#editing on this was minimal because it's late as anything

[joelsgreys]

flutter

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner. 

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair. 

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?” 

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home. 

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains. 

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

#tw pregnancy #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #fic: snapshots

[pollen]

i have that calendar today........ please not this

#creative director also messaged me yesterday about this patient intake project i’m managing that had an internal due date of yesterday #because the designer he assigned it to needed more time which is like. no problem at all #since i won’t even be in until late afternoon to sign off on anything #and i like this designer. never had any problems with her in the past. so my fingers are crossed that any edits i give back are minimal #because this calendar. god. i hope the other one from yesterday makes its way back to me today. i would love to get these done asap #once we hit mid december and AEP wraps up i’m gonna template out 2023. i’m changing the way these get done i can’t stand this anymore

[honeybeedrabble]

Casanova (Cheating!Sasuke x AFAB!Reader) - iii

CW: MINIMAL EDITING !!! mean!sasuke x AFAB!reader, reader pregnancy, homewrecker!reader, deadbeat dad activities, cheating, piv (unprotected), creampie, spitting/spit play, oral (f receiving) degradation (loser, whore), zero after care, breeder!sasuke, generally scummy behavior, lmk if i missed anything. short chapter lol

18+ MDNI !!!!!!!!!!

Sasuke knew he hated himself, like seriously- hated himself. He hated himself because everytime he came home he was reminded that he destroyed the family he loved so much just because he wanted to fuck you. Sure, the first time was an accident, if anything he helped you the first time! At least that’s what he told himself to be able to sleep at night. But the second time? The second time was pure lust, nothing but dirty lust that had taken over him and made him want to fuck you.

What didn’t help was how he heard people talk about you. How they would gossip about how nice your newly found motherhood was, and how it was sweet you’d decided to have your own little family. He hated that whenever people would ask who the father was you’d dodge the question, a flustered blush overwhelming your face as you clutched your chest.

But probably what Sasuke hated most of all was how the days went by and your belly got bigger, he got hard at just the sight of you. Your skin was always glowing, your breasts bigger, and of course your stomach bigger. He would think about how hot it was that he had gotten you pregnant, showing off how you were his, regardless as to how nobody knew it. In fact, the ignorance of how it was him got him unbelievably horny.

Whenever he would fuck his wife, he would put a hand flat on her stomach, feel the way his cock would bulge underneath, and imagine it was you while caressing where your child would’ve been. Sakura had no idea of course, she was just happy to get dicked down after a strange dry spell. Sasuke silently refused to fuck her, out of shame and pity mostly, but after getting hot and bothered by just the sight of you for weeks mixed with the feeling of sexual frustration he had to let himself go.

After the deed was done, his post but clarity kicked in like no tomorrow.

What am I going to do? How fucked am I?

He thought as he looked to his side and watched as his wife would catch her breath, post orgasm. He shook his head, pulling the covers up to his chest to cover himself up. Sakura rolled over, putting a hand to his covered chest.

“We haven’t done that in quite a while, huh?” she softly laughed, still breathing in and out.

“Yeah,” he smiled, looking away quickly. Sakura furrowed her brow.

“Are you okay?” She asked, sitting up and closer to him.

“Um, yeah… why?”

“It’s just… you’ve been so distant lately, and that’s saying something.” She nudged him and Sasuke made a halfhearted laugh. “You’ve been like this for weeks… if I didn’t know any better I’d assume something…” Sasuke tensed up.

“Assume what?” He bit back, jaw clenched. Sakura was taken aback.

“All I’m saying is ever since that genjutsu user got away you’ve been acting strange. You don’t feel bad about her getting away, do you?” Sakura asked, tone softer.

“She didn’t get away…” Sasuke muttered.

“Huh?”

“Oh, um… Her. Yeah, that’s what it is.” Sasuke replied, rolling over and facing away from Sakura. She giggled.

“Oh Sasuke, you’ve always been so hard on yourself.”

“For good reason…” He sighed, once again the feelings of shame and guilt returned.

“There you go again. Why don’t we just change the subject, hmm?” Sakura asked. Sasuke wanted to vomit when she said your name.

“W-what about her?” he felt the bile building up in his throat.

“Well you know how she’s pregnant right?”

“Yes, yes, of course I know she’s pregnant! What about her?”

“Well she’s coming into the hospital tomorrow for an ultrasound! When I found out I just knew I had to be her doctor so I’m going to be giving her her screening!” Sakura chirped happily.

Without a word Sasuke got out of bed, not facing her the whole time.

“Sorry, I just realized I have to go to the bathroom,” he said, walking out the door.

“Oh okay, we’ll can you bring me a glass of water when you come back?” Sakura called as he was already walking down the hall.

“Yup.” He responded. He locked himself in the bathroom and turned the fan on, then vomited into the toilet before tangling his fingers into his hair and silently crying as his heart beat out his chest.

___________________

You had no idea of course, so nobody could imagine the slurry of emotions erupting inside of you when Sakura walked into the room, clipboard in hand for your check up. You laid back on the examination bed, heart beating out of your chest as she made conversation with you about your baby.

“You can tell me, c’mon! Who’s the father,” she asked, pouring jelly on your belly and spreading it around.

“I can’t…” you frowned.

“Why not?” She asked, turning to the screen and flipping it on.

“It’s cause,” you felt sweat bead on your forehead, you felt sick and had no idea how to tell her this was her husbands child. “It’s cause I had a sperm donor.”

Sakura spun around in the seat and looked at you.

“No kidding! So you’ve really wanted to be a mom that badly?” She asked, moving the small device around on your stomach.

“Um… Yeah I guess so,” you mustered a laugh.

“Didn’t they tell you who the donor was? Y’know if I check your appointment date I can see who’s they gave you-“

“Oh no that’s fine! I didn’t have a preference…” You lied as you both shifted your attention to the screen. “Just wanted it to be healthy…”

Soon enough the fetus was on screen and Sakura gasped with delight.

“Well it seems healthy to me!”

“Um, do you know it’s gender yet?” You asked, shamefully curious.

“Well it’s too early to tell, that’s also why it’s so small.” She pressed a little harder against you, and shifted it around. She pointed at the top of the oblong shape. “There’s the head.”

You smiled as you looked at it, then your face dropped. You felt tears roll down your face and soon enough you were crying. Sakura turned her head to see you.

“I’m sorry…” you cried, wiping your face.

“No no! It’s okay, plenty of mothers cry when they get their ultrasound done it’s completely fine! It’s also all those hormones don’t worry.” She sat closer to you and gave you a small hug, running her hand up and down your back.

You wished she had punched you, kicked you, or even yelled at you, maybe then you wouldn’t feel so bad about being her husbands mistress and baby mother. But instead she was coddling you and telling you it would be alright, which it certainly would not be. Eventually you stopped crying and Sakura grabbed her clipboard and started writing down on it. She tore a piece of paper out and handed it to you.

“It’s a list of some prenatal vitamins, they’ll make you feel better especially when you start to get further into your first trimester.” She was too sweet, and you were so shitty.

_______________________

That night after dinner you heard a knock at your door and when you saw who it was you wished you slammed it immediately.

“Can I come in?” Sasuke asked, looking around nervously.

“Get the fuck in here.” You muttered. He shut the door behind him and locked it. You crossed your arms angrily.

“You know it’s already fucked up as it is that I have to raise your child alone, and now i’m reminded that your wife literally exists. You know she gave my ultrasound?” Sasuke cringed. “Yeah. Didn’t think about giving me a heads up?”

“I can explain-“

“Oh! So you did know?”

“Listen-“

“What the fuck…” you cried, sobbing into your hands and turning away from him.

“So emotional…”

“Fuck you, loser.”

“If i didn’t know your hormones were out of control right now I’d remind you that out of the both of us the real loser might be the one carrying the married man’s child.” Sasuke snapped. You growled low, then with an open palm struck him across the face. He winced, a soft grunt escaping his lips.

“I should kill this damn fetus that you find so fascinating. I hate it. I hate you. Everyday i’m reminded there’s something disgusting growing inside of me that you put there, it makes me sick.” You cried again, ugly sobs ripping their way out through your lungs to bounce around the walls of your home.

“It’s not my fault you were acting like such a whore that day.” Sasuke frowned, his hand running over the red skin on his face.

“If you had killed that genjutsu user we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“You got in the way.” You scoffed.

“Always so pretentious, aren’t you?”

“It’s the truth. I could’ve handled it but no, you just needed to show off.”

“Show off? You’re one to talk. You’re practically showing off to the whole village how you got me knocked up everywhere I go.” Your brows furrowed. Sasuke was silent.

He knew you were right. Maybe he knew it was the pot calling the kettle black, but he was backed into a corner. Something about the word ‘loser’ struck a nerve with him. A deadbeat dad with a distant wife- no fault of anyone else but him. Did he somehow think starting a family with you would be some sort of do-over? something to rid him of his guilt?

When he looked at his wife he saw a beautiful woman, strong and accomplished. But how can you have any room for attraction to someone you have so much guilt for. Guilt for his old days of vengeance and hate, guilt for his job that kept him away from home for years.

But you? You were a fresh face. Beaming with optimism and a subtle hint of indifference that he knew he could change. You had something Sasuke couldn’t quite identify, simply being around you now felt dangerous. Sure, it could be, but it was more than the thrill of danger. You were his whim, his drug, the fever he couldn’t sweat out and being inside of you was the only place he wanted to be every hour of everyday. Maybe you have animosity for him now but could this family save you? more importantly- could it save Sasuke?

You took a deep breath in, shakily letting it go.

“You need to leave…” You were about to walk for the door when a possessive hand grasped your wrist. You froze.

“You don’t understand, I need you.” His voice was almost a whisper, the low growl that it almost produced set a shiver up your spine.

“I…” you started, face flush from his sudden shift. “Please, I can’t deal with you right now. You’re just too confusing.”

Sasuke gripped you brash and pinned you against the nearest wall, mounted frames ratted when you made contact. You gasped, your free hand coming to rest at your belly.

“Sasuke! You can’t just do that! It’s not good for the baby, knock it off,” your face burned hot. Sasuke raised a brow, a small smirk pricking up.

“Oh? So you do care about the well being of our baby, huh?” Bastard. He had you.

He leaned down partially, teasing you with a warm breath against your lips. You fought yourself to not close the gap, your mind racing and your face flaming. Soon enough you gave into your impulses and kissed him passionately.

You both let out an exhale, his soft lips making yours wet with his saliva. He opened his mouth to lick your sweet lips, tracing how plush they were only for his tongue to slip past them and feel along your own. His tongue ran along the smooth underside of yours, then swirled back up to trace your rougher taste buds, leaving his own flavor behind.

He grunted when you tangled your fingers in his hair, digging deep towards his roots and gently yanking when he pressed a growing erection into your swollen core. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck and he carried you to your bedroom, where he laid you down onto the mattress as soon as you both arrived.

Sasuke ripped off your pajama pants then ducked down to the valleys of your flesh, kissing in between your thighs to suck deep hickeys into. You moaned and writhed under his chin, then he made haste to your sensitive pussy, licking hard against your clit. You let out a harsh and untamed cry of pleasure, it almost sounded like you were in pain. But the way you bucked your hips into his mouth and dig deeper into his scalp proved otherwise.

You didn’t realize your body was craving Sasuke for so long until mere seconds later you were cumming on his tongue, hoarse moans and soft whimpers escaped your lips without warning as your juices filled his mouth. Sasuke palmed himself when you flooded into him, he swallowed every drop you could’ve given him and when you were done with your orgasm he didn’t stop devouring you until you were shaking like a leaf.

Sasuke roughly grabbed one of your tits as he stood up, looking down at you through narrowed eyes, you quivered under his gaze.

“Off.” He commanded. You took off your tank top and threw it across the room. Sasuke swooped down to caress your tits in his hand and mouth, biting harshly on your sensitive nipples. You clenched around nothing when he did so, thighs clamping shut around his torso.

He quickly came off of you and he undid his pants, you watched as the waistband of his pants and boxers fell to the floor, his large cock standing straight up against his chiseled abdomen.

There were no words spoken between the two of you. No promises of love, no claims of possession, no gifts exchanged or fancy jewelry to court with, no battles won to impress with, and no acts of tenderness. Only one single thing was present and that was the absolute orgasmic pleasure that came from being impaled be Sasukes cock over and over and over again. He got off watching you bounce from underneath him, your tits giggling every time he bottomed out and his balls smacked against your ass.

Sasuke bit his lip to stutter his moans when you started shaking again. Your climax looked almost like a seizure, more whimpers and cries were let out as you shook, only to be met with more tremors the longer he fucked you, continuing to deliver what practically seemed like pleasure epilepsies.

“F-Fuck! Sasuke, you’re so good…” you mewled, toes curling when he hit that good spot deep inside of you.

His hips didn’t slow their violent pace, his thumb traced along your clit, rubbing tight circles against it with he pad of his finger.

“Yeah…” he grunted, pace getting rougher. “You like this dick, huh? You like it so much you got pregnant from it, little whore.” He smirked, teasing you with long, deep strokes that slowed down to an agonizing pace.

You breathed heavily, heart pounding so loud and fast you were scared you might have a heart attack.

“Fuck- yeah…” you blubbered, hips twisting when you felt him bottom out.

“You’re gonna raise my fucking baby, aren’t you?” Sasuke murmured, his pace intensified and yet again you were crying out again.

“Y-yeah,” you whimpered, legs shaking as Sasuke obliterated your leaky pussy.

“That’s right… you’d do anything for this uchiha dick, wouldn’t you?” He asked with a smirk as he jackhammered you raw with his thick rod.

You neared your orgasm, cunt clenching tight and making Sasuke grunt as he continued to rail you. You nodded, eyes rolling back as your eye brows furrowed. Your mouth fell open and Sasuke took this opportunity to spit into it, you shocked yourself when you swallowed it. Sasuke had a feeling you would but watching you do it made him go crazy and his pace inside of you was excruciating.

“Say you want our baby, say you’re keeping it,” Precum was spilling out of you, it was fully mixed in with your arousal and your ass was drenched from your fluids dripping down.

“I want our baby, Sasuke- I… I’m keeping it I promise…” your face burned, your body surprised you would utter such words to the man who ruined you.

It didn’t matter for much longer since you came hard on his cock, appendages flying all around him to get him even closer to you. He complied and pressed himself deeper into you, almost as if he were fusing into you. his cock twitched when he filled you up with hot cum and you loved hearing his soft moans. you wrapped your legs around him to keep him right inside of you and if it wasn’t for the fact it was sasuke who had led you to this misfortunate spot, you wouldn’t be upset by the state you’re in now.

Eventually Sasuke got off of you and clothed himself. His pants covering his sex, almost as if in a way he was ashamed of where it had got him. Hiding it away from the mess he had made.

“I’ve got to go, I’ve already overstayed my welcome.” Sasuke sighed, he turned around and looked back over his shoulder at you. “Goodnight.”

You were still naked and drenched in sweat and sperm, juices leaking down your legs. It was like he injected you with his own venomous guilt for living, having desire, having your own craving for freedom through your sex. That freedom was gone now, only one of you had to deal with this fuck up. Now this venom was killing you. It was as if the most pleasurable knife was jabbed inside of you and you were bleeding out your emotions.

The sheets were all messed up besides you and as you watched him go you were glad he didn’t offer to tuck you in. A good man would’ve offered, a better would’ve tucked you in without even asking. In a way, it was confirmation he was a shitty lover and maybe even a worse partner. It made you feel better he wouldn’t do such an intimate thing for the fling like this when he has a wife and child at home.

Still shaken, you managed to sit upright, angry and defeated. You knew your body and mouth betrayed you of the freedom you wanted so badly. They reinforced his belief that you wanted to keep this anchor of a weight that was Sasuke Uchihas child. You were furious your body betrayed you and led you down a path of self destruction. You felt cheated, then felt worse when you realized that the only person who should really feel that way was Sakura.

AN: i have been LAGGING !!! i am so sorry gang i'm trying to be better with posting like how i used to but somethings been up idk what is is or when it'll be over but i think i just gotta womp womp my way through it. anyways i'm sorry if i forgot to add you to the tag list just leave a comment and i'll add you to the next part.

tag list: @just-your-emo-sensei @princess-saki1 @mandy-yeager @emmaaas-posts

#smut #naruto #sasuke smut #sasuke x reader #sasuke uchiha smut #sasuke fic #sasuke naruto #sasuke uchiha #sasuke x reader smut #sasuke x you #casanova!sasuke #dark sasuke #naruto fic #naruto smut #sasuke uchiha x you #sasuke uchiha x reader

[being-addie]

The Glow Up Game

Part One: Pretty on the Outside

A comprehensive guide to getting your shit together. You heard me. We are done standing on the sidelines, looking at people living their dream lives being rich and hot and happy. WE'RE DONE.

This is a long guide, filled with pointers covering EVERYTHING regarding physical glow-ups. I'll be editing it and reblogging it whenever I come across new ideas and information. It covers everything from head to toe. I mean this literally.

Note: This is for people who want to do glow up physically. It is totally your choice to do anything you want to/don't want to on this list. We live in a world full of unfair beauty standards, and instead of being angry about it, I'm going to exploit the hell out of it.

Are you ready to change yourself? Here we go.

The absolute basics: These are lifestyle changes you're going to implement. Non-negotiable.

Go exercise: Don't look at me like that. This isn't optional. Find a way to move your body so you like it and you're actually breaking a sweat. Leisurely walking on the treadmill does not count, half-hearted zumba does not count. Whatever you're doing, it has to make you SWEAT. A good figure is earned. Trust me when I say you'll feel better, and like what you see in the mirror.

Change your diet: Enough sugar. Toss the soda out, and chuck out your candy stash. You really don't need it. Craving something sweet? Make a batch of healthy, homemade dessert. Or have a piece of fruit. I'm not kidding when I say the kitchen is where you make the biggest lifestyle change. It will be HARD, but every McChicken you say no to, is good for your HEALTH. You want to live longer? Cut out the takeout and heavily processed foods.

Fix your sleep cycle: Sleep is so important, and I think people overlook it so much. All your hard work is wasted if you don't sleep well. Your skin will break out, and your body will refuse to change even if you exercise. SLEEP WELL. Create a nighttime routine and stick to it. Make sure you have at least 7 hours of sleep as a minimum.

Create a skincare routine: Take off your makeup every day. And have a good skincare routine. Cleanse, moisturize and apply whatever you usually do. Exfoliate twice a week and stop touching your face. I also drink an ABC smoothie (Apple+Beetroot+Carrot+Water). This does wonders.

Use sunscreen: I cannot stress this enough. Skin cancer is real, and it will get you if you don't wear sunscreen. Use something higher than SPF 50 and use it religiously. Make sure to get your earlobes, chest and back of your neck. Cover every inch of your skin that will be exposed to the sun.

Drink your water: 3 litres of water per day. You will be amazed at the results. Your skin will clear, your breath won't stink and you won't be dehydrated. This shit works, and there's a reason everyone recommends it. Drink your water.

Moving on to each itty-bitty detail.

Eyes: SLEEP. You want your eyes to look fresh? No pesky dark circles? Get your sleep cycle right. No more late nights. Hot girls sleep on time.

Nose: Those blackhead-looking things are natural, they're called sebaceous filaments. And, no you can't get rid of them. But you can minimize them. Cleanse, moisturize and exfoliate. Don't pick at your skin.

