact, you hug him tighter around the waist with both arms.

“Me too. Come on, ljubavi. Let’s go home.”

Dobro jutro = Good morning

Kako vam mogu pomoći? = How can I help you?

Govorite li engleski? = Do you speak English?

Dobor dan = Good afternoon

Molim = Please

Dragi = Darling

Volim te = I love you

Ljubavi = Love/my love

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium @delicatecapnerd

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rhaegang · 4 months

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Felix is the first male Victoria Secret angel and he still models the girls underwear. I like the idea of Ollie being a full nerd for this one, awkward and awfully dressed and nobody understands how he pulled this iconic gorgeous model. Maybe their relationship gets revealed in one of those "what I eat in a day as a Victoria Secret angel" bc Oliver is the one that lovingly prepares everything Felix eats.

HMMMMMMM

I feel like Felix is far too large to model anything VS has ever made — they notoriously run small.

But maybe they’ve decided to get progressive & try to capture a new market segment with high-femme notions & lingerie for the masculine frame. And of course since that’s such a bold business move, they can’t afford to let it flop, so they sign *the* hottest new thing in male modeling — a nepo baby whose mother used to be a VS Angel, in fact, which is the only reason Felix Catton agreed to the contract…

At first, he thinks it’s career suicide, but Elspeth doesn’t let him turn it down. She sees the VISION.

And damn it, but after his first runway in those angel wings and strappy, greecian wrap sandals, Felix does too. He’s never felt hotter than when he was hearing all those shocked gasps and clicking camera shutters. He knows all eyes were on his miles of tanned legs below the lacy, cheeks-out shorts. He knows his broad shoulders look even more delicious when decorated with the satin ribbony straps on a babydoll negligée.

At the recommendation of the creative director, he lets his hair grow out a little longer until it floats around his face in beachy waves just like the women he walks the runway alongside. He starts wearing makeup and earrings in his day to day life, but it’s all rather tasteful. Just some brow pomade and BB cream and pearly highlight, maybe mascara on his lower lashes to really knock people over with his big brown doll eyes. Maybe an adhesive gem beauty mark under one eye. Nothing ostentatious.

His social media was already popular but it has EXPLODED. He’s had to hire someone to manage it all for him. Finding someone was too difficult to do himself, he got overwhelmed by all the options and the resumes and that, so he asked Venetia to do it.

She told him she found someone perfect for the job of not just running his socials but of being his 24/7 personal assistant. A photographer with graphic design experience who has been unemployed for ten months, so he’s desperate enough to deal with all Felix’s wild demands and harebrained ideas.

When Felix meets Oliver, he thinks the guy looks more like a software engineer than a photographer, but it doesn’t take long for him to realize the waxy Nerd coating is thin and what’s underneath is bitter and rich and sweet like dark chocolate and espresso powder.

The photos and videos Oliver snaps, edits, and posts to his socials are absolutely tip fucking top, too. View counts are through the fucking roof. Felix’s agent is SWAMPED with offers for booking him.

Oliver hates writing blurbs and captions though, so Felix takes to tiktok and reels to record short form content where he answers questions, rambles, and otherwise charms the hell out of all his followers.

It’s been about six months since Oliver was hired, and he moved into the guest room of Felix’s flat after the first month when he was insistent he needed more access to Felix’s “real life” to create the type of content his ‘roadmap’ required. (They started sleeping together like. A week after he moved in.)

That’s why Oliver is visible now and then in the background of Felix’s videos. It doesn’t take long for his followers to take note that this severe-looking, conservatively dressed nerd is a recurring presence. It’s confusing, and there are tons of questions in the comments, because Felix’s persona is entirely the opposite — spontaneous, progressive, boundary pushing, whimsical, coquette.

So Felix, still in his short, floral silk kimono robe and retro briefs with PINK branding across the ass, ambushes Ollie one morning. Oliver’s still got his chunky glasses on as he scowls at his giant 4k monitor while editing some photos. Felix gets his phone camera right up in there, saying cheerily, “Morning mate! You up for some Q&A with breakfast?”

And that’s how it comes out that they’re officially seeing each other: via livestream, over croissants and greek yogurt parfaits with green smoothie on the side (because Felix won’t eat his veg regularly unless Oliver puts them in a blender with pineapple and fresh coconut for him).

