#There were more outdoor tables than indoor ones

[sweetercalypso]

Texas Hold ‘Em || Joel Miller

Summary: when a heatwave interrupts your lake house vacation, you and dbf!Joel find another way to have some fun

Word Count: 2.4k

Notes: minors dni; stripping, blowjob, unprotected p in v sex, pull-out method, reader on top, implied age gap, afab reader, mentions of alcohol and drinking

Summer in Texas is hot.

Cracked asphalt sidewalks burn underfoot, paired with sharp, dry grass that pricks at your skin when you stray off the path in search of relief.

The sun is too bright, the air is unbearably warm, and the humidity is enough to take your breath away.

Days like this are best spent inside.

With an impending heat wave looming in the forecast, it seems like summer might pass by entirely before you have the chance to enjoy your break. Joel Miller – a drinking buddy your dad had picked up in recent years – had offered you a trip to his lakeside cabin with the promise that a cold drink and a dip in the water would be the perfect remedy for the high temperatures.

You’d arrived three days ago, and every afternoon since had brought a thick, sweltering heat that made it impossible to pull yourself away from the comfort of the living room. Even the calm, inviting waves lapping gently at the lake’s edge weren’t enough to tempt you back outdoors to fry under the brutal sun.

The only solution was to sulk inside, bitterly cherishing the tiny air conditioner working overtime to keep you cool. Joel didn’t seem outwardly bothered by the heat, but you could tell he preferred to stay indoors, too.

“S’posed to be in the high 90’s today,” he says, strolling into the living room with his attention turned to the vivid landscape beyond the patio doors. “But it’s so humid, it’ll feel like a hundred.”

You tip your head back and let out a dramatic groan, resenting the prospect of another day spent inside. You liked Joel, and his cabin was nice, but you wanted nothing more than to feel the sun on your skin, to be submerged in the cool, twinkling lake like you’d been promised.

“Can’t we go sit by the water, just for a little while?”

His mouth turns down at the corners, frowning as he thinks. “That’s up to you, darlin’. Just don’t want you gettin’ burnt up out there.”

You know he’s right. Even from the comfort of the living room, you could tell that it was too hot to venture outside. The handful of other cabins scattered around the lake were all vacant for the season, driveways sitting empty and abandoned canoes rocking idly at the pier.

“How ‘bout we find something else to do? Don’t have to sit here bored just ‘cause we’re stuck inside.”

Joel’s cabin was barely furnished beyond the necessities – an outdated kitchen, a stiff living room set, and a couple beds tucked away in otherwise empty rooms. But you couldn’t complain.

No one comes to a lake house to admire the décor.

He perches himself on the other end of the couch and you move to sit up beside him. “What d’you want to do?”

“Well,” he drawls, stalling as he looks around for an answer. “There’s cold beer in the fridge. Got a deck of cars around here somewhere. That could be a good start.”

“Beer and poker? Sounds like quite the party.”

“Hey,” he laughs, hands raised in mock offense. “It’s the best I can do for now.”

Your head tilts as you consider his offer.

Joel was handsome, aged like fine wine with a glint in his eye that spoke of a hidden depth you’d like to explore. Maybe you could have some fun this summer after all.

“All right,” you decide, slipping off the couch with newfound interest. “You find the cards, I’ll get the beer.”

Five minutes later and you’re sitting across the cabin’s small, circular kitchen table, dealing cards from the worn-out deck that Joel had pulled from the junk drawer.  

“Poker, huh?” He grabs his drink by the neck of the bottle. “We don’t have any chips, though. How are we gonna know who wins?”

You place the rest of the deck to the side and pick up the two cards you’d been dealt, fingertips gliding over their frayed, softened corners. “I know another way we can play.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Instead of winning poker chips, whoever has the best hand picks something for the other person to take off. If you refuse, you lose.”

“So, strip poker?” he says with a dry laugh. “You’re not serious.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Besides – as hot as it is, we don’t need clothes anyway.”

Joel shrugs and tips back his drink, thinking about the day you’d arrived at the cabin, still clinging to your hopes of having the perfect vacation.

Stubbornly glued to the beach towel you’d placed at the edge of the water, sweat glistening on your bare skin, donning a swimsuit that would’ve made a lesser man blush – he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested.  

“Okay, fine.” He concedes and rests his forearms against the table, a wry grin pulling at his features. “But I’ll have you know, I’m very good at poker.”

Four rounds later, and Joel had yet to live up to his claim. Maybe it was just the luck of the cards, or maybe you’d spent enough time observing the man’s expressions to call his bluff, but you’d won every hand so far.

The first round was a close call – a full house versus three-of-a-kind. You’d chosen Joel’s watch to ease into the game, and he’d stared you down with a fire in his eyes as he placed it face-up on the table.

Next, you’d doubled down and won with an ace high, and Joel had been relieved of his shoes and his belt, which he’d dropped onto the floor with the promise of a comeback. The third hand played out the same way and you’d demanded his flannel, stealing glances at his toned arms as he handed over your reward.

By the fourth turn, you were reeling from the high of your winning streak and ready to make your move.

“I thought you said you were good at this, Mr. Miller.” You bat your lashes at him with an exaggerated simper as he deals out the next hand.

“I’m a pro, sweetheart. Just thought I’d let you have your fun.”

Throughout the round, your attention flickers back and forth between your cards and the man sitting across from you. Joel’s left with only his t-shirt and jeans to gamble away, and while you’re deciding which to relieve him of next, he slaps his cards down with a boisterous laugh.

“Well, would you look at that – a royal flush.”

A king and queen lay strewn out on the table, their stony, time-worn faces taunting you with their triumph. You’d been too distracted to notice that the community cards all shared a common suit, lining up perfectly with the cards Joel had been dealt.

He sucks in a slow breath and looks over you in careful consideration, debating what to take for his win. Finally, he gestures to your top and says, “take it off”.  

Still shocked by the unanticipated loss, you place your cards down with a huff and shrug the thin material over your head without complaint. The sunlight glaring through the windows warms your exposed skin as you reveal yourself to Joel’s unwavering stare.

You toss your shirt at his chest and he catches it with a raised brow, eyes tracing over the curve of your breasts before trailing gradually back to your face. He adds your top to the growing pile of clothes littering the floor around his chair. When he speaks, his voice is low in his throat, like he’d finally understood your plan.

“Just beautiful, darlin’,” he says under his breath. “How ‘bout we raise the stakes a bit?”

“What’d you have in mind?”

His jaw tenses as he mulls over his options. “If I win, you come over here and use that pretty mouth for something other than trash talkin’. If you win, I’ll fuck you any way you want.”

You bite your lip to hold back the pleased grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. Either way, you’re bound to have a good time.

“Sounds like a deal, cowboy.”

A palpable tension fills the air as Joel shuffles the deck with a renewed confidence. He lays out the sequence and flips the first three over, and it doesn’t seem like the cards are in your favor.

It’s an aimless, faceless group, and the next two aren’t much better. None of your cards pair together, and there’s nothing to do but accept your fate.

You muck your hand onto the pile with a mumbled profanity, waiting for Joel to flaunt his win. When he drops his own useless cards in the middle of the table, you look up to find him just as perplexed as you.

It’s a tie.

Neither of you have enough to make a decent hand, leaving the game in a dead heat. All this built-up tension relying on this pivotal round, and it’s a tie.

“Well,” Joel says, scratching absently at the salt and pepper stubble lining his cheeks. “I’d say it’s a draw.”

“So, who wins?”

He thinks for a moment before leaning back in his chair and not-so-subtly positioning his knees with room for you to sit in between them. “I think we both win.”

You take the glaringly obvious suggestion and pull yourself out of your seat, slinking around the table to situate yourself between Joel’s legs.

“Claim your prize, Mr. Miller.”

Your hands sweep over his thighs as he pops open the button of his jeans and drags his thickening cock from the confines of his boxers. Beaded precum drools from the tip as he languidly palms his shaft.   

The sight of his digits running over the length of his cock is hypnotizing – rough, calloused fingers against warm, flushed skin. A burning fire builds in your core as you imagine how his cock would feel inside of you.

“Open up for me, sugar.”

He cups your jaw with his free hand and guides you closer until his salty head rests against the plush of your bottom lip. When your tongue darts out to trace the vein on the underside of his cock, he groans and inches forward in his seat.

“Fuck- take it all.”

You eagerly bob over his length and Joel revels in your rapt attention, in the way you dedicate yourself to the task at hand.

“Such a nice mouth,” he pants, prodding the head of his cock against the inside of your cheek and admiring the protrusion it creates. Your fingers twist into the material of his jeans and you chastise yourself for not starting the game with a bolder approach.

Joel’s hips buck against your face as he dips his cock further into your mouth, lingering briefly on the back of your tongue before hesitantly pulling back with a hiss.

“As much as I’d like to keep you down there all day, we’d better stop now if you want your reward.”

You’d almost forgotten about the bet you’d made, too preoccupied with swallowing Joel’s length to remember how you’d gotten into this position in the first place.

He holds a hand out to help you up, and you lick the remnants of his presence from your lips.

“Where d’you want me?” He trails a hand over your arm, sending a shiver up the length of your spine.

“Here,” you say with impressive ambition. “Right here in this chair, just like I’ve pictured all evening.”

“Yeah? Gonna ride my cock right here in the kitchen?”

You nod with conviction and Joel grins as his hands move to the button of your jeans. He yanks the material down past your thighs, fingers hooked into the waist band of you underwear to leave you bare in one move.

“This too,” you mention with a tug to his t-shirt. You want to see everything while you have the chance – who knows how many times a simple game of poker will amount to this.

Your jeans pool at your feet and you step out of them while Joel throws his shirt somewhere off to the side, dark curls sticking up in odd directions from the fabric disrupting their shape.

He leans back against the chair and holds your waist while you position yourself in his lap, his cock twitching with interest as it brushes against your skin. You’re not sure who’s more eager for what’s to come – you or the man beneath you.  

Joel laments the lost opportunity of taking you apart on his fingers and his mouth, but there’s no delaying the zealous way you sink down onto his cock. That’s alright, he thinks with a choked noise, there’s always next time.

His thick length parts your walls with a delicious pressure, nudging against your sweet spot when you settle completely onto his lap. You’re still for a moment as you adjust to the strain, chest heaving with the effort of keeping yourself upright.

“Oh, fuck- you feel perfect.”

Joel’s hands travel up your sides until his warm palms find the swell of your tits. He leans in to sweep messy, open-mouthed kisses against the column of your throat, distracting himself with your heavy breath until you’re ready to move.

After what feels like an eternity of waiting in greedy impatience, you regain your strength enough to wrap your thighs around his waist, molding yourself to his frame as you lift up halfway before coming back down, smearing slick over his skin.

“That’s it,” he grunts. “Take what you need.”

Your pace quickens each time you raise off his cock, coming back down and grinding against his pelvis in one fluid motion. His broad, freckled shoulders are warm under your hands, an anchor for the rhythmic cycle of your hips over his.

“M’not gonna last much longer.”

You pant as his hand abandons your breast to stroke circles against your puffy clit, carrying you to the precipice of your release.

When your movements falter and you crumple against his chest, Joel picks up where you left off. He thrusts up into you in search of his pleasure, grunting as your walls flex around him.

Just as he’s about to tip over the edge, he slides his length free and grips the base with a tight fist, rubbing the head of his cock against your balmy skin as he paints the evidence of his arousal over your naval.

The air is filled with a litany of lewd sounds, pants and sighs overlapping in your equal states of bliss. Joel’s softening cock rests against your thigh as you run your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck and he flattens a hand against the arch of your back, both thinking about how fortunate it was that Joel suggested a card game to cure your mutual boredom.

#the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel x reader #joel x you #joel smut #tlou joel #tlou #the last of us smut #the last of us x reader #tlou smut #tlou x reader

[flurry-of-stars]

𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀 𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼 -𝕴

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝒩𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝐹𝓎𝑜𝒹𝑜𝓇 𝓍 𝒜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Slow burn romance, female reader, small age gap (Fyodor is thirty, the reader is in her early twenties.) No Abilities AU, angst, fluff, eventual smut, multipart story. 𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “Eyeing his new assistant from across the table, Fyodor’s heart twists in some cold form of rebellion–” “His eyes scan you, watching as your pen glides across the paper, translating his words carefully. A smug smirk rises onto his lips, noting how many times you stop and start. You were already struggling.” 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 6.5k or so (A/N: I know, strange to write an author AU when the characters are based on authors but here we are. I want to say Novelist AU Fyodor may have a few similar traits to IRL Dostoyevsky but he is not supposed to be a complete one-for-one in every sense of the word. They’re supposed to just be minor nods to the real Dostoyevsky.) ❤ Reblogs are appreciated ❤

𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝐼 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝒸𝑒? 𝒮𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝓅𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓀𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹? 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝐼 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝓇𝓊𝓃𝒸𝒽 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝑒𝒹? 𝒪𝒽...𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝐼'𝒹 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃. 𝒯𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝒸𝓊𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈.... ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ The lake always looks mystical early in the morning at this time of year. A faint mist rolls over the mirrored surface as dancers in orange and yellow descend from their places in the comforting embrace of timber and bark. Soldiers of fading green, browns and oranges line the lake, swaying in the soft, chilly breeze. Bird song and the gentle scurrying of the forest’s dwellers is the perfect symphony to this backdrop. Yes. This was why Fyodor always sat outside to write. He felt a peace unlike anything else when he sat at his small outdoor table, the earth claiming the furniture by wrapping tendrils of green around its leg. He doesn’t mind. He never had any intentions of moving it after all. A single page sat at his hands, one hand elegantly moving across it as he writes in Russian, his mother tongue. The sound of his pen scratching against the white sheet tickles his brain pleasantly, each stroke deliberate and careful. Fyodor would only write the drafts of his novels on paper. He would never touch a keyboard. Even when conversing with his agent he would only use his phone. With his long distant friend and fellow author, he opted for letters. Technology was something Fyodor wasn’t fond of. His deep, purple eyes rise from the page, tired eyes scanning the horizon before him. He notices a few russet sparrows flying over the lake. For a moment, he even thinks he can see a fox on the other side of the lake, disappearing into the treeline. Yes. This view was far more enjoyable than some television or computer screen. He breathes deeply, taking in the rich, earthy air around him. It wouldn’t be long until this view would be painted in white, the frigid air forcing him to stay indoors far more than he would have liked to be there. The novelist was a homebody, that much was true. But he spent most of his time outdoors when he wrote his stories. Or rather, attempted to. His current novel had been giving him a bit of grief as of late. “Romance novels are popular right now!” He could still hear his agent’s voice insisting. “With the works you’re already known for, I bet the world is dying to see your take on one! Plus, if we partner with this company and make it an international release, the revenue would tie you over so you can focus on a novel you actually want to write!” Fyodor scoffs. He wouldn’t have even considered writing such a novel, were it not for the fact that his funds were looking a bit depressed as of late, due to a few recent large expenses that needed to be paid. His eyes scanned over to his wristwatch; it was still a few hours yet until his guest would arrive. Another matter his agent had been too insistent on that Fyodor had begrudgingly accepted.

He didn’t understand why she had been so pushy about the matter of an assistant. He had managed so far on his own. He didn’t need any help. These were his stories to tell. Sighing, Fyodor rises from his chair. He moves towards his small, cozy dwelling, his raven hair ruffled by the Autumn breeze. Perhaps a nice pot of tea would get those creative juices flowing again. ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ A soft breeze teases your hair and scarf as you walk up the winding stone path, heading deeper into the heart of the forest, an eerie fog cast across the sky. The trees sway their branches in the wind as if greeting you as sunlight filters through the thick branches, showers of yellow and orange descending on your path as you walk. You see an old, rough-looking tabby cat that gives a low mewl before disappearing over the fence like an elegant shadow. You notice a few small cottages scattered around the area. One is at the top of a flight of narrow cobblestone steps. Another is nestled near some thick bushes and trees, almost devouring the structure in its natural embrace.

The thin fence lining the pathway is overgrown with thick vines and small flowers here and there, with tall trees and other flora about, creating an almost fairytale-like appearance. Everything here is quiet and still, aside from the chirps of a few insects and the whistling of birds. You clutch your orange coat closer to your body, the fabric blending in with your environment as excitement runs through every inch of your veins. This was the opportunity you had been searching for! What were the chances that you’d run into a literary agent while heading to the unemployment centre to ask for help? It was as though God himself had lifted an olive branch for you.

The agent, Vivian, had looked at you with such joy when you explained that you were looking for experience helping authors get their works published. You wanted to help however you could, whether that be as an editor, a translator or even a beta reader! You just wanted a way to step into this field finally. You had grown up with a love for books and stories. You wanted to be part of the process to get these books created. “Well, I have just the guy for you,” Vivian had replied, a small smirk on her lips as she handed you her business card with a name written on the back. The name of the novelist she had been helping for the past decade. Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

You had never heard of the man before. Walking along the quiet stone path, heading towards a large archway overgrown with blossoming flowers, you wonder if he wrote under a pen name. You were so excited to meet him! Oh, but you needed to calm down and relax. Don’t make this weird! You walk through the archway, the gentle aroma of the blossoming flowers filling your senses as your eyes fall on the crystal-clear lake before you. The water was a calm, almost mystical blue, with nothing disturbing its perfect surface. It looked like it could have been the subject of an oil painting. You blink, the trance broken as you notice movement. An older gentleman sits at a small outdoor table, a small porcelain teacup in hand. You notice a few strands of grey in his otherwise dark hair, along with the dark crescent moons under his mystifying yet cold purple eyes. You wondered if they were from late nights of writing stories or brainstorming.

He looked more frail than you were expecting. Quite lithe. He reminded you of a scarecrow. He was almost swimming in the dark coat covering his shoulders, even his white scarf seemed to be looped multiple times more around his throat. You tense as his eyes flicker up, meeting yours. The teacup moves back towards the saucer, resting upon it with a soft clink. He lifts one of his hands, beckoning you closer. You come to stand before him, your heart pounding out of nervousness and excitement. This was it. The first day of the rest of your life! Things would only be looking up from here! Before you can speak, the gentleman interrupts you. His thick Russian accent sends a slight shiver down your spine, “You’re the assistant Vivian sent.” He looks you up and down slowly. You can feel the judging look in his eyes as he scans you carefully, “You have no experience in this field and yet you agreed to be my assistant. Fascinating…” You swallow, trying to calm yourself. You almost burst into excited rambles as you begin to speak in a rather rapid tone, your giddiness getting the better of you, “Y-yes sir! You see, it’s always been a dream of–” “Enough.” He says suddenly, shaking his head. Those dark eyes of his stare coldly into yours, your excited heartbeat being frozen still in your chest as he adds, “I do not wish to hear your life story. You are here to do a job. And I expect you to do it well.”

You try and speak up, “Shouldn’t we go inside–” “No. You will work out here,” he cuts you off as he reaches down to a leather bag by the side of his chair, hidden from view. He lifts it, passing it over to you as he speaks, “Within this is the first three chapters of my latest novel. I need you to proofread, edit and translate it into English by the end of the week.” You tense; the end of the week? You supposed you could handle that. What’s the most he could have done? Really? Maybe ten thousand words total? You take out the first group of papers. It looks like he’s stapled each chapter together. There’s no title page yet, so it starts straight on the prologue. One issue becomes apparent very quickly. One big, glaring issue. Fyodor’s handwriting. He had written in fluent Russian from what you could tell. But his handwriting was quite…well, it was cursive? It was hard for you to put into words. The best way you could describe it was like a doctor’s handwriting. “Excuse me, Mr. Dostoyevsky?” You look up from the first page. Fyodor is gazing across the lake, sipping on his tea once more. He doesn’t spare you a glance as you continue, your tone soft and polite, “I’m having some trouble reading your handwriting. I don’t suppose you have a typed version I could reference instead?” His dark eyes slowly turn over to you. You swear you feel the cold of a hundred Winters rush through your body at once, “If you can’t translate it, then I shall call Vivian right now and inform her that sending someone illiterate does not help me in the slightest.”