Lips: Don't bite them anymore, for God's sake. You're going to make sure they're chapped beyond belief. Use lip balm religiously and don't overuse lipstick. Your lips WILL get discoloured when you're older. Use a light lip tint, and lip balm/gloss.

Eyebrows: If you want to shape them, go to the hairdresser and get it done.

Facial hair: As someone with naturally dark, thick hair I have a lot of noticeable facial hair. I'm planning on getting it lasered soon. Find a way that works for you and is affordable.

Body hair: I have zero self-consciousness about my arm and leg hair, so I have no desire to shave or wax it. I do wax my underarms, because of ridiculously thick growth. Understand that this is a personal choice, and you do not have to do this if you're unwilling.

Nails: Keep them short or long, always filed and CLEAN. Do not let grime or dirt build-up underneath. Don't keep your nails painted 24/7, it will 100% lead to yellowing. Give your nails some time to breathe between every manicure. When they aren't painted, keep them filed and presentable.

Hair: I have Type 3a curly hair, so my hair routine is tailored to suit me. But what I can tell you is wash your hair at least 1x a week, use sun protectant, and oil your hair before wash day(it works). And use heat on your hair SPARINGLY. If you want to colour you can, but remember it does lead to long term damage, brittleness and bad texture. Get your hair cut every 3-4 months with a trusted hairdresser. Keep switching up hairstyles and do not stick to a single part (middle part, side part) constantly because it can lead to thinning of hair there.

Acne: STOP TOUCHING YOUR FACE I am begging you. Touching your face with grimy hands is a recipe for acne. Cleanse everyday, moisturize heavily and go to a dermatologist if it gets worse.

THIS LIST WILL BE UPDATED

Go live your best life. You deserve everything, and you shouldn't let anything stand in your way, not even yourself. Now GO, you've got shit to do.

xoxo

#self care #self improvement #self love #level up #level up journey #self love journey #glow up #college #tips and tricks #it girl #that girl #perfect #life #routine #self development #personal development #self growth #wellness #leveling up #level up tips #leveling up tips #leveling up journey #dream girl journey #dream girl #becoming that girl #girl blogger #girlblogging #habits #list #long

[novelistrry]

She looked at the drink in her hand, suddenly feeling demure and childish holding a drink the bartender told her was called Sex on the Beach after she asked for something that doesn’t take like alcohol. He noticed her hesitation and the way her eyes flickered between his drink and her own. “Would you like to try it?”

She nodded her head yes, letting him know that she did want to try it. So badly, she wanted to try it. Not because she wanted to taste the tequila, she was sure it wasn’t very good, but because she wanted to taste where his lips pressed against the glass. She could see the subtle fog where he was placing his lips every time he would take a sip. So, he handed her his drink and when she turned the glass and pressed her lips against where they both knew his lips had once been, he murmured a small, “Christ, Y/N.”

Or

Harry is a young professor and Y/N has never felt this kind of attraction before

Disclaimer: I didn't do a lot of editing to this, and it is also part one out of at least three!

Word Count: 14k+

Y/N was always one that was good at school work. She was punctual for class, thorough with her assignments, and would spend way more time than the average person studying for exams that she knew she would ace regardless. She flew through her undergraduate program, enjoying the learning component of school so much that she decided she would attend a graduate program.

She thought she would fly through it like she always had.

Y/N was wrong.

It was her first day in a teaching position as a graduate student, and the professor she was assisting for the semester only taught advanced level psychology classes. She thought that maybe assisting a professor in the class she was struggling most with — even though he was not her direct professor— might be helpful with bumping up her grade and understanding the content of the course. 

Although Y/N was not new to this program, she was struggling with one psychology course in particular. As the opportunity arose for her to TA (the pay was minimal, but she would take anything at this point), she jumped at the offer when she realized it was a position for a class she was nearly pulling her eyelashes out over. Of course she went over it with her guidance counselor to make sure the school didn’t qualify that as an unfair advantage. She didn’t want to be scolded for thinking it was appropriate to TA for a class she was concurrently taking, but her guidance counselor quickly reassured her that as long as she didn’t TA for the professor she was taking the course with, she had absolutely nothing to worry about. 

To say she was nervous was an understatement. The professor she was assisting was one she had never heard of before. With much frustration, she scoured the internet trying to find any inkling of information regarding him. There were no reviews on his teaching, no rating on how hard his course was, and the only thing she managed to find was his name (not even a picture) on the faculty website. Typically, Y/N could look up faculty and find a rating on some college website to let potential students know how hard their class was on a scale from one to five, how heavy the course load was, and if the student rating them would take a class with that professor on another occasion.

There she was, outside of his room, fifteen minutes earlier than she needed to be because she was always stressing over minuscule things (to her, five minutes early might as well be ten minutes late). Stress oozed from her pores, and she felt the tension build in her shoulders as it began sinking in that she knew nothing of the man who she would be spending quite some time with. She let out a small breath, trying to ease some of the tension in her shoulders and the way butterflies were infiltrating her brain and stomach. Y/N was in what she would call, a stress pocket. Like she had picked herself from the world and tucked herself away in a separate dimension that was only filled with stress. No happiness, no laughter, no sorrow, no anger. Simply stress. She could view the outside world from the clear stress pocket, but she couldn’t quite find a way to crawl out of it.

With one more breath and a copy of his course schedule in her hand, she flicked her gaze down and scanned it over once more preparing herself. As far as she was concerned, he had no class during this time slot and she could easily rasp her knuckles against the oak door, but a fizzle in her stomach stopped her from doing so. 

What if he didn’t know he was given a TA by the school? Is that possible? She went over a few practice lines in her head to make sure she had the words flowing through her brain before she worked up the courage to knock. It was somewhat of a habit of hers. When she ordered food for takeout, she spent a few minutes rehearsing her order so the words slipped out of her mouth nicely. Otherwise, her brain became flustered, her face would heat, and her eyes would gaze down at her shoes. 

Before she had the chance to rehearse what she was going to say, the door unlatched and popped right open revealing who she believed was Professor Styles. A satin shirt laid across his chest, slightly showing the tips of a tattoo she couldn’t quite make out. Long dark blue slacks covered his leg, flaring at the bottom and possibly made him look taller than he actually was. 

“Thought I saw a shadow lingering outside the door,” he murmured, stepping to the side to allow space for her to walk in. “What’re you doing standing out there for so long?”

It took her brain a couple seconds to compose her thoughts. This is exactly why she always prepared what she would say in advance, because her brain was becoming foggy as he held her gaze. She couldn’t help but scan his face a little more intensely than she probably should have, noting the slight pink color to his cheeks that matches his lips, the way his green eyes had a sort of sultry look to them, and the way he brought his hand up to his jaw, scratching at the stubble growing in as he looked at her. She had to avert her eyes, otherwise she may have never been able to get the words out— his beauty was a little too intense and overwhelmingly unexpected. 

Y/N doesn’t think she had ever seen anyone quite as beautiful as him. It was like an angel carved him from stone and decided the world needed a little more beauty. They planted him in the soil and grew him with the clearest spring water they could find, the sun nurturing his cheekbones and the soft brown curls that wrapped around the frame of his face so well. He was not accidental, he was planned by the Gods. Beauty that was a gift to the world.

“Sorry,” she managed to squeak out, her eyes plastered to the wall behind her as she cleared her throat to avoid any voice cracking. “I didn’t knock because I was a little early. I didn’t know if I would have been interrupting something.” 

His fingers pushed the door closed once more, then turned away from her and strode to his desk with long steps. Y/N took a chance to look at him once more, familiarizing herself with his features. She could tell by the way his eyebrows furrowed and his lips curved upward that he was sure of himself. “Mmm,” the hum coming from his vocal chord raised an octave up as he looked over a piece of paper on his desk. “You wouldn’t have been interrupting anything. How can I help you?”

She glanced down at the paper in between her fingers, and realized she was gripping it a lot harder than she processed. An indentation was made in the paper where her forefinger and thumb were straining it. In a few steps, she made it to his desk and slid the paper over to him, a slight shake of her hand as she gently pushed it across the desk. He looked up at her as he noticed the tremble in her hand, but chose not to say anything about it. 

“I’m your new TA for the class that’s starting in about ten minutes.” She spoke clearly, quickly removing her hand from the wood of his desk, and shoving it into her coat pocket. Y/N shifted on the backs of her heels, a tendency she had developed to self soothe in tense situations. 

His face lit up in realization, a look of understanding washing across his features like he finally put the pieces together as to why a random student, (certainly not one of his own because he’s great with names and faces), was nervously standing outside of his door. Her shy gaze faltering slightly as he asked why she was lingering behind the door suddenly made sense, and the nervous hand trembling was completely understandable when he realized she was reporting for her teacher’s assistant duties for the first time ever. She was just a little nervous, and he was determined to make her warm up to the new atmosphere around her. 

“Yes,” he smiled down at her, trying to make her feel welcome and comfortable. “Y/N, right? If I’m being completely honest, I forgot that I was getting an assistant today, but I’m happy you’re here!” He reached out his palm, encasing her hand in his with a firm shake. 

Her hand was delicate in his, the firmness of his made her feel small and she simply wanted to melt into a puddle against the tile as she took in his excitement. He wasn’t going to be so excited when he realized that she was actually very, very bad at abnormal psychology and couldn’t, for the life of her, remember any of the terms she was supposed to. A quick heat crept up her neck and infiltrated her cheeks at the thought of him thinking she was stupid. 

Y/N was not stupid. Y/N was anything but, and her greatest pet peeve was being belittled or ridiculed for her lack of knowledge because she spent a great deal of time intaking the material her professor’s provided her with. Hell, that’s how she got into grad school. It was just that abnormal psychology wasn’t her strongest course, and she couldn’t be faulted for that. She spent a lot of time studying for it, but her test scores were suffering more than she would like to admit. It could be because of her bashfulness, or maybe it was just her ego, but she couldn’t bring herself to visit her professor during office hours or even show up to the tutoring center. On the other hand, it also could have been because her professor was not the most approachable human being to exist and quickly made it known if you were inconveniencing him in any way.

When she didn’t say anything back, he sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth and motioned for her to follow him. Inside his classroom was a medium sized personal office tucked in the corner. Walls and a chestnut colored door separated it from the actual learning portion of the classroom. His fingers gently tapped against the door with the red undertone as he hooked his long fingers in the door knob and pressed it down. The door swung open, revealing another girl probably the same age as Y/N sitting behind one of the two desks. 

“Hi,” the girl behind the desk chirped. Her eyes were kind, and she sported big chunky glasses that suited her face well. One of the first things Y/N noticed was the subtle glow to her skin, and if she thinks a person could embody sunshine, it might just be this girl behind the desk.

“Y/N, this is my other TA, Mallory,” Professor Styles motioned toward the girl, Mallory, sitting behind the desk with a bright smile across her face. “She is also one of my TA’s for abnormal psych, but she is here with me in the mornings. I only teach abnormal psych this semester, so a couple TA’s will help me balance the workload. Sometimes your schedules may overlap for about twenty minutes or so, but whatever you’re falling behind on let Mallory know and she can pick up the following morning.” He glanced between the two girls, a smile spreading across his rose colored lips, “Same thing goes for Mallory. Whatever she needs help with, you’ll continue the task in the afternoon.”

Mallory motioned for Y/N to step inside the office, so she took the cue and walked inside. As she looked around, she noted that the office was decorated beautifully, like whoever designed the workspace must be keen on interior design. It felt more like a home than an office, really.

A green sofa with orange throw pillows flushed against the wall, as what she assumed was a comfortable area for students when they visit Professor Styles during office hours. Two fully wooden desks, side by side, though one was more cluttered which she assumed was Professor Styles’ workspace. A faux leather swivel chair was placed directly parallel with his desk for students to sit at while he chatted with them, or maybe even his colleague friends that visited him for lunch. The walls were decorated with paintings, mostly paintings with sage green and a burnt orange color to match the same vibe as the couch, and when she cocked her head to the side, she saw a small bench next to the door that held papers with community resources so students could tear off the contact information they needed.

“Mallory, do you think you could get Y/N familiar with the desk and the space? My next class starts in a few minutes and I just want to prepare a couple things. After that, you’re free to go.”

Mallory simply nodded as Professor Styles strode out of the doorway and back over to his main desk in the classroom. Y/N tore her gaze from him, trying not to ogle too much to the point where it becomes increasingly more noticeable. She made her way closer to the desk, where Mallory began showing her where all the supplies were. The top drawer of the desk was for pens and pencils, the second drawer was for extra sheets of blank paper, and the third drawer in the desk held an organized filing system which held all the answer keys for the tests he gave throughout the semester. 

“These are the tests I’m currently grading. I was able to get through his first two classes and part of his third class, but there are two more classes of 60 people that need to be graded plus the one that I didn’t finish all the way through.” Mallory pointed at the stack of tests that needed to be graded, and next to it was the hefty stack she had already worked through this morning.

Y/N looked down at the answer key displayed, and realized it was the same exact test she had taken just last week in her abnormal psychology class. “This is the same exact test I took last week,” she picked up the answer key and scanned it, noting the same wording on each question, same multiple choice answers, and same write-in questions.

Mallory nodded, a warm smile across her face as her voice chirped out, “Yeah, you’re in Professor Smith’s class with me. I recognize you. I sit behind you. Smith’s class is one week ahead of Harry’s which is why we’re able to TA for him, because we’re taking the same tests but a whole week before Harry gives them to his students,” she shrugs her shoulders up and down, “It makes it fair.”

It took Y/N a minute before she realized who Mallory was talking about. The name Harry got lost in her brain as she tried to understand who Mallory was talking about until she realized that Mallory was Professor Styles’ first name, and she knew that due to her deep Google searches on the young professor.

“I see,” Y/N nodded her head and placed the answer key back on the desk, not quite sure what else to say to Mallory. It seemed pretty straight forward, and if she finished before her time was up for the day, she was sure Professor Styles would give her something else to do for the remainder of the time.

“If there’s anything that you need, you can just ask me. My contact information is on that little piece of paper taped to the desk,” Mallory pointed at the corner, and Y/N read her full name, phone number, and email address, “But everything is pretty straight-forward.”

Y/N nodded, mumbling out an appreciative “thank you” as Mallory began gathering her stuff. Right before she exited the door, Y/N cleared her throat as she worked up the courage to get Mallory’s attention. 

Mallory turned her head slightly, her eyebrows raised as she held the edge of the doorway with her fingers, waiting for Y/N to say something.

“I was just wondering if…” Y/N trailed off momentarily, her eyes drifting to where Professor Styles stood as he greeted the students that were flooding in his room in large groups, “I was wondering if you liked assisting Professor Styles.” 

Mallory’s smile grew larger as she understood the nervous gulp Y/N gave in between words as she spoke. If Mallory was being completely truthful, she was skeptical of him at first too. She couldn’t find any ratings as this was his first year teaching and sometimes you truly don’t understand a professor’s temperament until you get to know them. “He’s great, I promise you.” Her eyes glanced behind her and she lowered her voice, “He’s nothing like Professor Smith… And he’s easy on the eyes.”

Mallory sent a wink toward Y/N, and Y/N felt that familiar heat crawl up her neck once more.

___________

By the end of the day, she had nearly finished the stack. With a glance toward the clock, she realized she only had a few minutes left and wouldn’t be able to crank out the thirty or so tests that needed grading. Her fingers drummed against the desk as she contemplated how to let Mallory know she didn’t completely finish. 

Y/N could send her an email as her contact information was taped to the corner of her desk, but it didn’t feel like a good enough reason to email her and she really, really didn’t want to bug her. Y/N thinks if she were in Mallory’s shoes, an email letting her know she didn’t finish felt unnecessary.

Multiple shoes clicking on the floor in the main classroom rang in her ears, the sound of nonchalant talking as the students shuffled out the classroom, and the sound of papers rifling in backpacks signaled that Professor Styles’ class had ended, concluding his classes for the day. 

It was only a few minutes before the last student finally made their way out the door, the familiar sound of the door clicking closed told her that he had finally completed his work day.

Like he was anticipating the end of his day, he gently tapped his knuckles upon the door of the office and before she could even mumble a small “come in,” the door was flying open. Y/N realized then that the tapping against the door wasn’t necessarily permission for him, but a courteous way of letting her know that he would be entering the room. 

He stood in the doorway, his lean shoulders pressing against the frame. The satin top that exposed just the tips of his tattoos taunted her, almost as if they were  looking back at her while she tried to decipher what might lay under his shirt. 

With hard eyes, he glanced down at what she was staring at and when he realized where her gaze was studying, he brought his nimble fingers to the top button and securely covered it so that the tattoos were no longer in sight. He cleared his throat and she swallowed hard, glancing around the room to try and play off her wandering eyes.

“How was your first day?” He asked, giving her a somewhat hopeful look. The kind of look that told her he must have had a TA at one point that had a terrible first day, and ran out of his abnormal psych class screaming, never to be seen again. 

If she was honest, the subject in itself was something she might have had trouble mastering, but the assistant duties weren’t that terrible. All she had to do was review an answer key, mark in red pen if they got the answer wrong, and total up the number of points they got on their test. It didn’t get much simpler than that. 

“It was good, Professor Styles,” she tried to make her voice sound as chipper and friendly as possible. She wanted him to know that she was happy to help him out and liked doing it. 

He shook his head slightly, a small smile forming across his lips to indicate amusement. It was almost as if she could see his eyes shine a little brighter than they were before as he brought his hand up to his neck and rubbed in a comforting way like. He searched the air, trying to find the same words he used for Mallory when she began assisting him. 

“I like to be called Harry if that’s something you’re comfortable with. I want you to feel like we’re on the same level, almost like we’re colleagues. You don’t need to address me as ‘professor’ because I’m not your professor,” he began the same spiel he told Mallory, letting her know that they were equals and it made Y/N’s insides warm a little bit. “For example, if one day you told me you wanted to teach the lesson, I would absolutely trust you to do so.”

Her eyebrows scrunched and her tongue flicked against her lower lip, the eyes that were previously locked with him now analyzing the pattern of the wooden desk as she shook her head in a gentle way. Giving a lesson was definitely not something she wanted to do. Maybe Mallory was the kind of TA that wanted interaction with the class, but not Y/N. No, that wasn’t Y/N at all. 

Y/N considered herself to be a simple person. She didn’t mind sneaking into the office he had tucked away in his room with the door closed as she graded papers. She didn’t mind the silently working alone, reading through answers, trying to decipher sloppy handwriting, but she did not want to teach a lesson,

Maybe Mallory was her polar opposite, balancing out his two TA’s. Mallory was talkative enough when she met Y/N. She seemed like the kind of girl that could discuss a topic as bland as oranges for thirty minutes by constantly adding new components to the conversation. Mallory and Y/N might be a yin and yang ordeal, opposites that balance each other out just enough that it works together.

“I appreciate that, but I don’t want to teach a class,” she explained. It took a second for her to calm the thoughts that were picking at her brain. Maybe the idea of teaching a class sounded some sort of internal alarm that forced her shoulders to tense up, her knees to lock, and her mouth to produce more saliva than necessary because she physically felt her body constrict at the idea.

“No, you don’t have to,” he shifted against the doorframe, sensing how uncomfortable she was and silently cursing at himself for putting her in such an awkward position on her first day. “I was just trying to explain that I want us to be equals.”