Followers still have questions. Too many questions. Because like, uh, how? How is THAT guy the one that Felix picked?

(They start to get it once Felix interrupts Oliver’s afternoon yoga for another stream, because holy shit, the sleeveless top and clingy yoga pants would be enough on their own, but that nerd is doing all kinds of intense upside down poses or holding himself up off the floor with just one palm, etc.)

#gang asks #rhaegang originals certified fresh

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greaseonmymouth · 1 year

Text

do you like THIEVES? are you a hardcore Leverage fan? somebody who watches Ocean's 11 - or Ocean's 8 - and think 'wish that were me'? do you want to eat Neal Caffrey up with a spoon? do you think the British Museum should give back all their stolen art?

boy, do I have the book for you!

PORTRAIT OF A THIEF by GRACE D. LI

This was how things began: Boston on the cusp of fall, the Sackler Museum robbed of 23 pieces of priceless Chinese art. Even in this back room, dust catching the slant of golden, late-afternoon light, Will could hear the sirens. They sounded like a promise.

Will Chen, a Chinese American art history student at Harvard, has spent most of his life learning about the West - its art, its culture, all that it has taken and called its own. He believes art belongs with its creators, so when a Chinese corporation offers him a (highly illegal) chance to reclaim five priceless sculptures, it's surprisingly easy to say yes.

Will's crew, fellow students chosen out of his boundless optimism for their skills and loyalty, aren't exactly experienced criminals. Irene is a public policy major at Duke who can talk her way out of anything; Daniel is pre-med with steady hands and dreams of being a surgeon. Lily is an engineering student who races cars in her spare time; and Will is relying on Alex, an MIT dropout turned software engineer, to hack her way in and out of each museum they must rob.

Each student has their own complicated relationship with China and the identities they've cultivated as Chinese Americans, but one thing soon becomes certain: they won't say no.

Because if they succeed? They earn an unfathomable ten million each, and a chance to make history. If they fail, they lose everything...and the West wins again.

WHAT YOU GET

pretentious af college students (mostly Will) who think they can get whatever they want (mostly Irene (but also Will))

STREET RACES. do you like Fast & Furious? good

complicated feelings about everything but especially, like, lesbians having complicated feelings about other lesbians who then fall in love (Irene and Alex)

FOUND FAMILY. the real treasure is the friendships we made along the way, and like, maybe also the relationships we repaired along the way

healing through stealing (Daniel (and Lily (and Alex (and Daniel's dad and Will and Irene and—))))

ART

discussions of identity, colonialism (and colonised art), art repatriation, the immigrant experience, class,

THEFT. so much theft. THIEVES BEING THIEVES.

immovable object ("girls have broken themselves trying to change him"!boy by which I mean Will because of course it's Will) meets unstoppable force (Lily)

did I say healing? I think I meant stealing. no healing. no stealing. no—

anyway everyone should read this book

#portrait of a thief #leverage #ocean's 11 #ocean's 8 #white collar #THIEVES

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mistchievous · 1 month

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you work in a library! you're living my dream! 💜 do you have a thoughts/opinions on what you would like people to know about libraries? (or top 5 fave authors if not)

Oh God. Please don't ask for my favorite anything. I'm terrible at making lists like that. 😂

But I love working in a library! It's such a chill space!

I think the main thing I'd want people to know is that libraries are more than just books. Like, obviously books are important (and if your library doesn't have a book on hand, I pretty much guarantee they can get it for you via ILL), but they generally have so much more to offer. And I don't mean e-books, though those are a thing too! You should look into your local libraries' resources and even the resources of library systems around you and around your county/state/etc. Plenty of places have online resources and databases that you don't even have to live in the area to access.

And also, they're FREE community spaces. You can go there and just be without anyone expecting anything of you. You don't need to buy a coffee or justify your existence. Need wifi? Go to the library. Need to use a computer? Go to the library. Need a study room? Go to the library. Need to make copies or fax? Go to the library. Need a large meeting room for a performance or gathering or anything at all? Go the library. Does your library system have maker spaces? Go use sewing machines, 3D printers, and more. One of our branches even has a professional recording studio that you can book and use for free, and it provides recording equipment and premium software.