‘Illiterate??’ You quietly think, feeling both offended and furious. ‘At least my writing doesn’t look like a chicken walked all over my page!’ Biting your tongue, you nod. You would make this work, just to spite this guy. ‘Just think about the end goal. Someone out there is going to love this book. You just need to focus on your goal..’ It’s a daunting task, one you weren’t sure you could achieve. But you were going to put your damnest into this job more so than ever now. ✩

Eyeing his new assistant from across the table, Fyodor’s heart twists in some cold form of rebellion and anger. Vivian didn’t mention that she was sending someone like you. Had he known that, he would have called his overseas friend to go and stay with him while working on this novel that he didn’t even want to write. His eyes scan you, watching as your pen glides across the paper, translating his words carefully. A smug smirk rises onto his lips, noting how many times you stop and start. He notices the way your brows furrow in irritation. You were already struggling. It was only a matter of time before you gave up and admitted defeat, running away from his little piece of heaven with tears in your eyes and a white flag in your hands. He liked that thought. That thought brought him peace. “You’re going to have to work faster than that,” he suddenly says, sounding very proud of himself. You don’t look up, your hands and eyes continuing to move as he adds, “Vivian wants the book by the end of the year. If you can’t handle getting three chapters done by the end of the week, you’re useless to me and any other author.” He notices your jaw clenching. He sees the way you swallow down whatever response you keep to yourself, instead replying with a soft “Yes, Mr. Dostoyevsky.” If he breaks you down enough, will you submit faster? Will that get you away from him faster? He’s silent for a long while, his gaze slowly returning to the scenic view before him. It soothes him and assures him he will soon have his space and peace returned to him. He lifts his teacup, sipping the warm liquid slowly. He just had to bide his time and wait. You would crack eventually. He would make sure of it. ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

Even though Fyodor treated you coldly and barely even spoke to you, you were intrigued by his writing. It felt like his words had a grip on you, filling you with the urge, that desperate need to know what happens next. The novel was about a young man. From what you had read, he was an extremely lonely man. No matter how Fyodor wrote him, or what scenes he was in, he was always alone, even when surrounded by people. But there was one thing you wouldn’t understand. “If this is supposed to be a romance novel,” you say slowly. “Then where is the other lead? What’s this guy going to romance, himself in the mirror?” “Oh come on now, cut him some slack,” the warm voice of your best friend chimes over the phone. “This is just the first three chapters, right? He’s probably just laying down the groundwork for now. I mean..” She pauses, hesitating before adding in a teasing tone, “The main female lead in that story you read didn’t get a proper romantic interest till like, what, book four?” “Hey, you say that like I wanted her to have one!” You joke, giggling as you walk up the winding stone path on your way to Fyodor’s. It was almost week’s end and despite having a handful of paragraphs left, you were almost done translating the first three chapters. Though it wasn’t an easy task. You had learnt that Fyodor had a habit of rambling in his stories. Sometimes, this made parts more fleshed out. More interesting and intriguing to you. But you didn’t need to know the full backstory of some random man sitting by a lake if he wasn’t going to be important to the story later on. “I want to give him some advice,” you say into the phone, your voice suddenly more serious. You notice the pair of village cats nearby as you pause in place. The younger orange tabby cat attempts to play with the old tabby, the older of the pair growling as he backs away, “But is it my place to give him advice? I mean…he is the author. It’s his story. I have no right to tell him how to write it.”

You hear a hum on the other end of the line as you start moving again, approaching the familiar archway. Then, “You could always try it. But this Fyodor guy doesn’t sound like the type who would take your advice onboard. You’re still so new to this field, your ears are still green!” You chew on your inner cheek, sighing. The chances that Fyodor would listen to you were slim to none. You understood that already. It didn’t take a genius to know where you stood in his regard. But you wanted to help Fyodor make improvements to his book. You look up at the archway, a gentle breeze pushing against your back as you sigh in defeat. “I’ll call you tonight and let you know how badly he chews me out.” You end the call, hiding your phone in your pocket, walking through the archway and into the lush clearing. You were already expecting to be greeted with the typical iciness from the author as you approach his table. “Ah, you’re finally here,” he greets you. His tone isn’t exactly friendly, but it’s not as frosty as you were expecting. There’s a faint hint of hibiscus in the air as the soft breeze draws the scent of his tea of the day to you. Yesterday was ginger. The day before was turmeric. He always had a fresh pot every morning when you arrived. But he never offered you a cup. Regardless, you come to sit at his table, your chair creaking faintly as you reach into your messenger bag, pulling out the last few pages of the first three chapters of his novel before speaking, “I’ve almost finished with these chapters,” you let him know, a flame of warmth in your voice. “I only have a few more paragraphs to go. Though I have to say–” You rummage around your bag, searching for your lucky pen as you continue, “--I quite enjoy your writing. It's captivating. Sometimes I feel like I’m hanging on the end of your every word–” “Flattery will get you nowhere,” Fyodor quickly interjects, deep eyes narrowing at you, the dark hoops under his eyes making him look more menacing. A shiver runs down your spine as he nods at the paper before you, “Get to work and stop wasting your time with idle chatter.”

‘Oh, so I can’t even compliment you?’ You quietly think, your hand wrapping around your lucky pen. You pull the gold and black ballpoint pen out, clicking it to life as you begin working, huffing and puffing in annoyance in your mind, ‘Fine then. Maybe I just won’t speak to you again. God, I hope all writers aren’t this entitled.’ You catch yourself, your fingers caressing the side of the ballpoint pen as the gold edge shines in the early sun. No…you knew all writers weren’t like Fyodor. He was a rotten apple surrounded by batches of bright, red fruit. He wasn’t going to stop you from reaching your dream. He would not stomp that flame out. A silence falls over you and Fyodor. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but it’s not quite pleasant either. It just simply is. You glance up now and then to see Fyodor sipping on his tea, his eyes always drawn to the distance. You scan his expression for a few moments, your pen stopping its movements. He doesn’t notice you looking at him as he stares almost longingly into the distance, his dark eyes shrouded with depths of emotion you struggle to comprehend. But there is one emotion there that is most obvious to you. It’s a look of deep, suffocating loneliness. He stares, as if seeing something in the distance you cannot. He is silent and still. You barely even see his chest rising and falling with his breaths as a gentle breeze tousles his raven hair, as though an invisible hand would be combing through each lock with a careful, almost affectionate touch. Then, as if returning to reality, he blinks, his gaze slowly shifting to meet yours. You stare at one another, frozen in time for just a heartbeat. There is no coldness, no scolding. Just you and him and his sad, lonely eyes. For a moment, you almost decide to ask if he’s okay. Almost.

But as quickly as you see this side of Fyodor, it disappears under frozen blinds and walls of ice. His dark eyes glare at you, hiding the emotions you saw behind a careful shield as he scolds, “Why are you wasting time staring into space? Get back to work.” You shake your head, snapping out of your trance, eyes gliding back to the paper at your hands. You don’t speak a word and merely focus on those last few paragraphs. You knew what you saw. That cold facade cracked for just a moment to reveal something more to this man than you originally thought. There was more to Fyodor than the cold wall you kept smashing again. Your pen glides across the paper, finishing the last few translated lines. You smile to yourself, placing the ballpoint pen down on the garden table before looking up at Fyodor, pride glittering in your eyes. You’d completed the first obstacle he’d put in your way, “I’m done, Mr. Dostoyevsky.” His eyes graze over your smile, the proud glimmer in your eyes, then move down towards the sheet of paper at your fingertips. He turns his body, sitting at the table properly now as he nods at you, “Let me check.” Taking the rest of the pages out of your bag, you slide each completed chapter over to him, your hands carefully caressing the top sheet before passing it over. You were hoping this would prove your value to Fyodor and get him to start treating you…well, like someone trying to help him. Like a proper translator. Like someone actually trying to get his book published. He’s silent for a long while as he flips through the translated chapters. He murmurs to himself every now and then in Russian; sometimes he sounds almost fascinated. Other times, he sounds annoyed. Then, at last, when he’s midway through the second chapter, “This is precisely why I didn’t want to do an international release. My words simply do not translate well into English.” “We could work together to find a suitable substitute for your words in English,” you suggest. The moment his dark eyes pierce into yours, you gulp. “If you wanted to. It won’t be exactly the same but I’m sure we could find a nice middle ground.”

He’s silent for a while as if thinking over your words. Then his eyes travel back to the page, murmuring, “We can try. But I assure you, you won’t be able to translate it perfectly. The English language is incapable of properly translating what I’m attempting to convey–” ‘There he goes again, acting all high and–,’ your grumpy thoughts are interrupted as a thought strikes you like a bolt from the blue. You resist the urge to gasp. Wait…was this the first proper, positive reaction you’ve gotten from Fyodor? He accepted you reaching out a hand to him? Then maybe now was your chance! You gasp a little, suddenly standing up, much to both yours and Fyodor’s surprise. He looks up at you, taken off guard as you suddenly blurt out, “Um! In that case, I had some other advice I wanted to give to! It’s in regards to that man you focus the second chapter on!” “I don’t know if he has any significance to the plot or not, but is it really necessary to have the last twenty pages focused just on his backstory?" "Because it seems like you could use these pages to develop the male lead further or even bring in the female lead! Are you intending for him to have a larger role or–” “You dare to have the audacity to lecture me on how to write my novel?” Fyodor’s cold voice cuts you off, his eyes narrowing at you dangerously. You can almost feel your voice being stolen by his anger, as he continues you glare daggers at you so sharp, that you feel that little shred of confidence and pride you’d finally gained being ripped to shreds before you. “You translate three chapters and that’s it? You’re suddenly an expert in the writing world, are you?” He scoffs, laughing at you mockingly. He tosses the translated pages onto the table, his eyes continuing to stare into your own shocked eyes. His voice grows harsher as he suddenly begins to speak in his native tongue.

“Сверхуважаемая госпожа, я хочу напомнить вам, что ваше право на собственное мнение не обязывает меня слушать этот бред. Молчание - великий талант. Мой совет вам: если у вас будут мысли, держите их при себе; в наше время умные люди молчат, а не разговаривают. Я вас здесь не нанял для авторского выступления, так что будьте любезны, работайте и не стройте из себя Александром Сергеевичем Пушкиным.” *

He stands suddenly, leaving you stunned in place, unable to find your voice. You watch in stunned horror as he storms towards his cottage, tucked and hidden within the wilderness of the trees and shrubbery. He enters it, slamming the door behind him before you can utter another word. You feel both stunned and horrified. You had no idea what he had just said to you but why did it feel like you just lost your job? ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ “You should have cut him some slack.”

“Do you really think I need to hear that right now?”

“You know it wasn’t your place to criticize him like that–”

“I know…I don’t know what came over me…” You sigh heavily, sinking into the thick duvet on your bed as your heart aches within the tight confines of your chest. The sound of the city beyond your apartment blares outside. The distant siren of an ambulance. The loud yells of passerbys. A dog’s loud barks as the scent of cigarette smoke and fumes waft through your apartment window.

It wasn’t the classiest apartment, very far from it, but it was the only place you could afford right now with the allowance you were receiving from the government, along with what little savings you had left. You sigh, running a hand through your messy hair, “I genuinely didn’t mean to do it. I just got so excited. I felt like he was finally accepting me into his world…” You lower your voice, sounding more upset. “But now I’ve gone and ruined it all…not even a week in...”

You lift your other hand, holding up your gold and black ballpoint pen once more. You twirl it between your fingers, Fyodor’s harsh expression still vivid in the back of your mind. You felt like you really offended him. You hadn’t meant to. You just wanted to help. But you understood how your words had come across as hurtful. You didn’t know the story Fyodor was plotting out. You didn't know if this man was going to play a pivotal role and yet you–

You hear a loud crunch on the other end of the line, causing you to wince and yelp in surprise, your thoughts broken through instantly, “Ack! Trixie! Hold the phone away next time!” “Mrm! Sorry girl, but look-” Trixie goes silent for a few moments while she finishes chewing whatever she’s eating. Then, she speaks again, sounding quite calm as she gives you her advice, “--I think you owe him an apology. This guy is not only your senior career wise, but he’s the literal author of the book you’re translating.”

You frown as she goes on, your eyes glued to your ballpoint pen as the streetlight outside touches it, making the golden parts gleam, “What kind of things does he like? You know, besides sitting and staring at the lake all day.”

You think over Trixie’s words, eyes sparkling with the golden hue coming from your pen. Fyodor hadn’t spoken to you much these past few days since you began working as his translator. He greeted you, scolded you to start work and then sat in silence until the day’s end. Did he like anything besides staring at the lake and–

Suddenly, you sit up in your bed, and your loose, white nightgown drops over your frame, the old springs of the bed squeaking softly. That was what you could get him to apologize! You would need to get some research in tonight and wake up early to head to the store tomorrow. You were sure there was a speciality store for this type of thing on the other side of town.

Moments before you’re about to hang up, you get a second call. Your eyes widen as you read the name on the screen; Vivian. Your heart leaps into your throat. “Sorry Trix, I have to go,” you quickly say, rising from your bed to move over to your kitchen counter where your laptop was sitting, charging. “I’ll call you when I can.”

“Keep me updated on your situation with your author man!” Trixie manages to chime back before you end the call, picking up Vivian’s seconds later.

“Yes? Hello, Vivian?” You quickly answer, holding your phone with your cheek while typing into your laptop’s keyboard, searching through the specific results you had pulled up.“I’m surprised you’re still up. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; all those involved in the literary world seem to be night owls.” She chuckles, before clearing her throat.

You scroll through the results page as Fyodor’s agent keeps speaking to you, “I presume you know why I’m calling. I just got off the phone to Fyodor regarding the…incident.” The incident…

You cringe at it being referred to like that. Your heartbeat picks up as you stand up straight, a deeply apologetic tone in your voice, “I know, I know, I was in the wrong. It’s Mr. Dostoyevsky’s book and he’s free to write however he pleases. I just got a little head of myself and–!”

“Easy,” Vivian whispers soothingly. It almost feels like she’s there with you, patting your shoulder and assuring you it's okay. “Fyodor is still a tad…appalled at your behaviour, but I have managed to convince him to give you another chance due to how efficiently and well you translated his first chapters.” A gasp escapes your throat; before your hopes can get too high, she quickly adds in a tone that reminds you of a stern teacher, “But this is your last chance. He’s said if you step out of line again, you’re out.”

“No…no, I understand perfectly!” You run a hand through your messy hair, resisting the urge to jump and dance around in glee. Oh thank God, you didn’t lose this chance! Your gaze flickers back towards the laptop screen, the results still silently waiting for you. You knew you still had to apologize properly for what you had done.

“I promise, neither of you will regret this.” You begin writing down an address frantically on a sticky note, looking up the coordinates to the location on the other side of town. You click your tongue, planning everything out in your head. Yes, if you wake up earlier, you will have the time to swing by and get everything ready before visiting Fyodor tomorrow morning without being late.

Suddenly, Vivian’s voice breaks through the silence, cutting you out of your thoughts, “I shouldn’t be saying this but do me a favour, would you?” She pauses for a moment. You focus more on her as she adds, “Cut Fyodor some slack.”

“Wh-what?” Is all you manage to breathe out. Everyone keeps telling you to do that. Were you in an echo chamber? Or did everyone else just see something you couldn't? She continues, sighing heavily and you swear you hear a pen being placed down, judging from the gentle tap you hear on her side of the call.

“It isn’t my tale to tell, but I will inform you that Fyodor has been through a lot as of late.” You frown deeply as you hear this. “This is his returning novel after taking some time away from his career, so all I ask is that you show him the same patience you would want to be shown.”

Your mind stews those words over silently as you chew the inside of your cheek. The novelist you were working with was an enigma. He was more mysterious than the deepest pits of the ocean, and more closed off than a crime scene. You only had his name. His career. And the gift of being able to read his captivating story. Well, part of it.

Just who was Fyodor exactly? And what had he gone through to make him the way he is now?

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

The sky was overcast and angry as you began to make your trek towards Fyodor’s quaint cottage. You sprint along the stone path as the sky rumbles like a beast, growling as the clouds light up, warning you of the upcoming downpour that is about to begin. Clutching the bouquet you’d bought close, along with the small gift bag, you run through the archway.

The usual clear, mirror-like surface of the lake was black and menacing, nowhere near as picturesque as it had been for the entire week. No birds were singing. Branches waved violently in the strong winds that buffeted against them, sending spirals of leaves cascading around, like mini tornados of color.

You barely manage to hold onto your bouquet and gift, grimacing as you notice Fyodor isn’t sitting at the usual spot today. You look towards his cottage, the trees and shrubbery around it rustling violently against the strong gusts as well. They almost look like they’re clinging onto the cottage to keep themselves rooted. You catch a glimpse of that old tabby cat sprinting up to the door, his paws reaching up and scratching at the timber desperately and at once, it opens.

You see Fyodor, wrapped in a thicker cloak than normal along with what seems to be an old ushanka on his head, keeping his face warm. He opens the door to let the feline inside, cloak dragging on the floor behind him like a cape. Rubbing against the Russian’s legs, the tabby darts inside, away from the rough weather. But he doesn’t follow the feline; his dark eyes lift, meeting yours across the way.

He watches as the wind tousles your long hair as though playing with the elegant strands, your bright, vibrant coat of orange a stark contrast against the blackening sky but matching perfectly with the leaves falling from rustling trees around you. He sees the way your brown scarf aggressively sways in the violent breeze as the sky growls a final warning. He says nothing as he watches you. Is he waiting for you? His eyes scan you once, twice…it’s like he’s taking you in for the first time.

Like this, you look like a single glowing ember in the darkness of the world, seconds away from being snuffed out and devoured by the shadows.

Not wanting to be left out in this downpour, you sprint towards Fyodor, a loud crack echoing across the sky as it lights up, lighting striking somewhere in the distance as you pick up the pace. Without a word still, he steps aside, letting you run in just as it begins to storm. Cold droplets pour from the sky as it roars, another loud crack is heard in the distance. Rain begins to patter loudly on the roof of Fyodor's humble home, almost cleansing the land.

You hear the door close, along with a lock being turned, clicking into place. You turn to face Fyodor, noticing that the room is not illuminated by the bulbs hanging overhead but by candlelight. There are candleholders along the wall, lighting the hallway in a warm, welcoming light. Flickers of yellow dance across Fyodor’s face, his dark purple eyes practically invisible in the dark of the cottage.

Gripping the bouquet tighter, you hesitate to hand it over. Then, at last, you do, presenting the brilliant bouquet with a gentle hand. “Here,” you say softly, almost silently. “These are for you.”

You watch as his calculating eyes trace along each chosen flower; the blue hyacinths to the white orchids, to the few lilies of the Valley. He hesitates to accept them as his eyes turn back to you. He must be waiting to hear her apology out loud, “I’d like to say I’m sorry for overstepping.” The plastic around the bouquet crinkles as you grip it tighter.