She simply nodded, not quite sure what else to say. She could confirm that she was comfortable calling him Harry, but she thinks he probably already knew she would if that is what he was requesting. She settled on two words that expressed her gratitude, “Thank you.”

He gestured his hand as if to say don’t even worry about it, but a puzzled look formed on his face as he did so. “Do you mind telling me why you don’t want to teach a class? Mallory nearly fell out of her seat with excitement when I told her she could if she really, really wanted to.” 

There it was: confirmation that Mallory was her opposite. A sense of relief washed through her veins as she realized it was perfectly okay for her to be the quiet one, as long as Mallory was outgoing.

Her eyes narrowed and Harry could tell she was trying to find the words to explain how she felt about the idea. She was very thoughtful, and in the short three hours he had known her, he appreciated that quality about her. Y/N couldn’t tell him she sucked at abnormal psychology and was almost failing her class. She couldn’t tell him that she would pretty much be setting his students up for failure if she taught the class, but she could tell him that she was uncomfortable in big groups of people. That was true. As soon as the group exceeded five or so people, she realized she never wanted to participate in the conversation as she felt like she never had anything good enough to say. Y/N was more of a listener, and sometimes even then, five people in her friend group was overwhelming. 

“I’m not a good public speaker,” as the reason slipped from her lips, she suddenly felt like that was such a silly reason to make a fuss over it. It was true though, public speaking was not really her element. 

“We could always work on that if that’s something you’re interested in?” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. If she refused the offer it wouldn’t really bother him, but he wanted to give her the option anyway, just in case it’s a goal she wants to work toward.

Y/N didn’t know what possessed her because even though working on public speaking would be helpful in its own way, she really didn’t want to. She had already taken the most basic required public speaking course and did not plan to take any other communication class, but she nodded her head in agreement with his proposition and mumbled out, “That would be great.”

Harry could tell by the lack of enthusiasm in her response, and by the way her shoulders slumped forward and her nose scrunched up that she didn’t actually mean it. It was more that she was trying to be polite than anything, and he thinks that maybe if he were her, his reaction would be the same. He used to be a people pleaser too, and at first it was a harmless personality trait that slowly morphed into something that was no longer harmless, he was absolutely taken advantage of (covering shifts for coworkers when he didn’t want to, staying out too late with friends because they wanted to even though his warm bed was calling) and became a difficult thing to shake. 

He glanced down at his watch, reading the time carefully. It hadn’t felt like 15 minutes of interacting with her until he realized just how long his, now numb, shoulder was pressed against the door frame. “It’s probably time you head out, hm?” 

“Yes,” she breathed out, finding her voice. She knew they hadn’t been talking for too long, but she didn’t want to overstay her welcome. Not that she was itching to stay and grade papers. No matter how mindless the activity was, she did want to go home. It was at that moment she realized the question she wanted to ask him hadn’t come up yet, and it was the first thing she wanted to ask when she heard the shuffling of footsteps as he wrapped up his last class of the day. “I have about thirty tests left to grade. How can I let Mallory know?” 

He wasn’t looking at her as she spoke, but she knew that she had his undivided attention. With hesitation, she gulped as she watched his long fingers rake down his throat, his index and middle finger touching the skin ever so gently, just avoiding his Adam's apple. It only took a couple steps for him before his long legs were at his desk in the office, and he was sifting through the disorganized pile he must have dumped on there in between classes. “Why don’t you just leave her a little note that she can read when she comes in tomorrow morning? Should be fine.” 

It didn’t take too long for her to grab a blank piece of paper from the second drawer. She scribbled out a note as quickly as possible, letting Mallory know how far she got the day before and thanking her for picking up where she left off. As soon as she was done writing the note, she began gathering her things. Y/N was more than ready to get back to her flat, have a small discussion with her flatmate (who also happened to be her best friend), and climb into the comfort of her bed. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said softly. 

He gave her one of those sweet smiles that he must have kept tucked away in his utility belt of charm, and waved her a simple goodbye. 

She thought of him the whole way home even though she tried not to. 

___________

“So how was it?” Her roommate and best friend from her undergraduate days, Niall, asked from the other side of the kitchen. She had been home for a total of ten minutes and he was already interrogating her, but she didn’t expect anything less from him. With a short glance over to where she stood at the counter, he gave his attention back to the refrigerator where he was rummaging to find the strawberry kiwi flavored juice he loved so much. 

“It was fine,” she shrugged her shoulders. As soon as she started speaking, his eyes fixated back toward her as his hand finally grasped the strawberry kiwi juice he was looking for. Instead of holding eye contact, she let her gaze flicker to the floor.

Eye contact was one of Y/N’s telling traits; Niall knew that when she couldn’t hold eye contact with him, she was either lying or holding out on giving him information. A smirk danced across his lips as he shut the fridge, then leaned his body against it slowly. “You’re either lying or holding out on me. Which is it?”

“Holding out on you,” amusement twirled throughout her eyes, and her lips curved to match the same smirk Niall was giving her.

“Won’t you tell me?” He clutched his chest, feigning heart pain as if she had stabbed him by telling him she was holding out.

“He’s really…” She trailed off, not quite sure how to say what she wanted to say appropriately. It felt wrong to say it out loud. She wasn’t concerned that Niall would judge her, but if she was being honest, she was judging herself for being so attracted to the professor she was supposed to be working for. She decided to put it as bluntly as possible, “Attractive.”

In a matter of seconds, Niall’s smirk turned into a full blown smile, teeth showing and all. It wasn’t common for Y/N to talk about when she found someone attractive. She always kept to herself. In fact, she kept to herself so much that when Niall invited her out with his other friends, he was always a little worried that she was feeling overwhelmed. It’s not that she couldn’t take care of herself or regulate her own emotions, she absolutely could and he knew that, but he always worried that she was forcing herself to be around his friends just because she wanted Niall to know she cared about spending time with him. “Is he now?”

“Yes,” her smile turned into a sheepish one, her ears feeling hot right at the tips.

“Have you told him that you suck at abnormal psychology?” Niall didn’t mean this in a mean way, he knew Y/N was struggling with her abnormal psych class because she had come home on multiple occasions, kicked her shoes off, buried her face into the couch cushion and screamed at the top of her lungs. When Niall asked her why she was being so dramatic, she told him that she was failing her first class, and even he was slightly taken aback by the news. Y/N had better grades than anyone he knew. 

“That’s not the plan anymore,” she explained, her fingers rubbing against the countertop just enough to feel the smooth coating. She was waiting for him to scold her. She was actually anticipating it on the car ride when she decided that she absolutely, for certain, was not going to tell Professor Styles—Harry— that she was failing her abnormal psychology class. When the opportunity came for her to TA, she had talked about it with Niall. He knew she was a naturally shy being, but he explained that if she was still struggling in a couple weeks when the TA position started, she could tell the professor and maybe they would offer her some extra help or some extra worksheets that would get her back on track.

“What do you mean?” Niall furrowed his eyebrows, taking a swig of the strawberry kiwi juice he had forgotten he was holding in his hand.

She simply shrugged her shoulders up and down, staring at her pink polkadot socks as she wiggled her toes to distract herself.

“Why? Because you think he’s attractive?” Niall tried to understand, pressing the topic further. If she didn’t want to give him anymore information regarding it then he would stop pestering her, but his job as her best friend was to pester her anyway.

She simply nodded, still not looking up.

“Sheesh, Y/N.” Niall brought his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and pressed it together in order to relieve some of the tension building in his head. He wasn’t going to tell her it was a bad idea or shame her for finding him attractive. Hell, he was putting himself in her shoes and decided that if he found one of his professor’s attractive, he would probably leave out information like that too.

“I know,” was all she said, a tinge of shame ringing in her tone but he waved her off.

“So,” he said, not wanting her to feel too badly, “Indian for dinner?”

She gazed back up at him, a grin shining in his direction as she said, “You know me so well.”

________

Days had passed of Y/N working in the office located in Harry’s classroom. They didn’t talk very much, but sometimes he would come into the office and sit with her. While he did work on his computer and she graded papers, he would make small talk. He would ask her things about why she chose to major in psychology, what undergraduate school she went to, where she was from. Normal things like that. Sometimes she wanted to ask him questions too, but she could never work up the courage to until today (it only took her a few weeks).

“Do you have a favorite color?” It was the most mundane question she could ask him, but she was actually asking for a reason. Typically, she graded the papers in the red pen Mallory left behind, because it was cohesive with Mallory’s work.

“I like green. Why do you ask?” He glanced up from his laptop, closing the lid just slightly so he could get a better view of her face. 

“I grade with a red pen. I was wondering if there was a preference you had,” she suddenly felt childish for asking, and was mentally banging her head against the wall. 

“You can keep grading with red. That color is better for grading anyway.” His eyes tore from her and he was back to scrolling through something on his laptop. Her eyes remained fixated on him, and she wanted to keep the conversation going, but there was no way she would have been able to work up the courage to speak to him again. Like he was reading her thoughts, he looked back at her and concluded with, “Thanks for asking, sweet girl.”

Sweet girl. 

Her heart nearly exploded in her chest.

After that day, her and Harry spent a lot of time talking. Possibly too much time talking.

___________

Mallory decided that since she and Y/N both TA’d for Harry, it was an unspoken rule that they should start sitting together in Professor Smith’s class. The day after Mallory met Y/N, she packed her bag up from the other side of the classroom, and moved to the back desk in the seat parallel to Y/N.

Their seats already weren’t too far away, even though Mallory originally sat on the opposite side. Actually, Y/N hadn’t ever realized before but the classroom was small, sterile, and unwelcoming. It wasn’t the way Harry’s classroom was set up with paintings hanging on the wall, informative sheets placed on a vintage waist level bookcase that was filled with leatherback classics. Professor Smith’s class was that of a doctor’s office. No color except gray, tile that constantly smelt of lemon floor cleaner. Y/N didn’t always catch the fine details, but when comparing Professor Smith’s class to Harry’s, she realized just how much Harry went out of his way to make the environment feel like home. 

So Y/N was a little grateful when Mallory took a seat beside her, the atmosphere feeling a little less cold and dark. They would work together on in-class projects, and Y/N realized that Mallory was really, really good at understanding the fundamentals to abnormal psychology. She was actually really grateful she met Mallory, because the more Mallory helped her, the better her grades were looking. She still wasn’t passing the class at a satisfactory level, but she was definitely getting better. 

Mallory liked to talk a lot, which was good, because Y/N liked to listen. She never had much to say, but Mallory always did. Like today, for example, she was telling Y/N that she and her boyfriend were going to some dive bar on the East side with tickets to a comedy show on Friday, and she really wanted Y/N to come. Her other friend and her friend’s boyfriend bailed, but Mallory had already purchased two extra tickets for the comedy show and she would hate for them to be wasted. Y/N was hesitant at first, but she decided there was no harm in going. She liked Mallory a lot, and she was excited to meet Mallory’s boyfriend because she had heard so much about him.

“Are you going to bring your boyfriend? If you don’t then we’re going to have that one extra ticket,” Mallory explained.

Her boyfriend? When had Y/N ever said that she had a boyfriend? Mallory wasn’t the type of person to assume either, so she tried to replay the past conversations in her head dating back to when Mallory and her first started conversing about a month and a half ago. They had talked about all kinds of things, but Y/N had never mentioned a boyfriend. As if the puzzle pieces clicked together, she realized just how often she talked about Niall when she felt she had something interesting enough to add to the conversation.

“Do you mean Niall?” Y/N questioned, her eyebrows raised just a smidge.

“Yes,” Mallory confirmed, confusion laced in her tone and present on her features. “Is he not your boyfriend?”

“No,” Y/N started to laugh, the kind of laugh that made your nose scrunch. Niall was handsome, sure, but they would only ever be best friends. They definitely were not each other’s types. Y/N had seen Niall’s type at nights when he would escort her to small gatherings to play board games. The girls (sometimes even guys, she thinks, though she’s never asked) would be twirling their hair in the corner as he charmed them with that dazzling smile. “Niall is my best friend! He’s also my roommate which might be why you’re confused. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Mallory said, a smile spreading across her face as she clapped her hands together. “Well, why don’t you bring him then if he’s your best friend. I would love to meet him!”

“I think…” Y/N trailed off, trying to think if this is something Niall would say yes to. He was such a social butterfly, he usually never said no to going out, so she didn’t see why agreeing for him would be a problem. “I think that would be a lovely idea.”

When Y/N got home that night, she asked Niall and to no surprise of her own, he excitedly agreed and said he was excited to meet Mallory.

___________

Harry dismissed his class early that day. Mallory didn’t show up to grade papers in the morning because she had a doctor's appointment she already arranged with Harry. He decided that since there was not much left on the chapter his class was going over, he would help Y/N grade the test his class took two days ago since she was grading by herself. 

He popped his head through the door to tell Y/N that he dismissed class early and was going to step out for a few minutes. She gave him a nod in confirmation and heard his heels click as he walked out of the classroom.

Just like he said, he was back in a few minutes but with two coffees in hand. She eyed the coffee with the whipped cream on top, and a devilish smile spread across his lips, his eyes sparkling. Was that other coffee for her? If so, how did he know she liked whipped cream on the top?

“I got us a treat,” he set the two coffees down on her desk and pushed the one with whipped cream, then grabbed his swivel chair that was tucked into the desk he normally sat at in the office and placed it directly next to hers. When he sat, he was so close that she could feel his knee brush against hers.

“Thank you,” she expressed her gratitude and picked up the coffee, eyeing the whipped cream once more. “How did you know I liked whipped cream?”

He paused and looked at her. The look on his face was teetering on the edge of wariness, like he didn’t want to say anything to cross the fine line of a boundary they had constructed. As he searched for the right words to say, he drank in her appearance and she couldn’t help but want to melt away as his eyes danced from her own eyes then back down to her lips then back up to her eyes. “When you come in looking especially tired, you always have a coffee with you, and every single time you’ve had a coffee with you, it has whipped cream on the top.”

Her heart thumped in her chest. Did he notice her that often? Surely he didn’t notice her the way that she’s noticed him. She notices how his tongue darts out and swiftly moved across his bottom lip when he’s concentrated, how he clicks his pen to the beat of the song when they’re playing music in the office, and how he rakes his forefinger and middle finger up and down his throat when he’s really listening to what she has to say.

“I was thinking that we could share this answer key,” he tapped the answer key she had toward the top of the desk, “To grade these papers together. It’s Friday night, I’m sure you wanna get out of here a little early.”

She decided that he was maybe the most thoughtful person she had ever met. There was absolutely no reason that he needed to help her, he could have let her do it all on her own. He didn’t need to get her a coffee either. Maybe she just wasn’t so used to random acts of kindness, or maybe it was the fact that every single day, her attraction to him grew and grew like a plant flourishing in the sunlight. “Did you want me to make a copy?”

“What? Am I sitting too close to you?” He teased, brushing his leg up against hers. She sucked in a small gasp as she felt his knee against hers once more, and maybe it was because she was so touch starved, but she wanted him to do it again and again and again.

“No, no. Not at all,” Y/N said a little too frantically. A little too eagerly.

“Hush, pet. I’m just kidding with you.” Harry spoke softly, letting her know that he was only teasing her. 

They worked in silence for a little while until Y/N rested her back against the chair. She was beginning to cramp up from the way she was sitting. Her fingers were beginning to hurt with each stroke of the pen. Her eyes were getting a little blurry from looking at the same thing over and over again, so she used her left hand (the one that wasn’t cramping up) and grabbed her coffee, taking a swig and underestimating the strength of her left hand, causing whipped cream to coat her upper lip.

Harry laughed gently, then used his fingers to wipe the whip cream off her mouth. He grabbed her lips in between his fingers, then wiped the whipped cream onto his pants. She shuddered softly, almost unnoticeably when she felt his fingers so gently across her lips. Though this was not professor and TA behavior she would deem normal, he said nothing about it, and she was beginning to think that maybe she was overthinking the whole thing because she found him so attractive. With one swift sentence, he pulled her from her thoughts.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” He asked her, making subtle conversation as his pen marked a few things on the test he was grading. Like Y/N, Harry wondered what Y/N did in her free time although he never found a way to weasel that into their conversations. While their conversations were mostly made up of random tidbits of their lives, he had never figured out how to ask how she would spend her weekends.

Y/N was about to tell him that she was seeing a comedy show with Niall and Mallory (and Mallory’s boyfriend of course), but she wasn’t sure if Mallory had told Harry they became quick friends. What if Mallory didn’t want him to know? Y/N couldn’t understand why Mallory would think that way, but just in case, she decided she wouldn’t tell him anything about it. “I don’t think so,” she lied plainly, “What about you? Are you doing anything special?”

Harry casually looked up, clicking the pen a few times before replying. “I am doing something tonight. My friends planned it. If I’m being honest, though, I’m not quite sure what we’re doing. They have told me a few times, but it’s gone over my head. At this point, they’re going to swing by my flat and pick me up just so they are certain I’ll actually show up. Not that I don’t want to see them and don’t care about the plans, I’ve just been so busy.”

“Oh,” Y/N tightens and a sudden realization sweeps through her mind. What if he has a girlfriend? She pushed the thought from her head and buried it, “I’m like that too, I think.”

The sudden realization she tried to bury put her in a somewhat sour mood. Harry notices right away, but he doesn’t ask her why she’s suddenly so adrift from their conversation in an attempt to not push her. If something was bothering her and she wanted to talk about it, she would.

They spent the rest of the time grading papers, and before she left for the night, he told her to have a great weekend, and she told him to have the same, the sullen feeling still weighing on her chest.

___________

The bar was very crowded, very noisy, and not usually Y/N’s scene at all. When her and Niall arrived, she quickly introduced him to Mallory, and Mallory introduced her boyfriend—Josh— to them quickly. The comedy show didn’t last too long, and Y/N could have sworn that Mallory said it was a dive bar when she was trying to convince her to come. The atmosphere was that of a nightclub, as the show finished people shuffled to the dance floor and began dancing.

Mallory grabbed Y/N by the arm and ushered her over to the bar, and Y/N was guessing that she could feel the tension radiating from her. “I think a drink will loosen you up. Do you want a drink?” Mallory asked.

“I don’t drink very often,” Y/N said, unsure of what to order. There is one thing that Y/N does know about drinking, and it is that she hates the taste of alcohol. The bar was crowded, and Mallory shoved in between two people sitting in barstools, making room for Y/N. Her fingers brushed against the counter, feeling a cold liquid under her hand. It took everything in her to not scrunch up her nose as she wiped the mystery liquid against the bottom of her satin dress.

“That’s okay,” Mallory said, “Just ask the bartender what he thinks you’ll like.”

Y/N didn’t know how the bartender would know what she likes if she didn’t even know what she liked herself. Mallory ordered something red, but Y/N didn’t know the name of it. She knew immediately that she wasn’t going to get that though, because the smell of vodka coming from Mallory’s drink was strong. Mallory took a strong swig of the drink, not making a face and giving her a thumbs up. It was at that moment that Y/N decided she really liked Mallory’s carefree personality. She really enjoyed Mallory, even if the bar was a little too loud than she would normally like, Y/N decided it was worth it to spend time with Mallory and Niall.

“What can I get for you?” The bartender turned and looked at Y/N after watching Mallory take a sip of her drink to make sure it was made to her satisfaction. 

Y/N hesitated, “Something that doesn’t taste like alcohol, I think.”

