#she was convinced the coffee was burnt

[meiieiri]

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: so she tells him not to cry over the injustice of a life cut too short for at the end of all this, she’ll only be a dream.

pairing: ex-husband!toji fushiguro x terminally ill wife!reader | song inspo: soon you’ll get better, cancer

warnings: heavy angst, terminal illness (primary bone cancer, stroke and MS), mentions of divorce/past infidelity, allegories to cheating, major character death. please read at your own risk. | a/n: this was so heavy for me to write, i started writing at 2 in the morning, and it’s 6:34 now.

word count. 3k~

“Why can’t you do anything right?”

Toji should have noticed, he laments as he takes a sip of his cognac. He should have sensed that something was wrong sooner, maybe that way, he wouldn’t be begging to borrow some more time to make things right. Your fingers were trembling that day — the first time you ever ruined his morning coffee — your hands shaking uncontrollably as you washed the mug with a sorrowful look on your face, your eyes glossy with the tears you were desperately trying to hold back.

He shouldn’t have been so harsh, he realizes that now. Breakfast had been burnt to a crisp and ruined, sure, but nothing could compare to how he constantly ruins the one beautiful thing that has ever happened to him, who haphazardly spilled her smoothie on him when they first bumped into each other in Shinjuku just after he finally cashed in enough money with Shiu to get his laundry done.

Toji, whose senses have now been honed to pick up on the slightest of your sluggish movements and your pained and suppressed hisses, hears the bedsheets rustling and he instantly gets up before you could even force yourself out of bed. “Hey, hey, easy now.” He catches you before you could fall backwards onto the mattress, your skin appears cold and clammy, your thinning muscles stiff as a board — you must be having one of your episodes again. “What do you need?” he asks, his voice heartbreakingly gentle for the first time in months.

“Water.”

Your husband nods, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, hurriedly making his way to the dining table which was now kept in your bedroom so you aren’t forced to move around too much. The sound of water splashing into the glass fills the air and you feel another stabbing pain coarse through your joints.

Toji gingerly brings the glass of water to your lips and you sighed, an exasperated yet amused smile on your face. “I can do it, babe. Don’t worry.” Why did that sound like you were trying to convince not just Toji but yourself? You bring your bony hands to grip the glass and it takes everything out of your husband not to break into a fit of sobs when he sees your hand violently shaking with effort just to keep the glass steady.

His larger hands close around your defeated one. “I-I…I can do it, I did it yesterday. Y-you saw me.”

“Shhh, I know, it’s okay.”

You bite your lip to distract yourself from the anguish of realizing the truth behind the doctor’s words. Everything you feared was finally becoming your and Toji’s bleak reality.

“It’ll be a painful decline.”

Funny how you’re the one fighting to extend your life but Toji feels like he’s already gone ahead and passed on. Just a few minutes earlier, you were overjoyed to see him again. You didn’t think he’d see your text thinking that his new girlfriend must have asked him to block your number, and you most certainly didn’t expect him to arrive when you asked for him via a brief phone call to drive you to the hospital for your monthly checkup since he took the car with him when you separated. He made up a bullshit excuse when Yuko asked where he was going in such a hurry and he makes it to your old shared apartment to see you sitting on the driveway looking thinner and sicklier than ever — your eyes were sunken, and your cheeks were hollow.

Yet in spite of that, you gave him the brightest of smiles, waving shyly to him as he steps out of the driver’s seat. “Happy morning!” you smiled, greeting him with your signature good morning tagline which he used to happily wake up to everyday. There wasn’t a scintilla of resentfulness in your demeanor, and you genuinely looked so happy to see him for the first time since he moved out.

“How long?” Toji asked the doctor, his heart twisted into knots when he hears you happily humming in the MRI room as you put your clothes back on, oblivious to the solemn mood in the other room. You already knew what was going on, but you’ll just continue pretending that everything’s alright and that this is nothing more but a case of fatigue so as not to inconvenience Toji.

“A year, maybe even less.”

“And…you’re saying it’s best if she simply…doesn’t get the treatment?”

The doctor sighs heavily. She’s seen many cases like this before, but none as utterly hopeless as yours. Even if you did start the treatment, the lesions in your spinal cord have already entered the most severe stage, you were already exhibiting signs of autonomic nervous system distress — the tremors, the uncontrollable stuttering of your words, the growing loss of balance — and as if that wasn’t enough, the doctor also discovers that you were suffering from primary osteosarcoma.

There was no way to cure you now that it’s too late.

“I suggest we just focus on keeping her comfortable. The only thing left for us to do now is to bring her home. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re so fucking embarrassing. I can’t bring you anywhere.”

By some miracle, you and Toji went out one night around four months before the divorce proceedings. He went home that day, exhausted beyond all belief from another mission, but he was in a good mood. Yuko was out working late tonight, so, he decides to take you out to your and his favorite izakaya for some yakitori.

Some time during the night, after downing three full bottles of sake together, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. “I’ll be right back,” you told Toji, tipsily kissing him on the cheek as you hop off the bar stool in the direction of the women’s room.

You couldn’t tell if you were staggering from the copious amounts of alcohol you ingested, but your legs were beginning to feel heavy, and for some ominous reason, you were slowly losing all sensation in your left leg. You try to hold onto one of the izakaya’s shōji panel decor pieces to regain your balance, but it was a futile effort in the end. Your knees suddenly buckle, and a sickening crack tears through your tibia as you fall to the ground.

“Are you alright?!”

Toji picks up on the commotion instantly and he sees the izakaya patrons crowding around the hallway leading to the restroom. He quickly makes his way over and a look of disgust appears on his features when he sees you crumpled on the ground and the mortifying sight of you having relieved yourself on the floor, tears of embarrassment staining your cheeks at the thought of your body suddenly malfunctioning like this.

Muttering out an ignorant apology for his seemingly drunk wife, he roughly picks you up, growing increasingly infuriated with you when one izakaya employee offers him a damp cloth to dry out your urine with. It was funny how quickly other people came to your aid — people whose names you don’t even know — while your own husband seems very reluctant to even touch you right now. He doesn’t speak to you on the way home even as you apologize while he’s loading you into the car, grimacing when the leather seat gets wet. “Toji, I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened—“

“—Save it.”

What he should have said was: “Are you okay?”, “It’s alright.” or better yet, “I still love you.”.

At present, Toji decides on a whim to take you to Yokohama’s famed bayside today. It’s only a two hour drive from your place in Tokyo and Toji figures you must miss going on road trips by now with you cooped up at home all the time. “Toji, are you sure this is a good idea?” you murmured nervously as the car pulls to a stop by the bayside promenade. What happens if you can’t control yourself again? There doesn’t look to be a lot of public restrooms nearby.

Toji plants a reassuring kiss to your nose. “Babe, you remember what the doctor said, spending some time outdoors can do wonders for your health. Besides, didn’t you always love the coast?” He brings your hand to his scarred lips, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin before stepping out of the car to retrieve your wheelchair from the trunk.

“I know but what if I have another accident?” you said worriedly, rolling down the car windows so he could hear you. “What if I embarrass you again?”

“There’s nothing embarrassing about you.”

You’ve lost all control of your lower extremities three months ago, rendering you unable to walk and feel when you need to relieve yourself. Toji struggles with the wheelchair for a bit and a flash of sadness fills your heart when you see him take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He wasn’t angry, he was devastated. He looks wistfully at the boardwalk, a distant gaze trained on the sea. He remembers when you used to walk down this very lane, his hand protectively around your waist as you happily take selfies. He could still hear your fond giggles the last time the two of you went here.

“Why don’t you ever smile when I take pictures of you?”

Toji shoos away a pigeon from stealing a bite of his ice cream sandwich. He feigns an unamused look when you try to take another picture of him on your phone.

“Come on, I’ve been trying to get a shot of you all day! You still have to take pictures of me so I can post it on my Instagram feed!”

Your ever moody husband pinches off a small piece of bread and feeds it to the nosy pigeon. “You and your precious feed,” he bemoans jokingly.

“Please? Just one picture!“ you playfully nudged him. Truthfully, you just wanted to see him smile for once, a genuine one and not one of those lopsided smirks he usually gives you when he’s teasing you. “Please?” you pout knowing he can never say no to that adorable face you make when you really want him to do something or worse, buy something for you.

Sighing, he turns to look at your phone’s camera lens and you blush when a smile slowly illuminates his usually stoic face. Your thumb hovers over the stop recording function, not realizing you’re taking a video, but you can’t seem to press it. “What’s taking so long?” he holds the smile like he’s some cartoon character and you snap out of it.

“Oh shoot, it’s a video!” you laughed, and you begin to run down the boardwalk, eagerly getting away from Toji who demands that you delete it immediately. Of course, you’re no match for his borderline inhuman speed attributed to his athletic physique and he catches you by the waist, playfully swinging you over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes.

Now, your giggles have gone silent.

Toji realizes now he should have indulged you more over the course of your relationship and subsequent marriage. Had he known that you won’t even make it to your third wedding anniversary, he would have allowed you to take as many pictures and videos of him as you’d like, he’d swallow his pride and he’d give you the brightest of smiles so you could happily post him on your social media accounts with a heartwarming caption about him being your “smiley hubby”.

More than that though, he should have taken more photos of you, mostly stolen candid shots, of course. You can’t catch him being all soft on you now. He still has a reputation to live up to after all. But more than that, had he known that your illness was intent on stealing every scrap of you from him, he should have made more effort in preserving all these memories. He should have kept everything from those toll tickets on your late night drives together when the two of you just needed a quick escape from the world, to receipts from your trip to Tokyo Disney Sea on your first wedding anniversary, and even simple convenience store receipts.

Toji should have kept everything down to the smallest of memories knowing one day, that’s all he’ll have to remember you by.

He opens the passenger seat’s door and he effortlessly gathers you into his arms, being extra careful with your fragile form as he sits you down on the wheelchair. He opens the backseat and he pulls out two different colored blankets, one sea-foam green and the other, rose pink. “Take your pick,” he smiles at you and you chuckled softly, pointing to the rose pink one. He happily covers your legs with it to keep you warm, stroking your cheek when you whisper a bashful ‘thank you’.

Suddenly, the wind picks up and your hair-clip that’s holding your locks in a low bun comes loose, and your head turns in the direction of where it flew off to. Toji is quick to take out his phone and he snaps a quick burst shot of you, your hair blowing in the wind, under the coastal spring weather. You turn to look at him and your face falls when you see him burying his phone in his pocket. Since you fell ill, you’ve become insecure of your appearance, banning your husband from taking pictures and videos of you altogether. “Toji, I thought I said no pictures.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The next day, you serendipitously find your photo on your Instagram handle with the caption: “Y/N — Yokohama, Spring, 2024” and when you swipe left, another picture, well to be more accurate, a screenshot of the video clip you accidentally took of him captioned: “Toji — Yokohama, Summer, 2022”.

“You don’t have to stick around for me. Please just go, I’m sure Yuko must be looking for you right now.”

Yuko, his new fiancé, had been blowing up his phone the entire day with texts demanding to know where he is and if he’s going to make it to their date that night. It’s 7 PM now, and Toji still hasn’t shown up to confirm their restaurant reservations. The damn witch will surely cuss him out when they see each other again, but for some reason, even if he tries, he simply cannot bring himself to give a flying fuck. Your immunologist and oncologist stepped out for a bit to allow you two a brief moment of privacy which had now stretched to an expanse of five hours since your results came in.

The air in the room is thick and heavy, not a single sound can be heard. Inside however, underneath this tough exterior he was projecting, Toji is throwing a fit, screaming at the sky like those broken men in those shitty Netflix romance tragedies he used to callously make fun of.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner? You knew, didn’t you?”

Toji’s bites his cheek trying to keep a lid on his emotions. He knows the answer. He just wants to hear you say it out loud. You hated him. You wanted nothing to do with him after he cheated on you with some girl he met at a bar in uptown Shibuya. That’s why you didn’t tell him, he didn’t deserve to know. “Shit,” he whispers harshly, crumpling the medical abstract in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Was it because you hated me? Is that it? You didn’t think I’d worry about you?”

You screwed your eyes shut, shaking your head. You didn’t hate him, not even when you have every reason to. He abandoned you, left you to waste away and to die and yet, even now, you can’t bring yourself to resent him for the simple reason that he is the literal love of your life, the reason behind your smiles, your happy mornings and passionate midnight hours. “At first, I thought I was fine, maybe just fatigued or something.”

“Don’t lie. You knew something was going on and that something in your body was seriously fucked up.”

“And we weren’t married anymore so, I didn’t think it was right to tell you…I wanted to though, but I didn’t want to intrude on you and Yuko,” you said meekly. Even in your greatest hour of need, you were still thinking of him, putting him first even when he doesn’t deserve it. “I-I…I don’t hate you enough to worry you, to make you feel that you could have done something to prevent this. Because I’m telling you right now, regardless if you were faithful or not, I was bound to get sick anyway. You couldn’t have done anything to change that.”

“But I could have been there. I should have noticed. I shouldn’t have downplayed everything.” He says this as if he wants to shake this noble, self-sacrificing bullshit attitude out of your system. “I’m your husband. I should have been there.”

You flash him a heartbroken smile at his little slip-up, so, even now, he was still referring to himself as your husband, not your ex-husband. “To see me waste away? Babe, I don’t want you to see that.”

You begin to feel tears streaming down your face, the emotions you were experiencing now flowing like a free river after an entire dam is destroyed. Toji watches you unravel before his eyes and his bottom lip begins to tremble. What has he done? Dear god, what has he done to his poor, poor wife?

“I want you to remember me healthy, I want you to remember me as myself not this…sickly pitiful woman you’re unlucky to call your ex-wife…besides, after all this, I’ll only be a dream.” A mere passing second in his life. “And believe me, my life wasn’t so bad.”

He loses it at that.

“Just stop this, Y/N! Stop acting like you’re not scared shitless of dying, like you’re not gonna have regrets once all this is over! Stop pretending that things are gonna be alright one day because it won’t! Not when I’m now being forced to accept that you won’t get better, not when I’ve wasted so much time putting you through hell and back instead of taking care of you like a proper husband should, and certainly not when I’m suddenly supposed to learn to say goodbye and to live without you! Because fuck that, Y/N!”

You are left speechless at that.

Toji was never one to lose his cool, even during your worst arguments, he may slide a few snarky remarks here and there but Toji Fushiguro…never yells, and he doesn’t sob either.

You hesitantly stand up and walk over to him, crouching down in front of him as he covers his tear-stained eyes with his right hand while the other is crumpled around your medical abstract. Taking his left hand, you gently remove the medical abstract from his grip, and for the first time in so many months, you feel one another’s warm skin against each other. You press your forehead to his hand as you wept with him.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be a dream. I want you to be real.”

“Can’t you be bothered to clean up in here?!”

You wake up from your nap, you’ve been battling muscle and joint pain the entire day, the slightest of movement causing you to double over in agony and because of that, you weren’t able to clean the apartment today. You slowly get up from the couch, being extra cautious not to make any sudden movements. “Well?” Toji presses, his lips curled into a scowl.

“I’m sorry, I was feeling a little tired,” you sighed heavily, picking up a broom to sweep the living room floor despite the excruciating pain you were in. Toji rolls his eyes, handing you a Manila envelope. “What’s this?” you asked softly, peering inside.

“Divorce papers,” he shrugs nonchalantly. Everything stops, even the very rise and fall of your chest halts into an uneasy stasis. “I already signed them. I just need your signature then, I’ll move out by tomorrow.”

You must be dreaming. That’s the only logical explanation to all this. You’re asleep, in a deep REM sleep, utterly oblivious to the world. This wasn’t happening. But you could feel the rough surface of the brown envelope, and you could still feel the agonizing stabs of white hot pain throughout your body. Glancing at Toji, you see him texting someone with an eager look on his face that screams: “I’m free.”.

Instantly, it dawns on you.

“Will she make you happy?” you asked, putting down the broom to look around for a pen but Toji pulls one he stole from the law firm office out of his pocket.

“She will,” he answers simply.

And you are indeed grateful that he is completely upfront about finding another while the two of you are married. It would have hurt much more, you silently remind yourself, if he had just upped and left without another word leaving you to wonder what went wrong between the two of you. This was Toji’s final act of mercy in your marriage, and he’s not opposed to honesty and truthfulness either. Not once did he try to change his phone’s lock-screen passcode, nor did he try to conceal the identity of the woman who was texting him every night while you slept fitfully next to him. It was almost as if he wanted you to find out, like he wanted you to know so you could back off yourself.

But if there’s one thing Toji loves about you, it’s your unending faithfulness to your promises, to your marriage vows, and your willingness to endure anything he threw at you. You never checked his phone, you never brought up his affair, you never got angry with him. You just kept silent, simply content with giving and giving…and giving while he milked you dry by taking, and taking and taking, tearing you to pieces bit by bit without hearing a single complaint fall from your lips.

You were a devoted wife, through and through.

And it bored the hell out of him, on top of your recent mishaps, he was done. Done with everything, and done with you.

“Okay.”

Come morning, he takes everything he owns with him and promptly proposes to the girl he’s been seeing for the past year. Two weeks later, your divorce is received by the Tokyo Family Court and is summarily approved and finalized. From that moment on, you and Toji went on your separate ways never to look back, you were each other’s yesterdays, and the love that existed between the two of you was nullified in favor of acquaintanceship…or so you thought.

“Y/N, I’m home!” Toji calls into the house as he comes back from your neighborhood’s pharmacy. You look up from the book you were reading, smiling ever so slightly at your husband who seemed to have a wonderful sparkle in his eyes. “Hey, kid,” he kisses the top of your head when he reaches your wheelchair.

“You seem happy,” you remarked positively.