“I am both your junior and not an author,” you begin, fighting back down every inch of your pride to make sure your apology comes across as genuine. “I had no right to tell you how to write your story. I’m only here to translate it into English so I’m sorry. It will not happen again.” You also present your other hand, holding the gift bag out to Fyodor. “I hope you can forgive me and we can start fresh.”

He eyes the gift bag, reaching for it first. He peers inside, hiding his surprise behind his cold eyes as he notices the variety of tea leaves you’ve purchased for him. These are all high-quality leaves from a teashop on the other side of town. Passionfruit drop. Cream black tea. Autumn spice. He looks up at you, raising a brow curiously.

You squirm under his gaze, anxiously waiting for a reply. Would he accept the apology? Would he not? It felt like time was frozen as you and Fyodor stared at one another, his deep, purple eyes peering into the very depths of your soul as if trying to see if you were truly sorry in the very pit of your heart.

Then he moves past you. You feel your heartbeat freeze in your chest and then–

“Come along. I will brew some tea while you begin work translating chapter four.”

Warmth spreads across your chest instantly, your heart fluttering in your chest, a smile breaking out on your face as you turn, following Fyodor through the candlelit hall towards what you presumed to be the kitchen, your apology bouquet in hand.

You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you were both glad Fyodor had seemingly accepted your apology…and excited to read the fourth chapter of his novel. Even if he rambled on for the next forty pages and didn’t progress the plot. Your ankle boots click against the old wooden flooring as you hurry after the author.

✩ You were an enigma to Fyodor. Despite the cold walls he had placed securely around himself and the distance he had tried to keep from you, you kept coming back. Did this job really mean that much to you or were you just that desperate for money?

Or perhaps you were here for other reasons.

The kettle’s loud whistle shakes Fyodor from his web of thoughts. He takes it off the stove, bringing it over to his preferred ceramic teapot, decorated with painted pink carnations, filling it with the boiling water before moving on to inserting the mesh tea infuser, full of some of the new leaves you brought him.

As the aromatic smell of spices fills the air, he turns his thoughtful eyes to where you sit at his dining table, reading over the fourth chapter of his novel. He sees your smile behind the pages. The way your eyes gleam as you read and reread paragraphs. It even looked like you were no longer struggling to read his handwriting.

He felt warmth stirring in his heart. Fyodor had seen from reviews and heard from Vivian that his works were well-beloved, but seeing you smile and the joy in your eyes was something else entirely. It stirred something deep within his soul.

You actually did enjoy his story. You weren’t just going along with the crowd or agreeing with a friend because it was a popular piece. You were genuinely enjoying his work. He feels his heart pound for just a second before he turns away, focusing on the tea.

With slender hands, he pours the rich, orange liquid into the prepared porcelain teacups, the fragrance growing even stronger in the room. Between the sound and smell of the pouring rain and terrifying thunder and the earthy, aromatic smell of the Autumn spice tea, Fyodor felt his shoulders relaxing as he brought the two teacups over to the dining table, just in time to hear you gasp quietly.

Ah, you must’ve gotten to the part where the female lead is fleetingly introduced. For a moment, Fyodor finds himself smiling.

Dividers: @/saradika * Translation:  Dear Madam, I want to remind you that your right to your own opinion does not oblige me to listen to this nonsense. Silence is a great talent. My advice to you: if you have thoughts, keep them to yourself; Nowadays, smart people are silent, not talking. I didn’t hire you here for an author’s speech, so be kind, work and don’t pretend to be Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin.

#bungou stray dogs #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #Flurry-of-writing

[xximpressions]

The Duchess

Anthony Bridgerton x Duchess!reader

Summary: After coming into a title you did not expect, you try to navigate rejoining the society you once knew.

Word Count: 1,710

A/N: Had this idea after seeing Netflix's spinoff of Bridgerton and could not put it down!! Let me know what you think! If I hear from enough people, I'll turn this into a series :)

Bridgerton Masterlist

Next

____________________________________________________________

Fighting the urge to let out a sigh full of boredom, you raised the glass of sparkling wine up to your lips.

While taking a delicate sip, your eyes roamed across the vast room once again. It seemed like they were in search of something, but you honestly could not say what. For what seemed like the hundredth time, your gaze was occupied by men who drank too much, women who thought too little, and musicians whose instruments were the slightest bit out of tune.

Taking in the sight as you stood by the table of refreshments, you were hit with the sudden realization that your eyes had been in search of the glamor a high society ball once offered you.

Before you were married, a party with such intricate dances and overhanging chandeliers would have certainly filled you with awe and amazement. But these days, you found that your feelings aired more on the side of weariness than wonderment.

You supposed that was to be expected given how unpredictably cruel you knew life to be.

Since your mother’s death following your birth, and your father’s death not soon after, you were raised by a frightful aunt who married you off to some lord not even a full month into your first season.

But as the fates would have it, your new husband ended up catching a fever during your honeymoon that quickly developed into something darker.

Having just enough time to get his affairs in order, the man you were sentenced to spend the rest of your life with, took his last breath only hours later.

This unforeseen turn meant you went from wife to widow within the span of a week.

Though you were not really acquainted with the one you called husband, the rules of society still demanded that you mourn him as if you were.

So after secluding yourself and donning black for the required year and a day, you looked forward to attending an event where you did not have to wear the subdued color. 

However, now that you were here, your mind incessantly wished that you were not.

Even prior to your marriage, a part of you always thought balls to be mundane affairs with only the prospect of finding a match to make it interesting. 

But now that you were aware of all the aspects that pertain to wedded life, you were not convinced you should seek it out again.

After all, you had already achieved what many young ladies set out for by using the marital institution to secure wealth and a respectable position in society.

With all that you could want in hand, you were starting to question what you were even doing at this magnificently dull soiree since parties such as these were for matchmaking and the marriage mart—neither of which held your interest as you were coming to learn.

Setting your drink down as you stifled another sigh, you turned and decided to start looking for some kind of exit.

Slowly making your way through the throng of elegantly dressed people, you first felt relief once you came across a set of double doors on a nearby wall.

Thinking them to be the doors you originally entered through, your next emotion was confusion when you saw an outdoor garden rather than an indoor hallway on the other side.

Realizing you had made a mistake, you were about to turn back in order to rejoin the party. But as the serenity of the quiet, night air enveloped your being, you found that your feet had slowly begun to make their way forward instead.

Hoping that a simple stroll through this season’s blooms and blossoms might put you in a more agreeable mood, you continued walking through the lavish landscape. 

You were not sure how long you spent wondering, but it could not have been more than a few minutes later before you eventually gave up.

Deciding it was best to just leave altogether, you started to make your way back to the party until a sudden grip on your upper arm prevented you from doing so.

In a flash, you spun around to face the one who had grabbed you and were both terrified and relieved to see it was a face you knew.

You had been introduced while you were on your honeymoon and your husband was on his deathbed.

When it became known that his health was failing, it was this man that showed up looking for an inheritance.

Being your husband’s younger brother, you could still remember how he heartlessly announced that he was present to ensure his place in the line of succession and nothing more.

So as your present fear turned into outright irritation, you let out an annoyed huff of your brother-in-law’s name while forcefully shrugging your arm from his hand and demanding to know,

“What are you doing here?”

When your pulling away caused him to stumble in place for a moment, your other senses immediately took note of the alcoholic stench permeating from his body and the slurred way he began to speak. 

“W-what am I doing here? What are you doing here??”

He jabbed an accusatory finger in your direction as he asked this question before he brokenly followed up with,

“If…if anyone should not be here, it is you and…and not I, you wicked harlot!”

You could not deny that your eyes had narrowed the slightest bit at this insult. So after straightening your back, you coldly responded to the drunken man in front of you.

“If you wish to address me, you will do so by calling me, ‘Your Grace’. If that is too much of a challenge for you to overcome, I suggest you do not address me at all.”

Done with the idea of being in his presence, you turned to make your way back inside only to be grabbed again not even a foot away.

Quickly putting your hands up to shove as hard as you could, you pushed your late husband’s brother back as you determinedly yelled out, 

“Unhand me!”

He only stumbled back a little before regaining his barings and making a second attempt to rush you.

Only this time, he was intercepted by another man.

Letting out a gasp as your brother-in-law was suddenly thrown to the ground, you could only watch as the person still standing threateningly said,

“I believe I heard the Lady say to unhand her. I would advise leaving now before I feel the need to intervene any further.”

He kept himself in-between you and the drunk on the floor as he spoke which meant you could not see who your rescuer was. But whomever they might be, it was obvious that their tone left no room for negotiation.

Watching over the shoulder of the stranger as your husband’s brother staggered to his feet, you kept your face blank as he threw one last glare in your direction and walked away on unsteady legs until he was out of sight.

Once you could no longer see him, you let out a sigh you did not realize you were holding and raised a soothing hand to your temple as you closed your eyes.

When you opened them again, you unexpectedly found yourself staring into someone else’s gaze.

You and the handsome stranger continued to stare at one another until you remembered yourself moments later.

Clearing your throat and taking a step back, you opened your mouth and cordially said,

“Good sir, while I appreciate your stepping in, I can assure you that I had the situation well under control.”

Raising a surprised brow, the man in front of you proceeded to cross his arms over his chest as he replied.

“Oh? You looked like you were in need of rescuing from where I was standing.”

“A matter of perspective then.”

Though you allowed the flippant response, it was your rescuer who allowed an amused smirk to grow on his face after the fact. Briefly looking you up and down, his tone was confident as he quietly repeated back to you in the quiet, night air,

“A matter of perspective, indeed.”

You felt an unexplainable flutter when he said this and his eyes locked onto yours. But before you had the chance to get drawn in another time, you decided to give a prompt nod of gratitude and goodbye and returned to the party at last.

Once inside, you looked back to take in the sight of the ball as you finally neared the correct exit.

In search of something again, your eyes continued roving over the crowd until they landed on someone already looking in your direction.

Catching the gaze of your handsome rescuer from across the room, you were pleasantly surprised to have a playful smile thrown your way after a respectful bow of his head. Unable to prevent your expression from mimicking his, you tried to keep your smile to yourself as you finally turned to leave the party.

On the other side of the soiree, Anthony Bridgerton was being brought back to reality as his eldest sibling clasped a hand onto the Viscount’s shoulder.

“Brother, what are you looking at with such intensity?”

But as the second oldest Bridgerton only had to follow his brother’s eyes to see what had captured his attention, he was no longer confused when they landed on your retreating figure.

Amused, the artist turned back to the Viscount when he dazedly asked,

“Tell me Benedict, who is that?”

“I do not know. I have only seen her a few times.”

As they both watched you leave, Anthony decided that this was not enough information.

“Come now, you must know more than that.”

Smiling at his brother’s impatience, Benedict calmly replied,

“All I know is that she is widowed and has just come out of her mourning period.”

And with what he had heard at his gentlemen’s club, and all that he had read from Lady Whistedown’s column, Anthony finished putting two and two together and was suddenly hit with the fact that he knew who you were.

“That is not some widow, Brother.”

Catching the last glimpse of you, the Viscount astonishingly breathed out,

“That is the Duchess.”

Next

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x black!reader #anthony bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #Anthony bridgerton x original female character

[machetegirl109]

Synopsis: After spending the whole Bible study daydreaming of Abby, she finally makes your fantasies come true. *inspiration: vacation bible school by ayesha erotica*

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, F/F, modern!AU, suggestive and offensive language, religion, abby&reader are 18, smut, angst, switch!abby&reader, dom!abby, sub!reader, thigh riding, fingering(r&a!receiving), oral(a!receiving), no aftercare, mean!abby x reader

important info about my stories here

©machetegirl109 (credits to VBS by ayesha erotica that inspired me to write this) DO NOT copy/steal my work OR post it on any platforms

Word Count: 2.6k+

Oneshot: Vacation Bible School

❝︎and like every other shitty love story

you came and went❞︎

Church camp happens every year during the summer. It lasts for a week; during this time, you live together in cabins, explore the outdoors, and dine in community, all while learning about religion.

You’ve been taking part in attending ever since you were a little kid. The campgrounds are filled with kids, teens, and young adults. The VBS director would be supervising the assisting staff that consisted of other members of the Christian church, where they were divided into group leaders, an audio/video coordinator, music director, Bible story tellers, game leaders, craft supervisors, and kitchen staff.

This year would be the last summer camp trip for you and the other 18 year-olds before you all start college.

Every year you’d be eager for the summertime, wanting nothing more than to arrive at the huge campsite with lots of green space, bushes and trees, picnic tables and a bonfire. Paths that led to the big main cabin where indoor activities and supper were held, another that led to multiple smaller cabins scattered around a secluded area with some portable wooden toilets by the end of the trail and finally a path that led to the forest where a beautiful river was at as well as a hiking trail.

Although you did enjoy being surrounded by the calming nature and your fellow church peers, what made you anxiously wait for the one week vacation every year was her. Abby Anderson. You two met years ago when you were kids, having to spend the days around each other as you two learned about Jesus and his rules. You and the blonde girl quickly became friends; however you never spoke to each other outside the camping grounds. In day-to-day life, you would only admire her from a distance. Whether it was on the Sunday evening services, or at the school; you paid attention to Abby’s movement as she kneeled to pray, or when she talked to those around her.

Something about her made your hands shake with nervousness, your heart skipped beats just by the thought of her so, so pretty eyes and her strong arms—

“What do you say, miss Y/N?” The pastor interrupts your thoughts and you move your eyes from Abby who’s sitting in front of you to his direction.

“I’m sorry, pastor. What was the question again?”

“What is the message in Ephesians 5:3?” He asks again and your peers, who are seated in a chair circle as the pastor stands in the middle, turn their heads towards you as they all wait for an answer.

“Uh, I… I don’t know…I’m sorry.” You shamefully look at your hands down on lap.

“That is okay, Y/N. We are all here to learn, isn't that right kids?” They all move their heads up and down, agreeing with the pastor. “Can anyone tell me what is the message in Ephesians 5:3?”

“I can.” One of the students complied.

“Yes, Abigail. Go ahead.” As soon as he calls out her name, your head shots up and you’re looking at the girl in front of you again. She clears her throat and before she begins to speak, her eyes meet yours.

“But fornication, and all uncleanness, or covetousness, let it not be onced named among you, as becometh saints;” Abby concludes, her blue eyes never leaving yours. Soon, the priest thanks her for the answer, proceeding with his class and the blonde gives you a small smile. She manspreads on her chair and you feel the blood pump faster into your veins as your body grows hot.

Abby is wearing a white tank top that exposes her strong muscles, black skinny jeans with a heavy-looking belt as well as a pair of black chuck taylor’s. You can’t help but wonder how she would look on top of you, with her blonde hair forming a curtain around your head and her big hands roaming through your body.

After spending the rest of the Bible study distracted staring at the pretty blonde across from you, the class comes to an end. “Alright,kids, that will be all for today. Go ahead and enjoy your last day here and make sure to be ready to attend the bonfire tonight!” The priest leaves the open room located inside the main cabin and soon the students follow behind. Each leaving at their own pace as they conversate with their friends. You look around you and notice Abby is still seated in her chair, like you. She smirks before standing up, making her way to you.

“You seemed a bit distracted. Anything interesting in your mind?” Abby reaches her hand out for you to hold as you leave your chair.

“Oh, nothing, it’s stupid. “ You smile shyly and hold onto her, who soon drops your hand after helping you up. She hums in response as she licks her lips and points her head towards the door, hinting you to follow her as she begins to walk.

“Well, now I need to know what stupid thing you were possibly thinking about while you stared at me the whole study.” You hide your face in your palms, cringing at how you shamelessly looked at her during the class.

“Sorry…” You muffle through your hands before dropping them to your sides again. “I didn’t mean to stare.” Abby lets out a small laugh at your reaction, loving the way you get so shy around her. You two keep walking until you reach the path that led to the area where many small cabins were scattered around.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” She quickly scans the area around, checking to see if anyone can see or hear the two of you. “I think I already know what you were thinking about, though.” Her eyes drop to your plump lips and your throat goes dry.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You play dumb and Abby chuckles.

“Hm. I think we were both thinking about the same stupid things.” She raises her hand to your cheek, lightly massaging the pad of her thumb onto your soft skin and then pushing it down to your bottom lip. You feel as if your heart dropped to your core as heat and pulse grows inside your panties. Her hand teasingly grips your neck before she drops it and takes one of your hands into hers, guiding two walk towards the portable wood toilets by the end of the trail.

She looks around once again, checking for people and opens the door as she rushly gets in, pulling you with her and shutting the door closed. Your back presses into the wood as one of her hands pushes you against the wall by the neck. Abby’s blue eyes turned a shade darker, desired in them as she placed her knee between your legs, earning a small moan from you.

“You’ve been watching me the whole week,” She says as her free hand creeps under the hem of your shirt, fingers lightly tingling the skin of your stomach. “But I’ve been watching you too.” She palms your left breast harshly, flicking her calloused finger on your nipple and you feel yourself getting wetter by the second. “You know the expression you make when you stare at me?”

You stay silent and her grip around your neck tightens.

“When I ask something, you answer.” Abby says softly and removes her hand from your chest, sliding it down to the side of your hips, carving her short nails into your skin as she moves you to grind against her hard thigh; making you bite your lips as you feel your clothed cunt rub deliciously against the material of her jeans. “Answer me, Y/N.”

“I-I don’t know, Abby…”

“You stare at me with this really pathetic expression on your face,” The lights inside the small compartment die down suddenly before turning back on – And as you look at Abby again, a shit-eating grin appear on her pretty lips.

“The expression of someone who just really wants me to fuck them stupid.” You snake your arms around her neck and she lets go of yours, now hugging your waist as she guides your movements. “Do you want me to fuck you stupid?” Abby whispers in your ear with a rough voice.

“Yes-Yes, Abby. Ple-please.” You ask as you hide your face onto her neck, her pinewood scent filling your nostrils and you moan into her skin. Your hot breath hits against her neck and Abby feels your arousal mark a spot on her pants. A soft blush runs over her soft freckled face and her boxers start to feel heavy by her own wetness.

“Please what, angel?”

“Ple-please fuck me, Abby.” You remove your head from its previous position and forcefully grabs the back of her hair, pulling her face towards yours as your lips smack together. Abby bites and pulls onto your bottom lip and soon her tongue sneaks into your mouth, making the kiss become more heated and sloppy. She hugs your waist tighter. “I want you,” You say in between the kisses. “Jus-just fuck me already, ple-please.”

Abby lets out a moan by hearing your pleas and holds your hips still as she lower her lips to your neck. She nibbles and licks at your skin and you let out heavy breaths and pleasure filled moans. She moves one of her hands to your exposed thigh due your skirt riding up, and she slowly slides it closer and closer to your heat as she caresses your hot skin. Soon enough she cups your pussy through your dripping wet panties, the feeling of her warm hand sends a wave of electricity through your body and you moan her name out.

“I've been wanting to do this all week,” Abby confesses. She slowly drags your panties to the side and runs two fingers up your slick, collecting the liquid of your excitement. “Fuck… You’re so fucking wet for me. So ready for me, baby.” She gives you a quick and soft peck on the lips and suddenly thrusts her ring and middle finger inside your weeping cunt.

“Ah ah ah Abby!” You moan as you feel her fingers filling you. Abby begins to move her fingers in-and-out of you, starting off slow and soon she picks up the pace, pumping them fast and with precision inside you. You rock your hips, following her fingers' pace, causing your clit to deliciously and harshly rub against the palm of her hand. “Fuck Abby,,, you're–ahh fucking me so good…”

Abby lets out a quiet laugh and leans in for another messy kiss, saliva dripping off of both your chins as you make out. She soon fingers into you deeper than before, the tip of her fingers meeting that spongy spot inside you. She presses onto it and you rub your clit harder into her palm. You break the kiss, lips swollen for the biting and sucking.