Wanna stream movies or tv shows without having to pay or pirate, check a site like www.justwatch.com which will tell you if library provided resources like Hoopla or Kanopy have them available allowing you access with just your library card number. (Or just go check out the DVD!) There are often expensive databases available for free as well. Like Westlaw which many people in law pay through the nose for. Or Freegal where you can download music for free. Or Tutor.com which allows you free live professional academic assistance. My system has well over a hundred different databases for all age groups. Kids, teens, young adults, adults, and seniors.

Not to mention, libraries offer community programming for all age groups as well. It's not just Book Club, though we have those too. We do story times for kids. Crafts, STEM programming, performances by local and national performers (especially in the summer), etc. We show movies using large projector screens, have video game and TTRPG programs, and offer prizes for programs such as our Summer Reading Program to encourage people to read. We also have a lot of cultural and historical local archives that house information and photographs and the like that can't be accessed anywhere else in the world.

This answer is getting long, and I've really only scratched the surface, y'all. Libraries are important spaces, and they're one of the few truly free and open community spaces still available. It's infuriating when you have people who think we're obsolete and can be replaced by paid services like Audible and Kindle Unlimited. It makes me want to scream.

Support your local libraries, okay? They matter.

#sorry vi! this got long! 😅#waywardmillennial #mist answers #libraries

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popcornforone · 1 year

Text

The Speed of Silence

Mr Ben Fan Fic

I didn’t plan on going back to Mr Ben for a while. The SNL hype had dropped & I was in deep writing some other drafts I had on going. & then @alwaysdjarin tagged me in someone’s twitter post going write a scenario based on a certain idea a moot had. Here I am 12 days later publishing it.

I don’t like to big up my work but there’s a paragraph in here that I wrote & when I reread it I was like damn I wrote that. Also yes I know the book shelf picture is Rockford but it was part of the inspiration for this, so I wanted to include it.

Synopsis: Mr Ben is rumoured every year to be dating the popular girls at university, so why would he ever look at you. But then a few chance meeting & a late night study session in the library, make you both think about making those rumours true.

Word count: 5,700

Warnings: DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18!college professors student relationship (but you are not his student) protected PIV sex, public sex, swearing, pining, unrequited love, choking & muffling, rough, teasing flirting kissing. Eventual established relationship.

All feed back as always is welcome peoples… thanks for the read. It’s really appreciated

10pm the clocks slowly tocks past, headphones on, another coffee poured, in the university library trying to write you appendix for your art portfolio your handing in tomorrow. You knew when you looked all these artists & photographers up for inspiration you should have written down who inspired you. But no it’s now 10pm & you’re missing 8 references to submit along with your sight & sound presentation.

You know full well you don’t need the references though. Your photographs you have of traffic moving at night almost leaping out the page at you & your puddle reflection of what life should be like in the city instead for he chaos it is, speak for themselves. No matter who walks past your screen at the moment even if they don’t do the subject for your degree, just stops & does a double take. Your creation is the talk of the university be it pupils & staff or teaches.

But there’s one who’s taken a particular interest. He not your teacher. He teaches Philosophy about 5 class rooms away but he shares an office with your art & photography professor Jane. You are often popping in the office to book additional time or ask to use the larger printer. It was once when you were waiting for Jane to bring some resources back that he came in & started a conversation with you.

“So your little miss photoshop?” He says as he saw you waiting for her to return. “That I am professor, Jane has just gone to get something for me that I don’t have the funds to print off, I’ll be out of your office in 5minutes.” “Ooooh no…” he says with a slight smirk as he pops his bag on the back of the door “I’ve heard so much about this art, I want to see it what makes it so special, why is yours the talk of the campus”. He adjusts his large framed dark glasses. LIt’s nothing really I…” “you can’t say that without letting me judge it, please•”he waves a hand as he pours his coffee & casually leans against the back wall “I’m most intrigued”.

His eyes sparkle at you. You’re not sure there’s a brown rich enough to ever try & replicate those on any art software, they are unforgettable once you’ve made eye contact. Which you just have. It’s for all of a passing second but you’re lost, so so lost in them. You’re never getting out of this trance ever. He must see you blush as he very quickly moves away from leaning & fidgets. You go to your carry folder & produce 4 drafts of your work in progress, about The Speed of Silence & start to explain what it means & why you’ve done it. He stands there nodding hanging on every word you say agreeing & asking your different techniques. He really in engaged in your art & is mesmerised by it, like you with him.