“Well, for one, they replenished their stocks today and I managed to get you your steroids and painkillers so you’ll be able to sleep easy tonight,” Toji smiles, taking out the items from the pharmacy’s paper bag. “And I got you this neat memory foam cushion for your wheelchair.” He fluffs it up as a form of demonstration before placing it behind your back.

When he sees you smile, a sense of relief washes over Toji. You reach towards him, and he pulls you into an embrace. “Thank you,” you said, pure sincerity dripping from your voice. “For everything you do.”

“Anything for you.” He suddenly moves back and reaches into the tote bag you lended him. “Oh, and wait, before I forget, I have another surprise.”

You laughed airily. “Another surprise? Now, you’re just spoiling me!”

He pulls out a piece of paper from the tote bag and he places it in your hands as your eyes quickly scan over the document. Your breath hitches in your throat when you realize what it is. Did Toji really—? You couldn’t believe it. “A marriage pre-registration,” you said in awe. You read it again just in case to make sure that this wasn’t a figment of your sick body’s imagination, that this was real, that Toji genuinely wants to make everything right again. Your fingers skim over your typewritten names. “It has our names…we’re really—“ You can’t even finish your sentence without bursting into happy tears. “Are we—?”

Toji nods, gazing into your eyes, and as emerald and (E/C) clash for what seems to be an eternity lost in one another, he plants a kiss to your temple, coming up to embrace you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“We are. The Tokyo Family Court, as far as I know, will approve our remarriage once we file this. So, you have to get stronger, okay?” He’s begging you at this point, despite your rapidly deteriorating condition. “Strong enough to see me fix everything. Strong enough to be there on our second wedding, strong enough to say our vows again.”

Your hand comes up to stroke his cheek from behind, and he nuzzles into your neck at your tender touch.

“I will. I promise.”

But you never really get to say your vows. Not comprehensibly anyway.

“Babe, can you say that again?”

Toji crouches by your bedside as you look at him apologetically. You were causing him trouble and pain again which is the last thing that you want to give him especially when’s fought and worked so hard to care for you, to keep prolonging this borrowed time you’re on. “To-ji. Toji.” You gaze at him apprehensibly, not really believing you can do it without crumbling.

“Come on, babe, you can do it. Say my name, please…Toji. I’m Toji.”

“Toooji-“ you slurred sadly. At this point, your Multiple Sclerosis has reached its end stage and has taken…everything from you: your ability to walk, your ability to control your muscle spasms and other bodily functions…and now, coupled with an unexpected stroke, your ability to speak. And you and Toji know that time is almost up, with you having come to accept it, while your husband still held onto hope. Your fingers gently graze over his face as best as your spasms and tremors allow you, starting from his forehead to his eyes, his nose, his cheek and finally, his lips, as if you’re memorizing it one last time. “Lo-ove you-“

Toji sniffles, and your fingers instinctively catch his warm tears. “I love you,” he whispers brokenly. “I do. I love you.”

You feel yourself tearing up as you’re forced to watch your beloved cry. And the worst part? You can’t do a thing about it. “D-oon’t c-cry—‘m okaay. Promi-miise…e’everyything ‘ill be okaaay.”

“Y-yeah,” he chuckles, trying to crack a joke even as hope dwindles. “You’ve been nothing but a fucking champ this entire time, you know? I’m so proud of you. So…so…proud that you’re still here.” He strokes your hair as you tread between the realms of the conscious and the unconscious. “Do you wanna go out today? The weather’s shit though. You’ll probably catch your death out there.” At the mention of the word ‘death’, Toji stops, falling into an uncomfortable silence.

You smile weakly at him. “Tiiredd—“

“You’re no fun,” Toji gently flicks your nose and you scrunch it up in displeasure. “Sorry,” he chuckles, holding back an entire waterfall of tears. He knows it’s today. It has to be. You woke up today without your usual ‘happy morning’ greeting, and you refused to drink anything, much less eat anything. “You tired? Any pain?”

You shake your head. You’re as comfortable as you can be for the first time in months. Hospice nurses say humans are built to live the same way they are built to die, no person in this world has ever had the uncanny privilege of being able to look up ‘How to die?’ on a quick Google search and actually find a Wikihow on the morbid subject matter, nor is there anyone else who can teach another how it’s done. It’s just something humans know how to do without a manual, deeply ingrained in the very fabric of human existence is the fear of death, the fear of what comes after, the fear of a nothingness that could follow after living such a vibrant life. Your life was short, barely spanning thirty years, but you lived well: you fell in love, you got hurt, but you fell together again. Now it all has to come to an end, Toji will just have to take care of the rest.

And you weren’t scared.

Or at least you can’t look scared, if you were to be more accurate, you have to look strong and ready to accept the cards you’ve been dealt with for Toji’s sake. When he feels your hand start to slacken, Toji intakes a sharp, shaky breath of sheer panic. “Not yet, Y/N. Please. Not yet.”

He climbs into bed with you, bringing you closer to this desperate man you call yours. There was no getting better anymore, there was no miracle he could hang onto, no deity he could beg for death to spare you, no pill bottle he could pray to. He knew that from the start. But what he witnessed these past months, you’ve been the braver one between the two of you, you knew how to make the most of the rhythm this cruel world gave you and you graciously took him along to dance to the last song of the evening with you.

“There’s still hope. Just keep your eyes open. Just keep them open.” He presses his lips to your forehead, his delusion getting the better of him. “We’ll just keep trying…you can’t leave. You have to stay. You have to.”

“Thaank yoou—“ you softly told your Toji, your voice shrinking in decibels as you become a little drowsy, sinking into the warmth of the requiem of a life well spent.

Toji listens to you, his lips pursed, intent on making this final act of love — a love that is strong enough to say goodbye — a memorable one. And should the afterlife exist, he wishes to send you off with a smile, with the reassurance that he’ll be alright even if that was far from happening.

“Toji.”

“I want you to be real. And I don’t care if we’ll live on borrowed time. Another extra second with you…is enough to last me my entire lifetime.”

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[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | one

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. warnings/tags: au, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, irrational sexual tension, smut, sex in a public place w/ a stranger [and i'm talking depraved/zero time wasted/known you for thirty minutes type strangers], oral [f receiving], protected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, a spot of degradation + misogynistic language, a split second of soft!joel, you get the picture word count: 5.9k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: my friends.... oh boy, oh boy. this series is a complete au, self-indulgent, fantasy land idea that has plagued me for weeks. horny academic brain rot to the highest degree. hope some of you enjoy it with me x

Friday.

You sit with three almost strangers.

Listen to them talk about their summers and their families and their degrees as you twirl a straw around your half-empty glass, disrupting the melting ice as you try to wrap your head around what a master’s in environmental engineering might entail. One of them, the only man at the table, takes great pleasure in explaining it to you all for the second time. You take mental notes and hope he’s not expecting you to remember words like sparging and leachate.

They do ask you about your undergrad, and your internship, nodding and smiling curiously. They don’t ask what type of job you plan on getting after your postgrad, which is a welcome relief. The bombardment of questions from immediate and extended family is enough.

Cousins wondering aloud, saying you study Greek mythology, right?

Or your grandfather, before he died, berating you ad nauseam at family events about what’re you gonna do, kid? Be a historian? There’s no money in being a historian. Now, being a lawyer, that’s where the money is.

And you’d respond no, not quite Greek mythology, and no, I don’t plan on being a historian, as you gorge yourself on red wine and triscuits and wait for Christmas to end.

Thankfully you aren’t expected to rehash these scenarios with your almost strangers, who routinely ask a few well-mannered questions and then go back to talking about themselves.

After a week of living with them, in a new house, and a new city, you’re becoming used to their company. The way the four of you commune lazily in the kitchen most mornings, swathed in the light streaming through a window above the sink, making idle small talk as you wait for coffee to brew. How Pete and Trin study opposite each other at the dining table, while Nora prefers to spread her limbs across the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her stomach. She’s doing her master’s in education, which she describes as an expensive way to get a pay rise. She’s kind, with wild curly hair and dark humour, and is easily your favourite of your new roommates.

It was her idea to go out that night. One last hurrah, she’d called it. Before we enter the final circle of academic hell next week. And between four overworked, already burnt-out, twenty-something students, it hadn’t taken much convincing before you were sharing three bottles of wine and hightailing it to the bar with the highest Yelp rating.

The late August air is dry; a faint warmth that follows you into a quaint bar in downtown Biddeford. The space is small and crowded with patrons, with dim overhead lighting that casts a soft glow across the booth you’re crammed into. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your shirt sticks to your back uncomfortably. The others seem unbothered by the heat, nursing sweaty glasses and discussing how different Maine is from where they all grew up. You involve yourself here and there, offering up stories about your family and friends from back home, and suddenly an hour has passed, and then another, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, body humming as alcohol spreads its way through your veins, and your latest drink is practically empty, spare a few melting ice cubes.

“I need another drink,” you tell Nora, who nods absently before turning her attention back to the others.

You wander toward the bar, fumbling for your phone as you go. Fall in between two leather cushioned stools and rest your elbows atop the sleek wooden counter. Check your bank account and mentally traverse the list of reasons for returning to student-life when you see the number staring back at you. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, your internal monologue runs, although you could admit how sweet a solicitor’s pay check would feel right now.

It’s a low, Southern drawl that pulls you from your reverie.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Deep. With a rough, lilting quality that piques your interest and has your eyes drifting upward from your phone screen.

You notice his body first; a tall frame with thick arms, thick shoulders, thick neck. A navy-blue t-shirt that stretches thin around his biceps, hugging the tan skin there. And then you look higher, and—oh.

Your heart stutters a beat out of time as you take in his face. Loose brown curls that are just long enough to hang across his forehead. Dark, almond-shaped brown eyes. So dark they almost appear black on the first glance. The strong nose and dark hair across his jaw, dappled with streaks of grey. A moustache resting atop a set of dark pink lips. Gone are thoughts of academia, of bank accounts, of your almost strangers. All replaced in an instant by wanton, pulsating desire.

Something like surprise cuts across his face, but it disappears just as quickly. In a far recess of your brain, you register that he must be at least twenty years older than you. You wilfully ignore the thought, perfectly content to continue admiring him.

A dark eyebrow ticks upward then, and you realise you haven’t responded.

“No,” you rush, flashing him a quick smile. “All yours.”

He gives you a pleased nod, a hint of a smirk passing over his lips as he sits down. He looks vaguely uncomfortable perched on the tall chair, all six-foot-something of him cramped onto such a small cushion. You cast a single glance back towards the booth, and then slip onto the stool beside him.

Silence descends between you for a moment. A song by The Eagles plays faintly, but you can’t figure which one - too distracted to make out the lyrics. You take a careful sip of the melted ice at the bottom of your glass, taste the last remnants of tequila in it, and watch him out of the corner of your eye.

“’m Joel,” that accent rings again, sending a volt of warmth through your chest.

You tell him your name, fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. If he notices the tension in your posture, he doesn’t let on. “You a Southern man, Joel?” The name feels warm on your tongue. Soft and silken like honey.

“S’it that obvious?” he grins crookedly, pink lips tearing back to reveal a straight white smile.

“An accent like that is hard to ignore,” you smirk. “It’s not a bad thing.”

‘Thought it would fade a little since I moved here,” he explains. “Y'can take the man outta Texas, but… you know.”

You hum, eyes alight as you watch him speak. His mouth is beautiful, lips parting around prolonged vowels.

“You here alone?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “With friends.”

“Let me guess,” Joel tilts his body, glancing around the bar. His shirt shifts with the movement, hem raising to reveal the slightest hint of a soft, tanned stomach. He points somewhere over your shoulder. You shut your mouth, careful not to gawp. “Them.”

You turn, a soft laugh of surprise bubbling up through your chest when you spy the bachelorette party set up across the bar. Women dressed in gaudy shades of pink. One of them with a sash—reading Jenny’s Big Day—across her chest, a short veil pinned to her head, and an empty champagne glass clutched in her fist. One of them teary-eyed, gripping the bride’s arm and yelling something in her ear, sloshing champagne onto herself all the while.

“You got me,” you turn back to him with a grin. Hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t be caught dead missing Jennifer’s last night as a free woman.”

The corners of his eyes crease, entire face blossoming into a smile now. He has a dimple on his right cheek.

“Knew you were a good girl,” he nods. Says the words in a matter-of-fact tone. Something twists in your stomach, and your palms dampen. You wet your lips quickly and don’t back down from his gaze, allowing the corner of your mouth to kick up a little.

“And you?”

His eyebrows raise in a silent question.

“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.

“Just you, darlin’,” he says, left eye dropping in a quick wink.

It's easy with him, you find, and the two of you sit there for a while; exchanging small talk about Maine, the hot weather, the music at the bar, slipping in flirtatious comments that are about as subtle as a neon sign, until he finally spies the empty glass in your hand.

“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.  

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, hoping it doesn’t come across too eager. He seems pleased though. There’s something provocative to his gaze, a teasing warmth that raises the temperature of your skin wherever he looks. But whatever it is, it’s gone by the time he reaches across the bar for the bound beverage list.

He peers at the menu, squinting ever-so-slightly to see through the dim lighting of the bar. The skin beside his eyes is soft and creased with age, crow’s feet that hint at years of laughter and smiles. You wonder again how old he is. How much older than you.

“Forget your glasses?” you tease, testing the waters.

Joel’s eyes flash up to yours. The muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Watch it,” he says. There’s a playful note in his voice, but it rings deeper somehow—a hint of a warning.   

Your thighs squeeze together on the stool, warm sweaty skin peeling off the tacky leather as you move. His eyes dart to the bare skin of your legs, and then back to the menu.

He orders you both a whiskey, and a moment later the bartender is sliding a crystal tumbler in front of you. A finger of amber liquid with a single grandiose sphere of ice resting in it. Fancy.

“Cheers,” he holds his glass out. You knock yours against it gently before taking a short sip, fighting a grimace as it burns down your throat.

He watches your face closely, tries to gage your reaction. You take another sip, holding strong in your efforts to show him that you can handle it. Whatever he wants to give to you, you can handle.

“So what brings you here?” he asks. You notice how large the glass feels in your palm, and how small it appears in his. Long, thick fingers wrap around the object, dwarfing it. He takes a sip, and you watch him swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you want to graze your teeth across it.

“To the bar or to Maine?”

“Either.”

“Well, I just moved into town last week, from the West Coast. It’s actually my first week back in the US; I was travelling before the big move.”

“Busy girl,” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. You blink. “Travellin’?”

“I was in Greece,” you explain, sip your whiskey and definitely don’t grimace at the harsh taste. “For a month or so.”

“A month in Greece?” His eyebrows raise and he does a low, impressed whistle that has your stare zeroing in on his mouth.

“Ever been?” you ask faintly.

“No,” his reply is swift. “Never had much interest.”

And you’re nodding absentmindedly, but you can’t seem to drag your stare away from his mouth as he speaks. The trance is only broken when he raises his glass for another sip, and you shake yourself out of it, eyes shifting to stare into his brown orbs once more. They’re darker than you remembered, gaze loaded as he looks back at you. The tension was palpable when you first sat together, but now it feels impossible to ignore; an electric tangle of wire between the two of you that just keeps getting shorter and shorter. And you think, fuck it, if you’re about to descend into the final circle of academic hell, why not have a little fun?

“Can I tell you something, Joel?”

You say it softly, make your voice as sultry as possible. He watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes sparkling with intrigue. And then his mouth tilts into a sort of knowing smirk, and he’s nodding.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” you confess.

He hums, smirk broadening.

Sets his glass down on the bar top with a soft clink, and then lowers his hand to the bare skin of your knee. You gasp at the contact, nerves fraught. The callouses on his fingers scrape against your skin in slow, rhythmic circles, goosebumps raising in their wake. His fingers are long, and as he tenses them over you, squeezing your knee once, you see the way deep blue veins flex beneath the skin, hot blood pumping through him. Your stomach turns molten.

“Is that all?” he asks, a taunting lilt to his voice.

Your mouth is dry, eyes wide as you sense the proposition in his words. The hint of something darker—something greedy—in his gaze.

“No,” you say definitively. “That’s not all.”

A sharp tut escapes his mouth, fingertips dragging higher on your leg as he shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

“Don’t look a day over forty,” you hazard a guess, resting your shoe onto the rung of his stool, using the leverage to drag yours closer. Both your legs are between his now, thighs bracketing thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against your outer thighs, and you shiver. His hand pauses, fingertips just shy of the hem of your skirt.

Joel wets his lips. “Guess again, sweetheart.”

A low heat licks at the base of your spine, spreading its way through your veins until you feel like you could combust at any given moment. Fuck it.

“Don’t care,” you mutter, and drape your hand over his. You trace your nails over his skin, feel how the bones shift underneath it, how warm he is. He still doesn’t move, face pensive as he regards you. You arch an eyebrow. “You approached me, you know.”

His lips purse tightly. Another squeeze to your thigh, fingers moving again. “I know.”

Driven by boldness, by arcane desire, by animalistic instinct, you lean forward on your barstool and rest your hands atop the thick expanse of his thighs. Hear his breath kick as your nose traces the side of his square jaw, lips settling at the shell of his ear. Right at the soft, sloping crest of his neck. And you whisper those same words again, quiet enough that no one in the world can hear it but him, can I tell you something? 

Your movement drove his hand higher on your thigh, the heavy weight of it now settled beneath your skirt, fingertips skimming the indent where your leg meets your hip, toying at the soft fabric of your underwear there. Painfully close to where you want him.

“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.

Ever so slowly, your tongue slides out of your mouth to trail against his earlobe. Joel’s thighs tense beneath your palms, and you roll the balls of your thumbs against the muscles there.