“I'm gon-gonna cum,”

“I'm here, angel. Cum for me, baby.” Soon something inside you snaps and you feel your body shake as a pleasure washes over you.

“Such a good fucking girl, making a mess all over my hand.” Abby helps you ride out your high, her hand and leg drenched from you as she carefully removes her fingers from your sensitive cunt, letting out a hiccup once you feel empty again. You attempt to catch your breath, chest rising up and down rapidly as you both look at eachother. You hold her hand towards your mouth, cleaning her sticky fingers from your orgasm and she opens a small smile.

“You're so hot,” Abby says giving you one more kiss before removing her leg from in between yours.”So fuckin’ dirty for me.” You kiss her back, pulling at her bottom lip and asking for tongue passage which she happily obliged to. Pushing Abby against the wall, your hands fall to her hips, undoing her white studded belt and letting it fall to the ground. “You're gonna make me feel good, Angel?” She smirks upon seeing a naughty look on your face and you nod.

“Yeah, Abby, I'll make you feel so good…” You kiss her lips and neck one last time before you move towards her breasts and stomach. When you reach her crotch, you shamelessly rub your face against it, causing her to gasp and moan as she forces you onto the floor by your shoulders.

Abby helps you unbutton her pants and you bring them down along with her boxers as you kneel in front of her, the smell of her pussy makes your mouth water. She frees one of her ankles from the clothes, propping her leg over your shoulder and you snake your arm around her tight to keep her secure. She looks down at you, looking like a pretty and desperate little slut just for her. One of her hands goes to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to her glistening lips. You lay your tongue out and you slowly lick her slick bottom to top, reaching her throbbing bud and giving it a harsh suck.

“Uhmm, fuck,” She moans upon the contact, pushing her hips closer to you mouth. “Yeah, just like that, baby.” You finally bury your tongue into her cunt, exploring her as she lets out a string of breathless moans. Abby begins to grind against your face, your soft muscle lapping on her mouthwatering pussy and your nose softly and deliciously brushing against her clit. “Look at me,” She pats your head and you bring your eyes up to her but never stopping fucking your tongue into her. “Lookin’ so beautiful on your knees for me, ahh– s-so so fucking perfect,”

Abby soon feels the tension that sits on the bottom of her stomach is about to explode. Her moves become more messy and rapid as she chases your face. The leg that is up your shoulder starts to shake, the trembling of her body making her to hold onto your free shoulder for support. You notice Abby will soon break and change the focus of your thrust to her needy button, lick and circling your tongue on it and adding two fingers into her.

“D-don't stop, fuckfuckfuc–” Her hips stutter as you scissor your fingers into her, never stopping giving attention to her clit. You feel her pussy gushing around you and she soon releases her juices, making a mess on your hand and face. Abby breaks eye contact as she presses the back of her head onto the wooden wall. She closes her eyes and furrows her brows while coming down from her orgasm. You distance your mouth from her now sensitive clit and gently remove your fingers from her. She drops her leg off of your shoulder and you, still on your knees, move to help her fix her pants and belt.

“No, it’s okay,” Abby moves away from your touch, making you slowly stand back on your feet. “I can do it.” She pushes her black jeans back up and grabs her belt off the floor, quickly wrapping them around the waistband of her jeans. You quietly observe her, hopeful thoughts run around your head, thoughts about you and Abby becoming closer after today – The last day of camp. “So, uhh,” She nervously runs her hand through her blonde strands as her face displays a shameful and regretful expression.

“We should get going, th-the last bonfire will start soon…” You feel as if the ground disappeared, your heart squeezes inside your chest and tears form in your eyes. “Uhm… I'll see you around, yeah?” She quickly exits, leaving you alone in the compartment. You look down at your knees, red and swollen from all the kneeling, and then you look around the small porta wooden potty, your hand palms your face as you take in what just happened. Regret fills you for what you and Abby just did – In a damn porta potty, at church camp nonetheless – and at how easy you gave yourself to her, only to be tossed away just as easily.

ೃ⁀➷ thank you for reading! feel free to comment your thoughts, reblog, leave a heart and follow me˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

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#abby anderson #abby tlou #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby x y/n #abby anderson smut #abby tlou smut #vacation bible school abby anderson #©machetegirl109

[homunculus-argument]

 The thing about hearing and saying shit online is to always ask for a clarification before going at someone’s throat. There is no element of surprise in text-based combat, and you don’t get an upper hand by jumping first - you lose nothing by asking “what do you mean by ____?” As a matter of fact, it is a gain either way, you either get a clarification that the person saying shit was, indeed, saying what you thought they were, or you can avoid the argument altogether by hearing that this was never the case in the first place.

 I may or may not recently have witnessed an Internet Argument between an american and a finn, as the latter remarked that you can recognise Romani people by the way they dress. The american, being unfamiliar with finnish Romani, assumed that the implication was that they are dirty or untidy, or dress so poorly that they stick out in a crowd, and went right at the complete stranger’s throat for assuming they were perpetuating some kind of a “dirty g*psy” stereotype. The whole conversation imploded into an absolute shitshow where everyone was too hostile to listen to anyone else to understand where anyone was coming from.

 The thing is, what was implied was the absolute opposite. I haven’t eaten at their tables but I’ve been drinking with a few, and the finnish Romani are distinctly neat and tidy people - you can’t hold the cigarette between your own lips to light one for them, because something that’s touched someone else’s mouth is no longer sanitary and can’t touch theirs.

And the way finnish Romani dress would make most other people look homeless by comparison. Besides having a distinct kind of traditional clothing, the Romani who choose to wear the traditional dress refuse to be seen dressed in anything else. Not being dressed properly is no different from being completely naked, and the average non-Romani finn is more ok with being seen nude by complete strangers than finnish Romani are with being seen dressed improperly - improperly by their own cultural standards. An exception to the rule can be made in situations where there are no other Romani people present, but not when there are two.

There’s a case I’ve been told as an example of this:

 Finnish schools do not have dress codes - generally anything you could wear in public is appropriate to wear in a place of education. However, the one rule that every school I’ve been to has enforced is “no outdoor clothing indoors”. After primary school, students are generally allowed to wear shoes inside the building, but jackets and coats are out of the question. The story I was told was about a 15-year-old Romani boy, who had previously reluctantly agreed to take his jacket off in class and cafeteria, but after the school had hired an assistant teacher who was also Romani, he adamantly refused to do so.

 The student argued that doing so would be disrespectful to her. He was already dressed like grown Romani men do, and would not compromise his clothing now that there was another Romani - an elder, on top of that - present. He refused to disrespect the assistant (who was senior to him by being in her early 20s), himself, or their people, by abiding to the jacket rule. And the student in question stood by this with the absolute adamant, stalwart resolution of a teenage boy with a justified reason to defy authority.

 Being in an unstoppable force vs. immovable object situation - finnish school rules vs. Romani dress code - the teachers contacted the boy’s parents. Hearing the matter, the boy’s parents were baffled that the school would expect their son to compromise - the boy was right, he was being respectful and abiding by the customs of his own people. He was acting like a grown man should, and they were proud of him for doing so. So in the end, the school had to allow the boy to wear his overcoat inside the school despite of the rule.

 And how was the american who went at a random finn’s throat on Reddit supposed to know any of this? Naturally, it would be absolutely absurd to expect everyone to know everything about every other culture on every continent.

 They weren’t supposed to know the full context.

They just supposed that they knew.

[joelswritingmistress]

Last Halloween: Chapter 12

Summary: After a tragedy involving Joel happened on Halloween one year prior, the town now shuns him while ignoring the details of the now closed case. You are seemingly the only one to offer empathy to a man the town is making out to be a monster.

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

The atmosphere was exactly as you had hoped. The late afternoon brought an unexpected chill to the air as you and Joel strolled around the little farm, hand-in-hand.

The place had its own unique trait in that half of it was in your town and half was in the town over. People often took pictures at a sign beside the brewery side of the farm that showed off the invisible town line.

You walked by to see a man taking a picture of the woman he accompanied with one foot in one town and one foot in the other. It was silly fun but you thought it was still nice.

As Joel held a giant, wooden door open that lead into the cider brewery called, Far From the Tree, you looked right at him and tugged lightly on the bill of his trucker-style baseball hat.

"This is a good look for you," you told him with a smirk. "I haven't seen you in a hat before."

Joel tugged on the front of the orange beanie cap you wore, "This is a good look for you," he countered with a grin. "It's cute."

You kissed him as you strolled into the big, open room, feeling him link up his fingers with yours again as you passed by.

Wooden tables, some high tops and some low, were scattered about neatly in the oversized space. A fireplace was roaring near the far side where people had already claimed the three leather couches in front of it.

"What are we thinking here?" Joel asked, heading toward the bar where two men and a woman were busy pouring their showcased ciders for customers.

"Hmm.." you rested a finger over your lips as you scanned the chalk boards above. The atmosphere, oddly enough, reminded you a bit of the coffee shop. "I love honeycrisp apples so that one looks good." You pointed to the board. "But the Granny Smith one looks good too."

"Oh, you're a honeycrisp girl." Joel made a face that left you chuckling.

"Is there a problem with that?" You asked, playful narrowing your eyes at him.

"I don't know. I heard the honeycrisp apples are kind of the snobs of the apple world."

"Snobby apples?"

"Oh yeah. They're like a dollar more than the rest. I feel like the honeycrisp people look down at us Gala and Macintosh lovers."

You began to laugh out loud. "Well maybe you just need better taste in apples."

Joel grinned and you leaned in to kiss him again before leaning against him as you both continued to take in the menu.

"I might do s flight," he said, "Try a handful of them and then decide what I like best."

"Good idea." You nodded and then looked over at him. "Are you boycotting the honeycrisp cider?"

"I definitely am." He chuckled and then the two of you put in your orders, sampling as many as you could between the two of you. Joel handed over his debit card, practically swatting your hand away as you tried to give the bartender yours. "You can leave the tab open," he told them.

"Joel Miller!" You said his full name in a motherly fashion. "It's supposed to be my treat."

"Nope." That's all he said, still grinning as you grabbed your little trays of beer. "Inside or outside?"

You glanced around the room. As cozy as it was, you wanted to feel the chill of autumn. Through the windows you could see some vacant seating by the outdoor fire pits.

"Outside," you decided.

Joel trailed you through the room and the chill made you shudder as you exited, leaving the warmth of the indoor area behind. Just beyond the patio was a haunted corn maze. Children and adults, alike, were handing over tickets to take on the challenge of making it through.

You sat down with a content sigh in a wooden Adirondack chair and Joel sat beside you. You both places the flights down on the ledge of the firepit and reached for one of the four little glasses.

Joel sighed even louder than you did. "This is the most relaxed I've felt in awhile." He sipped on his first cider and smacked his lips together in approval. You followed his lead.

"Oh that's good. Very sweet," you said.

"Do you want to carve a pumpkin?" Joel asked, motioning to a giant pumpkin patch fifty or so feet away.

"Those are honestly the biggest pumpkins I've ever seen," you said with a laugh. "I bet they're like twenty-five dollars."

"You know I've kind of been dreading Halloween," Joel said to you. "This whole Halloween season, actually. I had always enjoyed October before everything that happened last year."

You gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze.

"But you're making it all feel alright again." Joel had a half-grin on his face. "So, let's spend the twenty-five bucks and get one. Or two."

"I love seeing you happy," you told him. "It bothered me to see you come in to the shop sitting alone and just.." you shrugged. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm even bringing that up."

"No, it's okay. I was a little surprised when you asked me to do something that first time." Joel seemed to cringe a bit. "I probably came off as an asshole, huh?"

"Not at all." You shook your head. "You have every right to react the way you did."

Joel made another face and you grinned. "Does it matter what happened to lead us up to where we are now?"

"I guess not," he agreed.

You leaned in and touched your lips to his once and then sat back in your chair. "I love the fall."

Joel reached into his pocket a removed a twenty dollar bill. "After the cider we could always do the haunted hayride; or is that too cliche?"

You downed the first little glass of cider and smirked at Joel. "We better finish before the six o'clock shuttle takes off."

He looked at his phone and took one of his ciders like a shot. "One down, three to go."

"We have fifteen minutes," you challenged, reaching for your next mini glass.

"I don't think you're supposed to take these like a shot," Joel told you with a laugh. "Like other things.." he raised his eyebrows, "You're supposed to savor it."

Purposely, Joel took a slow sip from the second cider glass while making eye contact with you and then drew a finger across his lips. It made you smirk at him.

"I guess.. like other things," you echoed his words. "We aren't on a timed schedule."

"There's always another hay ride."

"Mmm.." you raised your glass and tapped it against his.

Taking your time was the best bet. You didn't make the six o'clock ride but both of you were just in time for six thirty.

Joel helped you up into the back of a wagon littered with hay bales and the two of you sat near the back.

There were some older children of maybe thirteen or fourteen on board, some kids were closer to twenty and the rest were adults.

After the warnings about the ride being too scary for children under thirteen, the bumpy hay ride started. You were perfectly buzzed from the cider and beaming with the feelings of new love amidst the most cliche but perfect fall evening you could imagine. That amplified as you laughed, but hid against Joel's shoulder when the headless horseman appeared from behind the trees on your ride through the woods. He whipped his sword, making 'woosh' sounds as he sliced through air.

"That was a real horse!" You exclaimed with a laugh.

Joel secured his arm around you and you both laughed.

The bumpy ride over a bridge to "get away" from the horseman was a nice touch. It lead the way through a zombie-infested graveyard, a werewolf den and more trick-or-treat specialties.

"These kids did a great job," you concluded at the end, still clinging to Joel's side as you made your way off of the back of the oversized wagon.

"Scared?" He teased, looking over at you as you squeezed his hand.

"No." You laughed and kissed as you walked your way to the pumpkin patch to retrieve a pair of pumpkins. "I say we have a contest."

"A contest?" Joel laughed lightly. "What kind?"

"Whoever carves.." you tossed a giant pumpkin up onto you shoulder. ".. the best pumpkin."

"Gets what?" He took one step closer.

"Whatever they want." You raised your eyebrows.

"Okay," Joel agreed, glancing around for the perfect pumpkin. "You got yourself a deal."

The two of you roamed around a bit more, grabbed a growler of cider for the road and paid for the pumpkins before heading back toward Joel's house.

"Are you going to put the jack-o-lanterns out on Halloween?" You asked, reaching for his free hand as he guided the steering wheel with the other. "You know.. after I beat you?"

Joel laughed. "I'm pretty creative."

"Yeah?"

"Don't underestimate me."

You chuckled and let out a sigh as he pulled the truck into the driveway. Right away your car and his motorcycle came into view.

"You wish we were on the bike, don't you?" Joel suspected.

You giggled. "No, I liked the truck. It has character."

"It's a piece of shit." Joel looked to you as he parked it and killed the engine.

"Well, I like it."

Joel stared at you for a second with a smirk on his face and then popped open the door. The two of you retrieved the pumpkins from the bed of the truck and then headed inside.

"Are we really doing this right now?" He asked, prompting you to nod.

"Of course!" You nodded eagerly and he agreed, locating oversized plastic, garbage bags and a short stack of newspapers piled at the edge of the counter.

You decorated the kitchen table with enough to protect it from the pumpkiny mess that was to come and then placed down the the pumpkins on top of it.

Joel retrieved a pair of kitchen knives and handed you one. "I don't have any of those fancy, little kits they sell these days."

"Well, I guess it's the traditional eyes, nose and mouth scheme, then." You grinned. "I like those better anyway."

"Good luck." He plunged the knife into the top of the pumpkin. You followed his lead and the two of you faced off, beginning with the circular cut around the stem before forming triangular eyes and a nose.

You arched your neck to look at Joel's but he spun it so you couldn't see. You then gave a second attempt and he chuckled and moved his pumpkin out of your view again. After a simultaneous laugh, you flung a handful of pumpkin seeds at him.

Joel began to laugh out loud. "Are you mad you're going to lose?" He grabbed a handful of pumpkin guts and tossed it back in your direction.

You let your mouth drop open, smiling at the same time, as you looked down to where the stringy, orange substance clung to your plaid shirt.

"You started it," Joel joked, maneuvering out of the way as you tossed another handful of the pumpkin's innards at him. This time the seeds bounced off the wall and the handful of guts stuck to it.

"Ohh!" You laughed out loud. "I'm sorry." When Joel threw a handful back at you, you ducked and watched as it smacked against the glass of the patio door.

Joel chased you around the table as you laughed wildly now, reaching for more pumpkin guts with your left hand. You breathed heavy when he finally got his hands on you.

"Okay, okay.. truce." You smiled wide and held a hand out to shake.

As Joel looked down to accept your offer you plopped the other hand of pumpkin innards onto the top of his head and attempted to run again. He laughed and quickly caught up to you again, pulling you back by the arm.

The image of him with pumpkin all over him continued to make you cackle until your sides hurt. When you finally caught your breath you placed a slimy hand on his cheek.

"I'm sorry," you told him, still unable to completely hold back on your laughter.

Joel grinned and then snickered. "No you're not." He pulled the orange, stringy substance from his hair and draped it off the edge of your nose.

"We even now?" You asked, looking back at him, knowing you looked equally as silly as he did.

"Okay," Joel agreed.

You held out your hand and asked again, "Truce?"

He pushed your hand away and leaned in to kiss you. "Truce."

CLICK HERE FOR CHAPTER 13

@untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @grogusmum @ghostwritesthings @strawbunnyx @ayamenimthiriel @noisynightmarepoetry @jiminstinypinky @tuquoquebrute @pedr0swh0r3 @runningmom94 @mellymbee

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[blooming-violets]

Hold My Hand (sequel to Bring Your Kids to Work Day)

[tasm!peter x fem!reader]

Summary: [link to part one] The trauma of a fire scars more than just the flesh. A sequel to the “Dragging themselves along the ground” prompt.

A/N: This is for @moonyslove78​ only but I suppose you can read it too if you’d like.  

Six months. 

That’s how long it had been since the incident. 

Not fire. 

Incident. 

You couldn’t say the word “fire” anymore. You couldn’t think of it. You couldn’t hear it. That word no longer existed in the English language. Peter knew that. Anything involving the incident was off limits. The last time he had mentioned it was when he asked if you wanted to attend Harrison’s funeral. The way your eyes widened, blurring out of focus, the way your hands started to tremble, the way your breath caught in your throat, made him immediately retract that question. You had been transported back to a time that he couldn’t see, a memory he could only imagine from what was told to him, and one he wished he could steal from your brain to claim as his own. He knew he couldn’t lift your burden. He couldn’t take on your trauma.

It didn’t stop him from trying, though. 

Peter was supposed to fix things. He was a protector. He was supposed to keep you safe. He had saved your body from the burning building but your mind had been left behind. It had incinerated in the flames like the charred, blackened corpse of Harrison. 

He attended the funeral on your behalf. It was a closed casket. Obviously. Some bodies are not meant to be shown after death. Peter had smiled politely and sent your regards to his family. He tried not to stare too long at the young man’s weeping sister. She looked no older than thirteen. She gripped tightly onto her mother’s hand. He received his own flashbacks of Gwen’s younger brothers’ clinging to their mother, unable to fully comprehend the weight of what was occurring before them. 