“I’ve got the perfect drink for you,” he yelled over the music and people talking then reached for a glass from under the counter. He added a few juices to the glass and a steep amount of alcohol. Y/N wasn’t sure if he misheard her and thought she asked for something that did taste like alcohol based on the amount he put it. After the glass was full to the brim, he popped in a little umbrella and slid it over to her. “Let me know if you don’t like it. It’s called Sex on the Beach.”

Sex on the Beach was such a crude name for a beverage, but who was she to judge the name. Maybe it really did taste like sex on the beach. She sipped through the straw and was surprised when it tasted like an assortment of juice and none of the alcohol he had heavily poured into the glass. She murmured a soft thank you, and though he didn’t actually hear her, he knew she was expressing gratitude.

It only took a couple seconds to find out where Niall and Josh had moved. Mallory and Y/N walked over to them with drinks in hand, and even with the one sip Y/N took, she already felt much looser. They found their way to a booth, facing the door.

By the time an hour passed, Y/N and Mallory finished their drinks and Y/N was feeling exceptional. They made their way back to the bar and the bartender winked at her, fixing up another Sex on the Beach and Mallory ordered something different this time.

As they walked back toward the booth, Mallory nudged Y/N with her elbow and pointed toward the door. Y/N watched Harry walk in with a couple of his friends, his eyes locking with hers and then flickering over to Mallory. A grin spread across his face and his hand came up in a slow wave. Mallory quickly waved back and Y/N just stood there, shocked that these were the plans his friends had made with him. 

He approached them, leaving his friends to saunter to the bar without him. The three of them exchanged hellos, then he shifted his body to face Y/N. “I thought you weren’t doing anything?” Harry yelled over the music, smoke clouding around the three of them.

“I forgot,” she lied, and Mallory quickly turned her head to look at Y/N as if to say how did you forget when we’ve been talking about it all week.

To Y/N’s misfortune, Mallory said just that. “We’ve been talking about it all week, Y/N. How did you forget?”

Harry’s face sparked with amusement as if she had caught her red handed, her tongue twisting in the shape of the lie that she had so easily told him earlier in the day. Y/N rolled her eyes at Mallory and laughed a little, the alcohol pumping through her veins at an alarmingly fast rate.

“I’ll meet you back at the booth,” Mallory was grinning as she turned her body and walked back over to where Josh and Niall sat, waiting for them to return. Y/N realized that she really needed to explain herself to Mallory, the conversation with Harry probably seemed a little more intimate than it actually was.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” Harry eyed her drink, her Sex on the Beach. Oh, she would love to have that with Harry. Y/N’s tipsy brain was much more scandalous than her sober brain. “Maybe we can talk later.”

Y/N really wanted to spend more time with him. She wanted to sit with him, and meet his friends. It wasn’t going to happen, but she so desperately wanted to. It took a second for her to tear her gaze from his body as he walked away from her and toward the bar to meet his friends. She took this as her cue to not stand in the middle of the dance floor like an idiot and found her way back to the booth where her friends waited for her. Niall looked at her suspiciously but she shrugged her shoulders in response, directing her attention to Josh as he talked about a movie trailer he recently saw and how much he wants to go see the movie in the theater. Y/N knew exactly what movie he was talking about, and said that she wants to see it too, so the four of them made plans to go see the movie next Friday.

Throughout the night, Y/N glanced at Harry and more often than not, they made eye contact with one another. Thirty minutes had passed from the time he walked in the door with his friends, and finally, the last time they locked eye contact, he subtly nodded toward the hall that led to the Billiards room and the bathroom. Immediately, Y/N knew that he was telling her to meet him there. 

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” she said, the drink still in her hand. 

Mallory and Josh thought nothing of it, nodding at her to confirm they heard her, but Niall eyed the drink she sported in between her fingers and gave her a knowing look, a twinkle shining in his eye. Oh, he was definitely going to be asking her about this later.

She staggered toward the hallway, moving through the crowd of people, trying not to spill her drink on herself, the floor, or the people near her. As she made her way to the hall, she felt Harry come up behind her, knowing it was him by the minty citrus scent of his cologne.

Y/N flipped around and the hallway was so crowded with people that they didn’t have much room between them. Her back was slightly pressed against the wall, his thigh placed in between her legs, rubbing her gently. She was suddenly hyper aware of how he felt, how he smelled, and how he looked.

He wore jeans that flare at the bottom, a black sweater tucked into the tops of the jeans. The sneakers he had on matched his outfit perfectly, and it took her until this very moment to realize that he was fairly fashionable. His outfits always looked put together, but they weren’t trendy. They were always timeless and fitted to his lean stature.

“I’ve been looking at you all night,” his tone was soft and his eyes searched hers thoroughly. “You look so cute, y’know?”

Harry took the fabric of her satin dress in between his fingers and felt it, his index finger slowly rubbing against the soft part of her thigh. 

“Thank you,” was all she managed to squeak out. He dropped the fabric from his fingers, and she wanted to protest because she wanted to feel his fingers against her. She hadn’t realized how much you could crave someone until you’re one Sex on the Beach in, and then the realization that he knew just how much she ogled him in his office kicked in. 

“You didn’t tell me you were coming here tonight because you didn’t want me to know you were with your boyfriend?” His tone was teasing, but she thought just for a second that’s how he was playing it off. Like he wanted confirmation that wasn’t actually the reason and he was fishing for the information. 

She held his gaze momentarily before sputtering out, “I don’t have a boyfriend.” She wanted him to know. No, she needed him to know.

“Then who is that blonde bloke you’ve been snuggling up to?” He questioned, knowing she was telling the truth but he wanted to see her squirm just a little bit. She knew it, too. She could tell by the way his voice sounded that he was just messing with her, he wanted a bit of cat and mouse.

“My friend. We’re best friends, actually, and roommates.” Y/N explained, though her brain was a little bit foggy. Not because of the alcohol, no. Actually, she felt like she was sobered up, and needed a little bit more of her drink to get her back to the floaty place she was at when she was sitting in the booth.

He used his right hand to keep himself sturdy, then checked his surroundings and asked her, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes,” she breathed out. It was loud, but she felt just fine here with him.

The atmosphere was so wild with smoke filtering through the air, that now they really had no room except practically chest to chest as they spoke. The drink he was sporting in his hand was dark tequila on the rocks, and it made so much sense that he could drink hard liquor as is. He exuded that kind of dominance, the kind that says I enjoy the burn in my throat because it feels nice.

She looked at the drink in her hand, suddenly feeling demure and childish holding a drink the bartender told her was called Sex on the Beach after she asked for something that doesn’t take like alcohol. He noticed her hesitation and the way her eyes flickered between his drink and her own. “Would you like to try it?”

She nodded her head yes, letting him know that she did want to try it. So badly, she wanted to try it. Not because she wanted to taste the tequila, she was sure it wasn’t very good, but because she wanted to taste where his lips pressed against the glass. She could see the subtle fog where he was placing his lips every time he would take a sip. So, he handed her his drink and when she turned the glass and pressed her lips against where they both knew his lips had once been, he murmured a small, “Christ, Y/N.”

The tequila dribbled down her chin, and he used his finger to wipe it up, and as she lowered the drink from her lips, he grazed his index finger over her lips, beckoning for her to open and lick the whiskey she spilled. He didn’t need to coax her, didn’t need to tell her what he wanted, she simply just knew. Her tongue darted out, licking the whiskey from the base of his finger to the tip. He was never really into voyeurism, but he thinks he could take her right here and right now. How did he go from helping her grade papers earlier in the day to pressing her against the wall of a bar with his thigh tense between her legs. They were crossing so many lines, he was crossing so many lines.

“Why are you always cleaning up my face?” She gave him a lazy smile, and her eyes were so innocent.

“Why are you always spilling?” He countered.

He breathed her in, smelling the taste of his whiskey against her lips. He was so close, so close that he could taste her if he really wanted to, so close that she could feel his breath against her face. He decided that he spent too much time thinking about her mouth. About the way her lips parted then closed when she had something to say, but decided not to say anything at all. God, that was so frustrating. He spent so much time thinking about her lips, and the noises that would come from them if he truly could have her that he should just kiss her, right here, right now. “I want to. I really want to,” his voice was low and thick, sultry even.

“Me too,” her voice was small, and once again he was all too aware of the way her legs squeezed his thigh. 

Before he could make a choice he couldn’t take back, he pushed himself away, leaving a foot of space between the pair. “You should go back to your friends,” he didn’t want to sound too harsh, so he gently brushed his fingers against his cheek and grasped the glass of tequila with the palm of his hands. “I’ll see you Monday, Y/N.”

Without a word, she made her way back to her friends, feigning the frustration that was building in his chest. For the rest of the night, she glanced in his direction but he never glanced back at her. Maybe he was feeling guilty. Maybe he thought he was making a big mistake.

When they finally got home, Niall didn’t ask her anything like she thought he would and she was grateful.

___________

It started with an ache low in her belly, then slowly spread to her lower back. As she sat in her second hour of Professor Smith’s class, she laid her head against the coolness of the desk. Y/N was trying not to think of her encounter with Harry the Friday before. Nothing had actually happened so it was fine, there was nothing to worry about. Mallory gave her a sympathetic smile, and once more held out the pamprin pills but Y/N shook her head as she had already taken some just an hour before class started. 

It was almost like she could feel the color draining from her face, nausea turning in her stomach. She wasn’t expecting her period to come this morning after she had stepped foot on campus. There were no signs as she was greeting ready in the morning. No signs when she stepped out of her apartment. The first sign happened when she was walking from the opposite side of campus to Professor Smith’s class. The dull ache weaseled its way into her lower abdomen, causing subtle pain with each step she took. As she continued to walk, her hand found its way to her abdomen, applying warmth and pressure to rid her of the ache but it wasn’t working.

Quickly, she found a bathroom and slipped into a stall, realizing that her period had come sooner than she was expecting it. With a hurried hand, she rummaged through her bag, pulling out an emergency bottle of pamprin and shuffled the pills past her lips, chugging it down with the water bottle tucked into the side pocket of her backpack. 

As soon as she saw Mallory, it was like Mallory could tell she was in an immense amount of pain, because she slung her backpack off of her shoulder and pulled out a bottle of the same pills tucked into a specific pocket of her backpack. Y/N just shook her head, struggling to muster up the words to tell her she had already taken some.

“I think you should leave class a little early. Go to Harry’s class and lay on the couch in the office. There’s no point in staying here, it’s not like you’re able to absorb any of the information while you’re in pain,” Mallory began reasoning with her. As far as she was concerned Mallory didn’t know that Harry and Y/N were so close to kissing at the bar that she could still feel her lips tingling three days later. She didn’t want to go to Harry, and she didn’t want Harry to think she was being dramatic. Y/N wasn’t worried that it would be awkward between her and Harry today, because he was so charming it would have been like Friday never happened, but she was still hesitant. Before she had a chance to think twice another cramp ripped through her, and she was already packing up her backpack and lifting herself from her seat, the dull ache turning into something more sharp and painful as she stood.

It was her intention to slip out the back door, to be as inconspicuous as possible, but her plan to do that was ruined when Professor Smith cleared his throat and called out her name. “Where are you going?”

Y/N didn’t know what to say, she wasn’t keen on telling the whole class that her uterus might fall out of her body if she stayed hunched over in an uncomfortable chair, with the coolness of the desk being the only thing that could soothe her, or that the nausea was building with each second and she might be so low on iron that she vomits all over the floor of the classroom.

The words tumbled out of her mouth like a squeal, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling too well.”

Professor Smith’s expression remained stoic, not showing any sign of annoyance or even sympathy for the girl standing in pain at the back of the class. Not that she was expecting sympathy, although she was definitely not expecting the next words to fly out of his mouth in front of her silent classmates viewing the exchange between them, “Really, you should stay unless you plan on getting another D on the next test.”

Y/N tried not to look as horrified as she felt, avoiding eye contact with Mallory completely. She failed to mention to her new friend that she was flunking Professor Smith’s class out of sheer embarrassment and the idea that it might get back to Harry, which would be mortifying in itself. 

“I’ll be fine,” was all she managed to say as she slipped from the back door of the classroom. Y/N managed to keep her tears at bay until she heard the door latch behind her, then let the silent tears create warm streams down her cheeks. In one swift motion, she lifted her hood up, concealing her face from the other students as she walked toward Harry’s classroom. 

It wasn’t a far walk, him being in the same department as Smith and all. She contemplated just sitting in a bathroom stall, the sharp pain in her abdomen and lower back was still going strong and the nausea stirring in her belly was still persistent, but the public humiliation she endured was definitely worse. She decided that the couch in the office was the better option, and if she was going to be sad and in pain, she might as well do it comfortably. 

The plan she concocted was this: She would walk into the room with her eyes glued to the floor and her hood up, ask Harry if it was okay if she laid down for a moment, and without making eye contact with him, she would quickly walk to the room then bury her face in the cushions.

So that is exactly what she did, barely peeking up from her hood.

“Is it okay if I lay down on the couch in the office?” she asked, internally grateful that the sob building in her throat hasn’t raked its way through her body. Another silent tear slid down her cheek, but because she was looking straight down, it splattered against his desk, causing him to cock an eyebrow that she couldn’t actually see. 

It seemed gravity was against her.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” his voice was softer than normal, and she heard the sound of his fingers tapping against the desk. 

Without another word, she turned on her heels and bolted toward the office door. Shutting it quickly behind her, she tore off her backpack and curled up into a ball on the couch. 

He didn’t even bother knocking like he normally did. Usually his knuckles would tap against the door, signifying he was about to answer. Not necessarily for permission, but just to give her, or Mallory, a heads up that he would be entering. 

The door locked behind him, but she didn’t look up as she heard the click of his dress shoes against the tile floor. “What’s going on?” He took a seat at the end of the couch she wasn’t occupying, near her head. 

With gentle and delicate fingers, he began to pull her limbs from the ball she had coerced herself into. “Hmmm.. Look at me, darling.” 

And how could she not? When he was asking so sweetly? The sound of his voice was like molten chocolate, or honey dripping straight from the pot. He was wearing her favorite shirt. The satin shirt that exposes his tattoos just a little bit. The same shirt he wore the first time she ever met him, when he caught her staring at his chest a little too much that he buttoned another button and gave her a somewhat disapproving but playful look. She thinks maybe if she could just run her hand over his chest she would forget about the terrible day she was having, but that was inappropriate and she shouldn’t think like that. 

“Oh, sweet thing you are,” his hand brushed a tear that fell from her cheek, “Come on, sit up for me now.”

She obliged, like she always does. As a child she never took a reprimand well, which must have bled into her adult life because she always did what she was told. It was something Harry picked up on rather quickly, she aimed to please, and the psychologist in him really wanted to get to the bottom of it, but the empath in him never wanted to make her uncomfortable by pointing it out. Sometimes he had to make a mental note that she was so receptive to the people around her, he had to choose his words carefully. 

She made a simple noise, between a yelp and a cry before wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve. “In pain,” was all she said.

He reached over, pulling a couple tissues from the end table next to the couch. Harry wrinkled his nose, realizing that it’s not uncommon for students to shed tears in this office, whether it be a student overwhelmed with the course load, or something else. Typically, he’s able to get to the bottom of it, but now he’s got his TA in here with tears streaming like Niagara Falls, and she only says she’s in pain, except he doesn’t believe that’s the full truth. 

Her legs were tucked to the side bunched up, and she leaned on her left arm to support herself up. He didn’t want to pry, or tell her he didn’t think she was being completely honest, because that wouldn’t accomplish anything. Instead, he decided he wouldn’t treat her like a patient, because that’s not what she was to him. She is a graduate student, and he was in her same position just a little under two years ago. He once told her that he wanted her to call him Harry because she felt more like a colleague than a student, so instead, he would treat her like a friend. 

“Let me help you, hm?” His fingers grazed her arm that was supporting her up, his eyes locking with her red rimmed ones. “How can I help?”

And it was almost like she knew if her request crossed a line, he would still grant it because her voice was small but sure when she said, “I just want someone to hold me.”

So, that’s what he did. He pulled her up onto his lap, and grasped her in his arms. Her face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, and he could feel the slow breaths she was taking as the tears finally came to a halt. It was almost like he was holding her back together. If they were crossing lines, he might as well cross one more, “Are you gonna be honest with me now, hm?”

She nodded her head, deciding now was the time to come clean. A weight that was pushing down on her shoulders was about to be lifted and even though she would have a hard time stomaching the embarrassment that came with it, or the look he would give her that might indicate she was stupid, it was time that she just told him. Before Mallory beat her to it, even if she was sure in the deep pit of her gut that Mallory would simply never bring it up. 

Y/N lets out a slow, shaky breath before she begins explaining. “I wasn’t feeling too great when I got to school, and during my second hour of abnormal psych, Mallory told me I should come lay down because the pain was getting really intense, so I decided to slip out the backdoor…” She trailed off, not quite sure how to tell him the rest without having to relieve the situation. Some might say she was being a little dramatic, but she had every right to be upset. He stroked her sides as if to tell her “go on” without explicitly saying the words. 

“As I was walking out Professor Smith asked where I was going and I told him that I wasn’t feeling too well,” the tears pricked once more, “So he said that I should probably stay if I didn’t want to get a D on another test in front of everyone.”

The smooth stroking against her arm came to a halt, and she realized then that he was probably going to chastise her for leaving class too, but his voice was soft when he said, “He said that to you?”

She nodded, even though she could tell the question was rhetorical. Her eyes fluttered closed again, the tips of her eyelashes gently grazing against the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart. That is never something you say to a student, especially in front of such a public audience.” His words flowed out, and she sensed the psychologist in him poking out.

“It was really, really embarrassing.” Y/N mumbled into the crook of his neck, and the feel of her lips against his neck made his body slightly tense up.

“Why didn't you tell me you got a D? I probably could have helped you work something out with him.” He reasoned with her, relaxing once more into the back of the couch. The encounter she was having with him right now was so much different than the encounter she had with him on Friday night, but neither of them brought it up.

She shook her head, nuzzling into him further and even though she knew it was inappropriate, she just wanted to breathe him in. They had already crossed those lines.

He wasn’t having it. He hooked his fingers below her chin, and pulled her face from his neck. “Hm? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t tell you because I’ve been flunking his tests all semester. There isn’t one test I got a decent grade on… And I was embarrassed, and I felt like a huge fraud sitting in this room, grading tests and not even understanding the content of them. And I just felt stupid. I didn’t want you to think I was stupid.”

“I would never think you’re stupid, Y/N. Surely you know that. I just wish you would have told me. There’s still time to turn your grade around, you and I will work together so that you start understanding the concepts. We’ll set up tutoring. Sweetheart, you’re so smart.” She knew he tacked on that last part for a little extra validation.

Now that she’s talked it out, she feels a little silly for letting so many tears spill over it. He was right, she wasn’t stupid. She just needed a little extra help, and he was willing to give it. She suddenly felt all too aware of her presence on his lap, and began to move herself off of it. Her eyes catching his lips as she shifted just a little, and the overwhelming urge to kiss him took over once more. If she could, she would grab his face then and there and plant one on him, but it felt demure and childish to lust in that way, even with Friday night playing in the back of her mind.