He lowers his hand to ask a question & your hand brushed over his sending chills down your spine, it’s just the slightest feather touch but it’s enough to make you want more. He then takes his hand & rests it on top of yours. You both freeze & gulp, both unsure what to do next. “Professor i…” “shhhh it’s okay I think we…” he’s edged in your personal space, his head slowly drawing close to you, when You both hear the door click & Jane humming to herself so you break the look & return to showing him your art. “Ahhh here you are my sweet, sorry the lift was broken that’s why it took a while. Oooh Ben you’re here. Help me sort these out for her so she can take what she needs” & I pause in a fluster. My breath caught in my throat, my palms sweating instantly. This isn’t just some professor, this is Mr Ben!

Mr Ben every year at university, there is a rumour he’s dating a popular blonde student. It’s kind of mythology, & he goes along with the joke & plays up to it. But no one has ever actually seen him with a partner inside or outside of campus. If he is dating the blonde from the football team as she claims he is, or the brunet from drama he’s hiding it well. He’s not dating Jane, you all met her wife on the field trip to the Andy Warhol museum. But here you are standing in Bens shared office having just had a genuine moment with the man most men & women on campus would give an arm to do… & you did it without even realising.

You’re snapped out of your trance by the voice of Jane eventually “just because your art works at so many rates per second, doesnt mean you can slow down & daydreaming to” “sorry miss I just had a random though & my mind wondered” “maybe if you’ve got a wandering mind, you should sit in on a philosophy class?” Ben asks with a smile on his face that makes you feel weak. He’s biting his pencil & looking at you suggestively “…I…I… I really should get going” you sigh once you’ve taken what you need from Jane & your portfolio is back into your art folder. “It was lovely to meet you professor…” “it’s Mr Ben but please just call me Ben” he extends his hand which you take & shake. Large & firm & also just the right feel to it. It’s only once you get back to your room that you realise in your art portfolio & resources, that Ben had slipped his business card in there, with his office number & email.

You didn’t email him for 2 weeks & you actively asked Jane in her classes for supplies or support. You wanted to avoid Ben for as long as you could, hoping you had dreamed up the meeting & the stolen moments you had shared. He had filled your dreams since that precious glance & you didn’t want to fall further under his charm. Avoiding him you thought would help but it’s just made it worse. However fate lead to your paths crossing, not at campus but at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. You were in the gift shop looking at post cards scanning for ideas for your silent part of your art, when he walked past & turned back almost doing a double take as he went to leave”miss photoshop what a pleasant surprise, what brings you to the met on this wet winter afternoon?” He leans next to the display as he engages in conversation with you. His coat looks warm & cozy even if a little damp due to the rain, but his hair is in pristine place & his glasses are either missing or replaced with contacts making those eyes even larger “I need something for the silence part of my project sir, but I’m having a hard time picking it, so I came to watch people look at art in silence to see if that gave me inspiration but it hasn’t”

“That’s a shame” he says “let me buy you a coffee & we can people watch together if you want” “I’m sorry what professor?” You say in shock “it’s just Ben,” he offers his hand “I encourage all my students at least once a month to go people watch & come up with pretend story’s for who people might be that walk past them, it’s like a window to their own soul as they try to guess others.” “Did you just quote Man Ray?” You ask “because then I’ll take you up on that coffee & we can talk art & photography while we people watch.” The smile on Bens face is infectious. Gone is that moody professor who people gossip about. The person in front of you now is a man & clearly at least a friend, you both have a connection with the other. “I’m happy to talk art & people watch, it would be an honour.”

You start off people watching in silence sipping coffee unsure what to say to each other or about the people. The tension is palpable. & then someone with a Star Wars bag walks past you & you ask Ben “rebel, sith or jedi?” & that’s all it takes. For the next hour you both sit there talking about where all these people are going & what’s happening with their lives, sipping coffee & laughing. It’s only when his phone rings & it’s on loud that people shhh you both & he answers it. “Sorry, I have to go” he says. “But this has been fun, much better to sit here & talk with someone else & people watch than do it on your own” he says as he stands & you notice how tall & long he is. “thank you for the coffee Ben, as much as this was fun, it didn’t provide the spark I need for the silence I need for my project.” “Maybe inspiration will hit you a different way.” He replied & grabs your hands to help you up, almost pulling you into his chest. You can feel as your hand is wrapped around his wrist that his pulse has spiked. You both stand in silence for a few minutes & then shuffle awkwardly unsure what to both do next. At the end of the day you might not be his student but he’s still a professor at your college. You, against everything your body & heart are screaming out for more, decide not to act on your own needs & wants.