“I want to kiss you,” you murmur. “So I’m going to. And then I want you to fuck me, just like I know you want to.” Your teeth graze his lobe, and you bite it once, gently, before rearing your face back to peer at him. “Hmm?”

The muscle in his jaw jumps, shifting beneath the skin, and instead of responding verbally he cups your face with a rough hand. Cool drops of condensation from the glass have stuck to his fingers, and the liquid smears across your skin as he cradles your jaw and draws your mouth to his.

Soft lips envelop yours, the coarse hairs of his moustache tickling your face as he steals the breath from your lungs. And when you lick into his mouth you can taste peppermint on his teeth, and then that oh so familiar whiskey tang across his tongue. You don’t mind the taste so much when it’s on his lips.

You nuzzle closer, dig your fingertips firmer into his thighs and grin when a deep groan falls from his mouth into yours. Wet heat pools between your thighs, liquid fire that stokes at your insides, begging for more more more of him. And, as if he can read your mind, Joel is dragging his mouth away, teeth grazing against your swollen bottom lip as he departs.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Now.”

Shock and excitement lace your blood, the proposition of something so dirty, so lewd, making your heart race. With your pulse a dull, thrashing roar in your ears, you allow Joel to help you down from your stool. Your legs feel unsteady now that you’re back on solid ground. Gripping your hand, dwarfing it in his, Joel tugs you away from the bar top and towards an obscured hallway. You amble past the bachelorette party, down the dark hall and then he’s pressing a dark hand against the ambulant bathroom door and dragging you inside, sliding the lock shut behind you.

Joel’s on you in a second, arms bracketing you against the door as his wet mouth slips over yours. His hands are so big, all wide palms and long fingers splaying across the entirety of your back, tucking you against his solid chest. He bunches your shirt in his hand, twisting the material between his fingers as he pushes into your mouth. Tongue hot and wet, gliding against your teeth, your tongue, tasting you, devouring you. there’s nothing polite about it. No more wariness, no more hesitation, no more eyes that could see the two of you at the bar. He’s insatiable, touching you everywhere he possibly can, and even then it doesn’t seem like enough for him.

“Fuck, I want you,” you say against his mouth. He makes a low sound in response, and one of his palms lower to grab a handful of your ass, dragging your hips against his. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining in the confines of his jeans. Your hand presses into the crevice between your bodies to palm him through the material, grinning into the kiss when he groans. His lips trail a slick path across your cheek, past your jaw.

“Gonna let me fuck you here?” his hot breath fans across your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat there.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”

He steps back, dragging you with him, and then he’s turning you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Your hips dig into the sink, and he’s holding you there, forcing you to stare at your reflection as he bites and licks and sucks down your neck with reckless abandon, leaving marks in his wake. There’s a low, steady throbbing at the apex of your thighs, and you can feel how your underwear clings to your skin, damp and ruined. You whimper, tilt your chin up to give him access to more skin. He grinds against your ass in response, and then he’s crouching down on the ground behind you.

Fast hands push your skirt up over your hips and then flare across your ass, massaging the flesh there. You feel a nip of teeth against the sensitive skin there and flinch into the porcelain. He makes quick work of dragging your underwear down to dangle precariously at your knees. And then long fingers are spreading you apart, revealing you to him. You tilt your hips back so he can see more. Moan at the sensation of cool air rushing to meet your dripping core.

You think you can hear him speaking, but can’t be sure over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the low music playing in the bar. And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because you can feel his hot tongue glide through your folds, parting you like the sea. He buries his face in you, nose nudging against your asshole as his tongue swipes at your clit, moaning roughly as he absorbs the taste of you. You’re gasping, hooded eyes staring back at you in the mirror, and this time you can definitely hear him saying you’re so fuckin’ wet. The flat of his tongue smears from your clit to your entrance, and then he’s sinking it inside you. You reach behind your back and card your fingers through his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls between your fingers and holding him against you. Joel doesn’t complain, groaning as you tug on his locks in encouragement, in fucking desperation.

Your thighs tremble where they bracket his head, threatening to squeeze around him at any moment if it weren’t for his vice grip keeping your spread apart. A choked sob of a moan claws its way out of your throat and then he’s standing again, chest against your back as you hear the clink of his belt coming undone, and he’s saying, I know, I know, you need it so bad, don’t you?

Your hand skirts around the firm sink and slips between your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your throbbing clit. The sound of foil crinkling echoes around the room, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh as he rolls the condom down his length. You peek over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, eyes widening as you take in the sheer size of his length. It’s long, with a prominent vein running from base to tip. It pulses, raging beneath the skin, practically daring you to drop down and run your tongue along the length of it. And you would if you thought he’d let you.

“Shit,” you breathe, skin tingling with a fresh wave of nerves and anticipation.

“It’s alright,” his voice is a low rasp, filling your ears like molasses, and his hand is rising to push stray hairs out of your face. “So fuckin’ wet f’me, I know you can take it, honey. You gonna show me how good you take co—”

He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as he spots your fingers shifting between your thighs.

“So impatient,” he smacks your hand away with a grunt. “Silly little slut, can’t wait just a minute for me?”

A broken moan falls from your lips, shameful heat soaring through your chest. You shouldn’t love the way that word sounds falling from his lips, shouldn’t be so turned on by it, but you can feel how the ache in your core intensifies, and so you push your hips back against him.

“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks. His lips brush your earlobe as he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, gliding it through your slick once, twice, before notching himself at your entrance.

“I want it,” you gasp. “Wanted it from the second I saw you, Joel, please, pleas—”

Joel curses under his breath and loops a hand around your front, pushing the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your left breast. He slips his palm underneath the cup of your bra, long fingers pinching at the peaked bud of your nipple. Your skin burns under the attention, and you push your chest further into his hold.

“Shit,” he grunts, beginning to press himself inside. “I wanna fuckin’—wreck you, sweetheart.” 

“Whatever you want,” you’re pleading, arching your back for him. Your fingers tighten around porcelain, bracing yourself. “Give it to me.”

You hear a muted, dark chuckle before Joel says, “Whatever I want, huh?”

And then he’s pressing inside you with a single, harsh thrust. His thighs come flush with yours and you gasp, face twisting at the sharp sting. The weight of him inside you is heavy, and you squirm at the intrusion, shifting on your feet. He allows you a moment—just a moment—to adjust to him, before he’s moving.

Joel finds a pace he likes and sets it. Heavy, unrelenting, expert rolls of his hips that have his tip brushing against the opening of your cervix with every shift forward. The air fills with harsh sounds of skin smacking against skin, and stilted moans and spilling from your lips as your hipbones collide rhythmically with the sink.

“Christ,” he spits, hand leaving your breast to grip your jaw. He forces your face forward, pace never slowing. “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You do as your told, gazing at yourself in the mirror. And you look wrecked. Hair a wild halo around your head, makeup smudged around your eyes and mouth, lips swollen and shiny with spit.

“Bein’ so—fuckin’—good,” he punctuates the words with his thrusts. His thumb digs into your cheek, and you can see him grinning in the mirror, lips peeled back to reveal that fucking perfect smile. “Dirty little thing, lettin’ a stranger fuck you like this.”

You mewl in response, stomach tensing as his cock grazes a particularly sensitive spot within you. Joel notices and seizes your waist, one hand holding you in place and the other falling to rub your clit while he pistons into you from behind.

“Shit,” you cry, eyes pinching shut as the intense medley of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm you. Your orgasm claws its way up your chest.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he’s panting. “Can you feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart. Go on, give it t’me, show me how wet that pretty pussy gets when you come.”

“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”

Your lungs feel empty, chest on fire as you rake in rapid breaths. Your entire body is constricting, muscles in your stomach drawn tight as you press firmer against the sink, thighs shaking with every impact of his hips against the plush of your ass. The pressure makes your head spin. And then something in the base of your spine snaps, and you’re falling apart in his grasp. Joel curses behind you, but the sound is faint, almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. Your vision goes white, body shifting forward as he fucks you through the high.

And even as you begin to come down, muscles going lax and body slumping against the sink, Joel is relentless. He uses you; gripping your hips to keep them tilted at the perfect angle, and just fucking wrecks you, exactly like he said he wanted to. A stream of profanities fill the air as his movements become disjointed, and you know he’s close. Can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, desperate for release. You tilt your face to the side and stare at him over your shoulder. Those dark eyes meet yours and his face crumbles, hand reaching to grip your shoulder and hold you down as he nears the precipice. You rut your ass back against him and he almost shouts.

“Fuck,” he growls. “That’s it, that’s it..”

And then he’s coming, cock jerking inside you in sporadic movements, and you’re wishing he hadn’t worn a condom so you could feel the heat of him spread inside your cunt. It’s intense, the yearning you feel to have him dripping out of you once he’s gone. But you settle for watching his face through bleary eyes, admiring the way his lips part and chin tilts towards the ceiling, eyes pinching closed as his body convulses against you. 

For an all too brief moment, Joel doesn’t move. He slumps against your back, forehead resting in the gap between your shoulder blades, and just breathes. Haggard, drawn out exhales that send whisps of your hair flying forward into your face but you don’t care, too blissed out and relaxed underneath his weight to say anything. And then he’s straightening, and you gasp in unison as he grips your waist and slips out of you. There’s a determined ache between your thighs, pussy clenching around his absence, missing the weight of him already.

You sag onto the cold surface. Your mind is a blur, senses dulled from the intensity of your orgasm. The music in the bar has increased, and you imagine that your roommates must be wondering where you are, but can’t bring yourself to care all that much. You can hear him throw the condom into the trash, then there’s a low rustling as he drags his boxers and jeans back up his legs. Body trembling, you close your eyes and wait. Wait to hear the door open and close as he steps out, and leaves you in the bathroom alone, as you know he inevitably will.

But instead, you feel those hands, almost familiar now, grazing your back. They drag your panties back up and smooth your rumpled skirt down over your ass.

“Hey,” a soothing voice murmurs. “You good?”

You peer at him over your shoulder, uncontained surprise no doubt evident in your face. Joel’s expression is soft; cautious. He grips your shoulder and pulls you up, straightening your body. Drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping away the lipstick smudged there. His touches are so gentle, so tender, in comparison to a few moments ago. It almost gives you whiplash, and yet you find yourself melting under his gaze, because fuck, he’s handsome. 

“I’m good,” you breathe, and he bares his teeth in a smile, cupping your jaw.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says. His head shakes once, slowly, eyes darting across your features, as if trying to memorise them. “I’m gonna remember this.”

You heart is in your throat all over again.

Your fingers fumble to adjust your top, smoothing it out as you smile, humming, “Yeah… yeah, I think I will too.”

A heady silence swells between you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip again, eyes watching the way your swollen mouth yields to his touch. The tip of your tongue slides out and glides over the tip of his digit, just for a second.

“Probably got your friends all worried,” Joel says then, hand dropping to his side. “Must be wonderin’ where you got to.”

You swallow down the disappointment you feel. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, not unlike the whiskey had. I don’t care, you want to say. Take me home with you. But you nod and agree. Glance in the mirror and rake numb fingers through bird’s nest hair, trying to tame your wild appearance. You swear you feel his hand graze the hem of your skirt one last time, playing with the soft material while he stares at you in the mirror.

The bubble pops as he unlocks the door, outside sounds rushing in through the gap, infiltrating the space that once smelt like sex and lust and now just feels like any other room. Joel doesn’t kiss you again. Doesn’t touch you. He steps into the hall, and you follow him out. And when he trails toward one side of the bar, with a final lingering glance at you over his shoulder, you begrudgingly head in the opposite direction to the booth, where your almost strangers await you with curious eyes and pinched brows.

Tuesday.

You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.

A dull ache blossoms behind your left eye, a persistent reminder of how little sleep you had the night before. Your fingers wrap tightly around a tall styrofoam cup, and you take slow mouthfuls of the black coffee inside, attempting to savour the liquid gold, and letting the caffeine act as a saving grace for as long as possible.

You were normally so much better than this, too. Years had passed since your undergrad, and in the past you’d prided yourself on being punctual and prepared. But apparently one of the professors for this semester had it out for you, because when the required weekly prep work for your 9 o’clock Tuesday morning lecture was released the day prior, you were stunned to find that it included an entire fucking book.

After spending a dutiful two hours going over the weekly notes and required journal articles, you’d found yourself glaring at three sentences, written casually at the bottom of the professor’s notes.

Also, read Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’. It will do you well to have these ideas and themes fresh as you undertake the first weeks of this class. See you tomorrow.

Cue you staying up until two am reading fucking Theogony, and walking to your first lecture with a near-permanent yawn sprawled across your face.  

As you approach history commons, a guy wearing a bottle green shirt that reads UNIVERSITY OF NEW ENGLAND in garish gold lettering shakes a pamphlet in your direction. It has a picture of a girl in a tiny athletic uniform on the front, preparing to spike a volleyball. You avoid eye contact and sidestep him quickly, continuing into the building.

The theatre room is easy enough to find.

Thirty odd chairs line the space on an incline, all facing toward a desk at the front of the room. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying the beginning of a slide show on a white wall. The slide is a muted beige colour, with stark black lettering that spells out: The Language and Literature of the Odyssey and the Aeneid.

Your professor stands with his back to the room, shuffling through a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf pages splayed across the desk. Standard.

You traipse your way up the stairs, buoyed along by the steady stream of other students shuffling into the room, and take a seat a few rows from the front. Not too far back that you seem disinterested, and not so close that your professor will notice you falling asleep on the first day.

You open your notes on your laptop and then slump back into your chair, slurping down the final morsels of coffee in your cup before discarding it to the floor by your feet. And then the room quietens as a final group of students file in, heavy door swinging closed behind them, and you allow your eyes to rest upon the man at the foot of the space.

He’s tall. It’s impossible not to notice that first. Tall and broad. A thin white dress shirt stretches across the arch of his back, fighting to pull free from where it’s tucked neatly into the waist of his brown pants. From where you’re seated, you can see a dark head of hair shaking side to side every few moments, the man muttering inaudibly as he peers down at his notes.

You glance down at your laptop again. Watch your cursor blink against the white screen. And then you hear it.

“Alright folks,” an all too familiar voice drawls. “Let’s get down to it.”

You stiffen in your chair. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, palms going damp as a memory flits through your brain. One of your own voice.

An accent like that is hard to ignore.

You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, every word overpowered by the sudden roar of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Slowly—so fucking slowly—you peel your eyes away from your laptop and glance upward.

And there he is, in all his glory. Pearly white smile. Strong jaw. Dark eyes.

Joel… your professor.

Fuck.  

thank you for reading!! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #ALP

[cuubism]

work is driving me fucking insane this week, so here's this silly self-indulgent thing i wrote to distract myself.

the spirit of this post is here as well XD

coffee shop au, meet cute, literally falling for your crush

--

In retrospect, forgetting to eat for three meals in a row wasn't Dream's best move. Not that he'd done it on purpose. Hence the forgetting. But taking time to cook always felt so wasteful when he was finally making progress on his novel. He could eat later, whenever the hyperfocus burned itself out.

The only thing that eventually got him out of the house was caffeine. He'd run out of both coffee and tea in the dysfunction of this week, and thus was forced to venture out to the cafe a few blocks away from his flat in search of enough energy to keep him awake for a few more hours.

Technically, there was a place that was closer. There was also a grocery store, where he could have bought coffee grounds. But Dream took the excuse to go a bit further, and not for the quality of the coffee.

He and Johanna, on the occasion she could convince Dream to leave the house and attempt to be part of society, had first started coming to this particular coffee shop because Johanna's girlfriend Rachel worked there. But Dream had to admit that what really kept him coming back, including at times when he wasn't being dragged along by Johanna, was another employee entirely.

Hob.

Hob was, in Rachel's words, "a perfectly nice guy but I don't know why you're so obsessed with him." In Johanna's words, Hob was, "quite fit, I can't lie, but I really thought you'd have gone for someone who's a bit more of an arts gremlin like you."

In Dream's words, Hob was perfect. He always had a smile for Dream, and a kind word or compliment, and he had kind eyes, and nice hands, and was terribly handsome. Dream had never been particularly attracted to masculinity before but Hob was proving him wrong over and over. He looked like he was strong enough to pick Dream up, and that did all sorts of exciting things to Dream's insides. Dream may or may not have had an actual dream about Hob holding his hand.

Hob also made terrible coffee. But Dream didn't care. He took whatever coffee Hob made him, whether the grounds were burnt, or it had way too much cream, or was vastly overbrewed, and drank it quite happily, sneaking looks at Hob all the while. Because Hob's coffee might be awful, but he always smiled at Dream as he gave it to him, and sometimes their hands brushed and it sent a thrilling little shock up Dream's arms. And anything Hob made for him felt made with love, he could tell, it was like a homemade birthday cake with uneven frosting and an undercooked part in the middle.

It was possible Dream should care more about the quality of the coffee and less about the symbolism of it.

In any case, he went to the coffee shop, underfed and undercaffeinated, hoping that Hob would be there, even if it meant he would have to down another cup of extremely bad coffee. Hob should be there, he did usually work Tuesday afternoons, not that Dream had memorized his schedule like a stalker or anything.

He stepped inside, the little bell over the door jingling, and found that he was right, Hob was there. A thrill of delight ran through him. Dream did not often feel anything as carefree or joyous as delight, but he was very sleep-deprived, and Hob was there, so there it was. Rachel was also working, and waved to him as he stepped up to the counter. As she and Johanna were both very aware of his embarrassing crush on Hob--much to Dream's chagrin--she didn't come over to take his order, instead leaving him to Hob.

"Hey, it's Dream, right?" said Hob, wiping off his hands on a towel and leaning on the counter, looking at Dream with a smile. He knows my name, Dream thought with a heady rush, then remembered that Hob was obligated to write it on his coffee cup, and that Dream came here often, and it didn't have to mean anything. "Dark roast with almond milk and caramel?"