As if he could read the thoughts swimming through her brain, he brought his fingers to her lips and gently tugged at the pout. His fingers trailed down her jaw, and caressed an area of her neck. Her breathing began to pick up as her heart thumped against her ribcage. Sure, he would touch her every now and again when she was working alongside him, and as much as she wanted it to be intimate, it was never like this. She was almost halfway off his lap when he brought his lips— so soft, so gentle, and so pink— against her cool ones, leaving a slight tingling sensation behind. 

He gently pulled away, a sultry look dancing across his features. She felt the heat on her cheeks as she stared down into his lap, finally shifting herself completely off of his lap. When she looked up at him, she could tell the flush in his cheeks was not the same as the flush in hers. It was more desire than anything.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he breathed, his eyes fluttering closed with the end of his sentence.

No, no. Y/N didn’t want him to feel that way. He may have been a professor, but he wasn’t actually her professor, and they were so close in age. Surely if they were doing something wrong, it would have felt wrong. Last Friday would have felt wrong too, but it didn’t. If this wasn’t okay then it wouldn’t have felt so right, like his lips were made just for her and only her. “I wanted it.”

“I know you did,” he explained. “It was a vulnerable moment. It can’t happen again.”

She simply nodded in agreement, although she wanted to argue with him, even if it wasn’t in her nature to be so combative. Something washed over her because in that moment, the ache that was stabbing in her lower back didn’t matter, she just wanted to stomp her foot on the ground and tell him that wasn’t fair, but the worst part about it is that he would agree with her. That they had already beat the boundary down with a baseball bat. The moment he slipped his thigh in between her legs and pressed her against the wall of a bar, the boundary had vanished. When he brought his finger to her lips and she licked so slowly, so sensually, the boundary had been gone completely. How can they decide to put it back now? How could she when she finally knew what he tasted like. He knew it wasn’t fair to do that, but it shifted her feelings from sadness over her poor grades and the hostile situation she had just come from to placing her frustration toward him, and that was something he could deal with.

He stood up, a sudden aloofness filling the room. It was almost as if the tension was so thick it was banging on the doors and pushing at the windows to find its way out. Like he could feel its desperation to exit the room, he hooked his finger in the door knob and flung it open, cool air infiltrating the room and brushing over Y/N’s body.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, swiveling the chair near his desk around to face her. She knew he wasn’t talking about the kiss, the ever-so-soft-he-probably-didn't-mean-it-an unfriendly-way-kiss, he was talking about her cramps.

She held her lower belly, his eyes averting from how her hand slipped down her stomach and held, “Better. I think the pamprin is finally kicking in.”

“Good,” he offered a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and she wanted to pull her eyelashes out if the tension between them was going to cause a drift in their relationship, er? Friendship?

Y/N didn’t know what else to say, she didn’t want to make things more awkward than they already felt for her. Without looking at him directly, she gestured toward her shared desk with Mallory and made a slight shrugging motion with her shoulders. “Since I’m here I should probably just start working on what I’ll be starting in an hour anyway.”

He got up from the chair, and nodded in agreement. The aloofness was beginning to dissipate, as he offered up a grin that finally met his green eyes again. That’s the grin she looked forward to every single afternoon, though she didn't think she would ever be able to work up the courage to tell him. If there is one thing Harry picked up on in the short two months of her assisting him, she worked off of praise. The simplest thing, even just neatly organizing her and Mallory’s pens in a cup was something he would recognize and give her a thumbs up or mumble an appreciative wow, it looks great, Y/N, so that is what he was going to continue to do.

“You’re so efficient,” he praised, “But I don’t want you to start if you’re not feeling completely better yet. Why don’t you just take an hour or so to lay down, hm?”

Even though she wanted to start her work right away, she knew he was right and was only looking out for her, so she mumbled a small “okay” in a very reluctant tone.

He took a few steps in the direction toward the classroom and out of the office before quickly turning around and asking her a question he did not want to forget, “When are you available for tutoring?”

She wanted to tell him to just forget about it, and that she didn’t need his help as the pride twisted and turned in her brain, but she had a strong feeling that he was going to be disappointed in her if she said, forget it, and Y/N didn’t know if she could handle much more disappointment from the people around her in one day.

“Every day after I finish here, I’m free,” her words were small and slow as they fell from her lips.

“That’s perfect, after school we can either sit in here and work or the library, or even my flat if you’re not feeling comfortable in the library,” he listed quite a few options, then finally walked out of the office and shut the door behind him, leaving Y/N to her thoughts.

Her fingers slowly touched her lips, trying to remember the feeling of his lips against hers. She didn’t want to forget any details. His woodsy cologne filled her nostrils, and she could almost see that alluring look swimming in his eyes.

To put it plainly, she just wanted to scream in frustration.

___________

Harry was so screwed and he knew it from the second she stepped foot in the door of his classroom. The way her eyes averted from his and toward the plain wall behind him, the way she marveled at the tattoos that peaked from the tops of shirts (which he realized he would show them off more now, just so he could catch her lingering gaze and watch her quickly look away in embarrassment. Maybe it said something about him, but he loved to watch her become flustered), or the way her hand trembled just barely as she handed him the paper which confirmed she was his assistant that first day.

When he saw her at the bar on Friday night and the way her body responded to him, the way she was just so eager to please, he knew the thoughts he was having weren’t just one-sided. It was hard to get her off of his mind, he hadn’t experienced this kind of attraction in a long while. The psychologist in him tried to reason that it was because it felt somewhat forbidden— even though the school rules didn’t go completely against it, she just couldn’t TA for him anymore or ever take a class with him as her professor— he knew it was much more than that.

She spoke eloquently, her walk was captivating, her smile was innocent, and she just felt good to him. He thinks maybe whoever created the flowers that grew in the crevices of sidewalk, creating beauty in the most absurd places, possibly made her too. She was just like that, a captivating flower amongst the mundane world around her, blooming to the best of her ability and relying on the sunshine that sometimes came and went.

She was just special to him.

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[katiexpunk]

To Protect & Serve, Part 1 | Pairing officer!Joel Miller X fem!Reader

Series Summary: You're a small-town reporter, living a life dedicated solely to your work and the relentless pursuit of truth. It's all pretty routine, almost too easy, albeit exhausting. Little did you know that the one thing you could never have predicted was the arrival of Officer Joel Miller. Suddenly, your story takes an unexpected turn, writing itself in ways you could have only dreamt of as he shows you what it really means to protect and serve. Part 1 Summary: You spent all day in the newsroom again, only to wake up at midnight. Your drive home is anything but smooth. You end up on the side of the road, freezing and wet from the relentless rain, struggling to change your tire. You're about to give up hope, that is until Officer Joel Miller shows up to assist. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word Count: ~5.1K Part 1 Warnings: Sexual tension, sexual tension, sexual tension. Honestly, you should just expect that from me at this point (Katie Core Slow Burn™). Set in 1994 because I said so. Reader has no major physical descriptions. Joel is literally a cop in this -- so typical cop references (guns, badges, uniforms, bulletproof vests, radios, a Crown Vic cruiser, etc.). Reader has a Nokia brick phone. Reader is a reporter, so heavy on the news and reporter references (her story and what she is investigating will come in future parts). Sarah is alive and well in this and is into art. Reader has a bad day. Blown tire. Rain. Bad luck. Competency kink. Uniform kink. Bad dad jokes. Flirting. Joel and reader share a piece of cherry pie. Officer Joel Miller is a gentleman. Authors Note: Happy 2024! My first fic of the year. Minimally edited, sorry if there are typos. This series will eventually be VERY heavy on the smut, and on back story, and will slowly build up the world they both live in. You're in this one for the long haul with me, babes. Buckle up -- it's the law. ;)

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

January 1994 

You blink your eyes open and groan, the aroma of stale coffee and the faint hint of ink lingers in your nostrils. 

Your desk is strewn with stacks of notes, crumpled papers, and empty takeout cartons that bare the remnants of hurried meals consumed during your relentless pursuit of the truth. 

Crime surely doesn’t stop for a proper lunch break, so why should you? It was your resolution this year to pack more healthy lunches, but here you are – not even three weeks into the New Year and already knee-deep in Pad Thai. 

The soft glow from your desk lamp highlights the fatigue etched on your face as you rub your tired eyes. You check the strappy black watch on your wrist –  just past midnight. 

Another night of burning the midnight oil. 

You stare at the computer screen, and the blinking cursor patiently waiting for you to pick up where you left off. You consider staying another hour, but think twice of it; sure that the rhythmic pitter-patter of the rain on the windows in the newsroom would soothe you like a lullaby and you’d end up spending an all nighter in the newsroom. Again. 

With a sigh, you gather the papers that have collected on your desk in masses as of late and stuff them into your briefcase in no real order. You know they’ll just end up fanned out on your desk tomorrow morning, anyway. You turn off the computer, and an audible mechanic sound of it powering down gives the impression that it’s grateful for the much-needed break as you are. 

As you grab your coat and make your way to the exit, the newsroom seems to exhale, settling into a peaceful calm. The door behind you slams closed, and the distant echo of thunder snaps at the same time, causing you to jump a little at the sound. You really should lay off the caffeine. Navigating the dimly lit hallway, you reach the elevator, its soft chime signaling your descent to ground level. Each step feels heavy, your body pleading for rest. 

Once in the elevator it hits you that you don’t have an umbrella. 

Shit. 

++++ 

You sprint to your silver sedan as fast as you can in the loafers you chose for the day. Cute and comfy enough, but not exactly ideal to relive your glory days on the track team. By the time you get to your car, you’re out of breath and soaked, your makeshift umbrella with your coat barely sparing you from the rain. 

You slide into the worn driver's seat, and the familiar scent of aged leather and cigarette smoke surrounds you as you turn the key in the ignition, and the engine roars to life. You blast the air, but turn it off once you realize how cold it is. You decide to wait until the car is warmed up, not wanting to turn into a popsicle in your wet blouse. 

You sit in the parking lot for what feels like an hour, holding your hands under your armpits for warmth, before deciding the engine is warm enough to turn the heat back on. You place one hand behind the passenger seat headrest and look over your shoulder as you pull out of the parking lot. 

The rain continues to cascade down, and your shitty windshield wipers struggle to keep up, giving a deafening squeak with each pass across the glass. Annoyed, you turn the radio dial up just enough to drown out the sound of the whirring blades with Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality.

You try to focus on the poorly lit road ahead of you, the dashed white lines blurring behind the wall of water on your windshield as the downpour intensifies. Water congregates in small pools on the edges of the weathered road, occasionally splashing all the way up on the sides of the car, and under the tire wells. 

A knot tightens in your stomach as the road becomes a murky blur, adding a layer of stress you most definitely don’t need right now. It’s nights like tonight that you wish you had actually gotten new tires, like you have meant to for the past four – okay, six – months. Your bald tires are barely hanging on like a thread. It’s really only a matter of time before – 

Suddenly, a deafening pop echos through the car, startling you. The steering wheel transforms into a wild animal, one you struggle to wrangle back into submission. You grab the leather steering wheel with a death grip, and steer into the skid and pump your brakes, eventually managing to bring the car to a safe stop on the side of the road. 

Your eyes fall closed as soon as the car is totally still. You lean back into the leather headrest and try to recenter yourself, level out the adrenaline pulsing through your veins. You silently kick yourself. Oh, they’ll be fine. I just drive to work and back, you reasoned with yourself, the guys at the shop are probably trying to get you to buy new tires before you even need them. Some shit-grinning, mansplaining mechanic sounds good right about now. 

You reach into your briefcase for your Nokia, patting around the mix of papers for the device, but it’s nowhere to be found. 

As if this night couldn’t get any worse. 

Oh wait, it can. You’re at least three miles from anything. Most of the time you don’t mind living in a small town, but with the way tonight is going, you swear you’re gonna move East to some big city, live out your days with people on every corner, nary a cow or an empty road in sight. 

But for right now, you’re on your own. 

You’ve changed a tire before, sure. It was one of the first things your dad insisted you know how to do before getting your license. “If you’re gonna drive a vehicle, you gotta know how to take care of it, sweet pea,” he said. God, you hate it when he’s right. 

Already drenched, you decide to lean into it, this time fully zipping up your coat for warmth, knowing it’s not going to really do much, but it’s better than nothing. You brace for impact as you open the car door and assess the damage – the back passenger side tire is shredded, and the vehicle leans at an awkward slant from the missing support. 

You open the trunk and struggle to retrieve the spare tire, wiggling it out by the base. You roll it over to the blown tire and grab the rest of the necessary tools neatly packaged in a workbag. 

As you work in the pouring rain, a chill seeping deep into your bones, you struggle to loosen one of the lug nuts. Your frustration only grows from the wet wrench that keeps slipping out of your hands. “Oh comeeeee on, you bastard,” you yell at the bolt, hoping it might somehow understand and decide to loosen. You pause, your breaths a little short and your fingers sore from your bruising grip. You give it one more go, letting out a loud groan as you put all of your strength into twisting the bolt to loosen it, but it’s a futile effort. 

“Fuck!” you scream out, your hair tacked to your face, your knees and shins now muddy, your entire outfit drenched. You drop the wrench in your palms, and replace it with your forehead. You’re beginning to cry, when out of the peripheral of your vision, you see it – the flashing lights of a cop car rolling up behind your vehicle. 

The beam of the headlights slightly blinds you as you watch a tall, broad man step out of the vehicle. You can’t really see his face, only his silhouette, but you feel your body warm by an entire degree when his voice, low and smooth, calls out. 

“Having some car trouble here, ma’am?” he inquiries, a blend of professionalism and concern behind his tone. You blink up at him through wet lashes and watch as he strides closer to you. His heavy boots hit the pavement with a thud, and the raindrops bounce off the greased tops of them. 

You scan him from the ground up; his fitted uniform pants, a duty belt with several accessories pinned to it, most notably the firearm holstered on his right hip; a bulletproof vest affixed tightly to his frame, a little bit of belly poking out between his belt and the edge of the vest. He’s clad in a warm puffy coat that seems to repeal the water still barreling down on the pair of you. 

Your breath hitches in your throat when you scan past his badge, catching a glimpse of his nameplate that’s partially covered by his jacket. You continue up his firm neck, over the thin line of his lips, his aquiline nose, and pause once your gaze meets his. And whoa. 

Even in the dark and the rain, you can tell he is dangerously handsome, which is saying something given his profession. His beard is threaded with lines of silver, and neatly kept. His skin is a little sun-weathered, but it gives him a warm look to him, one that you’d love nothing more than to dive into like a pool right about now. He has bold, deep brown eyes, ones that convey a mix of softness and a no nonsense demeanor. He has a commanding presence but somehow feels safe. 

Still kneeling on the ground, you reflexively wrap your arms around your own body in an attempt to get warm. You’re positive you must look like a sad wet stray, all puppy dog eyes begging for help; helpless and alone. 

“My u–uh, my, my tire blew out,” you stammer, your teeth clacking against one another as your whole body shakes. At least when you were dueling with the lug nut, you didn’t have to think about how cold you actually are right now. “Forgot phone, umbrella – bolt not loosening,” you try to continue, but your words aren’t really making much sense,  too caught up in your body’s response to the frigid air. “Jesus, sweetheart. Gonna catch your death out here all wet like this. Come here, let me help you up,” he says as he offers you his large palm. You place yours into it and rise to stand, and even though his hands are just as exposed as yours, he radiates heat. 

You sigh in relief as he guides you to the passenger side of his cruiser. He opens the door and encourages you inside, “watch your head now,” he cautions, as you sink down into the vinyl seat. 

Water pools onto the floor beneath and you squeeze your own frame and try to ignore the sting of your cold appendages and your numb toes. He leans across you to turn the heat all the way up and he tilts the vents to face you. With him this close, you pick up the faint smell of coffee and spearmint gum. As he backs away, his eyes catch yours, and you don’t miss the way they flicker to your lips for a brief moment. 

“Stay here,” he commands, before he’s rounding around to his trunk to grab something. 

He returns with an oversized black sweater, a badge embroidered onto the breast of it. It’s a little damp from the short walk from the trunk back to your door, but certainly drier than any part of you. He also has a small towel in hand. 

“Here, this should help you warm up a bit,” he says, and you greedily accept them. “I’ll see what I can do about that tire of yours” he offers, “can I have your keys, please?” he asks, and you reach into your pocket and hand them over to him. Before you can get in a word of thanks, the corner his lip lifts in a small smile and he’s nods before he shuts the passenger door and walks over to your car. 

You hastily swap out your jacket and your damp blouse for the sweater and melt into the thick wool fibers of it, grateful for even the little bit of reprieve, even if the fabric is a little scratchy. You use the small towel to scrunch some of the water from your hair, dry your face, and clear the mud from your legs. Your bottom half is still drenched, but it’s considerably better than before. 

With the hot air of the heater blasting on high, your skin slowly starts to warm and the goosebumps that once littered your body begin to recede. Now able to focus, you take in your surroundings. 

There’s a thermos of what you can assume is coffee given the aroma in the car in the drivers side door. A blinking radio, mounted to the center of the dash, sits adjacent to the microphone next to it. To your back, the middle of the car is split with a cage, the back of the car looks cold and hard. There’s a series of switches next to the gear shift, the lights and sirens you assume. A lone chocolate Hostess cupcake sits in the center console cup holder, next to a pack of spearmint gum. Called it. 

You bring your attention back to the windshield, watching the officer engage in the same battle you did with the wrench. You haven’t seen his arms, but given the general size of him, you wager he’s probably pretty fit, and yet – he struggles.

You’re not trying to stare, not really, but there’s something endearing about watching a man at work, not at all bothered by the fuss or annoyance around him, and if he is, he doesn’t show it. As he’s working with it, there’s another crack of thunder that causes you to jump, and the night sky illuminates with the strong strike of lightening for a brief moment. 

You watch as he works at it for a few moments longer, before he himself eventually decides to give up. He makes quick work of putting everything back into the trunk of your car, and locks your doors before he does a little sprint back to the drivers side of his cruiser.

Once inside the car, he cards his fingers through his now soaking hair. He’s nearly as wet as you were, but he certainly wears it better than you, you think. You hand him the damp hand towel and he uses it to wipe off his hands. 

“Sorry Darlin’, the bolts are on there pretty good. Couldn’t even get it to budge. Think you’re gonna have to call for a tow,” he says, his voice thick like honey. 

“Ugh, I thought so. Thank you so much for trying, Officer –” you trail off, granting him the space to give you his name. 

“Miller,” he adds, “at your service, ma’am” he concludes with a smile. He extends his large palm to you for the second time tonight. You return his kindness by extending yours and offering him your name. He holds it for a beat second longer than etiquette would say to, only breaking the grip once his attention navigates to the sight of you in his sweater. 

He thinks about flirting with you, saying something along the lines of him having to cite you for looking too cute like this, but he thinks twice about it. He’s good at a lot of things, but his flirting is well out of practice. Instead, he says – 

“You hungry? There’s this little cafe not too far from here – Jo, JoJo somethin’ or other,” he asks. You look at him and can’t help the little smile that curls on your lips. 

“Joe’s Cafe,” you say, helping him out. He must be new here. 

“That’s the one,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Hear they have the best cherry pie in the whole state, I’ve been meaning to check it out since I moved here. Beats waiting here in the rain for the tow,” he adds, trying to play it cool, but he thinks you might notice the eagerness in his voice anyway.

“Officer Miller, you’re really kind, but I’m sure you have better things to do than sit in a diner and keep me company while I wait for a tow,” you add. Your words don’t reflect it, but deep down you secretly hope he pushes further. 