If he had to pretend like the fire never happened, for your sake, then he would do his best. The weeks after, any newspaper article, any internet post, any television story was banned from your apartment. He made no mention of what happened. The only time it was referenced was when you needed to have the burns, seared into your skin, looked after. Your right hand was no longer able to open and extend fully from the scarring on your palm and fingers. You would have permanent scarring along your arm, as well. They were a constant visual reminder of what happened that afternoon and he often found you with your right arm hidden behind your back to keep it out of view. 

You hated the heat now. Even throughout the winter you kept your air conditioning on. Peter spent his winter with a persistent, unshakable cold from being constantly exposed to the frigid air. Anything to keep you happy. He tried to keep your days as normal as possible. You didn’t like to go outside because you felt like you had to be on constant alert around other people but you hated the feeling of being trapped indoors. Peter found a happy compromise by breaking open the lock to your apartment roof and letting you find solace outdoors without the wandering eyes of curious strangers. He hauled two old armchairs up there that May no longer needed. It gave you two some place to sit and stare down at the city street. 

You were up there now. You always were. During the day, his duty was to keep your mind occupied. During the night, his duty was to hold you tightly for every night terror that plagued your screaming mind. He would fend off the horrors and keep you safe any way he could. 

“You can’t keep pretending like it never happened,” May whispered across the small, round table to her nephew. She had stopped by this morning to drop off leftovers and check in on how things were going. She was appalled at him when he told her the truth. “This is no life for her, Peter.” 

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, and staring out your kitchen window. She had no need to whisper. You couldn’t hear her up on the roof. 

“She’s not ready,” he replied.

“She’ll never be ready. No one is ever ready to face their trauma. It’s reaching the six month anniversary. It’s time you started talking about it. She needs to get it out,” May reached a hand across the table to pat his arm. “When Ben left us, I wanted to pretend like it was all a terrible dream. I wanted to disappear into the safest parts of my mind where he still existed and block out the rest of the world. But you can’t heal like that. To heal, you must talk about it. You have to get her talking, Peter, before she slips away forever. She needs you to listen to her and hold her hand while she battles her demons. She doesn’t need you to play pretend with fake smiles and act like everything is wonderful.” 

Peter closed his eyes. The only time he was able to heal from Gwen was when he started talking about it. May had been the one to listen. She had been the one to hold his hand and guide him through the loss. He should be strong enough to pass that on to the person he loved. 

“I’m scared,” he mumbled. “I’m scared it will hurt her too much.” 

“It will,” she replied. “It will be painful. It will be hard. But she needs to face what happened. She can’t live on the roof forever, honey. She needs your help to find her way again.” 

He gave a solemn nod, “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Hey,” Peter whispered as he came up behind you. 

The sun was starting to set over the buildings. Spring was bringing in warmer weather but dusk was still chilly. You wore nothing but short sleeves as you started out into the horizon. When he looked at you now, you felt empty to him, like your very essence had been stolen from your body. His eyes traveled down to your right arm. The skin was wrinkled and leathery. Your fist was partially closed as it rested against the ledge you leaned on. He reached out to place his hand over your closed one. 

“It’s getting chilly out here. Do you want my coat?” 

When you didn’t respond, he shrugged off his coat and tucked it around your shoulders. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Still nothing. He might as well be speaking to a mannequin. He took a deep breath to brace himself for his next sentence. His arm reached out in front of you to subconsciously block your path should you decide to suddenly throw yourself off the building. 

“I just got off the phone with Jenny. She told me all about the kids.” 

Peter watched carefully for your reaction. After May left, he made a call to your former coworker. It had been too long since he checked on Ollie and Ellie. He spoke to Jenny for over an hour. She told him all about her kids’ healing process. They seemed to be doing alright. Ollie was completely back to his usual self and Ellie had her good and bad days. Both kids had been asking about you for months now. 

You blinked a few times as the news set in. Your head tilted to the side.

“I don’t know a Jenny,” you mumbled under your breath.  

Peter shuffled closer, standing his ground, “Yes. You do. She’s the mother of Ollie and Ellie. You worked with her. She shared a desk beside you.” 

Your shoulders tensed and you shook your head, “No. I don’t know those people. You’re confused.” 

He sighed, stepping forward to gently capture your cheek in his palm, turning your head to face him, “Look at me. You know them. Ellie’s been asking for you. She wants to see you.” 

You whimpered, trying to turn your head away from him, but he held you steady, “No…I don’t…” 

“Yes.” Peter’s voice was firm but his eyes shone with tears. “You know them. You saved them. From the fire.” 

You flinched, stumbling back out of his grasp, “No. Stop.” 

“You were in a fire. You were trapped in a burning building.”

Your hands clasped against your ears and you squeezed your eyes shut, “Stop it, Peter!” 

He gently pulled your arms back down to his side, wrapping them around his waist, “No. You stop it. You were trapped inside a building with two children. Ellie and Ollie. You took care of them. You got them out. You saved them. It happened. It wasn’t pretend. It wasn’t a dream. It was real.”

Tears streamed down your face. You tighten your grip around him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, “No…you saved them…” 

“Not me,” Peter whispered. He nuzzled his face against the side of your head, holding you protectively in his arms. “I didn’t know where you were. You got Ellie to safety. You called me. You told me where to go. All I did was break a wall. You saved those kids. And those kids want to see you again. Jenny told me Ellie talks about you every night. She’s…struggling with what happened. I think seeing you again would really help her. You’re the only other person who understands what that little girl went through. I think you can help each other.” 

You were silent for a long time. He didn’t press any further for now. Baby steps. You cried softly into his shirt while he stroked your hair. He whispered how much he loved you and how strong he thought you were into your ear. He waited until you were ready. 

You took a shaky breath followed by a coughing spell. Your lungs were weaker after the fire. Your voice often suffered from hoarseness and you would fall into coughing fits every so often. He waited until you were finished before pulling back slightly, grasping onto your shoulders, and looking into your watery eyes. 

You were still in there. Somewhere. 

He would find you and pull you free. 

“Please,” Peter rested his forehead against yours. “I need you to do this with me. I want you to meet those kids. I need you to start healing. If you can’t start healing for yourself then start with helping a sweet, scared, little girl with her own healing. They need you. I need you. I’m afraid you’re slipping away from me.” 

You lifted your good hand up to his cheek and wiped away a tear. He hadn’t even realized he had been crying. You gave him a soft smile. It was the first one he saw since the day he pulled you from the flames. 

“I’m not going anywhere, P. I’m here. I’m not leaving you. Promise.”

“It was so nice of you to agree to this,” Jenny led you and Peter into their family's town house. 

You two agreed to babysit the kids while their parents went out for a quick dinner. It was about a month after your rooftop talk. Peter wanted to bring you more back down to earth before exposing you to the children. You weren’t in a perfect place but you were coherent enough to not frighten them. Jenny and her husband were aware of your situation. They agreed to let you watch them for only an hour or two while they were just down the street. If there were any troubles, they would be back in less than five minutes. Jenny was struggling with getting through to Ellie. According to her, Ollie’s excitement over meeting Spider-Man overtook any fear he had from being trapped in a bathroom during the fire but Ellie was silent. She was withdrawn and short tempered. She suffered from nightmares and bed wetting. Jenny was worried she couldn’t reach her daughter as much as she’d like. That’s where you could come in. You were there. You knew what she went through. You could answer the child’s questions better than anyone. 

“They’re in the playroom. They’ve already eaten dinner and are in their pjs. You won’t need to put them to bed. We can do that when we get home. Just…play with them and keep them safe. I’m sure Ollie will talk your ear off.” Jenny paused, mulling over something in her mind. “You know, before the fire, it was always Ellie who never stopped talking. Now…well…now it seems like Ollie feels the need to pick up the slack and fill her silence. They sleep in the same bed every night. He wants to protect her. I won’t let him sleep with his Spider-Man mask on so he keeps it tucked under his pillow instead. He said it helps keep Ellie safe from the nightmares.” 

Peter glanced over at you. Your jaw was locked tight and your body was stiff. Talking about the fire was still difficult for you. Hearing so much about the twins was starting to overload your emotions. He wondered if this was a mistake. It might be too soon. 

“It’s okay,” he leaned over to whisper in your ear. “Hold my hand. I’m right here.”

You took his hand and gave it a tight squeeze. He tried to imagine his own strength leaving his body and entering into you where your hands connected. 

Jenny paused at the door to the playroom to give the two lovers a sad smile, “Like we said earlier, if you need us to come home early, please don’t hesitate to ask. We know this is a big deal. If Ellie asks anything you don’t feel comfortable answering, just tell her to ask us when we get home. You can talk openly with them. Their therapist says that it’s good to speak the truth instead of sugar coating everything. They might be young but their trauma is real and they should be able to talk about it however they need to. They don’t need adults to downplay what they went through.” She steadied herself and put on a smile for show, opening the playroom door. “Look who’s here, guys!” 

Ollie looked up from his spot on the floor where he was building a block tower and smiled, “I know you! You gave us lollipops.” 

Lollipops. Out of everything that happened that afternoon, that’s how he remembered you. Peter almost laughed at the beautiful innocence of it but held it in. He could feel you tensing up beside him. He gave your hand a squeeze. 

“You must be Ollie,” he stepped in to cover for you while you better composed yourself. Seeing the twins again must have brought back a flood of memories. “My name’s Peter. I’m going to help watch you guys tonight, if that’s okay with you.” They had only ever met Spider-Man, not Peter. He was much less exciting without a mask. 

Ollie looked at him suspiciously, “I dunno. Do you like Spider-Man? What about Paw Patrol?” 

Peter smiled. From the corner of his eye he saw you give a tug of a smile too. 

“I’m Spider-Man’s second biggest fan. I heard you’re his number one. I don’t know much about Paw Patrol but I’m sure you could teach me everything you know.”

Ollie beamed, “Then you can stay with us. He likes Spider-Man, Ellie!” 

He looked over to his sister. Ellie hadn’t moved from her spot curled up on the couch. She was staring up at the ceiling with a picture book resting over her chest. She hadn’t made any acknowledgment towards them since they entered. It was like she was stuck in a daydream. It was a look Peter had become all too familiar with these past months. 

Ollie waved his hand at her, “Ellie! Hello? I’m talkin’ to you.” His tiny shoulders sagged when he got no response. “She’s too busy thinking right now. She’ll be back later.” 

From beside Peter, you finally stirred to life, “It’s okay. I get lost thinking too much, too. We can wait until she finds her way back.” You dug into your pocket and pulled out two lollipops. “I knew I couldn’t show up today empty handed. Would you like some dessert?” 

Ollie ran over to you to snatch one out of your hand as you offered it to him, “Thank you!” He looked to his mother for approval before digging into the treat. 

Jenny sighed, “I think we’ll be off. We’ll be just down the street. You have both our numbers. Oliver, you be on your best behavior. Show your guests where everything is in the house if they need anything. Ellie, darling…” She walked over to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “You be good, sweetie. Mommy will be back really soon. If you need me for anything, you ask for the phone to call me, okay?” She turned around to smile at Peter. “Thank you. We’ll text you in about twenty minutes to make sure everything is going well.” 

He smiled back, “We’ll be fine. You guys have fun.” 

He watched as they left the room and he listened to the front door click locked behind them. He turned his attention to you. Your muscles had lost some of their tension but you still stood rigidly beside him, clinging onto his hand. Your eyes were trained on Ellie as she stared up at the ceiling. He followed your gaze. The young girl’s blonde hair was splayed out over the couch cushion. She looked lost in thought. It was nearly the exact same look you had worn for the last six months. The fire had aged the child faster than anyone was prepared for. Her eyes held the secrets and horrors only you could understand. 

Peter gave your shoulder a nudge. He nodded in Ellie’s direction, signaling with his eyes that you should go talk to her. A look of panic flashed across your face. He brushed his thumb over your hand. 

“It’s okay,” he silently mouthed. “You can do this.” 

You took a deep breath and slipped your hand from his. He watched as you slowly made your way over to Ellie and kneel down beside her. 

“Hi,” your voice was soft and gentle. Peter could detect the hint of sadness in it. “You don’t have to look at me if you don’t want to. I’m sure seeing my face might bring back a lot of painful memories. I have them, too. The painful memories. Sometimes they feel so big that I feel like I can’t breathe and they’re choking all the air out of my lungs. Other times they make me feel lost inside my own mind. Like I’m wandering a dark hallway forever and can’t find my way out. You don’t have to look at me, Ellie, if it makes you feel like that, but I want you to know that I’m here. For you. I’m here for you. And I will sit quietly beside you until you feel ready.” 

You sat down with your back leaning against the couch. Peter gave you a soft smile, his eyes trying to convey how proud of you he felt. 

“I was saved by Spider-Man, you know.” Ollie popped the lollipop out of his mouth and tugged at Peter’s hand. “He punched through a wall and flew through the air with us. He kissed Ellie on the mouth to make her come back to life.” 

Peter grinned and plopped down onto the ground in front of him, “I don’t think he was kissing her, Ol. He was probably giving her CPR. That’s when someone helps blow air into someone else’s lungs when they need help breathing.” 

Ollie mimicked his crossed legged position on the ground, “Oh. I never heard of CRP before. The lollipop girl was there, too. Spider-Man didn’t like when she wouldn’t open her eyes.” 

Your back was straighter than usual as Peter carefully watched you from the corner of his eye. Your breaths were getting heavy but you seemed to be able to keep them under control. 

He smiled over at Ollie, “Spider-Man likes to save people. I’m sure he was just worried that someone he was supposed to save wasn’t feeling very well.” 

Ellie shot up from her spot on the couch. Her hair was knotted in the back and stuck out at crazy angles as if she’d been laying in that spot for a very long time. She turned dark eyes to glare at Peter. 

“Spider-Man is bad at his job,” she huffed. “He didn’t come soon enough. We almost got dead like that one man. He should of helped us sooner. I hate him. He’s not a hero. He’s a bad guy.”  

Before Peter could speak, you shifted in your spot to turn around and face the young girl. He watched as you studied her face in silence for a bit. Ellie wasn’t the same person she was before the fire. She was hardened. Angry. You could relate. 

You reached your hand out and placed it gently over hers, “It’s not Spider-Man’s fault. There were a lot of people who needed saving that day. He came right when he needed to. I think we made a pretty good team before he got there, don’t you think? You held my hand the whole time even when you were scared. You stayed right by my side and we made it all the way across the office to find Ollie. It was you who reminded me to go get him, Ellie. You helped save yourself and your brother just as much as Spider-Man did.” 

Her little face softened and she slumped back into the cousins of the couch, “It was too scary. I didn’t like it.” 

“Me either,” you sighed. “I really didn’t like it. It hurt and it was scary and I wish it never happened. But it did. It happened and that’s okay. Sometimes things happen that are out of our control. We just keep pushing forward and doing our best with what we have. I think we did the best job we could have in that situation. I’m so proud of what we were able to do. Look at us. We made it. We’re alive. Everyone who was locked in that bathroom is still here in this room.” 

“...Not Spider-Man,” Ollie spoke under his breath, not wanting to interrupt their conversation but still wanting to throw in his two cents. 

You grinned, glancing over your shoulder at him, “You’d be surprised, kid.” 

Peter laughed. He knew what you had said would go over both children’s heads. The sound of his laughter made you laugh along with him. It was the first time in half a year that he got to hear that beautiful sound. It flooded his body with a warm light and brought joyful tears to his eyes. He quickly tried to brush them away before anyone would notice but you were already staring straight at him. 

“I love you,” you silently mouthed in his direction. 

This was working. Seeing the twins was doing more good than it was harm. He gave a deep sigh and released months of pent up anxiety. 

“What’s so funny?” Ellie asked, glancing between the two of you. 

You chuckled to yourself, “Nothing. You babies are just too cute.” 

“We are not babies!” Both Ellie and Ollie shouted at the same time. 

The twins glanced at each other in shock and then fell into their own fit of laughter. Ollie leapt onto the couch to tackle his sister, jumping on top of her, and smothering her with rough hugs. 

“Hey, cut it out!” She cried through her laughs. “That tickles!” 

Peter scooted closer to you. His fingers grazed lightly down your spine until they rested on your hip. You turned your attention to him. There was something softer about your edges now. A part of who you used to be was returning back into your soul as your walls slowly came down. 

“How you doing?” He spoke softly so only you could hear. 

You smiled, a genuine one, and nodded, “I’m okay. Really. I’m okay.” 

“I knew you would be,” he leaned over to press a quick kiss to your temple. “I never doubted you for a second.” 

Ollie leaped off the couch towards the two of you without warning. Peter managed to grab him midair before he crash landed into your side. In one, singular, swoop he tucked the boy under his arm like a football and jumped to his feet, spinning them both around to the sound of over-tired giggles. 

“Pretend that I’m Spidey!” He shouted. “I’m swinging through the air with my web shooters. Pew! Pew!” He mimicked the motion of Spider-Man shooting off his webs with his hands. 

“Alright, Spidey, a bad guy just robbed a bank. It’s your job to stop him before he gets away!” Peter held Ollie in his arms and lifted him to the ceiling to make it look like he was crawling upside down. 

Ollie squealed with joy and scurried across to the wall where Peter pretended to slowly lower him by some imaginary webs. 

“There’s the robbers,” Ollie whispered to new best friend. He pointed to you and his sister. “They have the pirate jewels and we gotta get ‘em back.”

You gave Ellie a glance to see if she was willing to play along. She brushed her hair out of her eyes with a look of determination and rolled behind you. 

“Hurry,” she shouted. “We have to make a run for it! Spider-Man is coming!” She leapt to her feet and held up an imaginary bag. “You’ll never catch us! We have a secret hide-a-away. Quick, let’s go.” Ellie grabbed your hand and the two of you took off out the playroom and down the hall. 

What followed could be considered the cutest Spider-Man chase Peter had ever participated in. He easily held Ollie up while he jumped him from wall to wall and swung from Peter’s arms. You and Ellie threw crumpled paper balls and stuffed animals at them as they tried to approach. Peter would weave and dodge with the child in his arms, even going so far as to perfectly tuck and roll with him to avoid the attack of a flying stuffed pig. If the kids were any older than they might feel the need to question where those reflexes came from but, being so young, it only enhanced their already vivid imaginations. There was out of breath panting, delighted screams, and enough laughter to heal every damaged, broken heart under this roof. 

By the time Jenny and her husband came home, the four of you were tucked under a freshly made blanket fort while Peter told stories about the adventures of Spider-Man that he “made up” as he went along. The twins were both snuggled to either side of you, Ellie’s hand clutched tightly in your scarred one, as their wide eyes took in everything Peter was saying. You rested your cheek against the top of her head. She didn’t need to talk in depth about her experience in the fire. Not now, at least. All she needed was a little reassurance that it happened and that it was terrible but that she got through it. Seeing your face was the reminder she needed to know that things would be okay in the end. If you could be okay, the person who kept her safe and stayed by her side during the events, then maybe she could be okay too. What Ellie didn’t know is that was exactly what you were searching for, as well. Seeing Ellie be able to laugh and play like a normal child put everything into perspective. Trauma can break a person but it can also build you up from the ashes. You can come out stronger than you ever thought possible. You were no longer just a normal person. You were a survivor. You survived. It took everything inside of you to get there but you did it. 

A blanket fort full of people who had beaten the odds and survived tragedy, all being able to laugh together, was a perfect representation of that. 