How Hob could be so diligent about remembering his order and so terrible at making it, Dream didn't know. "That's correct," he said.

Behind Hob, Rachel mouthed keep going, which Dream took to mean that if he wanted to get anywhere he had to attempt to engage Hob in slightly more conversation than his usual coffee-ordering script. This was unfortunately true, particularly since Hob had already nullified half the sentences Dream would usually say by predicting his order.

"You remembered my order," he said, which felt like a reasonably normal response, definitely better than do you want to see if you can pick me up? which would probably be creepy. Rachel gave him a thumbs up.

"Of course. You're quite memorable," said Hob, and winked at him. Was he flirting? Dream would like to think so, but he wasn't usually very good at picking up on that sort of thing. Why would Hob be interested in him anyway? Perhaps he meant that Dream was memorable in a bad way, that he was annoying or weird, or--

Dream still hadn't responded.

"I am not trying to be," he said, and behind Hob, Rachel sighed. It was true, though. In most areas of life Dream preferred to go unnoticed. It was only Hob's attention that made him feel all bubbly inside.

"Task failed successfully," said Hob, "because I can't stop noticing you."

Was Dream... still succeeding at the conversation? That was truly unexpected, that he hadn't already turned Hob off by being utterly unsuitable for human society.

"Is that a good thing?" Dream asked.

"Is it?" asked Hob.

Undoubtedly it was. Dream liked the thought of Hob noticing him. He liked the thought of Hob remembering his name, and his coffee order, and when he came into the cafe, with as much detail as Dream had memorized his schedule. He did not normally like having people's eyes on him but he liked the thought of Hob looking. Of Hob caring about what he saw. It made him feel interesting and worthy, and sort of giddy and lightheaded--

Oh. No. That wasn't Hob's attention. That was the fact that the last meal he'd eaten had been a sleeve of biscuits for breakfast two days ago, and that he'd been on his feet for a long time, or what constituted a long time when one had only had a sleeve of biscuits two days ago to eat. And he hadn't slept, and he'd had quite an exciting few minutes just now, and apparently this all meant that his body had decided it needed to check out for a moment, thanks, goodbye.

Inconvenient timing, Dream thought, as everything went sort of spinny and blurry. He was making such progress! He really thought Hob might even like him, and falling on the ground was not going to help his case.

Inevitable now, though. The last thing he saw before he passed out was Hob's face, expression shifting from amusement to concern, and really, there were worse ways to go out.

He woke up not much later, or at least it felt like little time had passed, to find himself lying down on a couch in what seemed to be the cafe's back office, as best as his overtaxed mind could gather. And Hob was crouched beside him, looking at him worriedly, Rachel leaning over his shoulder, face likewise creased in concern.

Dream wondered how he had gotten to the couch. Had Hob carried him there? It was a pleasant thought, though he wished he could have experienced it in person.

"You know," said Hob, "there are easier ways to get out of talking to me than blacking out." The words were light, but he sounded genuinely stressed out about it.

Dream immediately felt bad. "I'm sorry."

Hob chucked him on the cheek, a light touch that felt fond. "Not what I meant. Are you okay?"

Dream carefully pushed himself up to sitting, Hob watching all the while, hands hovering over him but not touching. Dream sat up. His head didn't spin. "I am okay," he said.

"Probably didn't eat anything today, huh?" said Rachel. She didn't look quite as concerned as Hob did, she was used to Dream's habits. Meanwhile, for all Hob knew, Dream had a brain tumor and would imminently die.

"No," Dream admitted. "I was... occupied."

"Will you be okay here for a sec?" Hob asked, brow scrunching as if he truly thought Dream might just collapse again onto the floor without him. "I'll get you some water. Something to eat, too."

It was worth fainting in a public place, Dream thought, just to have Hob look at him with such care.

When Dream nodded, Hob hurried away to do just that.

Only now his crush was going to be one million times worse, and certainly not reciprocated, not after the scene he'd caused.

Beside him, Rachel was laughing, hiding it behind her hand.

"Is my suffering humorous to you?" Dream asked, but there was no heat in it, he was too busy looking after where Hob had disappeared.

"You should have seen it," she said. "He launched himself over the counter to catch you. Oh my god, I wish you could have witnessed it."

"Surely Hob would aid any customer in distress," Dream sniffed. But something turned over in his stomach, a little flutter of hope.

"Yeah but not literally vault the counter. It was terrific. I was worried he'd break a hip."

"I'm not that old," said Hob, coming back around the corner and crouching beside Dream again, water bottle and what looked like a chocolate muffin clasped in his hands.

Rachel was unrepentant. "You're lucky you didn't wind up on the floor, too."

"You caught me," said Dream, staring into Hob's eyes. He had such pretty eyes. Rich brown, like coffee with a dash of cream.

Dream might still be a bit lightheaded.

"Of course," said Hob, and uncapped the water, handing it to him. Dream took slow sips, realizing as he did that he hadn't drank any water all day. "I'm fond of you, you know. Can't let you hit your head on the floor."

Fond. Dream might faint again.

"Should I take you to hospital or something?" Hob asked, still so concerned it was making that floaty feeling bubble up again in Dream's chest.

"I will be fine here," he said.

"He just fell for you, that's all," said Rachel, and Dream glared at her. She just smiled back. "Swooned and everything."

"I did not swoon," Dream protested.

"You kind of did, actually," said Hob. "I've never seen someone just crumple so dramatically."

"Oh, have you seen many people faint, then?"

"No, but--"

"I'm going to man the till," said Rachel, patting Dream on the arm. "I don't think I want to be in the middle of this. Let me know if you want me to take you home, Dream." She winked at him. "Unless you'd rather Hob do it."

Johanna was never this meddlesome, Dream thought bitterly. She just made fun of him and left it at that.

Then he was alone with Hob, which was both an exciting and anxiety-inducing state of affairs. He clutched his water bottle for balance.

"Um. I got you this," said Hob, and handed him the muffin. "Made them this morning."

Dream was really quite hungry, so despite Hob's poor coffee record, he took a bite of the muffin.

And this was how he learned that Hob was utterly lacking in coffee-making skills because all his talent was in baking.

The chocolate was so rich, it tasted more like cake than a muffin. the chocolate chips melted on his tongue, and he had to force himself not to just immediately take another huge bite. He really was so hungry. Perhaps, now that he knew he could get such things here, he would have a reason to visit the cafe other than just Hob -- and a reason to eat breakfast, too.

"Good?" said Hob, and Dream nodded, licking the melted chocolate from his lips, and he didn't fail to notice Hob watching the movement of his tongue. Perhaps Johanna and Rachel were right, and it wasn't hopeless, even if Dream's best attempt at flirting back was collapsing onto the floor.

He did not know what possessed him then. Perhaps it was the chocolate. Perhaps it was the worry still lingering in Hob's warm eyes, or maybe he had just hit his head and forgotten about it. Either way, he leaned forward in his seat, and kissed Hob on the lips.

His lips were so soft. Just as Dream had dreamt they would be. Hob made a sound of surprise against Dream's mouth, and caught him by the arms so he wouldn't fall out of his chair. Which was a definite possibility, though now the lightheadedness was not caused by a calorie deficit but rather because he was kissing Hob.

Hob who was kissing him back, too. Softening against his mouth, licking the remaining chocolate from Dream's lips. Would Hob hug him, too? If he had already caught him? Dream had fantasized so much about being hugged by Hob.

Only one way to find out. He leaned into Hob's arms, and Hob caught him again, wrapping his arms around Dream's back. He was so warm, and strong. He was wonderful.

"It is a good thing," he said into Hob's shoulder.

"What is?"

"You noticing me."

Hob chuckled. The sound rumbled through Dream's chest. "It's not hard to do. I've been eyeing you for a while, you know. I always hoped you'd talk to me more."

"I am not very good at talking more," said Dream.

"I think I've got that now." Hob pulled back to look at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. "Falling over is more your style."

"I only faint on occasion," Dream protested, which only seemed to amuse Hob more.

"Well. If talking is a bit tough, maybe we can go for a walk sometime?" He tucked a strand of Dream's hair behind his ear, and Dream shivered. Hob clocked it, too, and let his hand rest on the back of Dream's head, fingers curled in his hair as his gaze flicked to Dream's lips and back up. "Or. Something else?"

Dream thought something else might make him spontaneously combust. That might have to wait a bit, at least until he could cope with Hob looking at him like that without feeling like he was about to explode in a flurry of butterflies.

"A walk, if you will hold my hand," he said, and Hob smiled, and took his hand, and Dream learned that all dreams really could come true at once.

#this is SO silly #hob is literally the most average guy and dream is salivating with lust and completely ferally obsessed with him #it's mutual tho dream is literally a gremlin and hob is like 😍 wow he's beautiful he's like an angel #and then they lived happily ever after #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing #sex scene between these two would be funny as fuck i think hob would touch dream once and he would come instantly and maybe also faint

[utterlyotterlyx]

When I Danced Under The Stars

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Part Three

Summary - Tamlin's visit leaves your soul in tatters, but there is someone who knows your pain better than anyone.

Warnings - mentions of sexual abuse and neglect, angst, mentions of trauma, fluff

Part One - When I Kissed the Teacher

Part Two - When I Met The Devil

The fear and despair rippled down the path which led to your front door, the pulsating negative energy causing Rhys to roll his shoulders in discomfort.

He imagined your home looking rather spectacular in the daylight, the pale wood and white railings, the small well-kept garden full of blooming tulips, the natural warmth that no doubt usually emitted from the hearth. It was no wonder that Azriel had forgone his own space to spend time in yours.

Rhys had appeared at the end of the cobbled path, wings nowhere to be seen, with tired, worrisome orbs and a heavy heart. It had taken much convincing from Rhys to convince Azriel that he should be the one to talk to you, that if anyone was going to be able to understand your pain it would be him. It felt like eons since he though of Amarantha and what had transpired Under The Mountain, but as he saw you stood there, frozen in fear and overcome with your past traumas, he felt some of his own return to him.

The High Lord had little reason to think of the traumatic events he too endured not that long ago, he had a mate, and a child, and a loving growing family. Amarantha and everything she did was in the past, they had all moved on, he thought he had too but something still lingered deep within his soul, that fear that the past could one day repeat itself. It was a feeling he was doing his best to hide.

Knocking on the door, Rhys sighed when he heard your sniffles, and he pictured you standing on your tiptoes to peer through the peephole at whoever had come to pull you from your turmoil. Then you opened the door, and Rhys wanted nothing more than to bundle you up in his arms and tell you that it was all going to be alright.

Tears stained your red tinged cheeks, your eyes were puffy and swollen, and you were holding yourself, rubbing your arms with your hands whilst standing half behind the door, "Are you here to tell me to leave?"

Rhys could have cried at your broken strangled voice, it was like Lucien had said, Tamlin had the power to strip the light from you, there was no love in your eyes, just pure unfiltered fear. Rhys tilted his head to the side and shook his head, "I'd like you to walk with me," he stepped into your home, and it looked exactly as he had imagined it.

Childish artworks were strewn across the coffee table of your living area, workbooks were marked and stacked to the left of the said artworks, books upon books were stacked on the floor since your bookcases were bursting full of other titles. It was light and airy but oh so comfortable, he could picture you and Azriel cuddled up on the deep rooted love seat talking incoherently about your shared dreams. A faint scent of coffee clung to the air from the not-yet-emptied filter left in the coffee pot in the kitchen, it mixed with the aroma of the burnt firewood from the evening before.

Rhys took a step forward and plucked your cloak from the railing by the stairs, noting the neatly placed belongings on the table there, lined up in a row so that you wouldn't forget anything during the morning rush before school. You stood unmoving by the door, your eyes flickering furiously as he draped the garment over your shoulders and offered you a hand which you stared at for a moment before sliding your hand into his embrace, shuddering in a mixture of fear and and comfort as he placed your hand on the indent of his elbow.

The Sidra bubbled along the rocks, pebbled stone skitted beneath your shared weight. Neither of you said a word, Rhys was content in just having you near, where he knew you were safe, and you were equally as content looking at the night sky full of stars and wonder. A stark difference to the sky of the Spring Court.

"I'm putting you all in danger," you muttered, eyes still fixated to the dancing starlight weaving in the moons embrace, "You should send me away."

Rhys slowed to a stop and turned to face you, examining your features with a look void of any anger, in a way it was unsettling. You were far closer to Feyre than Rhys, it wasn't like you weren't friends, but you'd never spent a moment alone with him, "I'm not sending you anywhere, y/n," he told you softly, with an understanding speckle of kindness in his eye. Your High Lord lowered himself to your level, placing his hands on your upper arms and stroking the clothed skin there, "I'm here because I want you to know that I understand."

Leading you to a small ledge, Rhys perched beside you on the lip of earth, his legs dangling beside your own as the Sidra swam along down the stream, "I know what it's like to be used against your will. I know what it's like to feel tainted and unworthy of anything good. You feel like you don't belong in a way, that everything you went through was deserved and the Mother must see you as evil," he paused and brushed his arm up against your own, to give you some form of caring contact, a break of sunlight in your clouded mind, "I'm sorry that he did that to you, and I'm sorry that you've been living with it all this time. I'm sorry that you felt like you couldn't tell us. I'm sorry, y/n."

Rhys felt the small sobs catch in your throat, you looked up at the sky and blinked hard, furrowing your brow and exhaling softly before looking sideward to him, "Is Feyre angry at me?"

"Cauldron, no," he told you incredulously, shuffling closer to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder, "If anything she's worried about you, we all are. What you went through is something no one should ever have to deal with, let alone someone as gentle and bright as you."

"You know?" It was a whisper and your chest thundered with the possibility that they all knew what Tamlin had done, that Azriel knew what Tamlin had done. Panic sat in your chest, a birthing monster of gruesome darkness that was threatening to swallow you whole, "How?"

"Lucien," your heart fluttered, Lucien was perhaps the only person who looked out for you then, working directly against Tamlin's orders and desires to set your free, wanting nothing in return but your happiness no matter where you wound up. As if sensing the deep rooted bond between you and him, Rhys spoke, "He's here, he only told us what we needed to know. I hope you don't mind," Rhys' fingers drifted over the tips of your unbound hair.

"No, I don't. It saves me from having to explain it," Lucien was in Velaris. You knew of his bond with Elain, but you never thought you'd ever see him again, you never had the chance to thank him before he threw you onto a horses back and sent you soaring into freedom, "He's really here?"

Rhys hummed in agreement and he felt your chest grow lighter, your shoulders seemed more relaxed and your eyes didn't seem as sad anymore, "I just want you to know that I know what you went through, I went through it too, and if you ever need someone to talk to, someone who understands, then I'm here. I'll always be here."

A small smile graced your lips, "How long did it take you to heal?"

"I'm still working on that. Healing from this kind of trauma isn't instant. I still wake up at night sometimes thinking I'm back under that mountain with her arm draped over me," his eyes glazed over and you knew he was lost in a memory, "Then I realise that I'm next to Feyre, that I'm in Velaris and I have a son. That it was all worth something, it was worth it to be here now with everything I ever dreamed of."

Resting your head on his shoulder felt natural in that moment, like two kindred spirits finding their other half of understanding, "I hope I get to feel like that one day."

Rhys rested his head atop your head and sighed, "You will. I know you will. Velaris is your home and you're safe here, y/n. You're surrounded by people who love you. One day you'll have what I have and look back at this moment and think about how incredibly wise I am."

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes at Rhys, groaning softly as he moved to stand before you, hand outstretched and a wide grin on his lips, "Dance with your High Lord under the stars?"

Smiling, you slid your hand into his, "How could I say no to that?"

It was a tender moment, Rhys placed an arm around your back, his palm flat against the centre curve of your spine, and you leaned into him, head on his chest in the most platonic sense possible as he swayed with you, taking a moment to twirl you under his arm and relish in the joyful giggle that spurted from your lips, "Thank you, Rhys."

"There's no need to thank me, y/n. You mean a lot to us, I think Nyx likes you more than me at this point. Like it or not, you're a part of my family. You make Azriel the happiest I've ever seen him, you've been an amazing friend to all of us. The least I can do is make sure you feel supported and understood."

The pair of you continued to sway, "Azriel is happy?"

Rhys chuckled, "I swear I've never seen him smile so bright or blush so deeply than whenever he returns home from being with you," Rhys pulled away from you slightly, still holding your hand in his, "Azriel would wait an eternity in the depths of hell if it meant he would have the chance to hold you in his arms for a singular moment."

The gaze of your High Lord flickered behind you and his eyes softened as he pulled away from you, "Welcome to the family, y/n. We're all bruised and broken in our own way, you'll fit right in."

That familiar warmth swarmed you, cool kisses snaked up your calves, curling around the small cuts inflicted on you from the broken glass that you hadn't had a moment to clean, "Thank you," your words were sincere and full of blinding relief, Rhys simply bowed his head to you and disappeared into the night.

It was like he knew you needed a moment, just a moment to ground yourself and exhale shakily before your turned into his awaiting arms and flung yourself into his embrace.

Azriel wound his fingers around the back of your neck and inhaled your scent, blinking hard and burrowing his nose into the nape of your neck, "I'm so sorry. I should have told you. I'm so sorry, Az."

"Shhh, don't do that," he told you, his lips pressed against the curve of your neck and shoulder, "Don't apologise for what others did to you. Don't ever apologise for what he did."

"I feel so tainted, and dirty," you sniffled, his shadows caressed your cheeks and he secured his arms tightly around your waist, "I don't deserve you. I'm too ruined, Azriel. Now that he knows that I'm here, I'm not safe. We're not safe."