“Who said anything about me keeping you company? I gotta date with that pie, baby. Was on my way there when I ran into you. You’re just along for the ride,” he says with a confident wink. Okay, maybe he’s not totally out of practice. 

“Oh great, a third wheel to a slice of a pie. Talk about a cherry on top of my night,” you say, a teasing tone behind your voice, a little too proud of your terrible joke, a little flustered by the fact that he called you baby. 

He looks at you with a wide smile and shakes his head as he pulls out from behind your car, the wet gravel crunching under the tires as he does. You watch it disappear in the passenger side mirror. 

“Names Joel,” by the way, he says, shifting his eyes from the road to glance at you. 

“Joel,” you whisper, and the way his name rolls off your tongue is easy. 

A little too easy. Warm and sweet, like the last bite of a cinnamon roll. 

++++

On your way to the diner, you ask Joel to borrow his cell phone so you can call for a tow. The man on the other line sounds half awake when he answers, “Yeah? Ray’s Towing,” he says, a curt tone behind his voice. You tell him you need a tow, and Joel confidently tells you the mile marker your vehicle is parked closest to, and you relay it over the line to who you can only assume is Ray himself. 

“You’re clear across town, not gonna be able to make it out to you tonight. Can swing by to pick it up in the morning, though,” he says. You try to protest, but it’s a pointless fight, you can already tell he’s not going to budge. 

In the middle of your negotiation, Joel pulls up to the cafe and kills the engine as he waits for you to finish up. You notice the small crease in between his brows, now clearly visible under the illumination of the 24/7 red neon sign that hangs in the window. You don’t notice it right away, but the rain has eased up, now only coming down in a light mist. “Okay. Tomorrow then. Mile Marker 181, it’s a Silver Sedan – you can’t miss it. Tow it to Tess’ place, and I’ll meet you there,” you tell him. The man gives a gruff grunt of agreement, “8am,” he says, hanging up before you can get another word in. 

You drop the phone from your ear, staring at it, slightly in disbelief. You look back at Joel, and hand the heavy brick back to him. 

“He’s not gonna pick it up tonight, won’t come till tomorrow morning,” you say, and Joel senses the hint of concern behind your voice. “I don’t know how i’m gonna get to work tomorrow,” he says. 

“I can take you,” he offers, a sincerity behind his voice. 

“Joel, I can’t – that’s too much, no,” you respond, shaking your head side to side as you do. 

“No really, it’s not a problem. My shift starts at 9, I can take you there on my way to the station,” he offers casually, reassuring; like this isn’t the second time he’s saved your ass and you’ve only known him for less than an hour. 

You stare back at him, and you can tell from the way he looks at you, that he’s not going to take no for an answer. 

“If you’re sure, then,” you say, a questioning tone behind your voice. 

“‘M sure,” he responds confidently. “Now c’mon, don’t want my date to think I’m late,” he jokes and you let out a genuine laugh for what feels like the first time in a long time. 

“Can’t have that,” you retort. You go to pull the handle on your door, but Joel stops you. “I got it,” he says, opening his and quickly maneuvering around the front of the car to your door, pulling it open for you. 

“Such a gentleman,” you tell him. You attempt to compose yourself – trying not to think too hard about the fact that you must look like a hot mess right now – as you follow Joel to the entrance. He opens the door for you, because of course, he does.

 “After you, darlin’,” he says. 

++++

The soft hum of the cafe’s neon lights casts a warm glow on the worn checkered tablecloth as you sit in the booth across from one another. The waitress doesn’t even bother to ask, she can tell from one look that you’re both in desperate need of something warm to drink.

“Decaf or regular” she says, setting the mugs down on the table. “Decaf,” you and Joel both say at the same time. She fills filling them both with a long stream of hot black liquid from the carafe with the orange handle before she turns around to place the pot on the table behind her. 

“You ready to order,” she asks, pulling the pen from behind her ear, steadying it over pad. 

“Well I think we’re still waiting on one more,” you start to joke, your eyes locked on Joels as you lift the ceramic mug to your lips in an attempt to hide your smile. A warmth creeps up on your face as he gives you a stern look. 

“Don’t listen to her,” he tells the waitress, “we’ll take a piece of cherry pie, please.” 

“Mhmm,” the waitress nods, annoyed that she even took out her pen in the first place for such a small order. “That all?” 

“And a side of vanilla ice cream,” you pipe up. 

“Got it,” she says, before walking away, leaving you and Joel alone in the booth. Given the hour, you’re the only ones in the restaurant apart from the waitress and the chef in the back. 

“Ice cream?” he asks, one of his eyebrows raised. “You were just freezing like 20 minutes ago,” he says, confused. He fidgets with the spoon that rests on the white paper napkin as he waits for you to respond. You wonder if you make him nervous. 

“Yeah, vanilla ice cream. It’s a must with this pie,” you say, reaching across the table for the sugar. You rip it open and pour in the contents of the pink packet into the mug and stir, “especially for your first time…trust me,” you conclude, letting out a satisfied hum at the sweet black liquid that warms your insides. 

“I trust you,” he says with a smile, his eyes trained on your face. Finally seeing him under normal lighting conditions permits you to notice the flecks of amber around his irises, but that’s not the only thing you notice. A heat swirls in your belly, and not just from the coffee, once you see the single dimple on his right cheek. 

“So tell me, Joel, where are you from? Cuz you’re certainly not from around here,” you ask. 

“What makes you say that?” he asks, leaning into your playful tone, nursing his own coffee. 

“Well, for starters, you didn’t know the name of this place, and it’s like an institution in these parts. And to top it off, I’ve lived here my whole life. You can’t have been here long or I’m sure we would have met,” you say, a confident tone behind your voice, like it’s a matter of fact. 

“That so? Why’s that?” he asks, not denying any of your initial assessment. 

“I’m a reporter for the Tribune. It’s my job to know things, to know people, especially hot mystery cops who like to fix tires in the rain for random women on the side of the road,” you say. 

“You think I’m hot?” He asks, a blush to his cheeks. And shit. Freudian slip. 

“No, that’s no – that’s not, I mean, you are hot, but that’s not what I,” but before you can continue, you’re interrupted by the waitress placing a rather large piece of cherry pie in the middle of the table. 

“‘S alright, Darlin.’ You think I’m hot, you can admit it,” he says, grabbing the spoon, dipping it into the thick red mess of cherry and crust, the colors diluting to pink with the melt of the vanilla ice cream. 

He takes a big bite, and groans in delight, letting his eyes close as he savors the taste. “‘Sides, you’re not wrong. I haven’t been here for long. Just got here last month, moved here from Austin,” he says, already digging in for a second bite by the time you’re going for your first. 

You look at him intently, patiently, waiting for him to continue in between bites, “My daughter, Sarah, got accepted into a young artists program here. ‘S all she talks about. And well, I was able to make a lateral transfer to this station from Austin, so it was a no-brainer, really,” he says. 

“How old’s your daughter?” you ask, your spoon dancing with his for the sweet goodness for a second as you do. 

“14 going on 25,” he jokes, “keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure. Keep hoping she won’t start bringing boys around for another, oh I don’t know, 15 years or so, but I feel like that’s a battle ‘m set to lose,” he sighs, as he takes the second to last bite of pie, pushing the plate to you, his eyes telling you that the last bite is all yours. 

You can’t help but smile at the thought of Joel, a man who faces more frightening things daily, nervous for his teenage daughter to go on a date. You scoop up the final bite of pie and swallow it. You keep the spoon in your mouth, running the cool metal of it over your tongue, relishing in the way Joel can't seem to look at anything but the way it moves over your plush lips. 

“What about you then? Did you always want to be a reporter?” he asks, finishing off the rest of his coffee. 

“Since I was a little girl,” you admit. "I used to eavesdrop on conversations at family gatherings, sneakily flip through my parents' old photo albums, imagining the tales behind each photo" you continue, your eyes flickering with a spark of that same childlike curiosity you had then. "And I had this little notepad where I'd jot down my observations, like a tiny detective with a pen and paper."

Joel Chuckles, "Sounds like you were a reporter-in-training from the start."

You nod, a soft laughter escaping you. "I suppose you could say that. I loved the idea of bringing untold stories to light, giving voices to the unheard. It felt like a calling even before I fully understood what it meant,” you conclude, running the pad of your finger over your now empty coffee cup. Transfixed, Joel watches the simple movement. And once again, the waitress with her impeccably terrible timing, interrupts once again, stopping Joel before he can continue with his questions. You immediately dart your hand out to grab the bill, and he does the same, but you are faster. His heavy palm lands on top of yours, and your eyes lock in charged silence. "Officer Miller, you've been a real help. Seriously, let me cover this one. It's the least I can do after all you've done for me tonight," you insist, your gratitude evident in your voice.

"It's just Joel, darlin'," he replies, releasing your hand to allow you to grab the bill. "And thank you," he adds, a sincerity laced behind his words.

With a decisive motion, you throw a twenty on the table, checking the time. "Getting late -- I should probably head home," you say, and Joel nods in agreement. However, inexplicably, you both linger, anchored to your seats. It's as if the sensible part of your brain urges departure, yet your bodies resist the inevitable parting. The cafe's ambiance seems to cocoon you both in a lingering warmth, the afterglow of the moment refusing to dissipate. 

Joel stands up first, and you follow suit. His large hand finds the small of your back, and he guides you back to his cruiser. He opens the passenger for you again, but this time he doesn’t tell you to watch your head, you already know. You give him your address, and you both ride in comfortable silence. 

Joel pulls up into your driveway, the engine purrs softly before falling silent.  You both pause in silence. He turns to you, a smirk on his lips “We’re here,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of I don’t want to say goodbye yet behind it.

He walks you to your front door. The tension in the air is palpable as you both stand there, both of your bodies buzzing in arousal. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a simple white business card, and hands it to you. You look down and see the words Officer Joel Miller printed on it in dull black ink, his badge number and phone number under it. There's an emboss of a police badge to the right of the text, giving your thumbs something pleasant to glide over.

“You know, I’m not sure driving reporters around is part of the oath to protect and serve,” you say.

“Means a lot more than you might think, Darlin’,” he responds. 

You fiddle with the paper card in your hand, before offering him a kind smile. 

“See you tomorrow, then,” you say sweetly, before pressing the door open. 

“Tomorrow,” he nods before heading back down your porch. 

Closing the door behind you, you lean your back against it, feeling the solid support. A smile, blooms on your face, radiating a joy that mirrors the first buds of spring. It’s been so long since you’ve felt an excitement about something that wasn’t work. 

As Joel walks back to his cruiser, he too, can’t help the cheesy grin that washes across his face. 

He likes to think of himself as an intuitive man. It’s part of what makes him a good cop, and part of what he thinks will make him an excellent detective one day.

And if there’s one thing he can tell for certain right now is that you’re going to be trouble – lots and lots of trouble. 

And fuck, he hopes you are.

TO BE CONTINUED

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for assuming a fellow student used ChatGTP on one of our group projects?

i’m in my late 20s, and i decided to pursue a (post bachelor) degree where one of the required courses is also open to bachelor degree students. this is a class that is heavy on fieldwork, meaning we go into the field, and then go home and write a paper about it, and since this group is small enough, group reports are done with everyone collaborating, no sub groups. our first report was pretty much torpedoed by our professor, who took serious issue with how we didn’t call in ahead for some format changes, didn’t write the report in a way she liked, dismissed our photographs as unprofessional, and almost accused one of our members of committing plagiarism because for one section of the report, we were asked to do risk analysis. since we had never been taught an official way to do it, and the professor gave us an old report from a few years ago as a reference point, that member used it to base her own analysis and the professor went so ballistic, our member was almost in tears. so now you know that the professor is extremely sensitive about the topic of plagiarism. of which she considers chatgtp a part of.

now, the second time around i was in charge of managing the report, and i decided to make it absolutely perfect so we could minimize any friction with the professor. so, same as last time, the group distributed report sections amongst ourselves, and i would edit and coordinate so that the end result would be coherent and to our professor’s liking. and when it came time for me to start editing the document, i start with the introduction, which sounded very familiar in tone, and it read very nonsensically to me. almost like no one who was actually trying to convey an idea would write those sentences. when it dawned on me that possibly, the reason why the sentences sounded so nonsensical was because the writer could have used chatgtp, but that the tone and topics sounded straight up lifted from the introduction i wrote for our first group report, i was pretty damn mad, but i decided to take a diplomatic approach. 

i contacted another group member who had formerly been a students association leader and asked her to mediate for me: had this student used chatgtp lifting from my introduction? his response was that no, he hadn’t, but that he had “taken inspiration” from my introduction to write his. hearing this was very aggravating, especially since the mediator a. disagreed that it sounded AI generated and b. said maybe i should be flattered because i’m just a really good writer. this despite the fact that the introductions for the two reports did not have anything to do with one another. they had different objectives and different skills to practice, so even if he had just “taken inspiration” from my introduction, he had written a terrible introduction that could barely be understood, paying no attention to what he was supposed to be writing. so at that point i just took over that section in the rewrite because i felt like i couldn’t trust him to actually put in any work and contribute.

later on in the editing process, i also caught some suspicious sentences in another section, written by someone else, that sounded like someone had copy pasted from another source. i didn’t think of this as an intentional attempt at plagiarism, more like whoever wrote it had pasted some reference sentences to write his own things rewording the core idea and then citing the sources. but i still took the time to message the guy and tell him maybe he should be more careful in case our professor got on our case over it and started yelling plagiarism about it. and his answer was to be offended that i would even accuse him of such a thing, and that maybe i should be careful about levying such serious accusations at people.

this guy had never been cold to me in my life. i think the other two must have talked about my chatgtp suspicions in some other group chat and now i was the bad guy for having even briefly suspected that something had been up. i decided to just concentrate in doing my job and ignore whatever shit these people had started about me behind my back, and what do you know, we get our report back with perfect marks. no thank yous. no word about it in the group chat where we organized. this despite the fact that when we handed in our first report, much appreciation was given to the girl that helped organize the report hand-in. hell, about half an hour before i handed in the report the girl i asked to be our mediator sent a meme saying “leaving before i end up looking like an idiot” before leaving the group chat which was. an insane thing to have to face in response to my working my ass off to make the report work.

if it were just the guy that i had accused of using chatgtp who turned on me that were acting like an asshole, i could take it, maybe that the mediator, but it’s ridiculous that we turned things around completely from the first report and no one’s mentioned the report since i handed it in. did they all just suddenly decide to enforce the silent treatment? did i not approach it in the right way? i said at multiple points that i wasn’t interested in bringing this up to our professor because as i mentioned earlier, she can be kind of a pain to deal with, especially where alleged plagiarism is being discussed.

for context: the group member who wrote the suspicious introduction had never been a very involved student in the class, which could be a constant bummer considering it was a very group oriented fieldwork class. he had previously mentioned he had no idea what to put in the introduction. i still don’t think i would have given a single thought about his previous track record in class if this incident hadn’t happened.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[terrythemerry]

Alma notes/logs + some of my thoughts on them.

Warning these notes are very spoiler heavy and talks about a lot of late game content.

@elffees

These are some of Alma’s easiest to find notes and on the surface they paint a picture of a kind, maternal woman worried about the kids she was forced to leave behind. Two words jump out at me in the last two notes though “sacrifice” and “choice. I’ll talk about that at the end though. The next part is where things get messy.

These are all her notes, the rest of this is going to be a bit of a rant because these last few notes are the ones that make my blood boil.

Alma never planned on rescuing them. While putting on a motherly facade she planned on leaving all of the Sarentu survivors to rot until their life support gave out. The only thing that made her act was the fact that wonderful Priya found out we were there, otherwise no one was coming for us.

Then there is how she refers to the children in “The Final Option”. She talks about all the potential glory and accolades she’ll get once she “has” them. Not when they come to her, when she possesses them. She acts like she doesn’t know in the notes, but she admits in game that deep down she knew they were going to steal the kids and killed Na’vi and let it happen anyway so she could have her little project. This is the “sacrifice” she’s trying to frame in the note “Back to Tap”. Personally I don’t see how a genocide and kidnapping is in anyway a “sacrifice”, sounds more like a war crime to me.

Last is the School Records and two things important to note are the initials in the document and the of “additional note” versus “note”. The initials show that only two people wrote in this document AC (Alma Cortez) and JM (John Mercer). Every single section degrades the children and talks about the “best” ways to manipulate them to TAP’s goals before being followed up with an “additional note” by Alma saying the opposite. The thing is I fully believe that Alma wrote the original sections and that the “additional notes” have been edited in later to try and cover her involvement in TAP.

The thing that makes me think this is Alma’s position as teacher and Mercer’s note. Alma was the one who spent the most time with the students, she’s the one who observed every aspect of their day to day, so she is the only person it would logically make sense to write about their temperaments and interests. Mercer had other things to do besides sitting around a classroom all day watching these kids, same for Harding. They’d be able to step in as discipline and for surprise inspections, but Alma was clearly the main observer. That means all the coded talk about discipline(abuse) and skills(usefulness to the RDA) is all her.

Mercer’s note was the big tip off to me that she retroactively edited the document. Mercer’s only note is that Aha’ri was killed. It was probably entered immediately after her death, because Mercer doesn’t care. He’s meticulous, organized, compulsive, etc. He doesn’t see the children as anything more than a tool so he has no shame in updating the document like it was a regular note about a generator going out. Because he entered it immediately the entry was logged as “note”.

A lot of websites will mark a comment as edited after a certain amount of time has passed. I feel like this is the case with the “note” vs “additional note”. The second giveaway is that Alma’s final note calling Mercer’s murderer is also logged as an “additional note” when there is no reason for Alma to manually input it herself. By that logic all of the additional notes were logged long after the original document was made and it’s just Alma’s way of trying to minimize her role in the abuse at TAP. This means that all of the suggested “discipline” aka brutal bone breaking and beatings was recommended by her in certain cases.

Alma isn’t a good person, she has a toxic savior complex and will go to any means to see that vision met. She might be on the right side, she might be doing good things now, but she is not a good person. Maybe she can be forgiven one day, but she’s still in toomuch denial about her own involvement to be forgiven this day.

#avatar #avatar frontiers of pandora #frontiers of pandora #Alma Cortez #John Mercer #Avatar FOP #teylan #nor #rinela #ri’nela #avatar Alma #spoilers #avatar Mercer

[illfoandillfie]

Hi! I’m the same anon from the “Lazy Sunday” ask. First off, you’re welcome! It’s a brilliant story! As far as blurb ideas go, I always go back to the line where Reader tells Roger that he’s going to make a “dorky dad”. I kind of like the idea of a blurb taking place later in time where Reader is trying to tell Roger that she’s pregnant and keeps getting interrupted throughout the day. But you’re the amazing author, I’m sure that you could probably think of something much better than I could. 😊

Blurb Advent 2023: Day 1

Anon this is an amazing idea, I apologise it took so long for me to write anything for it lmao but here it is, the sequel to Lazy Sunday, and the first of the 2023 Advent prompts!

No warnings for this except a few suggestive themes and that Roger's a bit of a dumbass skfksfjskdj

Also editing on these has been minimal, so ignore any typos/weirdness lmao

9.28 AM 

As soon as the phone rang you grabbed it. Roger was upstairs, gathering up some scribbled song ideas that he’d left floating around which, thankfully, meant it was easy to have a quiet conversation with your doctor to confirm the results of your test. You were pregnant. It all felt a little surreal. You hadn’t even realised you were late at first, mostly because you never properly tracked your cycle so you hadn’t picked up on the irregularity until you were really really late.  