It wasn’t the first time Peter had stood between a child and death, it wouldn’t be the last, but this time was special. This time you were there beside him. He had a flash of the future, one where you were older and holding a baby of your own in your arms while you both cheered on Ellie and Ollie as they graduated from high school with their entire life ahead of them. The thought made him smile. 

“Well, isn’t this a happy sight!” Jenny explained as she peeked her head in under the fort. 

Ollie leapt up, “Mommy!” He threw his arms around his mother in a big hug. 

“It’s too soon,” Ellie complained. “We’re not ready! I don’t want them to go yet. I want them to stay.” 

“It’s already past your bedtime,” Jenny scolded her but when she reached out her hand, Ellie happily took it, and she was pulled into a hug. “I take it that means things went well?” 

“They were great,” you replied. “I don’t think they could have gone better. I think this was exactly what everyone needed.” 

Jenny looked visibly relieved, “And there weren’t any…problems?” 

Peter helped you duck out of the fort, “Nope. There was a little talk about it but, in true Spider-Man fashion, Ollie managed to save the day and get everyone lost in a game of bank robbers.” 

“I’m so glad to hear it. Thank you two so much. I’m sure we’ll be hearing all about your adventures as we try to wrestle them to sleep.” She helped walk you to the front door. “Kids! If you want to say goodbye to your guests, now is the time!” 

They came barreling down the hallway. Ollie crashed into Peter’s arms and was lifted up to wrap his arms around his neck. 

“I think you’re better than Spider-Man!” He gave Peter a sloppy kiss on the cheek then proceeded to be held upside down and swung back and forth to an explosion of laughter. 

Ellie inched her way closer to you. She wiggled her finger to indicate that you should bend down to her level. You happily obliged. Peter carefully dropped Ollie back to his feet and let his ears pick up what Ellie was whispering softly to you. 

“Thank you for coming to play with me today,” she breathed in your ear so only you…and Peter…could hear. “You’re my Spider-Man. You’re my hero.” 

Tears welled up in your eyes but you held them at bay, “You’re my hero too, Ellie. I’ve never met anyone braver than you. You crawled through a room full of fire to save your brother. You’re the real Spider-Man.” 

She gave a bashful giggle and sprinted away down the hall with Ollie on her heels. You stood up as Peter led you out the front door after saying goodbye to Jenny. 

The night was dark and the air was crisp. The two of you walked in silence for a few blocks. Peter wanted to let you digest your night. It was a big moment for you, having to face your past head on. 

You gave a loud, long sigh, tilting your head to the dark sky and closing your eyes, “I think we did good today. Don’t you?”

“Very much so. You, especially.” 

“I want this night to end on a happy note. I want this night to feel normal. I miss normal,” you reached out your hand for Peter. “Hold my hand.”

He gladly accepted, locking his fingers with you, “I’ll never say no that. Let’s go be normal together.” 

“Normal and boring. What could possibly be better than that?” 

#the amazing spiderman #tasm #peter parker #andrew garfield #tasm peter parker #tasm x reader #tasm peter #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader #andrew garfield spiderman #andrew garfield peter parker #peter parker fic #tasm fic #tasm!peter parker

[devildom-moss]

Hey! Happy one year anniversary 🥂 Can I request SFW first date with Barbatos and MC if your requests are still open? Thank you!

Thank you for the request, hope you enjoy~

1 year anniversary flash request event - SFW

(Barbatos x gn!MC)

Prompt 9 - First date

“I didn’t expect to see you out at the market today,” Barbatos admitted, holding both yours and his own shopping bag on one arm. “I never imagined shopping with you would make the experience so much more enjoyable.”

“I liked shopping with you too, but you really don’t have to carry my stuff. It’s not that heavy. I can hold it.”

“Precisely: it’s not heavy. I want to carry it for you. Consider it a small thank you for keeping me company.” Barbatos’s smile widened slightly, and you could swear you felt your heart jump.

“Then how can I thank you for keeping me company?”

Barbatos hummed thoughtfully. “Well, nothing we bought needs to be refrigerated right now, and I have some time before I need to get back and prepare lunch. If you have the time to spare, why don’t you come to a café with me? We could grab a drink – maybe something to eat if you’re hungry. I’ll buy.”

“What, like a date?” You asked him cautiously. He had never asked you out before, and although he seemed to express some affection for you, even going so far as to kiss your cheek before, you didn’t want to get your hopes up.

“I’d like it to be, if you don’t mind,” he responded nonchalantly – a complete contrast with the gentle smile and faint blush on his cheeks.

“I’d love to!” you insisted before adding, “Although, if you’re paying, I would hardly call that me thanking you.”

“Nonsense. Your company is more than enough of a reward.”

Barbatos took you to a quiet café that seemed ordinary enough from the outside. However, once you stepped inside, you noticed that the center of the café contained an open-air courtyard, complete with outdoor seating, a garden, and a pond with a bridge. The rest of the café and intimate indoor seating option surrounded the courtyard with full-length windows providing a clear view of the garden. There were a few customers chatting quietly and enjoying their drinks, but it didn’t affect the peaceful atmosphere.

“Wow. This place is beautiful.” You looked around, awe-struck. “I never would have guessed it looked like this just from walking by.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Barbatos brought his free hand up to his mouth and chuckled, clearly pleased that he had impressed you. He walked you up to the counter and told you, “Order whatever you’d like.”

He waited patiently for you to make a decision before he added his own choices – including a hot gloom chocolate chai and an assortment of macarons. Barbatos even allowed you to pick the seating, although he gently suggested that the weather was pleasant enough that not sitting outside would be a shame.

With your food and drinks, you sat down across from each other at a quiet table near one of the trees in the courtyard. Suddenly, you felt self-conscious. You were on a date with Barbatos, butler to the prince of the Devildom, in the middle of the day, in a gorgeous café. What would people say?

And yet, Barbatos didn’t show a single sign of concern. Even in such a beautiful location, his eyes were fixed on you affectionately as he sipped his drink. Somehow, he looked lovelier in this setting.

“Thank you for bringing me here. You’re so kind,” you spoke up shyly. Barbatos’s eyes widened slightly, as if he hadn’t expected you to thank him nor praise him. A blush – albeit a light one – painted his face. He dropped his eyes to the table briefly with a timid smile.

“Try this. It’s a blood raspberry macaron. I ordered flavors I thought would suit your tastes.” Barbatos held the macaron up to your lips, intent to hand feed you. Your lips grazed his cool, gloved hand as you leaned in to take a bite. His eyes softened at your look of delight.

“That’s delicious.” Barbatos fed you the other half of the macaron, letting his fingers linger against you for a second longer than they needed to.

“You know,” Barbatos started, “I used to think nothing would be as pleasant as serving you tea and sweets when you visited the castle, but being on a date with you might be equally enjoyable.”

A/N: requests are still open for the rest of today if anyone else wants to enter. (rules here)

#moss 1 year event #moss 1 year event sfw #anon #requests #barbatos #gn!mc #obey me #obey me barbatos #barbatos x mc #barbatos x reader

[riikive]

SUKIDAKARA ⌕ 최범규

masterlist

pairing. crush!beomgyu x fem!oc | genres. soft, fluffy, romance, high school au. etc. | warnings. none. just fluff | word count. 1,2k

notes. listen to sukidakara beomgyu cover while reading this oneshot! I apologize that it is rushed at the end. But I hope you like it!

Sitting in her classroom as her classmates were running around the school. It was break time for the whole school. She laid down on her desk as she heard the person in front of her talking to their friends. She had a huge crush on them but couldn't ask them out. She overheard other girls’ confessions, and her crush politely rejected them. She ran away before he could see her eavesdropping.

“I got no chance,” she thought as she looked through the window. Her crush was laughing and joking with his friends. “Hey, Beomgyu, why do you keep on rejecting the girls who have asked you out?” One of his friends asked. Woong leaned a little closer to hear what he had to say. “Well, I just don't have feelings for them,” Beomgyu shrugged. She glanced up, looking at his friends giving him nods. “But why?” Another of his friends asked.

“I just don't and don't want to hurt them even more.”

rest under cut

“Understandable.”

The first school bell rang, singling students to head back to class. Woong sat up and got her things out for her next class. She watched her classmates enter. Then, the second bell rang, meaning classes should begin. Two minutes later, her teacher came and taught the class.

At the end of school, everyone was leaving, but she stayed behind. She was finishing writing notes that she missed while she was taking a nap before going home. She was so busy writing the notes that she didn't see Beomgyu walking to his desk in front of her. He glanced at her before walking away with the items he had forgotten. “See you later,” she muttered as she saw him walking out of the classroom.

After a few minutes of silence, she decided to pack up and call it a night. She exited the classroom and walked to the entrance. Changing out of her indoor shoes and into her outdoor shoes before stepping out of the school building. The sun was going down for the day. The sky was beautiful and warm. She walked to the train station.

Once she arrived at her house, she put her passcode in before entering. Walking to her bedroom in the empty house. Her parents were busy with work, so she was alone once again. She sighed as she entered her bedroom. Grabbing some clean clothes before running to the bathroom to take a shower.

She lay on her bed with a towel wrapped around her neck, reading some messages and replying to them. She stared at her phone, wishing she had her crush's line number, but she couldn't have the confidence to ask him. She sighed before drying her hair and went to bed. She laid back on her bed and turned off the lamp. Thinking about her crush. He was cool, talking to his friends and classmates. He was cool, making everyone around him laugh. He was cool, just by being cool.

Beomgyu was lying in his bed after showering and working on his assignments. He watched the time tick by minute by minute. His heart was beating faster as he remembered looking at his crush for a brief moment. She was cute trying to finish up her notes. She was cute when she was sleeping during lessons. She was cute being a tomboy.

She didn't like him because he was cool.

He didn't like her because she was cute.

He was cool because she liked him.

She was cute because he liked her.

The next morning, Woong woke up earlier than usual, making her look prettier than before. She put on her school uniform and put on a bit of perfume. Then, she grabbed bread from the dining table before running out of the door. Walking to the school after exiting the train station, she spotted Beomgyu with his friends. He was laughing and making his friends laugh.

She slowly walked behind them. Listening to their conversations in secret. She sort of wished he would turn around right then and look at her. Once she entered her classroom, she went to her seat and sat down. Laid on her desk, watching her classmates enter the classroom. She saw her crush enter the classroom and greeted everyone. Closing her eyes before falling asleep.

Opening her eyes, she saw her crush sitting on his seat across from her. His back was facing her. She noticed school was over. Why is he still here? There aren't any after-school activities today. Closing her eyes, hoping it was just a dream. But opening when realizing it wasn't. Woong just lay there in the comfort of the silence. Nobody spoke a word. She slowly fell asleep again.

Opening her eyes again, she let out a sigh before sitting up. Her crush left, and now it was only her. She noticed her notebook on her desk. Picking it up and opening it, she saw new notes. She doesn't remember putting any notes today. Did her crush do it? For her? She blushed at the thought of it. She quickly got up and packed her bags. Carry her notebook with her as she walked out of the school.

Two hours before, Beomgyu was talking to his friends as they were leaving the classroom. Group by group, all of his classmates left. He got up from his desk and turned. A smile quickly formed across his face. “Cute,” he mumbled. He quickly sat back down looking at his crush behind him. Adoring and admiring her sleepy face. He noticed she was wearing perfume. She doesn't usually wear perfume to school. He wondered why she wore it today. He then looked down and saw her notebook. Carefully he took it and flipped some pages. Then decided to write the notes she missed when she was sleeping.

Woong was reading the new notes before going to bed. She smiled at the handwriting on the paper. It was unique and different from any of the boys in her school handwriting. It was pretty just like him. She shook the thought away before closing the notebook and letting her eyes close.

“Woong-ssi?” She quickly looked up. Her eyes widened when she saw Beomgyu looking at her. “What should I do to ask a girl I really like?” Her heart dropped. Does he have someone he likes? “Well, I would just tell your crush that you like them.” He nodded. “What do you want the person who has a crush on you to ask you out?”

“Well, I am not sure. I guess I want them to be honest about their feelings before telling me.” Beomgyu nods again. “I have a question too. So I have a crush－his heart dropped a beat－I am too nervous to ask him out and I saw he rejected a lot of girls. I am scared to ask him out too. What should I do?” He thought for a second before answering.

“I would say just go for it. Maybe he likes you back. You will never know.” She hummed. “Thanks.”

Two hours later, Beomgyu asked her to meet him outside the courtyard during the break. She was now walking to the courtyard. She spotted him sitting down. He quickly stood up once she was in front of him. “Woong, I have something to say.”

“What is it?”

“I like no love you.”

Her eyes widened before she pointed at herself. “Me?” He nodded. “Would you be my girlfriend?” She smiled excitedly before hugging him. He was startled at first but quickly hugged her back. “Of course!”

taglist. @beomurang

© 2024 — all rights reserved to user riikive, please do not steal, plagiarise, or translate any of my work without prior permission from me !

#🍵 — tomorrow x together oneshots & drabbles #choi beomgyu #txt beomgyu #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu #beomgyu x oc #txt fluff #txt fanfic #txt oneshots #tomorrow x together #tomorrow x together fanfiction #tomorrow by together #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop #kpop fluff #choi beomgyu fluff #choi beomgyu fanfic

[rowiewritesstuff]

Hello, may I ask for an Earthspark or TFP match-up, please?

My height is 5'3 (160cm). Im nonbinary and asexual, and I use any pronouns. I have brown, curly, short hair and green eyes. My skin is very pale, and I usually look pretty tired. I wear black clothes. Im a pretty calm and level-headed person. I really enjoy deep conservation, music, dancing, reading, and stargazing. I can read pretty much anything. I really like learning new things. Im sarcastic, and I like to tease my friends. I am extremely loyal to my friends, and I show my affection for them through gifts, quality time, and doing them favors. I tend to talk a lot about topics that I am interested in. I usually stay calm when people panic, (even if I'm screaming on the inside). Im trying to be as open-minded as possible to everyone, as long as they are doing the same thing to me. I love animals, especially raccoons. I think they are just adorable (I also have a cat and two dogs).

I have a pear-shaped body, but I'm also a little bit chubby. I have some scars on my arms and legs (mostly because I scratch my wounds when I'm stressed). Im anemic, which means that I get tired easily. Im also lactose intolerant. I often have random pains, but I don't know why. I also have an anxiety disorder (I bite my nails and lips a lot because of it). I would rather spend time indoors than outdoors, but I will not pass up an opportunity for a picnic :3.

I dislike loud noises and crowded places. I can't speak in front of a large group of people, and I have trouble making eye contact. I also hate when someone is bullied. I like spending time with someone when we both just do our stuff in one room. Im a pretty awkward person at first, but if I get close to you, I become more talkative and funny. People always tell me that when they first saw me, they thought I was intimidating. I often hum some music while doing something.

I think thats all. I apologize if this is chaotic. I never wrote a request. I hope it's not too much. Feel free to not write anything at all if you can't come up with anything <3.

Have a nice day and remember to take care of yourself!

Yandere TFP Megatron

Megatron is a cruel decepticon with a distaste for organics, so when he grabbed you into his servo he went to crush you right before Prime’s optics. He grinned viciously down at you, and your dead stare made him pause. Even the bravest of his kind looked more fearful than you. 

Before he could even form a coherent thought, he had transformed around you and flown away. When he got back to the Nemesis he was angry with himself- but he didn’t realize that as he threw you to Knockout, ordering him to watch you.

While you were scared, you did like the quiet of this place. It was almost soothing. 

Knockout peered down curiously at you. At your obvious exhaustion, he commented. “If I didn’t know better about your fleshies, I’d say you’re half dead.”

You stared back up at him, not quite making eye contact. He noticed your avoidance, but said nothing as he scoffed and went back to working. 

Megatron questioned himself as to why he brought you along, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He ended up sitting you on a table in his room while he worked. You were mostly quiet, but your curiosity showed as you looked at his computer. 

His booming voice asked what you were doing, and you covered your ears. Megatron wasn’t sure why he did it, but he lowered his voice and spoke again. “What are you looking at?” 

“....your screen. Sorry.” You bit your nails nervously. Megatron turned away, silent. 

It was weeks before he sat you on his shoulder. He didn’t speak, clearly unsure of how to communicate with you. For the first time in millions of years, he was truly unsure of himself. 

When he did start talking to you, it was to teach you about his gladiatorial days. He spoke of how he started the revolution, and how he fought against the corruption of the senate. 

Eventually you felt comfortable enough to ask questions with him, but you felt nothing but pity. He had been through so much. However, you also felt conflicted- the Autobots are your friends, but you feel like this war has no point anymore other than for Decepticons to get some sort of revenge. 

You slowly began to chip away at Megatron’s cold spark, and he cared for you- even if he didn’t show it well. He loved the way you hummed softly your favorite songs, and how content you were to merely sit on his shoulder. 

Megatron would often bring you to large forests so you could enjoy the nature he found you enjoyed. 

One day, when Megatron was on a comm with Soundwave discussing something, you decided to take off. You wanted to be back with the autobots- not to say that you even hated Megatron after everything you had learned. You ran through the forest, getting turned around almost instantly. 

Almost immediately, you were snatched up into the servos of a very furious mech. Megatron had a deep scowl on his face. 

“After I bestowed all of the knowledge I had upon you, did you really think I’d let you go?” Megaton squeezed you painfully tight. “Don’t worry, worm. I won’t make the same mistake with you twice.”

Megatron, secretly heartbroken that you’d try to leave after creating a bond, locked you in a cage hanging in his room- with no way to escape his clutches. You would never be allowed out unless Megatron was with you. His trust would be hard to earn back- maybe even take your lifetime.

#yandere #yandere tfp #yandere tfp megatron #yandere megatron #yandere transformers #transformers #yandere transformers prime #transformers prime #megatron #tfp #tfp megatron

[geraltyen-of-corvobianco]

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦

They say that Toussaint is a fairytale land - and that is true even for its starry skies. And though their family already enjoys stargazing as an activity no matter which part of the continent they go to, Toussaint somehow always makes the activity feel even more magical, soothing and therapeutic. When Ciri is not around, Geralt nonetheless still brings Yennefer out on most nights, searching for the best stargazing spots together. He enjoys hearing her little sighs of happiness and relief, and watching her violet eyes glisten in the moonlight.

Yen will never admit it; her proud nature obviously forbids it - but that one year of captivity in Stygga Castle had made her feel more comfortable outdoors. Geralt could see it in her eyes - the contentedness and relaxed gaze as she looks around her surroundings. She would rather stay outdoors during the day than indoors, unless he were home. Even so, it seems they spent more time lounging outdoors then lazing indoors. Sometimes he would wonder if only he had not been such a fool, to believe that Yen had betrayed him and Ciri, and had worked harder to find her, she would not have suffered that much. Her discomfort of confined spaces might not have existed. She would not have had to wiggle her fingers unconsciously at the dinner table all the time, her eyes widening slightly, as if surprised that her fingers have been fully healed for a long time…

"Oh stop it, Witcher."

"What? I'm just calmly looking at the stars, just like you."

"You know I'll never blame you for that. I was —"

Geralt didn't let her finish. He leaned over and kissed her at the side of her head, at the same time breathing in her scent. Lilac and gooseberries. As usual, her presence calms his mind.

"I know." He said softly, "but sometimes we just can't seem to escape from what haunts us in our past."

A sad little smile played on Yen's lips. She knows it all too well.

"Your presence calms me too, you know." Yen said, as she leaned even closer to Geralt.

Just at that moment, a shooting star shone across the sky. Both their eyes lit up, feeling grateful to be able to see it that night.

"Still believe in wishes, Geralt?" Yennefer asked.