It didn't escape Azriel's notice that you couldn't even say Tamlin's name, it was like if you did say it then you'd perish into ash. Azriel took your face in his hands, his touch so soft and pure compared to the grip Tamlin had on you only hours before, "I will protect you until my dying breath, and even then I will raise from my grave and return to you. Nothing will ever keep me from you. You are my empire, y/n. You are the one I will burn for, you are the one I will douse myself in blood for, you are the one that makes every single bad day worth the chance of one blissful moment. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise, okay?"

"Please don't leave me," your face contorted and tears spilled from those eyes that he could spend the rest of his days gazing into, "You make me feel alive, like there was a reason I survived. It was to find you."

Azriel's heart sang at your words and he could have crumpled to his knees before you if you weren't the one holding him up.

The stars shone overhead, glittering the sky with endless possibility and Azriel couldn't stop himself from closing the gap between you, capturing your lips on his in the most ethereal embrace, so soul shaping that he didn't think such a feeling was possible. Your tears wet his cheeks and your fingers raked through his hair in desperation, in desperation to feel loved and something other than the heartbreak of your trauma. To feel worthy of something good.

Pulling apart, you were both breathless, and Azriel could see the exhaustion in your eyes. It had been a long day for you, from worrying all day about Nyx and your family, to seeing Tamlin again and feeling the tidal wave slaughter over your soul, to feeling like you had to leave. Azriel pressed his lips to your hairline and held you close, "Let's get you to bed."

You gripped onto him as he went to pull away, "Will you stay? Tonight. Would you?"

"I'd do anything for you," his words pierced your heart, you entwined your fingers in his and allowed him close enough to lift you into his arms, unfurling his wings, "And tomorrow, maybe I can take you to see Lucien? Or we could stay in a read?"

Humming drowsily, you responded, "Lucien, please."

The stars were so close as Azriel soared through the skies of Velaris, cradling you into his chest. You felt nothing but serene slumber pull you into its embrace as the stars sang their sweet lullaby, singing their love to you as your eyes fluttered closed and you became shrouded in their safe, loving arms.

You are safe. You are loved. You are strong. You are worthy.

Authors Note

Ahhhhh!!!! I hope this was worth the wait x

Part 4??

Taglist

@fxckmiup @sh4nn @acourtofbatboydreams @lilah-asteria @iloveboba777 @lisanna2000 @brieflyclassymortal @thecraziestcrayon

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #maasverse #imagine #fanfiction #azriel x reader #rhysand #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #acotar azriel #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel fluff #acotar angst #tamlin #lucien vanserra #rhys acotar #rhys x reader #feyre archeron #feyre x rhysand #feyre cursebreaker #azriel fic

[thetriumphantpanda]

Come Away With Me | Joel & Tommy Miller (Friday)

Summary | Your last day alone with Joel should mean you spend it tangled up together, making the most of those last moments you have alone with him. But there are doubts creeping into his mind about what's best and things truly do come to a head.

Word Count | 5.9K

Chapter Warnings | I cannot stress this enough - ANGST. Joel is a little mean in this one but makes up for it I promise. Consumption of food, explicit smut, rough sex, possessive sex, unprotected PiV sex, oral sex (f) receiving, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, breeding kink, the briefest slice of daddy kink.

Authors Note | Well, this was hell of a rollercoaster, wasn't it? Sorry for the sheer spectrum of emotions I'm about to put you through, I can only apologise. I wanted to give a HUGE shoutout to @cupofjoel for letting me brainstorm the ideas for this chapter. Her love for these characters is inspirational and I am so grateful she helped me with these ideas. And thank you to each and every one of you that continues to support this story and who love Joel, Pretty Girl and Tommy as much as I do. If you enjoy this, please consider commenting, reblogging or coming into my ask box to scream with me. And, as always, If you want to support me, you can donate to my Ko-Fi.

A reminder that I no longer use taglists - to keep up with my writing, please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs and turn on notifications to keep up to date.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

The sun is only just starting to rise when Joel wakes the next morning. There’s very little light draining in through the curtains, but he can make your face out perfectly. He thinks if he were to ever go blind, he would have looked at you so much that your face would be permanently burnt onto his brain. He can make out the curve of your cheek, the way your lips are relaxed, and the way you inhale through your nose and blow out the air through your mouth. Not snoring, per se, just another one of your quirks that he loves. Loves just like the rest of you. 

He's suspected for a while now that you felt the same as he did, that your feelings for him moved beyond the love you should have for him as your brother-in-law, that you loved him with just as much passion and ferocity that he loved you with, and that was dangerous. He tries to tell himself that it’ll be okay, that when Tommy turns up tomorrow with Joshua, he’ll slink back to the shadows, become Uncle Joel again, and only have you when he has to have you, when he buries himself inside you under the watchful eye of his brother and tries to give you another baby, but he knows it’s futile. He’s never going to be satisfied again. 

He drags a frustrated hand over his face, pulse pounding behind his eyes. He wants to roll over, drag your warm body into his and never let you go, wants to keep you here forever, but he knows he can’t be that selfish, so instead, he gently pushes himself up from the bed, lower back screaming at him as he does. He’s behaved liked a horny teenager this whole week, pretending that this bubble of you and him is what real life is like, and not only is he going to pay for it with a broken heart, but he’s also paying for it with real aches and pains shooting through his aging body. 

He drags on some clothes, leaves you sleeping soundly in bed, makes a pot of coffee and takes himself outside. He goes to sit down on the bench near the fire pit, but he’s reminded of his confession of a few nights ago. The one where he admitted he fucks another woman but can’t bear to fuck her on her back, because she’s not you. She doesn’t sound like you, but when he’s got her on all fours and he closes his eyes, he can just about convince himself that his cock is dragging in and out of your pussy instead. She’s a nice woman, he doesn’t deny it, and he knows he’s fucking her over by keeping her hanging. He makes a mental note to call her when he gets back and call things off. 

His feet take him to the water’s edge, where he thinks back to yesterday, pressing you against that wood of the jetty, fucking into you, even though he knows you were sore, because you were just that desperate for him, that desperate for another child. He almost walks away to find somewhere else to sit, but then realises this entire fucking place is just full of the memories of him and you, he’s not going to find somewhere that you don’t permeate his thoughts. 

He sits on the gravel of the shore, listening as the wind brings gentle waves of the lake crashing near him. The warmth of the coffee mug is burning into his skin, but he doesn’t move to set it down – the pain reminds him that he’s alive, that he can feel things. He just doesn’t know what to do with it. 

He thinks about Tommy. About how he trusted him with this sacred thing, with holding and touching his wife to give them a family, to give them their dream, and how he took that trust in his hand and fucking crumbled it to dust, falling in love with her and letting her fall in love with him. He thinks it’s kind of poetic really, because ever since they were boys, growing up in Texas with their parents, they’ve shared mostly everything. Bedrooms, cars, the weight of their parent’s dying, looking after Sarah when she was younger and her mom had left, and they’d done it without falling out, without ruining their relationship. Now, the one thing they really shouldn’t have shared is going to change it all. He’s convinced when Tommy see’s the two of them he’s going to know something has changed, he’s going to be angry, he’s going to take you back for himself and that’ll be it, so he has to do it first. Joel cannot lose his brother, cannot lose this part of his family that means so much to him. 

Despite you saying you could fix it, that you had a plan, that he would trust you, he just cannot see it, cannot see a way where someone doesn’t get hurt. He’s the big brother here, the one who should be sensible, so he knows this is it. He’ll give you this baby and that’ll be it, because if he continues to cash in this one night he gets to have with you a year, he’s only going to end up hurting you both, hanging on to this hope that maybe, one day, he’ll have more. He has to be the bigger man, so no matter how much it’s going to hurt, he’s got to give you up. 

When you wake, much like yesterday morning, you’re alone. You reach over to the empty side of the bed, arms under the covers, but unlike yesterday, Joel’s side of the bed is cold, which means he’s been awake for much longer than he had been yesterday. You roll onto your back, listening out for any sign of him, the padding of his feet in the kitchen, the sound of the shower in the bathroom, but it’s silent, save for the rustling of the trees in the wind from outside. 

You lie there, staring up at the ceiling, thinking back to last night. To the way you’d opened your heart to him, finally. God, you loved him something fierce. Loved him in a way that made you hurt. You finally said it out loud, spoke the love you felt to him into existence. Whenever you’ve said it before, you could almost convince yourself that it was the kind of love it should have been, familial and warm, but there was no denying it anymore. This love was like fire, burning inside you, threatening to burn out of control if you didn’t do something about it. 

Joel had placed his heart in your hands, asked you not to break his heart, and by God you were going to try and keep it whole. Cradle it in your hands, nurture it, keep it safe. The plan was tenuous at best and you knew it, but Tommy needed to know. You had to tell him. You would, before this week was out, you were going to fix this. 

You had one more day though, one more day of being wrapped up with Joel, and you’d be damned if you were going to waste it. You drag yourself out of bed, picking out some comfortable clothes – one of Joel’s t-shirts that smells like him, and your sweatpants. You head to the kitchen, there’s still no sign of Joel. You pour yourself a cup of coffee from the pot, tip some creamer into it, when you spot him. 

He's stood at the edge of the water, skimming stones across the lake. His broad frame sticking out against the foliage and the water. Almost like he can sense you’re watching him, he turns around. You smile over the lip of your coffee mug, raising a hand to wave at him, but he doesn’t wave back, just turns back around and continues skimming stones across the water. 

It hurts, the cold shoulder he gives you. After spilling your hearts to one another last night, the way he fucked you like you were the last person on earth and your time was running out, and now this? You suck in a deep breath, damping down the flare of anger that spreads through you. He doesn’t get to do this, you think, not now, not today. You finish your coffee, eyes still trained on the way his back pulls and flexes as he throws his stones. Maybe he just needs time, is what you think, some space, where you aren’t constantly crowding him, constantly in his presence. 

You settle on the couch, TV playing low for background noise as you try and focus on the book you’re reading. You think you lie there for hours, watching the sun move across the sky, but he still doesn’t come to you. 

Your stomach growls and you think if you’re hungry, he must be as well, so you make BLT sandwiches, his favourite, and you take them down to the shore where he’s just sitting, looking out onto the water. You sit down next to him, close enough that he could reach out and touch you, but with enough distance to not crowd his space. You hand the plate to him, and thankfully he takes it, setting it between his feet, picking up one half of the sandwich to start eating.

It's silent except for the sound of you both eating and for the first time ever, it’s a little awkward. Not the usual, comfortable silence where neither of you have anything to say but are content to just be in each other’s company. You both have plenty to say to each other and you both know it as well, but neither of you want to make the first move. 

“You alright?” You ask softly, deciding it’s better to just get this over and done with. 

His response is short, “I’m fine.” 

You sigh, frustration bubbling under your skin, “You certainly don’t seem fine.” 

“I’m just tryin’ to do the right thing.” He won’t look at you, eyes continuing to face to water. 

“The right thing,” You scoff, shaking your head, “What happened to trusting me?” 

He’s quiet for a moment and you’re sure if you listened hard enough you could hear his brain working to come up with his answer, “It just ain’t right,” He speaks quietly, “You ain’t mine to keep.” 

“You’ve changed your tune,” You hiss, “I hate to break it to you Joel, but that isn’t just your decision to make, there’s two of us here.” 

“I’m tryin’ to make it easier, make sure no-one gets hurt.” 

“You’re hurting me right now,” You point out, because he is, this distance is cleaving you in two, “And you’re going to hurt yourself too,” You reach out and touch his arm with your hand, glad that he doesn’t flinch away from you, “The only person who doesn’t get hurt is Tommy if you keep going like this.” 

“You’ll be okay though,” He mumbles, placing his big hand over your own on his arm, “He’s good to you, you’ve got your family, you don’t need me.” 

“Stop it!” You wail, “Don’t say that about yourself,” Lifting yourself to your knees next to him, hand on his shoulder to try and get him to look at you, “I will always need you Joel, do you understand me?” You grab his chin in your hand, tugging him to look at you, his eyes just as glassy as your own, “Why are you doing this?” 

“What’s your master plan, huh?” He asks, suddenly talking louder, more commanding, “You gonna ask him to share you? Let his brother have you whenever he wants? That how you’re gonna fix this?” 

“Don’t fucking patronise me,” You accuse, pushing him with your hands, using the momentum so you can stand, “You promised to trust me Joel, promised me you’d let me fix this, what happened to that?” 

“I just don’t see how we could ever fix this.” 

“You’re unbelievable,” You spit, “For once in your life could you stand to make yourself happy?!” 

“Not if it means hurtin’ Tommy,” He shakes his head, “Should never’a let ourselves get so caught up in this.” 

“Joel, stop it,” You’re crying now, because it sounds like he’s telling you this is it, that he’s through, that it’s been a mistake, that he regrets it, and you can’t bear that, he’s standing up now too, towering over you, “I love you, doesn’t that mean anything?” 

“Of course it does,” He murmurs, “I love you too, but it was never meant to happen like this, we were never meant to love each other this much.” 

“So that’s it, we break our hearts because you’re scared to ask for what you want?” You sniffle, trying to dampen down your tears, keep things together, “Scared to let me fight for us?” 

“There ain’t no way any good is going to come from this.” He motions his hand between the two of you.

It’s like a punch to the gut when the words leave his mouth, because it’s a total lie. Your beautiful son came from this. The happiest years of your life came from this, and you’re pretty sure Joel’s happiest years came from this too. 

“So that’s it then?” 

He doesn’t answer this time, just shakes his head and sighs, moving to turn away from you, so you swivel on your heel, rubbing your hands furiously over your cheeks to wipe away your tears. You make sure to slam the door to the lodge behind you, sure that Joel can hear your anger. You walk straight through the lodge and into the bedroom, throwing yourself down on the bed, face planted in his pillow. 

You wrap your arms around it, taking in a single deep breath of his scent before you scream into the pillow, sobs soon following as you let out your frustration and anger and heartbreak. Why did life have to do this to you? Why did it have to throw you down this path, desperate to have a family with a man who simply couldn’t? In this moment you curse Tommy for suggesting this whole stupid fucking arrangement and for being so kind and understanding and only ever wanting to make you and his brother happy. Curse your own heart for being so easy to fall, eager to love, and you curse Joel Miller for taking that easy and eager heart and being reckless with it. He asked you not to break his heart, yet here he is breaking yours. 

Joel knew almost immediately he’d fucked up. The way your bottom lip had wobbled as you turned to walk away from him, the way you slammed the door, and the way that two hours later, when the wind was too cold and he walked back to the lodge, he could still hear you crying in the bedroom. What a fucking mess he’s caused. Trying his best to not hurt anyone, and here you are, crying into a pillow because of him. 

He’d wanted nothing more than to push that door open, get down on his hands and knees and beg for your forgiveness. Take your hands in his and pray for you to forgive him. He stays in the living room, thumbing through the book you’d been reading, watching some random sports game on the tv, until he couldn’t hear you crying anymore. He’s panicking, can feel that familiar tightness in his chest at the mess he’s made, not quite sure what to do. His brain is telling him to stay where he is, to stick to the plan – it hurts now, but maybe tomorrow when Tommy and Joshua arrive, and Sarah is here, it won’t seem so bad. On the other hand though, his heart is telling him to move, to go to you, scoop you into his arms and make it all better. 

Joel Miller is a weak man where you’re concerned, and he cannot bear the hurt he’s caused, can’t stand that he’s the reason you’ve spent that last day you could have had together in tears, shut in the bedroom because he pushed you away. He stands, brain going into fix-it mode. He toasts some bread, spreads a thick layer of butter on it and covers it in jam, just like he knows you like it. He makes you a cup of tea with a splash of milk. Steeling himself outside the door, he taps his foot to it, mainly to let you know he’s coming in rather than looking for permission to enter. 

The room is faintly lit by the bedside lamp on your side of the room. You’re led on the bed, curled into a tight ball on one side. He’d have thought you were sleeping if he didn’t know you better – if he didn’t know exactly how you slept – the exact cadence of your breathing and the way your body went lax when you finally nodded off. You’re facing away from him when as he walks over, places the steaming mug and the plate of food next to the lamp. He sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching over to grip your wrist, pulling you up like a ragdoll and into his arms. You’re a dead weight as he wraps your arms around his neck, his own resting around your back as he nuzzles his face into the warmth of your neck. 

He can’t look at you right now, knows it’ll break his heart, but he revels in the way that you tighten your arms around him. That’s a good first step, he thinks. He lets his lips press softly to the delicate skin of your neck, not in a way that it usually does when he’s trying to turn you on though. 

“I’m so sorry, pretty girl.” Is all he can really think to say in this moment, but it’s poor, and he knows it. 

He pulls away from you slightly, glancing at your face as he does. He was right, it does break his heart. The skin of your face is blotchy from the tears you’ve cried, eyes red and bloodshot, you look exhausted, and the heaviness in your bones is testament to that. He reaches over and picks up the steaming mug, holding it out to you as a sort of peace offering. You take it in your hands, blowing the steam away lightly before taking a sip, hissing when the hot liquid burns down your throat. 

In any other circumstance, he’d laugh, press a kiss to the tip of your nose and tell you to be patient, but he’s likely going to get slapped if he tries to lighten the mood like that right now, so instead, he takes one of the slices of toast, cut into a triangle and holds it to your mouth. 

You shake your head, “Not hungry.” Your voice is hoarse. 

“Just a bite,” Joel implores, “I made it just how you like it.” 

You don’t look at him, your eyes trained directly on the cup in your hand, but you nod lightly. His hand moves the slice of toast close enough to your mouth that all you need to do is lean forward and take a bite, which you do. He watches as you chew and then swallow and is quietly relieved when you lean forward and take another bite. He doesn’t force the other slice on you, leaves it where it is so you can have it if you want it. Instead, he lets his hand drop to your knee, warm and comforting as you sip at the tea again. 