There had been a conversation, of course. You’d sat down and talked about what it would mean, how it would work when Rog toured, whether both of you felt capable of raising a child. And you’d agreed you were in a good place if it happened. Roger had been diplomatic and calm during the chat, always acknowledging when things would be hard, never getting too caught up in things like how little and cute baby clothes are. But you could tell he was excited at the thought of starting a family. He’d always loved his friends kids and it was clear he was more than ready to try having a few of his own. Luckily you felt the same, though perhaps a little more apprehensive. But remembering that had made you decide to keep it from Roger until you were one hundred percent certain, just in case you were wrong. 

But now that you knew it was happening all you felt was relief. It was a relief that you’d been right, that you could give Roger the good news, that you wouldn’t be disappointing him with a false alarm. But it was also a relief that there wouldn’t be months of agonising over why you weren't conceiving, worrying that there was something wrong. It had happened fairly easily. As bad as it might sound, it had happened without you really even trying. All you’d done was tell Roger when your pills last ran out and then didn’t go get new ones. It was less effort than you usually made. Neither of you had done any more planning than that. You’d not thought to track when you were ovulating, not changed anything about your lives that might have impacted fertility. You didn’t even really have sex any more than usual since you were having it fairly frequently anyway. It was very much a ‘wait and see’ kind of approach, almost lazy even. And apparently it had worked.  

The reality of what the doctor had said began to properly sink in as you hung up and you let out a little squeal of excitement while you had the room to yourself. Roger had to know as soon as possible, of course. And when you heard his hurried footsteps, muffled only slightly by the carpeted stairs, you moved out into the hall to catch him. He didn’t seem to notice you were bursting with news, leaning in to kiss your cheek as he apologised.   “Sorry love, I’m running late. I’ll see you later, okay? Love you.” And then he was out the door before you could even begin telling him to wait.   You blew out a breath, a little annoyed, but it was fine. You’d just call him and give him the good news and maybe make him feel a little bad for leaving so quickly. It usually took him about half an hour to get to Freddie’s place so you headed upstairs to dress and get ready for the day.  

10.15 AM 

Freddie answered after a handful of rings and after a minute or two handed to phone to Roger.   Unfortunately, upon hearing his voice, you realised you didn’t really want to tell him over the phone. Pettiness in response to mild carelessness was not a good reason and you really wanted to see his reaction in person.  “What is it love?” Roger asked after you’d been too quiet for too long, "Is everything okay?”  “Oh, yeah,” you said, trying to laugh in a casual sort of way, “I just wanted to check what time you’ll be home. You were in such a rush I didn’t get a chance to ask and I was thinking of doing something nice for dinner but if you and the guys are gonna be at it until late I won’t worry.”  There was a pause from the other end of the line and then Roger said, “Ohhhh I get love. I know what this is.” His voice was a little hushed like he was trying not to be overheard but it didn’t stop him from sounding cocky.   “No, that’s not it.”  “Was that what you were trying to tell me when I left? It’s okay, I get it.”  “You get it?”  “Y’know it’s kinda hot that we’re not using protection, and we didn’t fuck last night. I bet you want me desperately by now. Might have to resort to that toy of yours, at least until I get home. Which will be round fiveish at the latest I think. And I promise you can have whatever you need then.”  You were still trying to sputter out an answer, to tell Roger how wrong he was, when he hung up. And for a moment or two you were incapable of moving, listening to the repetitive beep that signalled the end of the call, as you wondered whether Roger’s stupidity was genetic.  

12.45 PM 

You thought about it a lot through the day, trying to come up with a fun way to tell Roger. A few years before a friend of yours had surprised her husband with a mug that said ‘Number 1 Dad’ on it. At the time you’d privately thought it was beyond cheesy but now it seemed kind of cute. You didn’t want to copy exactly what she’d done but an alternative didn’t jump out at you immediately, so you kept thinking about it as you went about your day. At one point you considered baking a cake and writing the message in icing. That idea morphed into making a loaf of bread so he could discover the bun in the oven. The problem with both was you’d never been much of a baker and you didn’t want to waste ingredients making inedible food. Then you thought maybe you should just run to the local shop and find a card, or perhaps some baby clothes. Keep it simple and impossible to misunderstand. But neither was a particularly exciting idea. If you were going to do something it should be fun and interesting. Besides, you didn’t really feel like leaving the house. At some point you got it stuck in your head that you could make him a more personalised announcement, maybe a card with a reference to one of his songs, or perhaps cut up old magazines to make a collage. But nothing really seemed to stick. You’d think the idea was good for about two minutes, and then you’d look at what ingredients or craft supplies you had, and decided it was a horrible idea that would never work. So you kept thinking.  

4.08 PM

Roger wrapped his arms around you and pressed his lips to your throat, “Don’t worry love, I’m here. How do you want me?”  You’d not even heard him come in. The TV had masked the sound of his keys but you’d been in your own little world anyway, very aware that you were running out of time before he’d be home and you still didn’t have a cute way of revealing the news. The suddenness of it all – his voice all low and gravely against your ear, his lips on your throat – was a shock and, unthinkingly, you blurted out a few incomprehensible noises and then, “no- I- you- daddy.”  Roger paused, moving around to better see your face, “Oh, that’s new. I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing but hey, I’ll give it a shot. Is it just calling me Daddy or is there more to it? Is this where all that like bondage stuff comes into it?”  You snorted with laughter and pushed him back a little, “No, dumbass, you surprised me. I was thinking about something else.”  “What?” he asked, suspiciously, “Can’t be your actual dad cause I’ve never heard you call him daddy before. What other daddies do you know?”  “Well....theres you. I’m pregnant.”  Roger stopped and blinked a couple of times like his brain had short circuited. “You are? Really?”  “Yeah, got the confirmation this morning. I tried to tell you but you were in such a rush.” Most of it was said laughingly into Roger’s shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you tight. 

#my writing #my blurbs #blurb advent 2023 #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine

[vickyvicarious]

"Why not go on?" I asked. She shook her head, and, coming back, sat down in her place. Then, looking at me with open eyes, as of one waked from sleep, she said simply:— "I cannot!" and remained silent. I rejoiced, for I knew that what she could not, none of those that we dreaded could. Though there might be danger to her body, yet her soul was safe!

Somehow, I had thought last year that Van Helsing was bunking down with Mina inside the wafer circle. But it doesn't seem that he is, since here he mentions the fire being outside of it, and later on when they're being circled by the vampire ladies, he attributes his own safety to the holy wafer he is holding up at them, and Mina's to the circle.

This is interesting on a couple of levels, because on the one hand it points pretty definitively towards him not feeling safe resting next to her. It makes me feel like he really strongly suspects he might've been drunk from the night before, or at least that he fears she might do so tonight. And yet, he is also willing to give her all the surefire protection, and rely on only a wafer in the hand for himself. He didn't even make himself a separate circle. I suspect his supply is finally running low and he wants to make sure he has enough for the job in the morning/anything that might have to be done with Dracula, so he's trying to save the rest. That means that him giving up some of his finite supply is a real sacrifice, one which again places her own safety over his own. He's holding true to his promise to protect her to the fullest extent of his abilities, regardless of the risk to himself. If he faltered in his vigilance during the night, he could have fallen prey to the vampire women.

EDIT: disregard the above paragraph, literally right after posting I noticed that he does (and Mina also) actually mention he is in the circle too, haha. Guess I had reason for thinking that before, and this was more a brainfart moment. But actually that raises the question of how much is he trusting her, here. I still feel like he fears her a lot at this point but even after he sees she cannot cross the line he stays within it with her, which is a big show of deliberate trust in a way. Maybe his supply is running low so he doesn't know if he has enough for a second circle, but still. He's choosing to believe in her and to take the best interpretation of her reaction here.

Of course, there's also the risk of wolves for both of them. But he says he is happy because her soul will be safe, even if Mina could be killed by wolves. Is he taking comfort that the vampire women can't get to her? Well, that seems to be the case, but at the same time, it doesn't make much sense because Van Helsing is the one who has repeatedly said Mina is doomed to turn when she dies regardless of what kills her at this point. So I don't really think that's it. I think it's that, not only can the vampire women (or Van Helsing if they turn him, or even Dracula if he returns) not get to her, but also if Mina dies for any reason, if she finishes turning, she can't leave. She'll remain in the circle, and he will at least save her soul from the crimes it would commit as a vampire, by holding her in place and preventing her from ever committing them. None of the other vampires can approach so they can't let her out. The only way she gets out is if someone human helps her (and Van Helsing is the only one around for miles), or if she regains enough humanity to do so on her own (which will happen if they kill Dracula as planned).

Her reaction to the vampire women gives him hope that it's really not too late for her, and later on he takes comfort in her pale and ill appearance, but it kinda seems like he was planning for ways to minimize the harm to her soul even in a worst-case scenario.

#dracula daily #van helsing #mina murray #d'oh

[can-ya-guess-my-curent-obsession]

What characters would do if their S/O said to kill a spider for them:

WRITERS NOTES: This is like one of the most classic starting fics for creators(from what I know) so I wanted to do it, also spiders scare the fuck outa me. I will probably do murdoc and Rus's separate headcanons late.

All art in post is mine

Edited: Yes

Tw: Spider, curssing, violence twords spiders, yelling, murdoc being a meanie

(Update: Murdocs shity behavior is not ok, its's abuse, I am nto tryingto indorse it!)

Characters:

/Gorillaz/

Noodle

-Best Girlfriend ever

-The sweetheart booked it downstairs when she heard you scream

-She was ready to kill a man when she busted down the door

-But all she found was her S/O standing on the couch screaming and pointing at the corner across the room

-She immediately understood as this has happened many times in the past with 2d

-She is a bit frustrated because she genuinely thought you were in trouble, but is more relieved than anything as she's glad you're not hurt

-She eventually goes into the room and kills the fuck outa that spider- or she will capture it in a cup... probably the ladder

-Then she will comfort her S/O

-Just reassuring them that the spider won't come back, and that she will protect them from any spiders that come their way

-With minimal teasing

-Also, side note she usually doesn't kill spiders she's the kind of person to capture and release but if her S/O is actually really scared- or it's a really nasty looking/venomous spider she will kill it- but majority of the time she captures and releases them

-And as a kid Noodle found spiders really cool, so she would pick them up and show them to the others

2D

-He was practicing on his piano with S/O leaning on his shoulder when S/O saw the spider on the piano

-S/O had startled 2D when S/O grabbed his shoulder and shook him

-But it all made sense when S/O said, "OH MY FUCK- STU THEIRS A SPIDER!!!!"

-*SCREEEAAAAACCHHHH*

-All 2D had registered was spider but in then end that's all that he needed to hear to freak out

-He grabbed his S/O and pulled his S/O back away from the piano along with him though you two almost trip over each other with how frantic he's moving

-But eventually he gets you two away, across the room standing on a table or something

-And from there- there are 3 possible things that could happen=

-Murdoc is the one who finds you two

-He is also scared of spiders, but not as bad as you two, but he just thinks their icky, so he's no help

-When he walks in, he's screaming at you two to shut the fuck up and how you two are giving him a headache

-But when 2D points at the spider on his piano- Murdoc freezes then just slams the door shut

-And you can hear him call you guys pussies and him telling 2D to man up and kill it.

-Noodle Busts the door down at the sounds of both of you two screeching.

-Like I said in Noodles headcanons this is a recurring issue, so she immediately realizes what happening.

- She from there will go get a cup or piece of paper and disposes of the spider with a huff

-Russel opened the door like a normal person *ahem* Noodle...

-And he actually expected this- especially as the person throughout the years of them living together disposed of spiders, as in the old days murdoc was still grossed out, and Noodle would pick them up and tried to show it to 2D in which 2D would just pass out

-So, this is expected, and when Rus realizes his suspicions were right it was, he found himself rubbing the bridge of his nose when he was caching the spider and got rid of it.

========================

#2d x reader #noodle x reader #stuart pot x reader #gorillaz x reader #stuart pot #2d gorillaz #noodle gorillaz

[morrak]

Untitled Wednesday Library Series, Part 127

One fact about these posts is that they're only occasionally interesting, at least outside my own head. This is basically unsurprising and entirely within spec; I'm having a grand old time. Some weeks the subject is interesting and relatable, which is great for #engagement. Other weeks, I get to wax lyrical about something less (or, rarely, more) charismatic than your average paperback. That's good exercise. This week is instead a sort of workpost. Citation follows.

Khodyakov D, Grant S, Kroger J, Gadwah-Meaden C, Motala A, Larkin J (2023) Disciplinary trends in the use of the Delphi method: A bibliometric analysis. PLoS ONE 18(8): e0289009. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0289009

The How

Several grey hairs ago, I clicked "Claim" on a research support ticket from a biostatistician. Some might call such a move a stupid gamble. I might agree. The ask was for literature about implementing and reporting on a subset of the Delphi methodology, which I'll explain (briefly; tiredly) in the next section. For now, suffice it to say that the ask turned into a whole big thing, much of the work of which centered on today's feature.

The Text

What's here called 'the Delphi method' is really a family of research designs that query panels of experts to forecast disciplinary trends or establish consensus on (e.g.) guidelines for practice. Snoring from the back row, yeah, I know. I don't care either, mostly. This methodology is, for better or worse, pretty common in the biomedical — and especially clinical — literature, which is part of the point of the paper, and part of why it was relevant for the inciting biostatistician.

The Delphi methodology was developed by the RAND Corporation, first published under peer review in 1963. This article, authored by, for, and at RAND, is a triumphant 60th anniversary retrospective of its reach. Sorry, that's 'bibliometric analysis' to us. The authors identify, taxonomize (roughly), assess, and publish a set of 19,831 Delphi-including studies, then punt them into a supplementary CSV. This is, to put it rudely, fucking ridiculous. Do you have any idea how much time that kind of screening and coding takes? Of course you don't. No one does, except a handful of people with RAND money, and you probably shouldn't listen to anything they say, because they have RAND money.

The Object

For the purposes of this post, 'Object' here is a word that means both 'the open access version of the article as a PLOS-edited PDF' as well as 'the collection of webpages, legal constructs, and physical-digital infrastructure that provide the former'.

It works, minimally. This is about as clean as things get; easy to share and read and modify and reuse, but functionality isn't the only dimension on which this exists. I have mixed feelings about PLOS, legally actionable ones about RAND, and very complicated ones about the open access initiatives this exists within. Hard to look at one without the others creeping in, but at least you can copy-paste from the document and several charts are PRISMA compliant. That's enough, right?

The Why, Though?

Eh. The associated supplements are very handy for the kind of spelunking I've been up to lately, but not extensible beyond that. Biostats manuscripting aside, this is a monument to some very unsettling trends in The Literature, by which I mean clinical research practices, reporting on them, and funding for it all. We really, really don't have time to broach all that (I say, having already written 571 words), but you weren't going to read the article — why would you? — so there wouldn't be an audience anyway.

Anyway, if you're up late combing through biostats preprints repositories sometime during the next funding cycle, keep an eye out for a stray Morrak in the acknowledgements. Such will be my legacy. Whatever.

#images #untitled wednesday library series

[eyeless-jeff666]

Illusion

TW Torture Tsunagu has a shitty time but his husband is there for comfort (or is he). Angst, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending

Edit a day later bc I forgot: Happy bday worm boy!

„Your eyes are green?“

Shinya exclaimed, standing on his toes to grab Tsunagus's face and look deeper into his eyes. God, he was beautiful. Pretty eyes. A pretty smile. Silky silver hair. And such a cute voice. The blonde was sure that this was the moment he fell in love with the other.

Intense pain tore him out of this memory, a knife scratching against the bone of his thigh. He didn’t want to scream but his own voice ringing in his ears told him he had failed. The feeling wouldn’t allow for any control over himself and he didn’t know how long this had gone on for. It could have been minutes or days, pain spreading so evenly across his body that it was really impossible to tell.

“There there, Tsu, you’re okay.”

Shinya told him, though he didn’t sound right. His voice sounded far away despite his face being mere inches from the blonde’s. And that did not look quite right either, it was too perfect, too right. He wanted to feel his husband’s touch, but he always seemed just a bit too far to lean against.

“Please…”

A whimper that escaped his lips as the knife came down again, surprisingly finding an untouched spot; he wasn’t begging for the person who tortured him to stop. He was begging for Shinya to help him. Kiss him. Hold him. Anything.

“You know I can’t Tsu.”

The person in front of him said something, and Tsunagu didn’t know if he answered, only focused on the gray-haired hero, who still wore the same soft smile. It almost drove the blonde insane, just as much as it calmed him.

“You know I’m not really here, right?”

Another scream, with tears falling down his cheeks; surely the knife had just barely missed his bone this time because he looked down to see it deeply stuck in his thigh; breath heavy from screaming and enduring. His stomach cramped from writhing and trying to catch his breath, and his throat was sore from over-using his voice and dehydration. Suddenly, it was dark. And silent, and his mind wouldn’t click back into place correctly; when had his torturer left? When had it gotten so dark? He tried to focus, but his brain would spit out nothing but minimal observations. Darkness, so he’d been there at least one day, as it had been dark before despite the large windows. Dehydration so bad he was sure he had already begged for water, so likely longer than just a day. Hallucinations.

“Shinya…”

He mumbled, panic rising in him as his husband’s voice went missing.

“Shinya I need you.”

“I know. How about we focus on another memory? How about… how about our first date?”

That was good enough for Tsunagu. The darkness was already all around him after all and so it was easy to let his mind wander to the night of their first date. It had been unofficial, merely a spontaneous idea after Shinya had figured out an idea for his hero hairstyle. They’d met by the park, under the bright lights, and talked about it. It seemed amazing that this night had been around 18 years ago already, pretty much half his life, and more than half of the other’s.

“My little thread, remind me how late it was?”

“I don’t know anything you don’t know, love.”

The ninja hero replied and Tsunagu groaned. His head pounded, and he wasn’t sure if he liked being aware of that. Being aware meant Shinya being gone. Being with his thoughts and fear and not pretty gentle memories. It also meant that the anxiety came back. Not so much about dying, but rather because he didn’t know if he spilled information.  His mind was too far gone, too clouded when his torturer was there. Thinking had become so hard and his memory wasn’t functioning well. He didn’t want to speak about things he shouldn’t speak about, but he didn’t know if he was able to control it in those moments.

Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he was crying. The feeling on his cheeks suggested it but his eyes didn’t burn and the pounding in his head was ever-present. Maybe he was, he wished he could ask Shinya, but he wasn’t here and he wouldn’t say. All he ever did was smile and fill his ears with sweet words. Guide his thoughts towards sweet memories and remind him over and over that he wasn’t real. That he wouldn’t touch him. Or hug him. Or kiss him. That he wouldn’t caress his hair or cheeks.

Breathing was getting hard. Keeping his eyes open was too, and Tsunagu could feel his life slipping away from him, slowly, but it was dripping away like the blood from his broken nose. It didn’t seem all that bad to let it happen. He craved a moment of peace and a break from the unbearable pain.

“Goodbye, Shinya.”