"Of course."

"Despite everything?"

"Despite everything…"

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #witcher fan art #geralt x yennefer #yennefer x geralt #geraltyen of corvobianco #archive of the continent #tw3 screenshots #tw3 fanart

[elspethdekarios]

Faerûnian 29 Day Writing Challenge: Day 4

Feb 4. Tav × Gale overheard getting it on

NSFW 🔞 Gale x Female OC

Feb 4. Companions heard Tav x Gale going at it one night

After all the time the crew had spent camping in tents, sleeping in bedrolls on the hard ground, having a suite at the Elfsong was pure luxury. Sure, it was noisy in the pub downstairs, but the commotion was a small price to pay if it meant getting to sleep in actual beds. Indoors, too. Although the beds were meant for a single person, Gale and Elspeth naturally chose to share. They had been sleeping in the same tent for weeks, after all, and in general found it difficult to keep their distance from each other. They were almost always touching, whether it was holding hands as they walked through the city or absentmindedly sitting as close as possible, knees pressed together as they ate dinner. Of course they chose to share a bed, even if it meant not having much room to spread out.

The only downside about the Elfsong was that it didn't exactly afford them any real privacy. In all the outdoor camps, the tents were spaced far enough apart that Gale and Elspeth felt secluded enough to make love without being overheard. But since they arrived at the Elfsong, they'd had to get creative, finding moments to sneak away to the washroom or the empty room next door. Unfortunately, these moments didn't happen as often as they'd like.

Gale dimmed the oil lamp on the bedside table with a wave on his hand before turning to his back to Astarion's bed opposite them. Elspeth snuggled into his embrace as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. His body heat was like a salve to her, immediately quieting her thoughts and comforting her tense body. She practically melted into him each time.

"Goodnight, my love," he whispered in her ear as he kissed the rose tattoo on her neck.

"I love you," she replied, holding his arm tight to her body as if he might drift away. "I want to stay like this forever."

"When we get home, we can stay in bed for a tenday if you want."

"Please," she said quietly. "Though I hope we'll be doing more than cuddling."

He smiled into the bare skin of her shoulder. "Oh, we will certainly be doing more than cuddling."

Elspeth kissed his hand and brought it up to her chest, their fingers intertwined just above her heart. She ran her thumb over his knuckles before guiding him ever-so-slightly lower to her breast. She inhaled as his fingertips brushed the lace of her bra.

"Is this okay?" he asked, so quiet she could barely hear him. She nodded, and he pulled the gentle fabric down, trailing his fingers over her breast before cupping it in his hand. Elspeth had to bite her lip to keep quiet as he repeated the gesture on the other side, exposing her underneath the sheets. She felt him growing hard against her, and she pushed herself into him even more, making him let out an almost inperceptable moan into her ear. She was losing all abandon, not thinking or caring about the others hearing them. His hands on her skin felt like paradise.

Gale slid his hand from her breasts to her hips, dipping below the waistline of her shorts. Slowly, he parted her with a finger, pausing to rub slow circles in the place where he knew she would come undone. She inhaled sharply and pressed the pillow to her face to muffle the sound. His lips were soft on her neck, his tongue teasing her skin. She felt his hand shift slightly before he slid two fingers into her.

She bucked her hips involuntarily and realized just how hard he was against her. Reaching behind her, she pulled down the waistband of his pants to take him in her hand. He was the one who had to bite his lip this time, pressing his face into her shoulder before taking his fingers out of her to guide her thigh backwards over him, perfectly angled to enter her.

Oh, gods, she was struggling to stay quiet. She contemplated asking Gale to cast a small sphere of silence around them, but knew she couldn't open her mouth without making noise. So she panted into the pillow and him into her ear, occasionally running his lips over the pointed end.

Their hips moved in perfect unison, slowly as to not shake the bed. The feeling of him inside her was enough to make her come, but when he brought his hand back to the front of her wetness, she unraveled. It took every ounce of concentration to not cry out. Judging by the soft laugh in her ear, he knew it, too. His fingers circled, his hips pushed his length deeper and deeper into her, and his voice whispered in her ear--

"You're doing so well, sweetheart."

She felt herself pulsing around him, his arm pressing against her thigh the only thing keeping her from involuntarily closing her legs around his hand. She had to stuff the corner of the pillow into her mouth to keep from crying out as she came, a wave of absolute ecstasy overtaking her, ecstasy made even better when she heard his breaths become ragged and felt the warmth of him spilling into her.

He released her thigh, which fell effortlessly back in place. She knew that her legs would be trembling if she tried to walk, and she hardly had the strength to turn her head to kiss him.

"I love you."

"I love you. One day soon, we won't have to worry about being quiet." He pulled out of her and they both fixed their clothes, lest a sheet get pulled wayward in the middle of the night. Elspeth was relieved to hear Karlach snoring from the other side of the divider between the beds. Astarion was quiet in the bed opposite them, and she hoped that meant he was deep in meditation. Thoroughly spent, her and Gale fell asleep in each others arms.

The morning came quickly, and Elspeth woke from the rustling sounds of the others getting ready for the day. She and Gale reluctantly untangled themselves from each other, and after getting dressed, met the others downstairs for breakfast. They were all sitting at a large, round table--the only patrons here this early.

"Oh, good morning," Astarion sang dramatically. "I hope you're both well rested after all the sex you had last night!"

Elspeth could feel the heat flushing her face. She looked at Gale, who was slightly pink, to see him smirking.

"Thank you, Astarion," he said as he and Elspeth took a seat at the table. "In fact, I am feeling quite rested this morning--aren't you, my love?"

He smiled as he poured them each a glass of water from the canteen in the center of the table. Elspeth took a long sip to avoid talking or making eye contact. Gale squeezed her hand under the table and she used the tadpoles to speak into his mind.

How are you not mortified?!

Oh, I am. I just don't want Astarion to see it.

"Well, I'm glad some of us are getting some action," Karlach said as she shoved a piece of toast in her mouth.

"Don't worry, El," Shadowheart said with a soft laugh. "We all know the two of you are banging each others' brains out every chance you get."

El didn't think she could get any more embarrassed, but here she was. "Excuse me a moment while I go die," she said as she rose from her seat. As she walked to the washroom, she could hear Gale from the table:

Honestly, can't you leave well enough alone? She's clearly embarrassed--the least you could do is apologize!

She couldn't help but smile to herself, even as she contemplated the logistics of how to avoid everyone for the rest of time... or at least for the day.

#BG3FicFeb #gale #gale x tav #gale x oc #my writing #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic

[findingnemosworld]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 - 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐬

・𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: @sunnysideup478

( 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐮𝐦𝐬, 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭. 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥. 𝐋𝐮𝐤𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐤 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 )

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐮𝐤𝐚 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

Every human has two sides, similar to a coin, Sergio Ramos was no different - the world had gotten to know him as the tough and gruff man that defended the net like his life depended on it, which garnered him the reputation of a man you do not want to face on the pitch, yet behind the scenes he was an entirely different person, and it was all because of her.

She was the club’s chef, the reason every player clamors excitedly whenever they were called in for break, a master chef of a vast knowledge of food from all over the world – Sergio wasn’t expecting to fall in love with someone thanks in part to food yet one thing lead to another, and it had been four years since they’ve gotten closer, the relationship was different than anything he had ever experienced, the women he’d been with were either with him for his reputation or money.

Yet she saw him for who he was, a man that is passionate about this game, with her he liked to be indoors more than outdoors, their nights were spent cooking in the kitchen or watching a film, and they rarely ever stepped out unless it was a private and secluded place, neither their families nor their friends save for a few were aware of the passionate affair that ran wild, as each time they met they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, case in point, tonight.

She stands in the kitchen, her back facing him as she was mixing the vegetables with the sauce she made when suddenly, she felt his arms trailing until they tightened around her, his lips landed on the back of her neck, peppering soft kisses up and down, inciting a moan from her lips. " Sergio, I’m cooking " she whines.

" Would much rather eat you instead " He chuckles, trailing his lips down to her shoulder.

Her face grows warm, a smirk adorns her lips, " Tell you what, we can eat first then you can eat me "

He beams at the suggestion, and a giggle escapes her lips upon feeling the prominent erection poking her from behind. " Good enough for me " he kissed her cheek.

They set the table together and sit down to eat, chatting about everything and nothing – once they finished eating, she grabs the dishes and was on her way to wash them, Sergio follows her into the kitchen, refusing to let her go which elicited a giggle from her before she said. " I’m not leaving you know "

" I know that but I love you " He murmurs, clinging onto her while she washed the dishes.

" I love you too " She smiled softly.

Once she finished washing the dishes, then she dried them – the pair stumble into the bedroom in the midst of kissing one another, he makes a quick work of ensuring that he stripped her completely before undressing himself. He lays her down on the bed, then he crawled up on top of her, dipping his head to capture her lips in a deep kiss while his fingers slipped between her legs, his knuckles caressing her slick walls inciting a muffled moan from her. " Fuck "

" You like that? " He smiled against her lips, pecking them gently before repeating the same action.

" Yes " She moans, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

His finger slipped inside of her walls while his thumb caressed her clit in a circular motion, it sent shivers down her spine, inciting a whine from her. " You feel so good amor, so wet for me "

" Only for you Sergio! " She moans softly.

Suddenly, he slips another finger inside of her pussy while his thumb started moving in a rapid motion, " She’s responding so well to my fingers, feels so good " he moans.

" Don’t stop Sergio, just like that " She whines.

" You’re going to cum hm …. you’re going to cum sweet girl " He cooed, fingers pumping in and out of her pussy at a rapid motion.

" Fuck, please, please … don’t stop " She sighs, her back arching off the bed. " Oh fuck "

Her walls clench around his fingers before her arousal seeps through, euphoria envelops her body, " Fuck " she cries.

He swiftly replaces his fingers with his cock, wrapping his arm around her waist while his other hand rests over her neck, his lips trailing gentle kisses on her neck. " You’re mine, all mine! " he murmurs.

" Yes … yes " She sighs, caressing his hair with her fingers, before she tugged on the ends inciting a groan from him, followed by his teeth sinking in her neck.

" Oh fuck you’re squeezing my cock, keep going … Oh fuck " He groans, thrusting at a rapid pace. " Shit, I’m going to cum "

" Me too " She moaned, " Fuck, just like that "

He angled her at a different position, allowing the two of them to experience a newfound pleasure, " Fuck, let’s cum together amor " he angled her head, to press soft kisses to her lips. " Cum on my cock baby "

A few more strokes and she collapsed on the bed, with him following suit, both regaining their energy after the intense euphoria enveloping them. " That was so good " she sighs.

He buried his face in her neck, " It was " he peppers his lips over the skin of her neck.

This was their bliss, they might have had the misfortune of not being able to shout out their love for one another, yet they were fortunate enough to spend their nights in each other’s arms, Sergio carried her into the bathroom, placing her on the counter before going about to set a bath for them.

They sunk themselves into the warm bath, Sergio embracing her in his arms while she rests her head on his chest, he would ever so often pepper kisses on her forehead, muttering sweet nothings. " One day, I’m going to shout out my love for you "

She smiles, " One day "

Neither one had a clue that this day was well on its way, a short of five weeks too late – Luka and Vanja had invited the pair over for lunch, and while Vanja was in the kitchen insisting that she can handle the food on her own, the kids were in their rooms, both Sergio and Y/N were in the living room chatting with one another unaware that near them, Luka was attempting to film a tiktok video under the advice of his preteen daughter who had suggested better ways to increase his popularity.

Sergio chuckles, " Hermano, face it, you’re too old "

She swats his chest, " Like you’re younger than him, you two are practically attached to the same old broken hip "

Vanja laughs from where she stood in the kitchen, " She’s not wrong "

Luka chuckles, " If I’m so old, then so are you with your weird music choices, and awful instagram story gifs "

" Hey, those are very stylish " Sergio retorts.

Later on that night, the Modric family with Sergio and Y/N had dined, the adults moving to the back garden to relax in preparation for the hectic schedule ahead, when suddenly both Sergio and Y/N noted Luka’s expression as he stared into his phone. " What? " Sergio asks with a confused expression.

" You guys are in the background of my video " Luka said.

Her eyes widened, " Did you delete it? "

Luka shakes his head with a sheepish expression, " Too late "

And just as he said those words, both their phones started to vibrate, she looks at Sergio who was as equally shocked, the pair check their devices and their eyes widened, from instagram notifications to twitter notifications to texts from their friends and family. " Uh oh " she said.

Sergio peeks in, to see her public food account being flooded almost instantly with comments related to Sergio, " Ignore them amor "

She nods softly, leaning in to him.

" Sorry guys " Luka said.

" It’s fine " Sergio smiles, assuring his teammate. " We were going to go public at one point or another "

She nods softly, " Yeah, I don’t care what they think " she kissed Sergio’s cheek. " I love you "

" I love you too " He smiles back.

#sergio ramos #sergio ramos fanfic #sergio ramos imagine #sergio ramos one shot #sergio ramos smut #sergio ramos fanfiction

[potatomountain]

To Love A Monster Ch 1

Typhon

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: there will be potential triggers for anxiety and mental illnesses all throughout this story. Not all characters are nice at first.

AN: so here is chapter one! I'm super happy to finally post it :) this is a slow burn, and has a slow plot, focusing more on MC and her growth, so there might be some chapters that don't involve any of the boys at all just FYI. That said, I hope you will love this story regardless &lt;3

This is a work of fiction, in particular Fan fiction, and in no way is this a representation or an accurate depiction of ATEEZ or any other idols/people used for this work.

Any feedback is always appreciated and adored! Comment on the masterlist to be added to the taglist &lt;3

Masterlist

next chapter

...

...

"What is wrong with you?"

People ask me that all the time and I would wonder the same.

I'm everything people warn their children about. Everything they are afraid of. They tell you to be a good kid so you don't get cursed by Typhon. Even after years of being around, people like me are still considered diseased, evil, cursed. If you interact with us, you'll have bad luck or you'll die or someone close to you will get hurt- or you're forever damned.

They're nothing more than superstitions, but ones people believe even after research has proved them wrong. Yet hearing it my whole life, it's hard not to believe it.

That I am nothing more than what they say.

Monster. Freak. Weird. Disgusting. Cursed. Mutant. Damned.

I've kept my head down, dying my hair a more natural color nearly weekly to cover up the unnatural blue violet the fine strands are. I wore sunglasses even indoors to hide the unnatural slitted pupils and bright flecks in my irises. Hats were my friend as they hid the points of my ears when I couldn't get them glued to a more human shape.

Even now, staring at the reflection of myself in the window, with all my inhuman qualities covered… I still felt out of place, and wished for nothing more than the earth to swallow me whole. Hell was where 'my kind' belonged if you believed the masses.

Most of the time I wondered if they were right.

The hushed whispers around me were normal, nearby tables in the Cafe watching with bated breath as I brought my teacup to my lips. Some sighed with relief, others in disappointment, as I had no fangs or extra teeth for them to spot. Even with the hat and glasses, it was still obvious I was not human.

"Are you wearing enough layers?" Across from me, my father was eyeing the hoodie and zip up I wore despite the late summer weather just outdoors. Those like me either ran too hot, or too cold, and were easy to pick out in a crowd.

I shrugged, setting the cup down and turning my attention to the distinguished researcher that was my father. One would think the look of concern in his gaze was one for his daughter, but no- he was simply concerned about his prized research. "I don't run that much colder, this is enough." Shifting slightly in my seat, I eyed the elder man behind my shades, tilting my head to the side. "Is there a reason you wanted to meet like this, instead of the lab, Doctor?"

He stiffened at the title, looking around as if anyone would be concerned with recognizing him when in reality they were too busy gawking at me. There was a reason those like me weren't common to see, no one liked being stared at like a circus freak everywhere they went. "I didn't want to talk about this in the lab."

"And what is it? That you want to talk about?" Confusion dripped in my tone. He may be my father but I could hardly recall anything fatherly he had done. Not like in the shows and books I've indulged in- or the typical familial relationships I see on the streets. He was my father in name and DNA only, but he only cared about the parts of me that weren't even human DNA.

Clearing his throat he stiffened. "Well… I hadn't mentioned it beforehand but I had been seeing someone, romantically, and recently I had proposed marriage…" He grew bashful, which I found unlike him.

"I don't see why who you date or marry is my concern, Doctor." I mumbled, looking down to my tea. "You and my mother had a strictly business relationship that ended once I was of legal age to move out." I continued matter-of-factly, as if it actually pertained to the situation.

He shook his head and leaned forward. "You are my world, Ty, so I want it to be your concern." His lips pulled into a smile beneath the freshly trimmed mustache of his, but I didn't return the smile. "In fact, I want you both to get along. As this is a personal matter, between father and daughter, that's why I wanted to talk to you outside of the lab."

Despite this being perhaps the most touching moment between us, I could only nod, bringing the tea up to my lips again.

Taking that as agreement from me, he continued on. "She is excited to meet you as well, so much so she wanted to invite you to dinner at our house. Tonight, at seven. It will be just us four."

He stopped when I bristled at his words, slowly bringing the tea back down. "Four?"

"Ah- her youngest son will also be joining us."

Suddenly tea didn't sound so good. I fought off the wave of emotion, the anxiety and fear that wanted to grip my chest and take full force. It was only due to a comment from the young kid at the table over I realized I had not done a very good job.

"Mommy… her cheeks are blue."

My father had heard it as well, and while normally he would take this opportunity to delve into the intricacies of my blood and what I was, this was not the lab and it was not the time. Gently he reached over, placing a much warmer hand on my cold one. "Ty?"

"I'll be there at seven… Dad." Clearing my throat I stood up, pulling the zip up hoodie closer over my chest and scurrying out of the Cafe with a quickness.

Out of habit I easily dodged the foot traffic outside the downtown Cafe, heading for the subway to head home. I hated this part of the city, but I was here once or sometimes twice a week for my father. I was lucky he allowed me to live in a more secluded apartment complex in a less busier part of the city, but really I didn't have much of a choice.

Not all apartment complexes would allow a Typhon to live in their building, even in one of the more progressive cities in the world towards Typhon's alike. Or maybe it was simply a capitalistic thing? With more and more Typhon's being born every five years, companies saw a new market to monopolize: Typhon's.

Not exactly fully human, there were plenty of human goods that were worthless to us. Contacts dissolved in our eyes, and hair dye would fade faster than normal humans. Typhon's couldn't mask their qualities until they were about ten years of age, but for those that had extra appendages or limbs- those stayed and made clothes and other products harder to find.

Our nearly all meat diet also was something to capitalize on.

My father was no different, a scientist that saw an opportunity of progress and he created one himself. He created me.

And yet I was the one who had to live among the other humans and try to pretend that I was one of them, even as I stood on the subway waiting in a marked spot just for Typhons as we weren't even allowed to share the same train cart as humans.

This world didn't want to accept me or my kind, and it had a harsh history of this prejudice. Only difference was that we weren't entirely human, and that seemed to just fuel the human's egotistical agenda that they were the superior race even more.

Stepping onto the train, I barely acknowledged the two other Typhon's already there, both on either end of the car. One was smaller and more bundled than I was, while the other was larger and more intimidating, not even bothering to hide the yellow eyes he had narrowed on my form. I sat between them, dead center of the car and pulled my phone out to mindlessly scroll on social media.

Some platforms were so full of anti-Typhon hate they weren't even worth going on, while others I just had to worry about the Typhon focused ads.