You set it down on the nightstand, finally accepting it’s too hot right now, and Joel is surprised when you turn and throw your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder, crying once again. 

“Oh pretty girl,” He coos, one hand resting at the nape of your neck to keep you anchored to him, the other around your lower back, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

He’s rocking you back and forth, gently, trying to soothe you as you cry into him, fighting back his own tears as well. He can hear you mumbling something into his shoulder, but he can’t make out what it is. 

He gently pushes you forward, “What was that, baby?” 

You shake your head, sniffle again, as a fresh wave of tears start falling, but you manage to get out what he had missed you saying earlier, before you’re falling back into the comfort of his shoulder, “I love you so much, Joel.” 

His hand is resting on the back of your head as you hold onto him tight, “I know, pretty girl, I love you too,” He dips down, lips pressed to the top of your head, “I’m so sorry,” He speaks again, “Please forgive me.” 

You pull back from him, moving to wipe your tears away, but Joel moves quicker, palms resting on your cheeks as his thumbs brush away the drops from your face. He’s looking at you now, his beautiful, sad eyes, trained on your own, “Do you regret it?” You ask quietly. 

He shakes his head, “Of course not, baby,” He leans forward, kissing your cheek softly, “I could never.” 

You try and shake your head, but his hands are keeping your face still, “Then w-why,” You falter a little, hiccupping over your words, “Why d-did you say n-nothing good could come of t-this?” 

He swallows, because he was wrong. So fucking wrong to say that, to say anything that he said to you earlier. He was frustrated but most of all he was scared, and he hurt you and now he’s not sure he can actually salvage this. 

“I was scared, pretty girl,” Joel admits, “I’m scared of how much I love you and what would happen if I can’t have you anymore, and I thought it would be easier, y’know? Easier if I just tried to pull away, get you back where you belong with Tommy, but I didn’t mean it, I promise I didn’t mean it.” 

“We made a baby,” You sniffle, “He’s something good.” 

“Oh, pretty girl, you’re breakin’ my heart,” Joel sighs, God he wants to make this better somehow, “Everythin’ about this is good, I’m just a mean old man sometimes.” 

Your hands are circling his wrists now, anchoring yourself to him, your eyes looking straight into his own, like you’re searching his very soul for any ounce of regret. He’s hoping you’ll see the truth, that he doesn’t regret this relationship with you, only his words from earlier.

“Will you let me fix this?” You ask, “Will you let me speak to Tommy?” 

“If you think it’ll help, pretty girl, I’ll let you do anythin’.” 

You seem satisfied with his answer, because all of a sudden, you’re surging forward and kissing him. Lips soft and gentle against his as he presses his hands into your face a little harder, just to make sure you’re real, that this is what you want. You open your mouth against his, letting your tongue into his mouth, his working against your own as you let out a throaty moan, swallowing it down into his own mouth as he shifts you both, laying you down onto the sheets on your back. 

“You gonna let me make it up to you, pretty girl?” He murmurs, pulling back just a touch from your mouth, “Gonna let me show you how sorry I am?” 

You nod, but he doesn’t move, he’s waiting for your permission, “Please,” You whine, lifting your hips into his, feeling him already semi-hard in his pants, “Make me feel good Joel.” 

So he does. He reaches his warm hands under his shirt that you're wearing, pulling it up and over your head. Your chest is bare underneath it, you didn’t bother with a bra today, mainly because you’d imagined you’d be spending most of it naked anyway. He trails his hot mouth down from your neck, kissing the skin between the valley of your tits, before he’s sucking one into his mouth. Your fingers tangle into his curls, keeping his head right there as he flicks your nipple with the tip of his tongue, pulling it into a stiff peak before he lavishes it with the attention of the flat of his tongue. He pulls his mouth from you, switching sides to your other breast – callused thumb working the nipple from before as he gives the same attention to this one, all whilst you’re grinding your hips up into him, friction causing a pool of wetness to gather between your thighs. 

Once he feels like he’s worked you up enough here, he pulls away, wrapping his hands around your wrists to drag your hands to your tits. He settles your hands on them, looking up at you through hooded eyes as he drags his tongue over the skin of your tummy, “Play with them,” He demands, “Use your fingers on those perfect tits whilst I eat your pussy, pretty girl.” 

You do as you’re told, rolling your nipples between your thumb and pointer finger as he drags your sweatpants off your legs. You spread your own legs for him as he settles between you, his mouth licking gently over your folds, before he’s using two fingers to spread the lips of your pussy, baring your aching cunt to his face. 

“Dripping fuckin’ wet for me already, darlin’,” He growls, biting into the soft skin of your thigh, sucking to leave a mark, “Always so fuckin’ eager for my cock, ain’t ya?” 

Fuck, you love it when he’s like this. When his need to fuck you, to mark you, takes over, when he’s possessive with you, when he’s rough with you. When he uses his mouth and teeth to mark you as his own, even if you’re not, not really, not fully. 

You buck your hips into his face, silently begging for him to make you feel good. He splays a wide palm over your tummy, pressing you down into the mattress to keep you still, as his warm tongue slips inside your hole, licking the slick that’s been gathering there for him. You get off on this, the way he laps at you, tasting you, groaning into you like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. He drags that perfect tongue all the way up your pussy, giving one singular flick to your clit with the tip of his tongue before he’s plunging two of his fingers into your cunt. You arch your back off the bed, crying out as he fucks you with his fingers, tip of his tongue teasingly flicking against that bundle of nerves. He’s rough with it, the way his fingers pound into you, but you don’t care. Let it hurt, is what you think, let me carry this delicious pain and ache with me for days so I can remember him like this. 

He's pushing you so fast towards that edge. That knot that is pulled so tight inside you threatening to push you over the edge as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. 

“Oh fuck!” You exclaim, hands squeezing at your tits, “Joel, I’m-” You let out a high-pitched squeal, muscles clenching around his fingers, “Gonna come.” 

He doesn’t bother to respond to you, just carries on exactly as he is until you’re literally screaming his name into the room. You push down onto his fingers and finally feel that tight rope snap inside of you, pleasure bursting at the base of your spine, throttling through the rest of your body like wildfire. You’re half aware of the fact you’re soaking the sheets as you continue to writhe your hips against his mouth. He’s pulling away from you, slipping his fingers from you, chuckling in that way that he does when he’s proud of himself. 

“Fuckin’ love when you squirt for me, pretty girl,” He growls against the skin of your tummy as he trails his mouth back up your body, he’s pushing the two fingers he had inside you past your lips when he’s level with your face, smirking as you clean yourself off him, “Gonna let me fuck you now?” He asks, you moan in response around his fingers, “Gonna fuck you so good, pretty girl, give you all the babies you want.” 

He pulls back enough to drag his shirt over his head, throwing it somewhere behind him, pushing his own sweatpants down his legs, kicking them off to the bottom of the bed, letting his throbbing cock free. He’s settling between your thighs, your own hand reaching down to grip him, guiding him to your aching cunt. He swats your hand away, hands gripping the headboard above you as he pushes into you. 

You let out a gasp as he buries himself inside you to the hilt. He never fails to take your breath away when he’s inside you, slotting into you perfectly, stretching you just right. You’re so full of him, his body crowding over you from above as he starts dragging himself in and out of you. It’s rough, and it’s fast, he’s desperately trying to tell you that he’s sorry, that he’s built just for this, put on this earth to give you everything you wanted whilst making you feel good. 

“I can’t,” Joel chokes out, “I can’t be gentle with you, pretty girl.” 

You know, because he’s splitting you right open down the middle, both hands gripping the headboard as his hips slam into yours. He’s so fucking deep, his cock punching right into the depths of you. Your hands, settled on his sides, grind into his skin, nails digging in so hard you’re sure you’re going to puncture his skin, draw blood. 

“D-don’t care Joel,” You manage to speak, before a particularly loud wail leaves your mouth, “Just… don’t fucking stop.” 

And he doesn’t. Looking up at him, he’s like a man possessed. He’s fucking you so hard, so good, that you’re crying, tears of mixed pleasure and pain rolling down your cheeks as he tries to prove how sorry he really is, how much he regrets what he did, what he’s said. He was a fool to think he could get away with his attitude, and he will stay here, cock buried inside you for as long as he must to prove his remorse to you.

His low, rough grunts are mixing with your needy moans. He drops down, body pressed right to yours. He finds your hands at his sides, brings them up above your head, his fingers tangled in your own as his mouth bites and sucks at the skin of your neck, along your collarbone, leaving marks across your perfect skin, marking you as his own. 

“You my good girl?” He rasps into your ear, breath hot against you as he uses his tongue to literally lick the salty tears from your face, “Cryin’ on my cock like a good girl, huh?” 

“A-always Joel,” You mewl as he shifts your bodies slightly, his cock brushing against that spot inside you, making you cry out, “Always your good girl.” 

“I know you are, pretty girl,” He grunts into your ear, “Mine, aren’t you?” 

And you agree, because fuck it, you are. You are his. You’ve been his since the first time he knelt between your legs and asked Tommy how you liked it. You might be Tommy’s girl first, but you’re just as much Joel’s as you are Tommy’s. They both lay claim to you, both own you in some way, and you’re perfectly okay with that. 

“Fuck, Joel,” You hiss quietly, turning your head so your cheek is pressed against his where he’s settled his face in the crook of his neck, “Please,” You beg, “Please come inside me.” 

“You want me to fill you up, mama?” He asks, hips still bruising against yours, the slap of his skin on yours, the wet squelch of your pussy around him filling the room. 

“Give me my baby, daddy,” You almost whisper to him, hands squeezing his where they’re still entwined above your head, “Let go for me, Joel.” 

He pulls out of you abruptly, manhandling you with a roughness you’re not used to so you’re on your front. His hands pull at your hips, angling your ass up for him as he’s pounding straight back into you. He’s gathered your hands at the small of your back, your face pressed into the mattress. This new angle mean’s he’s driving into you in a completely different way as before, and you have to push your face further into the sheets, so your screams are muffled. Joel doesn’t like that though, his drags his fingers through your hair, fisting it tightly, pulling you up, so your screams of pleasure are echoing around the room. 

“Don’t you dare,” He growls, “Don’t you dare hide these sounds from me, pretty girl.” 

This angle is new. Your hands are gathered in one of his at your back, his other hand tangled in your hair means you’re arched off the bed for him, and you think if you could reach a hand down, you’d be able to feel him in your stomach he’s so fucking deep inside you. 

It happens all of a sudden, he’s so fucking still, but you can feel him pouring himself into you, you can hear him spitting your name and a string of profanities as he lets go of the tight grip he has on your hair. He’s buried so deep inside you, his front draped over your back, the entire weight of him on your body, but he’s trying to push himself deeper into you, trying to get what he’s just planted inside of you to take. He’s just as desperate as you are for this, to see you swell with his baby again. 

Once his brain is working again, he slips from inside of you, collapsing onto the bed on his back, dragging you with him. He pulls you so close, his thighs spread wide so your body fits between them, your front pressed against his as you drape you entire self on him. He grabs your hands, bringing the wrists he was just gripping to his lips, kissing softly at the skin to soothe you. 

“Too much?” He mumbles into the top of your head, his chest heaving against yours as you both try and catch your breath.

“Just enough.” You mumble back into the sweat-soaked skin of his chest. 

It’s silent for a moment, both of you drifting in a haze of pleasure and exhaustion, but he speaks again as he wraps those arms around you, anchoring you right where you are, “I will spend the rest of my life proving how sorry I am to you.” 

“I believe you,” You muse, “I will always believe you.” 

And that’s how you both fall asleep, his arms cradling you to his body. He wishes that he could freeze time, enjoy this for longer than the few seconds he has before you fall asleep. He’s sick of your time always running out, of that ticking clock counting down to the unknown. He has no idea what’s going to happen once this weekend is over. Has no idea what you’re going to say to Tommy, what you’re going to propose to him. He’s never been good at relinquishing control, especially when he can’t for the life of him tell what’s going to happen. But, if there’s one thing he does know, it’s that what he said to you last night is true. That he trusts you with his life, and he will follow you blindly into whatever abyss you’re going to drag him into. 

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[theostrophywife]

kiss with a fist | chapter seven.

masterlist 💋 chapters 💋 playlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: it's nice to have a friend by taylor swift.

author's note: more fluff, more banter. this chapter is just self indulgent cuteness.

Being friends with Theodore Nott was strange. 

Though you still bickered and bantered, the undertone of your interactions were less hostile and more suggestive in nature. Theo had always been a flirt, but you never realized how good he was at it until your usual response of irritation sharpened into something else. It didn’t help that his presence around you had become more constant now that Luna and Pansy made things official. 

“They’re sickeningly adorable,” Theo said as he slid into the bench next to you. “I’m fighting the urge to retch.”

You glanced up to find Pansy and Luna huddled close together, whispering and giggling at one another. “Oh, absolutely vile. No one should be subjected to their shameless canoodling this early in the morning.” 

Theo poked your thermos with a piece of french toast. “Just like you shouldn’t subject yourself to that sorry excuse of a coffee flavor.” 

You took an exaggerated swig and smiled. “The pumpkin spice is here to stay. You’re free to leave if you don’t like it, Theo.” 

His eyes glittered with mischief. “Hmm, maybe I didn’t get a good enough taste last time. I think I’ll try again.” 

“Don’t you dare, Theodore,” you warned, cradling your thermos protectively. 

“Is it Theodore now?” He asked, raising a brow. “And here I thought I’d earned first name privileges out of that pretty mouth. Amongst other things.” 

“Yeah, well, you seem to like abusing the privilege so maybe I should start cutting back on my generosity.” 

“I think you’ll find that I’m equally as generous, if not more.” His smirk grew when he noticed you growing flustered. “I’d be happy to demonstrate, Y/N. In a broom closet. In an empty classroom. In either one of our dorms. Hell, even in the middle of this damned hall if you asked.”

“Tempting,” you said sarcastically as you attempted to hide the tinge of red that had crept up your neck behind a curtain of hair. “Sadly, getting expelled for exhibitionism isn’t really on my to do list.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Suit yourself. Just know that I have no qualms on getting on my knees for you, diavolina.” 

You nearly choked on your coffee while Theo smiled innocently. 

“Oi! Am I losing it or is this bacon burnt to a crisp?” Mattheo exclaimed as he obnoxiously plopped down next to you.

Enzo sat across from him and took a bite out of his toast. “You did ask for it to be extra fried.”

“I asked for it to be fried, not charred.” 

Theo sighed. “What are you two tossers on about now?” 

Malfoy appeared out of nowhere and took the spot beside his cousin. “Riddle’s convinced that the house elves are out to get him.” 

“They are out to get me! Look at this monstrosity.”

“Yes, I’m sure Winky’s actively planning your demise,” responded Blaise with an eye roll. “You’ve officially lost the plot, mate.”

You blinked, utterly bewildered at how and when you’d adopted the four Slytherins into your circle. Across the table, Pansy frowned in disapproval. Her little bubble of bliss had been abruptly popped by the presence of the boys. 

“You lot are scaring our poor Ravenclaw friends.” 

Berkshire gave you a sheepish smile. “Sorry, girls. We’re sort of a package deal. When you date one of us, you date the whole lot.”

“Oh, joy,” you deadpanned. “I’ve always wanted to be in a polyamorous relationship.” 

Mattheo smirked. “We are quite good at sharing. Aren’t we, boys?”

You wrinkled your nose in disgust. “On second thought, I think I’d prefer dying alone.”

“For Salazar’s sake, you’re even meaner than Pansy,” he muttered at his blackened bacon. 

You smiled sweetly. “Aw, is someone a little grumpy because they got served ash for breakfast? Poor little Riddle.” 

Malfoy snorted. “I wouldn’t mess with her, Mattheo. You know she almost pushed Vane off the bleachers the other day.” 

“I did not!” 

Theo chuckled. “Yeah, but you wanted to.” 

You bit back a smile. “Maybe a little.” 

“Everyone is talking about the dressing down you gave her,” Enzo said. “You’re kind of a badass, Y/N.” 

Pansy rolled her eyes. “More badass than you boys will ever be. Now stop pestering the poor girl and let her eat breakfast in peace.”

Despite the rough start, the rest of the meal was actually quite enjoyable. The Slytherins fought and argued like siblings, but you could tell that they all cared deeply for one another. No matter how much they teased and taunted each other, the boys were like rowdy brothers and Pansy, their elder sister and glue of the family. They all seemed to defer to the fearsome witch and you couldn’t blame them. 

Parkinson was terrifying, but in the most amusing way. 

As you wrapped up the morning, Pansy turned and the boys immediately fell silent. “Don’t forget our trip to Hogsmeade at the end of the week. You’re invited too, Y/N.” 

“I have to stu—” 

Pansy held her palm up. “Don’t bother. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Mattheo snickered. “What’s the matter, Y/N? Are you and Notty boy too busy eating each other’s gel—”

“Finish that sentence and I will impale you with my fork.” 

Malfoy smirked. “Please do, Y/N. I’d like front row tickets to the show.” 

“In that case, it’ll be a hundred galleons. A bargain, considering how deep those pockets are, Malfoy.” 

“Violence and extortion?” Blaise asked with a sly smile. “I can see why young Theodore is enamored with you, Y/N.” 

Theo rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Zabini.” 

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “You’re all honestly giving me a migraine. Parkinson, seeing as you’ve given me no choice, count me in for Hogsmeade. Loons, I’ll see you back at our dorm. To the rest of you, please do consider a refresher on manners. Except for you, Berkshire. You’re a sweetheart. No idea why you’re friends with this lot.” 

Enzo blushed to the tips of his ears. The rest of the boys protested, but you were already halfway through the Great Hall to entertain their complaints. 