You both head outside the museum & it’s still raining. “Do you want to share a cab?” Ben asks in a friendly way “thanks Ben but I’m off to a friends now, i’ll get the subway but I’m sure we will bump back into each other soon” you blush trying to hide his affect on you. “Have it your way I’ll see you soon, I hope you work out your project” he waves a friendly good bye & goes to get in the taxi but he’s still distracted by your big smile & doesn’t see where he puts his foot. “bollocks” Ben shouts. He stepped in a deep puddle before shrugging at you & then gets into the taxi which speeds off. But in that reflection you see in the puddle from the ripples, the grey sky & lights of the city reflect back to you. The madness of the city being so calm & reflective in one tiny puddle. Ben has given you the inspiration for the other half of your project without even trying.

You don’t go to your friends, you head straight for the high line, one of your favourite places in New York & you start taking picture of the rain falling, the puddles forming & slow silent reflections gleaming back at you. It’s almost to perfect the mixture of architecture, nature & photography. It’s too good to be true. You don’t care that you are drenched to the bone & will be sick for 3 days in the next week, this is the perfect calming yang to your traffics ying. It going to look phenomenal.

You have every week since then gone to a different museum to see if Ben is there to people watch with, & you’ve also been popping into the office to discus your art with Jane, talking to Ben a few times. You’ve not yet told him he’s part of your inspiration for this, you will do before the presentation at the end of term. But you & Ben now have a close friendly relationship. He says hi when he sees you walking about & you have slight giggles & little jokes with each other. All harmless fun, but there are still moments when your eyes meet that you can’t deny to yourself, that you would like to be who the rumours are about. He always asks about your art & has asked Jane who it’s all going for you too. You hope he puts in this much dedication with his actual students.

10 days ago however your world crumbled. There was a rumour Ben was dating a student in the first year. As someone in their final year, you’ve heard all these story’s before & know they aren’t true. But you heart just feels like it’s shattered. Everything you had hoped for that you might have one day with Ben has gone. You remember this is just everyone’s fantasy & it won’t be happening to you any time soon. The student is what he’s always rumoured to go for, athletic, bit ditsy, blonde & stick thin. Not someone with blue streaks through their black hair, a squishy nose who could probably eat that girl as she’s so skinny for diner. You are heart broken from the relationship you’d secretly wanted more from, even though you hadn’t been brave enough to act on it. You bury your head into your art & try to not think about it at all.

You’ve seen Ben since this day & been nice to him, but you just feel a little lost. It is just a fantasy, everyone wants for Mr Ben to be there’s. To have a few stolen moments but you were sure it might slightly happen to you but it hasn’t. So you’ve plowed on with & burrowed your head in your art portfolios & are now just hours away from your deadline in the library, referencing as much as you can ready to hand in your appendix in the morning. It’s only when your music pauses in your ears, that you realise someone is sat in the chair next to you, with their own cup of coffee. You can tell from the hand on your music player alone, exactly who it is.

“Ben” you say not having to whisper at 10pm, as you remove your headphones. There’s all of 8 students in here all with their own headphones in. “It’s late what are you doing here?” You ask. You’re startled but also instantly calm that he is here & he is looking so handsome. The tie he is often seen wearing isn’t on, the glasses dark frame matching his dark black shirt & his selves are rolled up. He looks at you with genuine concern & affection in hope to help you with whatever it is you are doing. “Late night study group with my second years, 6 of them just haven’t understood the last 3 essays I’ve asked them to write or read, so we did a coffee & cake night. I think 4 of them have finally got it though, I always think it helps to share the problem, no matter what it is.” Ben takes your hand, that large thumb trailing over your knuckles, what you wish you could do with that thumb. “So I was walking past & thought I’d pop in to see who was in the library this late, & who do I see…you, little miss photoshop, with your head in a pile of books & websites, not actually creating. Is everything okay?” He ask, your eyes meeting & you do everything you can to look back at your work from this handsome distraction, but he lifts his hand to the side of your face to turn you back to face him as he softly whispers “seriously, your amazing, your perfect, I’ll do anything”.