Ad after ad of targeted products or mindless propaganda, but I only really carried about the news. A habit I had picked up on, as whatever was big in the Typhon world would usually influence my father's research with me.

The U.S have begun their Typhon classification system based on the general Typhon qualities to decide government funding and shelters, as well as any harmful Typhon's to be isolated.

Great- as if Typhon's needed more separation and repression.

With 2023 just around the corner, the next Typhon year, the United Kingdom, as well as Japan and perhaps Korea, have cut prices and increased funding for more birth control to ensure less Typhon births and overall deaths in 2023. In regards to this, U.S have officially passed a federal law that allows all and any abortions during a Typhon year to prevent casualties of new mothers.

I stopped scrolling, staring at the article with a sneer. The first Typhon year had been 1988, the wave of immense and uncategorized energy that resulted in the Typhon phenomenon had been released during the summer. The second wave happened in 1993, in the late fall, and the third 1998, the summer once more. It was the third wave that had proved my father's theory of this phenomenon happening every five years.

And now people were using this theory as a means to avoid a Typhon child? I could understand, to an extent. Only half of the children survived the birth, the other half born Typhon, and most of the mothers died in childbirth. It didn't matter how far along a mother was, once the wave of energy engulfed the earth, within a week the mother was in labor and giving birth to a fully developed child or miscarrying in a nearly fatal way.

The mother's that survived usually ended up in poor health. My own lost her ability to have kids, and had suffered spinal damage and had to undergo physical therapy to learn to walk again. And that was the better side of side effects and survival.

Even so- to be that afraid, even governments and religions were putting aside all agendas in an attempt to prevent more Typhon's from existing.

Am I so wrong to exist?

If this news was anything to go by… yes I was.

It took everything I had to hold the tears at bay. I pulled both hoods over my head and lowered it despite the only two around being two more Typhons.

It was barely even noon and I knew today wasn't going to be easy, not if I had to deal with that dinner. I was already having a hard time keeping my mask up and my emotions from slipping through. With the added bonus of meeting who would be my step mother and step brother for the first time, despite only hearing about them this morning, I was sure of it.

Still, once home in my apartment, the heat cranked high enough I had no need for my sweaters, I curled into the nest on my bed and hoped some rest would balance my hormones enough for the already grueling dinner ahead of me.

. . ...........................................................................

I had rarely actually been to my Father's home, one of the nicer, more secure apartment complexes not far from his work. It was a building that monitored it's guests closely, and my father would always have to personally escort me from the lobby to his apartment. He was standing there, in one of his nicer dress slacks and shirt, with a strained smile at my own appearance.

I didn't like dresses, they were usually far too flimsy to keep me warm, but he had wanted me to dress up. The thick stockings kept my legs as warm as they could with the knee high boots, a thick cardigan barely kept me from shivering as I walked over to him.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into a sideways hug. "There she is. Jisoo is eager to meet you, she even roped her son into helping with dinner. He's around your age I believe."

I simply nodded, letting him pull me towards the elevators as the security and front desk attendee both glowered at me. Out of habit I pulled my beanie down more, eyes downcast even if they were hidden behind the shades. The shades alone probably gave me away.

My father rambled on about his now Fiance, and it was the first time I had ever heard him talk so highly of someone who wasn't one of his team of researchers. By the time we reached his apartment I was already tired of hearing praises of the woman and her sons, which she had two of.

I couldn't imagine having siblings, how was I supposed to treat these two sons of hers if my father would continue to insist I get along with them? What were their opinions on Typhon's? Would they even want to associate with me?

My nerves were tying themselves into knots and I hoped I could keep the anxiety at bay long enough to have a normal dinner. Maybe I could delude myself into treating this as a family dinner.

"Don't be nervous, Jisoo is going to love you Ty, I promise." My father reassured me once more at his door, removing the hat and sunglasses and soothing down my cardigan nervously. His own nerves didn't help mine, despite his words of encouragement.

Once there was nothing more to fret over, he ushered me inside. I could never get over how grand his apartment was, his achievements plastered on the walls and all the awards he had won for his ingenious research into Typhons on display for any guests he might have. However I quickly noticed a feminine touch in the air, my gaze capturing several small things that just solidified it wasn't just his home any more.

"Jisoo? I brought her." My father called out next to me, motioning for me to step past the living space and head for the dining hall.

I stepped in hesitantly, biting down on my lip as I spotted the two new presences that would be constant in my life if my father had his way. "You two are just in time! We're almost done setting up the table." The woman in a nice black cocktail dress looked up from the other side of the table, her eyes locking onto mine and rooting me into place. She smiled wider, brightening her features in a way I was not used to being looked at. People didn't smile at me kindly, even my father's were often forced, so why her? "San dear, say hello."

The broad back that had been facing me turned at the woman's urging, but this time when his eyes met mine I got the reaction I was used to. He stiffened, stumbling away from me several inches until he was leaning back against the table, sharp eyes wide now like a cat's and the color draining from his tan skin.

I knew I looked like a human, in every aspect except the slitted pupils and brighter eyes, and the pointed ears. I forced a smile to try and ease his obvious discomfort, but he just snarled.

Yes, this was the reaction I expected.

"San! Don't be so rude!!" The woman leaned over and hit his shoulder a few times roughly, huffing her frustration. "I want you two to get along, you'll be step siblings soon enough."

My father ignored us both and moved around the table to wrap his arms around JiSoo's waist, placing a kiss on her cheek. "Let them be dear, they'll have plenty of chances to get close."

San shook his head, but he seemed to be composing himself as he stood up straighter and away from the table. "No one told me she's a Typhon."

"Doesn't matter, she's more than human enough." Jisoo whined at him before turning her attention back to me. "Please, sit, I have so many questions. Your father enjoys talking about you and his research often, but I want to hear about you-"

I hesitated, looking between the oddly sweet woman and the expectedly cautious son of hers. I could see the resemblance, and both were beautiful. Both were human. It was a sharp look my father sent my way that had me moving to take the seat Jisoo motioned towards.

"That's better." She took her own seat at the round table, my father to her right and my left, with San on the other side. I was well aware he had moved his chair a bit closer to his mother. He made the distance more obvious by scooting his plate even further from mine. "Now, a lot of these are heavy on the meat so do tell me if you like them. Your father says you don't have a particular favorite."

"That's right."

"Oh she can speak. Wow." Jisoo sent a glare in her son's direction at his comment, but he seemed to brush it off and moved to start eating.

Jisoo smacked his hand away. "Of course she can. She gets to eat first, stop being rude."

"Why does she get the special treatment?" I started to tune out San and his comments, instead reaching for the water to hopefully ease my nerves.

"Because it's her first time eating with us and I'm sure she is scared and even more nervous than you are."

I nearly choked on the water at her words, coughing as I set it down and pounded my fist to my chest a few times. It was enough to have three pairs of eyes on me the next second. "Sorry but… please don't concern yourself with me. Can we talk about something else? How did you meet Doc- I mean my father?"

Seemingly pleased with the topic change, Jisoo and the man in question shared a look. "Well for work. I contacted him about some of the research he had been doing about three years back. You see, I run Ty-Goods, one of the Typhon oriented supply companies. With so many products out there that aren't useful to Typhon's, I wanted to make products specifically for them so they could experience life a bit easier."

I turned my attention to my father but he was watching Jisoo with an expression of awe. "What was the research? And the product?" I turned my attention back to the woman, reaching for the first dish that caught my eye. I wasn't particularly hungry but if I didn't eat soon, San may glare a hole into my head.

Jisoo tilted her head in thought. "His research into their diet I believe. While it's well known meat is the primary part of their diet, I wanted to find other things. It seems most foods are edible but in small doses, yet he had expressed his interest in drinks. From what I understand, fruits are hard to digest? As well as heavy spices and herbs?"

I nodded slowly, thinking about that particular year. My stomach hadn't been too happy about all the things I was eating and drinking, and how detailed I had to describe every effect they had, both good and bad. However, his research in that regard had led to discovering a formula that helped make most of those foods digestible. "I can't handle spicy or heavy foods often. And tea I couldn't hold down… wait, you said Ty-goods? Didn't you come out with an entire brand of tea for Typhon's? It's even popular in cafes now."

Both Jisoo and my father beamed at my question, the former nodding enthusiastically. "Yes! I hear that you enjoy it often."

I thought back to this morning and nodded. "Yes, I have a cup every morning and one before bed."

"Splendid!" Jisoo took over the conversation the most as we ate, picking my brain over every dish I tried. It occurred to me that she was using me as a guinea pig for more products, but I didn't mind. Helping my father with research helped all Typhons, and if helping Jisoo with feedback supplied more Typhon-oriented products, I was happily giving my feedback.

She would also ask her son about the dishes, wanting to cater to both human and Typhon it seemed. The conversation stayed on that for most of the dinner, at least until we had begun to clean up.

I was once more caught off guard when Jisoo called out to me… by my name. My shock must have shown, her brows pulling together in concern. "I wanted to know if you would be more comfortable without the mask?"

Mask, or masking. A term used to describe a Typhon showing their more human side. It was also called glamor or camouflage but my father and those in the business usually referred to it this way.

"I don't think that's a good idea." I quickly shot her down, pulling my cardigan tighter around my torso. "You may be alright with the fact I am a Typhon, but he isn't." I pointed my chin at her son who hadn't really said anything towards me tonight making his aversion of Typhon's obvious.

San prickled at the turn in conversation, shaking his head. "And I wouldn't. Like hell I want to whatever grotesque-" He cried out as his mother hit him upside the back of his head. "Hey!"

"She isn't grotesque!"

"How would you know?!"

"I've seen pictures!"

The two began to bicker once more and again I tuned them out, focusing on trying to keep my emotions in check. However, that was easier said than done. I felt the mask slip with each raised tone and insult used. First my cheeks felt warmer, no doubt the light dusting of blue and intricate pattern of a deeper violet marring the skin there. I knew the pattern ran down the length of my back and thighs, the tingling of my now sensitive skin as it brushed against the fabric of the dress was becoming too much too fast.

My stomach twisted with nerves, their muttered whispers louder in my ears than they should be. Covering my ears, I whimpered and stepped back, reaching my limit. "Please stop."

Despite shutting my eyes, I could feel their gazes. Jisoo and her son both seemed to gasp, seeing the blue of my cheeks for the first time. "Oh wow- that's beautiful."

I couldn't remember ever being called that before, eyes shot open with surprise as I looked at the perpetrator. Jisoo was watching me in awe, hands pressed against her chest. But San? I expected disgust, yet I found none of it in his expression despite how openly he was gawking. He looked away first, mumbling something under his breath before grabbing the plate of dishes and scurrying off to the kitchen.

Jisoo and my father shared a look, and matching grins, before looking towards me. "There is one last piece of news we wanted to talk with you about."

I took a few apprehensive steps back, my spine tingling. "What is it?"

Jisoo stepped around the table, reaching out and motioning for my hands. Everything this woman did was throwing me for a loop, it just didn't make sense to me. Pure curiosity had me lowering my hands into her open ones, staring at the pale skin of mine compared to her tanned, the black of my nails a stark contrast. She gripped them tightly, drawing my attention back to her face.

"You see, San lives with me currently but I'm selling my home and moving in with your father now that we are to be married-"

I didn't like where this was going.

My father stepped up, placing a hand on her back. "I don't have the space for him, nor did we think he would like living with us. So… you have an extra room, we decided to-"

"To have him live with me?" I pulled my hands away from Jisoo's and instead pulled my cardigan closer. "When? For how long?" I couldn't help the quiver in my voice.

They shared a look, and I was already beginning to hate that. "Starting next week… and until we are married. We already talked it over with San, and agreed to get him his own place if he cooperates."

"Why can't you do that now?" Hissing, I took a few more steps back, resisting the intense urge to discard my clothes that were just too much on my sensitive skin now. "It's not just about a place to live is it?"

"We want you both to get along before we tie the knot, that's all." My father urged, but I could sense the underlying order.

This was another test he was doing, but this time it wasn't entirely for me. How would I manage living with a human? And could someone who clearly has a distaste for Typhon's warm up in close quarters to one?

This was all too much, yet I couldn't say no. My apartment was my father's. My life was my father's. I could only live as I did- because of my father.

My shoulders slumped and my head fell forward. "Okay… can I go now? This was… a lot. I'll have the spare room ready for San in time I promise."

I turned and left the dining hall the moment they both nodded, not even bothering to say goodbye to San.

I didn’t think he would want to. Besides, we were going to see each other much more than either one of us would like.

The entire way home I thought of the man with the broad shoulders and sharp features I could still picture twisted with displeasure at my mere presence. It was only due to my father’s message that I even had a time frame for how long I would have to suffer my soon-to-be step-brother’s presence in my home.

Nine months to a year… yet I didn’t think we would manage a week.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez ot8 #ateez san #tlam #to love a monster #mutant reader #ateez mutant au

[apatosaurus]

This is my new Aerogarden. A friend gave me a secondhand pair of their classic models in 2019. I used them quite a bit until this past summer, but both are broken now in different ways, and this one was on sale last fall. I put off setting it up because the old ones, while great, took up a lot of space, and we needed end table space when we had people coming over for the B’Mitzvah, then Thanksgiving, then the winter holidays.

But look how petite it is! And the LED grow light is much more efficient than the tube lights on the old units. This Harvest model has room for six pods, which currently has herb seeds waiting to sprout. I think the classic model had room for seven pods. The current largest countertop garden they sell, the Bounty, has room for nine plants. They also have a system the call Farm that grows up to 24 plants indoors, but it’s the size of a mini fridge, not a countertop unit.

I mostly used the old one for seed starting rather than using the pods for a whole seed-to-harvest countertop garden. If I want to use this unit to start seeds for transplanting I’ll need a kit that’s about $30 to switch out the top plate for one that holds 23 little tubes of growing medium. I don’t know if I want to do that yet. There were definite advantages to using the Aerogarden for seed starting, but the little tubes of growing medium can’t handle larger seeds like chard and sunflowers, so I would need a diverse approach anyway. (Yes, I know those are usually outdoor starts. I have my reasons.)

Also, shout out to Mokey, whose room reorganization freed up this desk, which fits perfectly in this part of the living room.

I will need to figure out a strategy soon for starting tomatoes. But for now I’m thrilled with this cute little herb garden.

#clueless gardening #gardening

[nattyluvs]

CAFE CUTIE - chapter 19

"jaeyun, why is your little brother here?" you turned to look at him, seeing the boy on his shoulders, the usual smile on his face. even though jun was smiling hard, jake looked apologetic.o

"look im sorry, there was nobody to watch him at the house, so i had to bring him with me. he won't bother anyone or mess up anything."

"it's fine, don't stress about it. he's a good kid as far as i can tell so i know he won't destroy anything. he might as well help everyone." as you said this you thought, why didn't he just not come? watching his brother was more important than a setup and a lunch outing. you could've just had him help with the next school event.

"there's an outdoor and an indoor portion of the dance." you started to explain to him. there were too many students to fit inside the gym, and keeping food outside for hours isn't sanitary. "most of the photoshoot areas and the food will be inside the gym, and the dj setup will be outside."

he nodded at your words, listening very closely to each word you were saying. "we'll start in the gym first though, so we can hang up the banners and such."

suddenly another voice spoke up, "yn! can i help too?" jun asked, "of course you can! can you put these cups and plates on that table over there?" you pointed to one of the tables across the gym, as he followed with a small ok! as he walked further and further into the distance.

later, it was time for your little "date". you both went home to change into more appropriate clothes, rather than the lazy clothes you both were wearing to be comfortable.

you both met at a small sandwich shop a few minutes away from school, it was a popular weekday spot that students walk to after school, though it was usually quiet on the weekends. you had thought about applying for a job here, but you decided to wait unless the school workload became too much.

jake did offer to pick you up from your house, but you declined not wanting him to waste gas, since it was very pricey these days. luckily your aunt was kind enough to give you some money for gas every once in a while, not having to worry about it as much.

after you both met up inside the shop you decided to sit inside at a little table in the corner, both of you ready to eat your sandwiches due to the hunger you both built while setting up at school.

"jaeyun, why is your sandwich mainly lettuce," you questioned, confused why the sandwich barely had any toppings.

"im picky! and it's not just lettuce. theres turkey and cheese and onions too." he opened one of the flaps on the bread to point out the different ingredients.

"also, you are the only person that calls me by my actual name, it's kinda odd" he mentions, taking a bite into his sandwich with barely anything in it.

"are you gonna complain after everything you've done to me so far? plus, saying jake doesn't sound right when i say it. you know what, why don't i just call you jaeyunnie." you grinned, remembering the nickname his little brother calls him by, him being very openly embarrassed about it.

"hey! stop! he tells you, visibly embarrassed before proceeding to laugh. god his laugh, it was so contagious and so was his smile. it was hard not to smile if he was smiling too, like one of those people that makes you happy just looking at them.

"you know, jun is like the spitting imagine of a smaller me"

"i know, ive seen him. he looks like your mom more though, you look more like your dad"

"how do you know what my parents look like, stalker," he says, smiling again and taking a sip of his drink he ordered who knows when.

"maybe if you took a look around your house you'd see all of the family picture frames, im observant you know, and it's hard to miss," you reply

"nooo my embarrassing baby photos are everywhere please tell me you didn't see them" he pleaded, hands together like that was the worst thing in the world.

you both fell into a nice silence, the only voices coming from workers and the other 2 people on the other side of the shop. you both ate your sandwiches peacefully, along with some more small talk and trash talk about the lack of toppings on his sandwich.

he has his chin resting on his palm, as he burns holes into your eyes.

"you're staring," you tell him

"i know, you're pretty, it's hard not to,” he boldly says, hiding in embarrassment a few seconds later, "I'm sorry i didn't mean to be so sudden" he looks down at the floor, ashamed in case you didn't l yeah

"it's okay...and thank you. you're honestly not so bad yourself-"

"hey! you guys are on a date too?" you hear a familiar voice from the door, louder than usual. at the entrance stands soobin, and what your assuming is yeonjun since he hasn't walked in yet. soobin starts quickly walking over, pulls a chair from another table, and sits on the other end.

you can tell jake is visibly confused at what just happened, and so is yeonjun as he walks over to the table a little slower and politely greets you and jake with a smile, mouthing a "sorry"

you punch soobin's arm, whispering to him "what the fuck are you doing, go somewhere else" before hitting him again and giving a nervous smile jakes way.

"im sorry for the intrusion- we were just leaving haha" yeonjun spoke up, grabbing soobins arm to drag him out the shop, scolding his behavior before they both waved to the two of you before exiting

later, while you were both preparing to leave there was suddenly an elderly woman who had stopped at your table as she was walking in.

"you guys are such a cute couple," she said, putting her hands to her heart

"oh we're not-"

"thank you, we're a year strong" jake suddenly said, his hand grabbing yours and holding it up like it was a prized possession. the lady gave him her thanks and she went on to order her sandwich.

"do you even know that lady?”

"no? i couldn't break her heart i was just being nice"

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a/n: this is so bad but it took me so long to write and also i think im only gonna write for skz from now on i find it hard to write for enha

@16luver @junebug032 @zuyairus @bluxjun @iadorethemskz @kwiwin @heartsforhyunjin @thisisnotjacinta

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#jake x reader #enhypen jake #jake enhypen #enha jake #jake sim #sim jake x reader #sim jake smau #sim jaeyun x you #sim jaeyun x reader #sim jaeyun smau #sim jake fluff #enhypen x reader smau #enhypen fluff #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #enhypen smau #enhypen fanfiction #enha x reader #enha fanfic