“Enzo’s a sweetheart, is he?” Theo asked, smoothly matching your stride as you walked across the sunny courtyard. 

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Nott.” 

He gasped, clutching his heart. “First Theodore, now Nott? You wound me, Y/N.” 

The crisp autumn air filled your lungs as you and Theo sauntered through the castle grounds. “Following me now? Zabini was right. You are enamored with me.”

“Oh, absolutely enthralled, darling. You have bewitched me—mind, body, and soul.” 

“You did not just quote Jane Austen to me.” 

“I saw your tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice,” Theo said with a smirk. “I imagine quoting Mr. Darcy is a bit like foreplay to you.” 

“Foreplay implies that you’re going to get lucky, which you’re not.” 

“Is that why you’re leading me into a secluded forest?” 

“I’m not leading you anywhere. You’re choosing to follow me. Stalking is the more accurate descriptor.” 

“Maybe I’m curious as to why you’re going into the Forbidden Forest by yourself. Don’t tell me you’re meeting a handsome Mr. Darcy type out here.” 

“Close. I’m here to meet Henry.” 

Theo paused, furrowing his brows. “Who in the bloody hell is Henry?” 

“You’ll see.” 

The forest thickened and the unmistakable crunch of the freshly fallen leaves echoed in the clearing as you trotted on them with your boots. You stood underneath a towering oak tree whose gnarled roots choked the damp earth underneath your feet. As loud as you could manage, you placed two fingers in your mouth and whistled. 

Beyond the tree line, a soft rustling emerged. You turned and found Henry galloping towards you. The thestral was barely a few weeks old, small and spindly with milky eyes and a sharp snout. He flapped his bat-like wings shyly as you knelt to the earth. You patted between his horns and smiled at the baby thestral. 

“Theo, meet Henry.” 

Theo crouched beside you. “Hello, Henry.” 

The foal peered curiously at Theo. Henry glanced up as you gave him a reassuring nod. 

“You can pet him, if you’d like. He’s fond of ear scratches and belly rubs.”

Theo looked unsure for a moment before gently scratching behind Henry’s ear. The baby thestral cooed and melted into his touch. 

“Here, you can help me feed him too.” 

You pulled out a sack of treats and handed some to Theo. “Henry’s quite young, so he’s not able to hunt for himself yet. Hagrid said that these treats will keep him healthy and fed until he gets his bearings.” 

“I didn’t know that they could be this small. I just always assumed that all thestrals emerged as full adults.” 

“Most of them are. The birth of a thestral is actually quite rare. This one here is the first baby born in over a decade.”

Theo nodded as Henry happily devoured the treats. There was a small smile on his face as the small horse nuzzled its snout into his palm. “I didn’t realize that you could see them too.” 

“Yeah, after the war I’m able to see them as clear as day.” You scratched underneath Henry’s chin. “I suppose most of the school can, too. I think they look at the thestrals and see the loss of innocence. The price of war. The death and carnage. But when I see this little guy, I’m reminded of all the sacrifices that others have made so that I could be here. Henry symbolizes a new beginning. It’s not always pretty, but it’s real.” 

The foal cooed as he basked in attention and affection. You and Theo played with him for a few minutes, giving him scratches after he diligently finished the last of his food. The thestral whinied in thanks before heading beyond the trees again. Henry flapped his wings happily, stirring the autumn leaves below him as he skittered off. 

“Will he be alright?” Theo asked. 

“He’s got his mum. She’ll look after him.” 

Theo smiled a bit. “I suppose she will.” 

The two of you walked back towards the castle in comfortable silence. In the past few weeks, Hogwarts had been suspended between autumn and winter. The air was tinged with chill and frost, but the first snowfall of the season was late in its arrival and you couldn’t wait for the day when snow covered the castle grounds again. 

You had always adored snow. One of your earliest memories was waking up on Christmas morning to find London covered in a glittering blanket of white. You always considered that moment as your first real glimpse of magic. Especially after you and your mum spent the entire day making snow angels in the front yard while your father snapped pictures. 

“What was your mum like, Theo?” you asked, your breath forming a cloud in front of you. 

Theo slipped his hands in his pockets. “Beautiful. Smart. Funny. That’s what I remember most about her. She had a wicked sense of humor. We used to pull all sorts of pranks on each other when I was little.” He grinned as he recalled a memory. “She rigged my very first broom to make farting sounds every time I flew. Malfoy laughed so hard he tumbled into a bush.”

“That must have been fun growing up.”

“It was. Mum was a lot of fun, but she could be strict too. I swear I knew all of the basic spells and wand movements before I even stepped foot in school. She said I had to ace my studies at Hogwarts if I wanted to get into Cambridge.”

You smiled. “What was her favorite subject?” 

“Most would guess potions, but it was actually a close tie with transfiguration. Mum once turned Goyle’s dad’s sock into a snake after he made fun of her haircut in fifth year. Professor McGonagall still brings it up to this day. Says mum was one of her best students.” 

“I bet,” you said with a chuckle. “Now I know where you get all your mischievousness from.” 

“My nonna always said that raising me was like raising her all over again. I swear, the old bat holds herself back from calling me Vittoria half of the time.” 

“Is that your mum’s name? Vittoria?” Theo nodded. “It’s very pretty.” 

“It means victory. My family is very intentional with names.” 

“What does Theodore mean?” 

“Divine gift.” 

“It seems fitting for someone who generally acts like they’re a gift from above.”

Theo rolled his eyes fondly. His expression turned serious as you rounded through the Black Lake. “For years, mum tried and failed to get pregnant. Her health was already precarious to begin with and the healers told her that having children would be difficult. When she discovered that she was pregnant with me, mum called me her little miracle.” 

“That’s so sweet.” 

“I’m not sure how much of a miracle I turned out to be though. After she had me, mum’s health declined. She was bedridden a lot of the time until she passed. My father always said that she might’ve lived longer had I not been born.”

His jaw clenched. You were aware that Theo didn't have the best relationship with his father. The elder Nott had always seemed cold and standoffish the few times you'd glimpsed him on the platform with Theo. By their stiff interactions, it was easy to surmise that they weren't very close. Whatever obligatory ties they might've had was swiftly severed after Theo testified against his father after the war.

Despite the fact that he was locked far away in Azkaban, you hated that Mr. Nott still had the power to hurt his son. Even if it was just cruel words from the past.

"I'm glad you were." You bumped him with your hip. “What a dreary world it would’ve been without you, Theodore Nott.” 

Theo bumped you back, catching you around the waist. “What about you? What are your mum and dad like?” 

“My dad’s a conductor for the philharmonic, but he was a musician years before that. He can play pretty much every instrument. My mum’s a barrister. I used to put on her wig and robes and pretend that I was defending a case like I’d seen her do at court.”

“That explains a lot,” Theo mused thoughtfully. “The angry piano playing. The constant arguing. I feel like I’m truly getting a full picture of you, Y/N.” You stuck your tongue out rather petulantly, which only made Theo chuckle. “What about siblings?” 

You shook your head. “I’m an only child.” 

“So am I,” he said. “Though I never truly felt like it. I have an exorbitant amount of cousins. The Marchesis reproduce like rabbits, but it made for a fun childhood. Plus, there’s Pansy and the boys who are pretty much my family at this point. We’ve all known each other since birth.” 

“That must’ve been nice. All my cousins were significantly older, so I was never really around children my age until I came here. All the other muggle kids thought I was too serious and grown up and I thought they were all childish and quite stupid.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me one bit.” Theo draped his arm over your shoulder, ruffling your hair. “Did you ever get lonely?”

“No. My parents were my best friends, as lame as that sounds.” 

“I don’t think it sounds lame at all.” 

You grinned. “Besides them, Luna was the first friend I ever made. Now, she’s more like a sister to me and I feel rather protective of her.” 

“Pansy told me you interrogated her about her intentions.” 

You shrugged. “Just covering my bases.” 

“You know, Pansy’s mum and my mum were friends back then. She was overprotective of her friends too.”

“Sounds like my kind of witch.”

A faint smile bloomed on Theo’s face. “It’s nice to be able to talk about her.” 

“That’s what friends are for, Theo.” 

He stopped at the edge of the lake. Theo towered over you, nearly covering your small frame from view. He brushed his knuckles against your jaw, studying you thoughtfully. “Is that what we are, amorina? Friends?” 

You tilted your chin up and met his gaze head on. “Yes. Is that a problem?” 

“Not at all. I’ll be whatever you want, Y/N,” Theo said as he traced your bottom lip with his thumb. “As long as I get to do this.” 

Theo closed the gap between you and your breath stalled as his arm snaked around your waist. He pulled you flush against him, his mouth inches away from your own. Theo studied you for a moment, taking in your flushed cheeks and dilated pupils before pressing his lips against yours. A tingling sensation set your body alight as he kissed you with a burning devotion reserved for the most ardent zealot. 

The kiss was a prayer, an alm, a petition to the divine, but the words were in a language that you couldn’t understand. 

His eyes burned like a funeral pyre and you felt the heat of it brush against your very core. Theo brushed his thumb against your cheek, his voice as rough and calloused as his touch. 

“Sono pazzo di te.” 

“I’m afraid that’s beyond my grasp of the Italian language. What did you say, Theo?”

Theo smiled. “I said I’ll race you to Charms!”

Before he even finished the sentence, Theo took off running. You yelled after him, cheeks red and hair streaming behind you as you chased him up the steps. You were out of breath and panting and very aware of how ridiculous you looked, but it was also the hardest you’ve ever laughed in your life. 

The formal invitation to Professor Slughorn’s dinner came on the same day of the Hogsmeade trip. Up until then, you had successfully put the whole thing out of your mind, but the letter in your hand pushed it back to the forefront. By the time the last class rolled around, it was all you could think about. 

Luna could tell that you were distracted as you walked through the castle halls. “Are you still thinking about the dinner?” she asked. 

You sighed. “Honestly, I’ve put it out of my mind for this long, but I know I can’t keep avoiding it.”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“A year ago, it wouldn’t have even been a choice. I would’ve jumped at the chance to attend, but now…”

“Things have changed,” Luna said. 

“It isn’t fair, Loons. After the war, I thought things would get better, but there’s still so much shit to dredge through.” 

“There’s always going to be shit to dredge through, Y/N. The good news is that you have people to tackle it with.”

“I think the people make it harder.” 

“Because you care,” she said with a smile. “You don’t have to lead with your head all the time, you know. Sometimes it’s okay to let your heart call the shots.” 

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I feel like I’m in one of these cheesy muggle soap operas. What choice will Y/N make today?”

“Whatever you choose, I will support you. I already spoke with Harry and told him to keep an eye on you should you choose to go.” 

“Did Theo put you up to this?” 

She shook her head. “We’ve had…conversations about it. I’m perfectly aware that Theo has strong opinions on the matter, but Pans and I would be glad to give him a stern talking to on your behalf.” 

“I appreciate it, Loons. You know, I wasn’t sure about Parkinson at first, but I think she’s quite good for you. Terrifying, but good.” 

You truly meant it. Over the past few weeks, you had gotten to know Pansy and the rest of the Slytherin gang quite well. Mostly because they seemed to follow Parkinson around like lost puppies, which was amusing in and of itself. Regardless, you had grown fond of the little terrors. 

“My girlfriend in a nutshell.” Luna’s serene smile turned serious as she touched your arm. “I know I’ve been busy with Pans lately, but I want you to know that I’m always here for you, Y/N. You know you can talk to me about anything.” 

You smiled and squeezed her hand. “I know, Loons. You’re a great friend. Even though you adopted five bumbling idiots without my consent.” 

She chuckled. “Oh, I only brought four into the fold. One of them was already yours to begin with.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Speaking of which, what is the situation between you and Theodore? Pans will not stop pestering me about it.” 

“We’re…friends.” 

“Friends who sneak into each other’s dorms at all hours of the night, take strolls together in the Forbidden Forest, and stargaze at the Astronomy Tower. That kind of friend?” 

You flushed. “It’s complicated.” 

“I’m not judging,” Luna declared. “I happen to think that you two are adorable together.” 

“Who’s adorable together?” asked the obnoxious voice of none other than Mattheo Riddle. 

The boys were huddled by the castle entrance, dressed in comfortable layers. The last week of October had brought chill and frost, but snow had yet to make an appearance. 

“You and the sound of silence,” you retorted with a smile. 

Theo, Blaise, and Draco tried and failed to suppress their laughter. Enzo bit back a smile, which fooled absolutely no one. Pansy just sighed exasperatedly. 

“Do you see?” Mattheo cried. “She’s always so mean to me.” 

Theo draped an arm over your shoulder. He was dressed in a green and silver striped sweater with a pair of casual jeans and slightly scuffed trainers. The ensemble resembled something that the boys back home might’ve worn, but for some reason it looked a thousand times better on Theo. 

“Don’t worry, mate. She’s mean to everyone.” 

“Not to me,” Enzo said proudly. 

You grinned. Out of all the boys, you admittedly had a soft spot for Berkshire. He always had a stash of treats from Honeydukes to share during your study sessions and was just genuinely nice to everyone no matter what house they were in. 

“Obviously Enzo’s my favorite.” 

“That’s not fair,” Draco complained. “He bribes you with fudge.” 

“Better step it up then, Malfoy.” 

“Honestly, I’m offended,” Blaise said rather dramatically. “I shared my expensive face creams with you, Y/N. Doesn’t that mean anything?” 

“And it was a very special night, Zabini. But you can’t beat chocolate.” 

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Let’s go before you lot derail this whole trip with your madness.” 

“Coming, mum,” you said brightly. 

Parkinson glared at you, but it was short-lived given Luna’s giggle. The blonde took Pansy by the hand and your comment was all but forgotten. 

As always, the charming village of Hogsmeade was littered with your fellow students. High Street was decorated for All Hallow’s Eve, complete with enchanted pumpkins, floating cauldrons, and charmed skeletons that popped up to frighten the witches and wizards strolling through the busy shops. 

The group entered Gladrags first. The boys, with the exception of Draco and Blaise, immediately occupied the benches towards the front of the clothing store. You took advantage of the peace and quiet and perused the rows and rows of rich robes, quirky hats, and crazy patterned socks. Though you preferred the simplicity of muggle clothing, you had to admit that the wizarding world offered some interesting choices in attire. 

After half an hour, your group walked out with nearly half the store. The Slytherins took the phrase ‘shop until you drop’ into a whole other level. The purchases that Pansy, Blaise, and Draco were so heavy that it had to be carted off back to the castle. 

You visited Dervish and Banges in which the boys spent an exorbitant amount of galleons on quidditch equipment. The group then made its way to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes where Mattheo almost lost a finger faffing around with a nose-biting teacup. Draco and Blaise stayed behind to wait for Mattheo and Enzo to ensure that they made it to dinner with all of their appendages intact, while Pansy and Luna popped into Madam Puddifoot’s for some chamomile tea, leaving you and Theo to explore Scrivenshaft’s on your own. 

“You didn’t have to come with,” you said as you examined the new stock of stationary. “I’m sure watching the Weasley twins hustle Riddle out of his money is much more entertaining than looking at boring old quills.” 

“It’s alright, I don’t mind. Besides, Mattheo’s a big boy. He can handle himself.” 

You snorted as you picked up a quick writing quill. “Oh, I don’t know. Riddle might need his knight in shining armor to rescue him from those villainous redheads.” 

Theo smirked. “You think I’m a knight in shining armor?” 

“Hmmm…” you cocked your head and examined him. “You’re more like the sarcastic sidekick, I think.”

“I’ll remember that, Y/N.” 

“Add it to the list,” you said with a sly smile. “I’m sure you’ve got a running tally on the countless times I’ve bruised your fragile ego.” 

Theo clutched his heart. “Mattheo’s right. You are mean.” 

“Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it.” 

His lips curved up into a dangerous smirk. Theo leaned over you, bracing one arm against the shelf behind you to cage you in. “Oh, I do, but I enjoy fucking the attitude right out of you even more.” You swallowed thickly, backing into the bookshelf. Theo’s eyes flickered with amusement. “Not so feisty now, are we?” 

You rolled your eyes and smacked him against his chest. “You’re an absolute pest, do you know that?” 

“Add it to the list,” he responded cheekily. 

The flirting and banter followed you all the way out of the stationary shop. You and Theo argued for ten minutes after he took the shopping bag out of your hands and carried it for you. 

“I’m perfectly capable of toting my own things around, thank you very much.” 

He shrugged. “A gentleman never lets a lady carry her own bags.” 

“I wasn’t aware you were a gentleman.” 

“Only when I want to be,” Theo said. “You should take advantage of it. You never know when it’ll happen again.” 

You rolled your eyes, tugging at the bag in his hands. “Give me back my bag, Theodore.” 

“Drop it or I’ll haul you over my shoulder and carry you around the village instead.” 

“Fine, you win this round.” 

Theo smiled triumphantly. “Y/N admitting defeat? This calls for a celebration. Honeydukes it is.” 

The candy shop smelled as magnificent as it always did. Rows and rows of rainbow colored treats greeted you in every direction. You felt as giddy as you had in first year when the trolley of succulent-looking sweets passed through the aisles of the Hogwarts Express. You picked out your favorites—cauldron cakes, nougat chunks, and pumpkin pasties. 

Though the shop was packed to the brim, you moved easily among the aisles as Theo cleared the way. He quirked a brow at the mountain of sweets cradled in your arms, but said nothing as you marched up to the register. 

“Will that be all, miss?” asked the kindly shopkeeper. 

“And a batch of your freshly made fudge,” Theo requested. “Put it on my tab, Mrs. Flume.” 

“Of course. Anything for you, Theodore.” 

The shopkeeper disappeared at the back of the shop to fetch the fudge. You nudged Theo with your elbow. 