That’s all it takes. You lean in touching his face in return & tentatively take his lips with your own. He’s a-gasp, shocked at your advanced. He can feel all the butterfly’s you have felt for the last few months since you met him. You’re electrified & then you very quickly break away from your embrace & look back at your laptop & not at Ben, but you can still feel him on your lips & how he made you feel like you were going at a million miles an hour but also completely still much like your photographs. “Shit” you mumbled “Ben I…” you don’t get a chance to apologise, Ben has turned your face back towards him & is engaging in the next kiss. He’s hungry like he’s waited for this for ages, like he’s willing to break all the rules to have a few stolen moments with you but he wishes he could have more. Your of age & an adult & not his actual student, he’s not that much older than you. He wants this but he has so many conflicting things going on in his mind right now, as do you. But you are both desperate for each others touch. This kiss is the best you have ever had. No man or woman has ever made you feel this good from just one kiss.

“Sorry” he says “I just had to be sure I wasn’t dreaming”. His words come out breathy as he pants. “I should go…””No!” You shout & realise it was quite loud for a library even when there is no one really here. “Please stay, your presence calmed me when I realised it was you” Bens half way out of his chair unsure if he should sit back down or go home. He wants to stay & distract you from your appendix, In so many ways. It’s all he thought about since he met you. Those few stolen moments in his office, your little smirk at the museum, the way your hands are so expressive when you talk. He noticed every single detail & he is desperate to make a go of this. He looks in your eyes & he can see the same desire & longing being directed back to him. He has to make the choice for the both of you.

“Grab your laptop & books & come with me” he states,”there’s better wifi else where in the library, it will make attaching your appendix faster & then we can talk”. Ben goes to pick up his mug & yours & raises an eyebrow at you. You know deep down that this isn’t going to be studying, you know you’re actually going to be the girl the university gossips about & if it’s true or not. “Okay Ben, I’m almost there though I’ve got 8more…” But Bens hand doesn’t go for your mug & you are interrupted. His large hand strokes across your chin before his thumb that you have often wondered what it would feel like, traces over your lips. You gasp & instantly become aroused. It’s so flat & soft & it make you want to suck it & beg for some of his other fingers else where. “Ben” you moan as his hand moves away. You hit save & collect you items putting them in your 2 bags & grab his hand, while making sure no one is watching you sneak off with a professor.

Ben doesn’t even check, he wants you & he needs you. The second your hand entwines with his, he is off at a speed your art is. He take you to the back of the library which is dimly lit & is where all the media & art books are. “Oooh you actually wanted to help Ben, I didn’t realise.” You feel a little flat thinking Ben has no intention of doing anything other than be a professor at this moment. But the second both your bags are on the table between the two rows of bookshelves, Ben is hoovering over you. Eyes filled with desire, his breathing is short, & you can feel his wanting of you radiating from every inch of his body. He doesn’t need to say a word. You cup his face & kiss him deeply as he pushes you against a chair at the table. Those large hands of his, twisting your hair, before one moves down your back to rest just on your waist, so you can be pushed further into him. You never want to break this kiss. The way your body is responding to his, is magnetic. The way you moan & groan just from a simple deep kiss, one filled with all the lustful dreams you have ever had about Ben, just taking over your mouth & making you want more. You know you’re aroused, your pleasure is screaming for him to touch you even more. Ben is also trying so hard not to just cum in his trouser right now, he needs you to relieve his own pressure as he grows harder.

“I don’t know what happening” you eventually mumble as he starts to kiss your neck “but I’m happy it is” you both say at the same time & then both have a little giggle before his eyes meet yours again. “If you’re not comfortable with this…” Ben starts but you squeeze his arse through jeans which makes him yelp. “So we did have a moment when we first met then?” You ask him “oooh yes & I’ve been trying to work out since that moment if I would be in trouble for asking you on a date, your not my student, I’ve never asked any student out before or even kissed them, even if they have since left” this makes your heart flutter. All the myths about Ben are false, he’s squeaky clean & is a moral teacher to be looked up to. No affairs with any students at all, & then you remember why he’s saying this all to you. You’re about to become his exception to the rule & you really don’t care. You’re going to be the hearsay.