He said, smiling for the first time since he woke up in that chair. Letting go seemed wonderful, just this one time where death would win him over. And Shinya was smiling as well, and that didn’t make it any easier to regain his fight. It felt like encouragement, like praise almost, to make him believe it was the right thing to do.

“Goodbye, my little thread.”

And then he went numb. Blissfully so, as all the pain left him behind with nothing but a dizzy blur in his mind. One that turned into a nice last image; of Shinya being there with him, speaking to him. Tsunagu strangely could move again, reaching out his hand to put it on his husband’s cheek. And paused, his heart skipping a beat.

“You’re real.”

He forced out, and watched as the other broke into a tearful laugh:

“Of course, I’m real Tsu, what do you mean?”

The blonde couldn’t say more. His mind began to focus a bit, enough for him to realize he was at the hospital. And Shinya was there, really there, physically and only one touch away. Kugo was too, but Tsunagu barely had the mental strength to focus on more than his environment and husband. And then reacted in the only way he could manage; by crying his soul out. Crying until his head hurt while holding Shinya’s face in his hands. It wasn’t a happy or relieved cry, but a shameful one, for allowing himself to give up at what apparently was the last moment before being saved. And everything he could remember came crashing down on him like a ton of bricks, harsh and all at once. Eventually, nurses came in to give him calming medications, and to check him over. But having Shinya ushered away only made him freak out more and he begged for the staff to let Shinya stay by his side to hold his hand.

“Tsu. Tsu, my love, calm down you’re okay. I’m here. Please, breathe. Slow.”

He obeyed. Maybe because the medication was taking effect, but also because his husband could tell him to jump off a bridge and he’d do it no questions asked. His breath became more regular, and he struggled to keep his now shaky hand wrapped around the other’s. It took a while until he sank back into the pillows.

“I’m not a professional but it almost seems like you should make use of your privileges he has to a private room and stay with him, Edgeshot.”

Kugo said, his voice filled with relief and worry alike. He turned to leave, and for the first time Tsunagu looked at him as well, opening his mouth but was quickly shushed:

“Don’t you dare apologize. I know. You’re fine. Just rest and appreciate hearing that heart monitor beep. 5 minutes, that’s a miracle even for you.”

With those words he left, knowing it would get his friend thinking enough to rest. He had been dead for 5 minutes so, and had /still/ managed to escape death. Thanks to the medical staff and his fellow heroes, of course, but at this point it seemed ridiculous.

“Shinya… I kept seeing you…”

The blonde whispered tiredly, closing his eyes. Exhaustion won over him, so he couldn’t hear the other’s reply. But feeling his hand was more than enough to finally guide him into a calm, dreamless sleep. Shinya was really there, Tsunagu was safe, and that was all that mattered.

#best jeanist #edgeshot #tsunagu hakamada #shinya kamihara #mha #art #digital art #fanfiction #angst #happy ending #trigger warning torture #trigger warning #tw torture #angst with happy ending #edgejeanist #bestshot

[therhythmafterthesummer]

Cherry eyes, cherry lips ~ Lee Know

Pair: Lee Know x Reader (unspecified gender) Word count: 1965 Genre: Vampire!AU | Fluff Warnings: vampire antics (good ol’ blood sucking), implied trauma, swearing (a normal, adult amount i would say). Summary: A stroll to the beach with your recently turned friend leads to a couple compromising situations.

Cross posted on AO3.

A/N: hi! If you stumbled upon this, welcome! I had this idea dancing around in my head and if I didn’t write it it wouldn’t have left me alone. Warning: minimal editing ahead.  Any constructive criticism is always welcome! ~✨🌙✏

Disclaimer: the story represented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

“This is the absolute fucking worst”

Minho walks along the sidewalk with you, complaining. You’re sure the scene is eye-catching: two people walking, one perfectly normal, appropriately dressed for a stroll in a coast town. The other… Well, let’s just say that wearing long pants, long boots, a long sleeved turtle neck, sunglasses, WHILE holding a black umbrella was not exactly a normal sight.

“Did you put sunscreen on?” You ask, slightly cautious.

“No, I wanted to get a lovely tan–OF COURSE I put sunscreen on, darling”, Minho snarls at you, his tone visibly annoyed. “I’m not exactly planning on bursting into flames right now”.

“Wow, okay, jeez”, you throw your hands in the air, as a sign of peace. “I’m just trying to look out for you. Sorry for bothering His Majesty with my concern!” Your tone is playful, no offence taken at his snarky comments.

Minho has always been short tempered. You immensely loved to push his buttons in all the wrong ways to piss him off. Lately, though, because of the… Accident, you try to be careful with your words. You try your best to provide comfort and support, whether it is because you are a good friend or because you don’t want to put yourself in danger, you don’t know.

An exasperated exhale passes his lips, clearly frustrated. “I’m sorry”, Minho admits. “I’m just… On edge”.

“I can tell”, you huff. “Tell me again, why did you think it was a good idea to go on a stroll when there’s still sunlight?”

“I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to feel normal”, Minho is serious in his statement. “It was a foolish decision, as you can see”.

There is nothing else you want to say at this time, so you just fall silent.

Around three months ago, you and your friends got into an accident. A supernatural one. And Minho definitely drew the short straw. You’re still not sure if calling it an ‘accident’ is accurate, but Minho started using the term first, so you just went along with it.

  As you walk in silence with him, you start having flashbacks of that night. 

You, Minho, and Jisung sitting around a bonfire while camping in the mountains.

The sound of twigs snapping.

Two women breaking through the trees.

  “You know what’s the worst part…?” Minho’s voice startles you as you come back to reality.

“Enlighten me”.

“I’m sooo hungry all the time”, he states, rubbing his stomach with one hand. “This ‘vegetarian’ diet… Doesn’t seem like enough”.

You pause for a moment as you reach your destination: the beach.

“You know there are places you can go to find… Uh… Volunteers…” You offer, as you try to locate a spot with enough shade.

“And drink off of some random person?” Minho’s face contorts in disgust. “No, thank you. People are dirty. I’d take the non-fulfilling stuff any day”.

You find shade under some palm trees. Not enough for Minho to put down his umbrella, but enough so he can stay safely under it for a long period of time.

A comfortable silence falls between you two, as you sit there just enjoying the sound of the waves, and the occasional calling of seagulls in the distance. This allows for your mind to wander once again, flashes passing through your mind as if it had only been yesterday.

  A woman lunging at Jisung.

Minho pushing Jisung away.

The woman catching Minho.

Her mouth connecting with his neck.

Minho screaming in pain.

  You shake your head, in an attempt to push the memories away. You’re fine. It’s Minho who you have to worry about, not yourself.

An idea pops into your head, a way you can actually be helpful to him–unlike that day. You just need to find courage to bring it up.

The sun is setting, it’s been for a while you realise.

You turn your head to look at him, and to your surprise, he’s already looking at you. He doesn’t say anything, those damn sunglasses concealing any hint of what thoughts might be dancing inside that head of his. You want to take them off his face. You want to see his pretty eyes as you make your… Proposal.

“What about me?” You blurt out.

“What about you, what?”

“What about feeding off of me?” You sound way more confident than you thought you would.

Minho freezes–you didn’t think he could even look more still than how he usually does these days. He licks his lips, an action you think he’s not even realised he’s done. He takes off his sunglasses, the sun no longer a threat as it’s slowly, but surely sinking into the horizon.

You like his eyes. They’re one of your favourite features of his (not like you keep a list or anything…). Even now, with the warm brown long gone, replaced by a deep cherry colour, you still find them just as beautiful. He doesn’t know about this, of course. Your fleeting looks kept a secret between you and yourself.

“That sounds dangerous”, he states. His expression is sterile, and yet, he’s not dismissed you.

“It’s only dangerous if you make it dangerous”, you argue, shrugging slightly. 

There’s a part in your brain that screams at you, the part that’s trying to keep you safe, to keep you alive. You have seriously lost your mind–you can hear it scream at you over and over again inside your head. And yet, there’s another part of you that wants to do this for him, and, in a moment of self realisation, you realise you want to do it for yourself. ‘That’s something to psychoanalyse later’, you decide.

Minho laughs, but not a humorous laugh. His laugh is dry, cold.

“What makes you think I won’t suck you dry?” There’s a smile on his lips, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You immediately decide that you hate that. That you hate the comment that you know will follow. “What makes you think I won’t kill you? You know I can. That’s the monster I’ve become”.

You keep his gaze, as you think over his words. He’s wrong. He’s so wrong.

“You’re not a monster”, there’s no hesitation in your voice, and it throws him off a bit, his mean-monster façade cracking the tiniest bit. “You’re my friend”.

Minho huffs, looking away from you. He puts the umbrella away, since the sun is now long gone.

You need him to look at you. At any other time you would give him space, let him hide his feelings. Now is not that time.

One of your hands cups his cheek–his stone cold cheek–and you turn his face back to look at you.

For a moment you can see it in his eyes. Vulnerability. But he quickly puts up his barriers again. You don’t want him to hide, not from you. You mean what you’re saying. He’s not a monster, he’s your friend.

“I trust you, Minho”, and you realise then that you do. You would literally trust him with your life.

He doesn’t look away. His eyes bore into yours, as if looking for any sign of hesitation, any sign of regret in your words. But he finds none. You’re determined, you’re sure.

“I don’t want to hurt you”, his words are barely a whisper, his tone unsure. You can see his façade crumbling instantly as his gaze shifts, his cold eyes turning warm again, and you see him. 

You can truly see Minho. He’s not some mindless, blood sucking monster. He’s just your friend Minho. Your Minho.

“I trust you”, you repeat, confident.

His gaze moves slowly, cautiously tracing the features of your face. You can clearly see their path–your nose, your cheek, your chin… Finally settling on your neck.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. His tongue peeking between his slightly parted lips. As he licks his lips, you can just barely see the tip of his canines, now enlarged at the prospect of a meal and–holy shit. You really do want this. 

“You sure?” Minho’s gaze is still fixed on your neck as he speaks. You can see the restraint in his body as he asks, giving you one last chance to bail out. Any sane person would tell you to take that chance, to say ‘no’ and run as far away as you can away. And yet–

“Yes”.

You bare your neck to him, and you can see immediately how his pupils dilate at the sight. His movements are slow, as he dips his face closer to you. It’s as if he’s trying not to scare you, trying to make this as comfortable as possible for you, which you appreciate.

You feel him pause at your neck, his nose lightly brushing against it. You realise your hands are slightly shaking, but not out of fear. It’s out of excitement. A completely puzzling revelation.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel his tongue licking a particular spot on your neck. Minho brings his hand up to your cheek, softly caressing your skin as he finally sinks his teeth in.

You can feel his hand tighten on your cheek as he takes his first sip, and you moan. Had you been thinking clearly you would’ve felt embarrassed and out of your mind, but as it is right now, you don’t give two shits about the embarrassing sounds flying past your lips.

After a few moments, you start feeling it. Your ears ringing, and your gaze clouding. You’re starting to feel light headed, and you’re sure you’ve reached the danger zone.

“Minho…” Your voice comes out as a whisper, and you feel him stop immediately.

His movements are careful. He licks at your neck, soothing the pain radiating from the two marks he’s left on it.

With one last lick, you feel him move his head away. His hand is still holding your cheek, the attached thumb lightly stroking your skin, and it is comforting. Intimate, even.

You lock eyes with him and you see it. You see his gaze, invigorated, the most alive he’s looked in the last few months. You decide you like it.

Minho’s lips are red, some of your blood still lingering on them. His tongue darts out and licks every last particle left, his canines finally slowly receding.

“You’re so… Delicious”.

In an euphoric impulse, he brings his other hand to your face, cradling your face between his hands as he pulls you to him, connecting his lips to yours. 

This was something you did not calculate for.

You let out a surprised yelp, as you immediately reciprocate. Because of course you do. Because this is Minho, your friend. Your friend who you’ve been secretly pining after for years. If the whole losing blood thing wouldn’t have made you dizzy, this certainly would have.

He pulls away, and looks at you with a shy smile on his lips. This is an uncommon sight. Among the cloudy haze over your mind, you decide to store this image forever in your memory, right in the ‘reasons why I want to smooch Minho’s face’ folder.

 “Ah, sorry. I… Shit, I’ve wanted to do that for so, so long”, his smile widens as he speaks. “Thank you. For, uh…”

“Letting you feed on me?” You chime in.

He shakes his head slightly. “For trusting me”, his voice is confident, relieved. The thumbs of the hands that are still attached to your face lightly caressing your cheeks.

You smile at him, feeling warmth spread in your chest. “Of course I do”.

You kiss him this time, throwing your arms around his neck and pushing him down into the sand. He just laughs, returning your affections in kind. 

This is fine. You both will be just fine.

© therhythmafterthesummer 2022-2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.

#lee know fanfiction #lee know fluff #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fluff #lee know x reader #vampire lee know #✨🌙✏

[scoobydoodean]

Y'all I love free software so much y'all don't even know. Have a list of my favorite free programs I have used lately when creative juices are flowing:

Gifs:

Giphy Capture: Very very easy to use (you will figure it out in no time). You can't recolor anything here, but I've found the compression options allow me to retain enough quality that I am not repulsed by the idea of posting gifsets made with this tool. They will never be as pretty as recolored gifs made in photoshop, but if you just want to make a scene and it not look horrid, this shit will get it done with a learning curve that's as flat as they come (Mac only tho sadly).

ezgif.com: Swiss army knife of gif making in your browser. You can crop, add effects, adjust brightness, saturation, hue, etc., trim, cut frames, and optimize file size. You can upload a set of images to turn into a gif, upload a gif you've already captured to edit it, or upload and video clip and render and edit into gifs all in your browser.

Davinci Resolve (18.5 Beta) - I am very excited about this one. Davinci Resolve is a professional-quality video editing software available for free for personal uses. It is stuffed full of video recoloring options, and they recently added gif rendering. This means you can recolor a whole scene all at once, split it into clips representing each gif in your set, then batch export a whole scene of short clips as gifs at the same time after adding text, cropping, cutting frames, and recoloring them as desired. Compression options on export are minimal right now, but I'm hoping as this new tool develops and moves out of beta... *rubs hands together evilly*.

Video:

Davinci Resolve - As above—professional-quality video editor available for free for personal use. Tbh the video editor pre-shipped with your OS will get you real far, but this one has a plethora of options you won't find in there, and typically will not ever find for free at all.

Ffmpeg - Need to batch convert .mkv files to .mp4 because your various softwares or maybe your PLEX server isn't playing nice??? ffmpeg has your back! If a command line is too intimidating though you can always go with Handbrake (if you can stumble your way through a command line though—ffmpeg will convert a whole season of TV to .mp4 before handbrake finishes a single episode).

Art:

Autodesk Sketchbook - I have had this puppy for a very very long time—I had it when it was actually a one-time purchase desktop app back in the day and I paid $50 and it was worth it. HOWEVER, Autodesk Sketchbook is now completely free! You can use everything I paid $50 for when I was like 16 years old for free! It runs on phones and tablets too! There are a lot of awesome free digital art tools (i.e., ye olde classic GIMP) or ones you can get for very cheap one time purchase, but this is just a free one I am fond of.

[wander-wren]

got another bot-spam comment on ao3, but this one is extra weird. let’s do some investigating!

for those not in the know, The Haunting is my dark whumpy “todoroki gets adopted by aizawa” fic. it’s also 60k words long. so right away i’m doubting this person read it. that plus the generic vibes? bot comment. but i’m also pretty sure i’ve heard of this channel before, specifically because it wasn’t crediting authors. hm. so i go check it out: http://www.youtube.com/@DnWhatIf

first of all, these are the videos i’m greeted with:

now, i don’t want to bash anyone’s taste, but this is so extremely not my thing. nooooo way. some of these read more like crackfic, which is fine, but tonally the difference is SO much. and just makes it even more glaringly obvious that they aren’t reading the fics they’re spamming or even giving them a cursory once-over (or putting strong filters on the bot? i’m not clear how bot comments work)

because this is the first thing you see about The Haunting:

i’m guessing, if it wasn’t completely random, it’s the fact that i tagged izuku as a character. and really it’s just lazy, the whole thing. it’s all bots. ai art in the thumbnail, ai voice reading the fic, bot making comment spam for you. zero respect. if this was an actual podficcer i would consider it! hell, i might even accept ai voice readings (MAYBE), if it was obvious there was a human person who cared behind them. it could certainly be a tool for good, since podficcing isn't very common (we love you podficcers. if i had a little bit more confidence i would be one of you).

but anyway, hang on, lets back up a step, because the whole reason i looked into this was the credits issue. the video “what if deku became a teacher at ua” (ugh) (i hate the title gimmick also) is going to be my guinea pig.

so in the little intro (also done by ai), it says “all credits to their respective authors” which, yikes. however, they do link to their permission statement and the fic in the description, so it….could be worse. but also, these are the comments

(and it continues like that for a bit)

the channel name also has a 4.0 after it [edit: it did when i started this post, then i got distracted for two days, and now it is gone. hm], which implies they’ve had a lot of trouble with keeping it up. so it seems likely that this is the channel i heard about stealing fics, they just finally learned to get permission and give credit to try and keep it up this time. the permission statement on this video is real (i wondered if they would just link to something else and assume no one would check), but even THAT author references being “freaked out” (positive?? unsure) when they heard of people finding their story on youtube. before giving permission to upload with credit. so that’s not great

also this sludgepit of content is absolutely the thing that attracts people with no patience clamoring for updates literally one day after the video goes up. go figure. bad vibes all around.

also, if you’re wondering about the quality of the reading (i’ve stumbled on some pretty good ai voices as of late!), it’s, uh. i don’t actually know about how all this works, but i feel like when you pick a voice to read a story it should at least be able to approximate character name pronunciation. and flow.

but alas.

i also don't want to bash the authors in question but the truth is from the very minimal poking around i did (not giving this channel any more of my time than absolutely necessary), the writing featured is....mediocre at best. which is fine and good for the fandom ecosystem and i will NEVER be anything but happy that people are writing and posting less-than-perfect works, especially since some of these premises are pretty unique and i think it's better to have the fic than not. we all start somewhere, fanfic is an excellent way to practice and get feedback at the same time, etc.

but these channels, these kinds of operations, they're going to prey on new and young authors and that's who is going to be saying yes to them. because they want the exposure, they want to be told their work is good enough for someone else to care to record it for youtube, they haven't been around long enough to recognize this for what it is: someone taking extreme shortcuts to get views and likes and a bit of notoriety off of other people's work. and that's shit.

and remember that youtube videos can be monetized!

now, i doubt this channel in particular has been monetized, although it does meet the minimum requirements as far as numbers go:

it shouldn't meet the requirements for the monetization policies, specifically these ones:

especially with the disclaimer in the beginning that the content is not their own--which might be why previous versions of the channel did not give credit. who knows.

however, youtube DID just have some scandals about people making videos that were pretty much entirely plagiarized, which were monetized, so i don't have the highest hopes in the world. still, it doesn't seem monetized, so no strikes against this particular creator for that, at least, but defo something to look out for if anyone ever brings up hosting podfics on youtube.

so yeah, bot spam, not a complete scam this time but definitely really sketchy, bad vibes all around. and i still kind of want to give them permission to use my fic just to see what would happen, lmao

#wren wrambles #ao3 #i probably shouldnt someone tell me not to #what i SHOULD be doing is writing the last chapter of haunting huh #AHHHHHHHHHHH #anyway. wren investigates really random shit pt 182326748