“Well technically we have been on a date at the museum…” “that doesn’t count” Ben replies “& for half of it we sat there in silence & it was a chance meeting” he lowers his head to whisper in your ear seductively “however if you’d have got in my taxi, it might have been another story” he peppers kisses down your neck “no it was destiny for your to leave without me. Where did you think I got my reflection art idea from Ben?” He pauses his kisses for 2 seconds as he goes “really?” Your shy nod through your blushes are as hot as the next kiss he gives you. It’s so powerful that he pushes you into the book case, which creaks. “Ben” you moan at his sudden movement from the table. “This is so intense, I…I” “shhh baby shhhh” his lips are still searching for yours & your chin, as his hands move to your hips, which are desperate for friction.

“I…I…I need you Ben, I need you & im not sure my body will allow me to wait to get back to my room or your place, maybe your office or…” but you her the clink of his belt being undone as he moves a hand so it’s leaning over you holding the book case “baby, I don’t think I can make it to my office. I wish wed had this moment sooner, so I could have taken you out on a date first. I wish I had known, I wish I had” “the signs were all there Ben” you moan back at him as you undo his fly, the zip sound wrong but so erotic “are you happy you want to do this?” You ask & your hands move to your leggins & knickers to roll them down in a second “im the man, I should be asking you?” He responds in a soft tone. “Are you sure?” He asks & his face for a nano second has turned serious asking for your consent. “Yes Ben I want this, I want you” is your clear response Consenting to his pleasure as you step out of both your leggins & knickers & he reaches into his back pocket to produce a condom. “Yes baby, I promise we will do this properly another time” he rolls his jeans & briefs down to just below his knees & you see him cover his impressive length with the protection.

Ben edges closer to you & starts to raise your dress ready for a clear & swift entrance inside you. “You… you are okay with this… this isn’t your first time?” Ben asks suddenly very much aware he’s about to have sex with a student in the university’s library & not everyone has had sex before “Ben I’d have been even more hesitant if it was, & I’m on the pill” is your response. A small smirk creeps across his face before his lips lock with yours & he pushes hard against you & the shelving. He teases you slightly before he pushing inside you. You moan loudly, he’s girthy & much larger than you have had before. It pinches & pushes all the air out of your lungs. “Beeeennnnn” you growl, feeling so full & satisfied already, desperate for more movement.

Ben doesn’t say a word. He just sighs & thrusts again & you whimper. Your mouth & jaw go slack at the most relaxed but also most sexy feeling you have ever experienced in the world. He lifts your right leg to wrap it around him for a better & more enjoyable for the both of you, his hand gripping your thigh firmly. This hand then moves up your body & towards your mound with the next couple of thrusts, before his thumb, that large thumb that was trailing across your lips, flicks at your bud, you instantly clamp around his cock & moan loudly “yessss Ben” & his other hand covers your mouth “shhhh baby we don’t want to get in trouble now do we, be quiet girl & we can have some fun” & his hips really start to move.

Who’d have thought Ben was so adventurous in not only wanting to have sex with a student, but to do it at 11pm at night, not just in public but in the library where he works & you study. He has thought about you & how your body would feel for months now, when you had sex. But here he is, his length pulsing inside your core making you want to make the most erotic noises in the world, as he drills into you, with his hand over your mouth “shhhhh baby we don’t want to get in trouble do we, save the moaning for another night” he says as he movements become larger & the book case starts to creak that he’s pushed you against harder.

Crash! the first book falls from the shelf with an almighty thump from how fast he is pushing you into the unit. It’s not even a small book. It’s Hockneys complete appendix of British culture. It’s a coffee table book. So if he is thrusting that hard at this early stage, how much faster is he going to go? Your eye glances down at it but then return back to those large dark Carmel’s that are dilating with every second , every pulse & every want he has to make you feel even more of a woman than you already are. He’s so large, he’s making you gasp for every breath. He is giving this all he’s got. “I know you want to moan my love, but keep it down okay” he removed his hand from your mouth, but not before he allows you to suck his thumb. “Ben oh Ben oh baby yes” I whisper trying to not sound so needy & desperate.

He moves with an impressive rhythm. The book case creaking & the occasional book hitting the floor is louder than your collective moans & panting. You feel every thrust inside you making you want so much more. Bens lips move from your face to your neck, sucking & pecking away at it. His hand is now towering over you for balance as he goes & he breathes heavier. Such a large hand capable you now know of many naughty things you can both explore. Your own hands are digging into his hips & shoulders as you try not to scream from pleasure. “Yes Ben” are the hushed tones coming from your mouth “baby oh baby,you’re so good” he replies back. Every time he thinks you are moaning too much, he slows down slightly & he kisses you back on the lips, to remind you to stay silent. The moan he makes as he pulls away & speeds up again is louder than the noise you were previously making.

“Fuck ooh yes, so close, you feel so good…” you’ve reached the point of no return, as these breathy high pitched words leave your mouth. His hips blistering into you, he’s almost there too. He grabs you around the throat which makes you gasp & also shuts you up. It’s not firm but you did not have Ben down for doing that. “Shhh baby, we’ll get in trouble”. He mumbles as 2 more large books fall out of the shelving “don’t…care…” you just about manage to get out before your rendered speechless by the next 3 thrusts that hit the spot & you let go. Your orgasm spiralling through your body. Ben lips shhh you as you go to scream yes. You bite into his bottom lip to try & keep your cry of pleasure down. He’s sent you over the edge. Bens rhythm falls out of sink & the deep shallow growl his voice makes into your mouth, happens as he fills the condom with him own cum. Slowly he stops his movements, & eventually the books stop falling & the shelving once again becomes silent.

You wrap your arms around Bens neck as you both open your eyes which you’d both closed while cuming. His eyes less filled with passion now but still so handsome & so dark & mesmerising. Panting & sighing happening between you both. His hand cups you cheek “you have the most beautiful eyes” you eventually manage to say to Ben & a small grin covers your face in your afterglow. “No I don’t” Ben replies “yours eclipse anyone’s with beauty, they really are the window to the soul” You bring his face into yours for another deep kiss, one full of hope & wanting more than this. Your hand goes up into his hair to caress his head as you make out continues.

“We need to clean this up” Ben say when you eventually break from your embrace & he shimmy’s his briefs & trousers back on after tying off his condom. “We don’t want to piss of the library team do we” you quickly put the books back between you & make sure everything is in as a correct place as possible. “Am I really the puddle inspiration?” Ben asks inquisitively as he adjusts his glasses. The glance from your eyes of pure love tells Ben the truth without you saying a word & he walks up to you & kisses you. “So I’m guessing tonight we created our own version of The Speed of Silence?” You muster once the kiss is over, never wanting to be far apart from those lips again. “You could say that” Ben smiles.

For the next month campus is full of gossip. There are rumours that there was sex in the library & that people heard books crashing & that no one been able to find that Hockney book since, but no one’s taken it out. As someone who doesn’t usually contribute & look like they pay attention to the rumours you find all this funny & really what you want to do, is tell people how right & wrong they are. No one has worked out the it was Ben or you or the both of you. You’ve had sneaky sex since, once in his lecture room when you did sit in on a class & twice in the art supply cupboard, but he’s yet to take you on that date he promised. Maybe all the rumours about Ben being a one off passionate lover were true.

However on the night of art & photography show case, things moved. You stand there explaining to your fellow student’s, alumni & teachers about your project when you hear a voice from behind you. “Why puddles?” Ben says & you turn around & you both beam at each other “whatever caused you to think of that must have had a really deep & meaningful impact on you” “yes it did professor…” you wink at him & Ben turns red & try’s to concentrate on the rest of your talk. Moving uneasily desperate for more.

Once the group you were talking to leaves, Ben slides in behind you “congratulations little miss photoshop, you are the talk of the campus, in more ways than one” His hand slips into yours, that large thumb tracing across your knuckles. “So are you Ben” I glance up towards his face. “I wish this was something more thorough, if I’m honest” you sound a little bit down despite this being your night to shine.

“& it will be” is Bens quick response & his eyes gesture to his bag, which he opens & you gasp. He has the missing Hockey book inside it. “Should we go return this, have a repeat performance & then I can take you out for dinner?” Ben ask. Eyes wide & seductive looking into your soul, once again making everything fly past so fast in your mind but also freezes you in time. You hand trails across his chin. “Took you long enough to ask Ben” He waits for someone to walk past before he kisses your forehead, & then takes your hand. “Your art speaks for itself, let’s go now & give the campus some real gossip to talk about” & Ben leads you out of the exhibition & back to the library, for your own private viewing.

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