“I can’t let you pay for all of this,” you hissed sharply. 

“Of course you can. I’m disgustingly rich, remember?” 

“I know, but it wouldn’t be right.” 

He shrugged nonchalantly. “You’ve put up with my friends for weeks on end. Consider this as payment.” 

“This more than makes up for the debt. It’s not even equal at this point.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. Half of this is for my benefit. Can’t have Berkshire beating me for that number one spot, can I?” 

You chuckled. “Are you trying to bribe me, Theo?” 

“That depends. Is it working?” 

The mouth-watering scent of freshly made fudge hit you as Mrs. Flume handed Theo a large pink bag. Bribe or not, Theo was definitely on his way to dethrone Enzo as your favorite. 

“You’ll spoil your dinner,” Theo said as you popped a square of fudge into your mouth. The chocolate dissolved on your tongue as you released a sigh of satisfaction. 

“What are you, the chocolate police?” 

“What’s a police?” 

“They’re like aurors, but without wands.” 

“Well, one could argue that the amount of sweets you’re about to consume is a threat to public safety.” 

“Would you rather I be a threat to your safety instead?” 

“I’d say you’re already doing a rather excellent job of that.” 

You stuck your tongue out, but Theo didn’t seem to notice as he looked behind you. The bell chimed softly as you exited Honeydukes only to walk right into a winter wonderland. The cobblestone streets were as crowded as ever, but many stalled in their path to look up at the flecks of white falling from the sky. A gentle breeze sent a scatter of snowflakes to pile up in the storefronts, decorating High Street with glitter and wonder. 

The first snowfall of the season certainly did not disappoint. You ran out into the street, catching snowflakes on your tongue while laughing giddily. Theo watched with a small smile as you twirled around, your blue and gold scarf blurring while you spun and spun underneath the clear, blue sky. 

“Easy there,” he said, catching you around the waist before you could slip on a patch of ice. “I’ve never seen anyone get this excited over a bit of snow.” 

“It’s the first snowfall of the season!” you exclaimed. Theo chuckled as you dragged him out of the busy streets, weaving through shoppers and villagers alike. You didn’t stop until you reached the end of the village. “Come on, you have to see the view.”

At the edge of the small, sleepy village, you could see the blanket of snow covering Hogsmeade. It made everything glitter as the sun disappeared over the horizon. You felt so happy that your heart could burst. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” 

Snow dotted his mop of curly brown hair, the glittering flakes catching in his long lashes as he stared down at you. “Yeah,” he murmured, releasing a cloudy breath. “The most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

Theo’s gaze softened. He reached out and brushed the snowflakes off your bottom lip with his thumb. The nervous bob of his throat was so uncharacteristically earnest that you nearly did a double take. 

“I want you to go to that dinner tomorrow night, Y/N.” His voice was soft and carried none of the argumentative tone that it usually did when you discussed Slughorn’s dinner. “I understand why you don’t want to and believe me, I wholeheartedly agree. But I’d never forgive myself if I stood in the way of the one thing you’ve been working for since first year.” 

You sighed. “It’s not just you, Theo. It’s Pansy. Draco. Blaise. Enzo. Even Mattheo. I don’t want to support anything that alienates my—my…friends.” 

Until this moment, you hadn’t realized how fond and protective you’ve grown for the Slytherins. Somewhere between quiet mornings sipping freshly brewed coffee with Pansy, game nights in Malfoy’s ridiculously huge dorm, studying with Enzo in the Great Hall, comparing skincare products and exchanging tips with Blaise, and even riling up Mattheo with your ridiculous arguments, the little group had stolen their way into your heart. 

They were your friends and you would do anything for your friends. 

“All of us think that you should go. After all, there’s nothing more Slytherin than turning something terrible into a golden opportunity. If you get that recommendation, you’d be the first muggleborn member of the M.E.S.P., so you have to go. Go and make your favorite serpents proud, Y/N.”

Warmth spread through your chest. You could tell that Theo felt strongly about this. That he truly and genuinely cared about what an opportunity like this meant for a muggleborn witch like yourself. 

You found yourself nodding after a moment. “Fine, I’ll go but you have to let me eat another piece of fudge.” 

Theo smiled and those charming dimples peeked out of each cheek. “Not a chance in hell, dolcezza.”

You groaned dramatically. “Is that all or are you going to start lecturing me on my irresponsible consumption of sweets again?” 

Watercolor eyes flickered over you. “There is something else,” he said softly. “There’s something that I’ve been meaning to tell you, Y/N. I think you’ve already guessed by now but I—I think I’m—”

Before Theo could finish his sentence, a snowball hit him square in the chest. You yelped as a barrage of snow came raining down upon you. High up on the hill, Mattheo and Enzo skittered between the trees. Your would-be attackers laughed as they continued to hurl snowballs in your direction.  

“You’re dead, mate!” Theo bellowed as he dragged you behind him. “You two are absolutely and positively dead.” 

The two of you crouched behind a large rock. You peeked around the corner, trying to calculate your next steps. Pushing past whatever moment the boys had interrupted between you and Theo, you turned to your curly headed companion with a smile. 

“I know that look,” Theo accused. “You have a plan, don’t you?” 

“You still have those dung bombs from the twins?” 

He nodded and handed over the array of goodies he purchased from the Weasleys. The plan came to fruition a few minutes later. Mattheo and Enzo were safe up on their high hill, but you and Theo were not about to let that deter you. He followed as you crept up the fortress, keeping guard as you palmed a snowball in your hand. 

Mattheo spotted you first. He hurled snow at you, but you easily dodged his attack. When he left himself exposed, you flung the snowball with all your might. It hit him in the leg before exploding and drenching him with the stench of dung. Riddle nearly retched at the foul smell while Enzo doubled over in laughter. 

Theo took advantage of the situation and hurled his own snowball at Enzo’s stomach. Within seconds, the stench worsened. The two boys threw their remaining snowballs on the ground and signaled their surrender. 

“Dung bombs?” Riddle exclaimed as you came closer. “Nice touch, Notty boy.”

“Don’t look at me, mate. It was all Y/N.” 

Mattheo’s eyes widened. Enzo burst into laughter. “Told you not to mess with her,” Berkshire said as he cast a scouring charm over the both of them. 

“I’ve got to give it to you, Y/N.” Mattheo said with an impressed tone. “You’re more devious than I gave you credit for.” 

“You have no idea what you just started, Riddle,” you declared with a triumphant smirk. “If i were you, I’d sleep with one eye open tonight.” 

You flashed him the most evil smile you could muster before dusting yourself off and heading down the hill. The boys stared after you before following. 

“I am genuinely afraid of her,” Mattheo murmured. 

You didn’t have to turn around to know that Theo was smirking. “Now you know how I feel, mate.” 

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Please let me know if you'd like to be added.

#mattheo has such baby of the family energy and i love him for it #theo nott #theo nott fic #theo nott smut #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott imagine #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagine

[totaly-obsessed]

Personal Hero

Katie McCabe x reader fic

-> The reader, Arsenal's Social Media person, is very tired and burnt out - Katie just wants to help her (she is just such a girlfriend...)

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Most Gooners knew you.

To them, you were the reason that they got media content of their favorite players. The players however saw you as their friend, a steady companion who was there every day, working as hard as you possibly could.

The first season you were with the team the media content was upped by seventy percent, not only on Instagram but also YouTube. One day the players were mic’d up in training, the next day they were playing a fun little game, and sometime after that they were visiting cities, taking the fans along with them.

In the beginning, you always sat behind the camera, the fans only being able to hear your voice but your usual suspects Leah, Katie, Beth, and Lia soon convinced you to sit with them in videos.

So you did.

The social media platforms of the team skyrocketed and it was safe to say, that you earned your contact expansion once Jonas joined the team. The fans loved you and your close connection to the team, always finding it funny how you wound them up, not just quietly sitting there while they answered questions – everyone could see that you were having fun.

And while you were certainly close with everybody on the team, there was just something special about a particular Irish defender.

Katie McCabe...

Katie, who would bring you coffee knowing that you had edited a new video throughout the whole night.

Katie, who would always give you her jacket, even though you insisted you weren’t cold (she saw you shivering and she rarely got cold herself).

Katie who would always carry your heavy camera equipment for you, so that you could already take pictures of everything around you.

Katie who was so rough on the pitch but so soft with you.

And while both of you were oblivious to the change between you, the fans and Katie’s teammates certainly noticed. Soon there were edits all over TikTok and Instagram and the teasing in the dressing room got worse, although she would never tell you anything about it.

But one day the hidden glances and touches came to a harsh stop – in the best way possible.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It was game day – the most stressful day for you in the week. The whole day would be vlogged by you while simultaneously taking good pictures and live updating Instagram and Twitter, which was just stressful in itself.

Instead of arriving in separate vehicles like most of the staff, you had your own seat on the team bus, Katie being your bus buddy.

Obviously.

You had handed the vlog-camera to Beth and Leah who occupied the seats behind the two of you.

“Hey guys!”

“Hey, guys? That’s a stupid beginning”

“Shut up Leah!”

It was already chaotic and as fun as it was, you were dreading editing the footage. Katie, sweet Katie saw you scrunching your nose and shutting your eyes, quickly handing you her water, wanting to prevent your surely coming headache – glaring at Beth who was laughing to loudly.

Once the two blondes behind you were finally finished explaining, that the team was on their way to Kingsmeadow stadium to play Chelsea, they handed you the camera back and busied themselves.

Upon arriving at the stadium, you quickly took the obligatory dressing room pics and videos of the hung-up jerseys and cubbies. Wanting to get a head start, you looked for your camera set up, so you could take pictures during the match, but the bag wasn’t there.

It was gone. The incredibly expensive club camera? Gone…

Lotte was the first to see you. “Katie? Why is your girlfriend running around like a headless chicken?” The defender didn’t even acknowledge the relationship title and turned around so fast, that she was close to getting whiplash.

Upon seeing you, she started jogging until standing in front of you. “What’s wrong baby?” Frantically you ran around her, looking at every bag that you could find.

“Baby?” It was like you weren’t even noticing the Irish woman who was trying to get a hold of you. Until she finally managed it – holding onto both of your elbows, so that you couldn’t escape her again. Her grip was secure, but not in a way that could hurt you.

“Breathe – please!” Your panting made it seem like you were on the verge of a panic attack.

“The camera…!” That was all she needed, realizing what had you panicking.

“Baby I already set your camera up.” Your face fell, not knowing what to do.

“No – It, it was right here!”, you pointed as well as you could, with both elbows in captivity. With a gentle smile on her face, Katie dragged you to the Arsenal bench “Look right here – your camera!”

And there it was – your camera, already set up, and the seat equipped with an arsenal training jacket, water bottles, and your work phone. “Oh, Katie!”

The brunette smiled, satisfied that she calmed you down. “That’s so nice of you!” Now you were close to tears – you really were a tired wreck.

“Let’s get you seated, yeah?” Warm hands pushed you down, pulling the jacket over your knees, as a makeshift blanket. The number 15 printed upon it, smiling at you, once again making the tears well up again. “You are so nice to me.”

“Nah, just taking care of my best girl.” The brunette was squatting in front of you, wiping the already-fallen tears away. Warm hands lingered on your very cold cheeks – desperate to calm you down.

And it worked! No more panicking. Everything was fine. Thanks to the one and only Katie McCabe.

“Thank you.” Slowly you leaned forward, resting your forehead on Katie’s, taking in the peaceful moment between the two of you.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

After the game, you were stressed – having to upload all the pictures to Instagram, keep Twitter up to date, edit the behind-the-scenes vlog, and still having to edit a video from yesterday’s training session.

You were swamped.

Usually, you would wait outside the dressing room, wait for Katie, and get on the bus together – but today was different.

The Irish woman had waited for you to come, but you never did. Katie only left when Steph texted her, that you were already on the bus, working on your Laptop.

With a pout on her lips, she sat next to you, trying to gain your attention. But nothing worked, you were too focused on your screen.

Sure the drive from Kingsmeadow to the Arsenal Complex wasn’t too long, but you wanted to get done what you could.

But after you stared out the window, your head wobbling dangerously, Katie had enough. She saved your document and closed the Laptop, packing everything away.

“Babydoll?” you didn’t even notice, too busy being spaced out. Gently hands pried at your jacket, or rather Katie’s jacket. Wide, bloodshot eyes stared back at the defender, who was startled. You hadn’t been this bad before the game.

“Okay, let’s get ya’ down, yeah?” She maneuvered you so that your head was cushioned by her lap and your legs could curl up tight to your body in your original seat. “Let’s rest for a bit.”

When you didn’t fight back, she knew you were really out of it.

“Can’t have my girl be this tired can I now?” In nice, slow motions the brunette started to massage your scalp.

“Katie?”

“Mhmm?”

“What are we?” With tired eyes, you looked up at your personal hero, who had a gentle smile on her face.

“Whatever you want us to be baby.”

You hesitated for a short moment, but with a newfound confidence, you finally asked her: “Do you wanna’ go on a date with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask!”

#katie mc cabe x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #katie mccabe #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #katie mccabe x reader

[hsllfirescoopsreblogs]

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「 ✦ peter parker ✦ 」

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all peter parker stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

🕷️ @waitimcomingtoo

🕸️ you wear those shoes and I will wear that dress

☕️ you and Peter are just friends but he accidentally kisses you goodbye.

🕸️ stolen moments

☕️ your secret relationship is exposed when Peter returns from a mission bruised and bloody and you comfort him in front of everyone

🕸️ the great war

☕️ Peters double life causes serious strain on your relationship.

🕸️ burnt face and second base

☕️ peter can’t seem to stop accidentally hurting his crush.

🕸️ my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

☕️ when peter learns you have healing powers, he starts faking injuries to come see you until he gets seriously hurt.

🕸️ bringing sexy back

☕️ peter tries and fails to seduce you

🕸️ dos oruguitas

☕️ after the events of NWH, Peter becomes a regular at your coffee shop and convinces himself that you’re starting to remember him.

🕸️ just to learn that you never cared

☕️ always leaving class together to go fight crime leads people to think you’re dating when in reality you’re barely even friends. That is, until you agree to fake a relationship to keep your secret life a secret

🕸️ smell ya later

☕️ you get a new body cream that allegedly attracts spiders, and someone else

🕸️ the script

☕️you and Peter break up once you find out his secret and he falls apart

🕷️ @webslingingslasher

🕸️ U.N.I pt2

☕️ frat!peter

🕸️ frat!peter blurbs

🕸️ frat!peter

🕸️ unknown sender

🕸️ campus

☕️ Peter has never had a one night stand, but when he meets you at a party that changes, until he has to pretend he never wants to see you again.

🕸️ cherry lube

🕷️ please call me peter by @shawnxstyles

🕸️ you haven’t been able to come with anyone besides yourself, making you think something’s wrong with you. once you go to the gynecologist, dr. parker shows you that you’re just fine.

🕷️ the last time by @delicate-dorothea

🕸️ Peter's on the verge of losing you after disappointing you yet again.

🕷️ medic in lace by @madlittlecriminal

🕸️ peters hurt but doesn’t care once he see what you’re wearing.

🕷️ fangirling over spiderman by @parkerpeter24

🕸️ reader fangirls over spiderman to peter not knowing it’s him.

🕷️ possession by @silkscream

🕸️ peter parker is not himself when he falls into your universe. it must be a curse that he finds himself tethered to you. the darkness inside him has never wanted anything more.

🕷️ need to know by @motherofdogs1010

🕸️ When she was ready to get back out on the dating scene after dumping a certain Winter Soldier, Y/N was a woman ready to get back out there. She just never expected to find herself in a relationship with a certain nerdy spider.

🕷️ naked by @reesewillow-delrey

🕸️ In which Reader walks in on a naked Peter, Reader laughs, Peter becomes insecure. Reader decides to show herself naked back in the worst moment possible.

🕷️ swing by by @sunshinesteviee

🕸️ peter is a fellow teacher, and is also your best friend at work. he helps you bring spider-man in to meet your class, but something about it seems a bit suspicious.

🕷️ picture perfect by @mattymattymerduck

🕸️ You’re hired to kiss Spider-man for the Daily Bugle’s next Spidey-centric article.

🕷️ potential customer pt2 by @int-writersmind

🕸️ you work at a record store, bored out of your mind, until peter parker walks in and catches you eye.

🕷️ lost the game pt2 pt3 by @nexusnyx

🕸️ The explanation your mind settled for was that whoever lived under that mask, also lived somewhere close by. It explained the first time you found him limping and bleeding on an alley, and it explains how you evolved into his personal caretaker for the wounds and afflictions of Spider-Man's after battle consequences.

The only thing it doesn't explain, however, is why through the thick and convoluted webs of your strange situationship, a certain tension has built between you two. Palpable. Physical. As electric as some of his tales, and as dangerous as he is.

The tension between you and Spidey grows, and it grows, and it grows. One day, it snaps.

🕷️ physics and english teacher love affair by @certifiedlovergirlsstuff

🕸️ those two teachers that students are always interested in their relationship status.

🕷️ celebrity crush by @cantstoptheimagines

🕸️ You have a crush on Spider-Man, unaware that he’s the one you spend all your time with.

🕷️ indefinitely you by @spider-stark

🕸️ In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

🕷️ sunset lovers by @duskholland

🕸️ you’ve never met your soulmate, but you know his handwriting like the back of your hand—literally. every word your soulmate writes on his skin appears on yours, and vice versa. you’re desperate to meet him, but until the universe decides to introduce you, you’re stuck with scribbled smiley faces and chemistry formulae.

🕷️like the stars we're destined to die out and i'm destined to lose you by @msgorillagripcoochie

🕸️ you had finally gotten the happy ending you so desperately wanted but when gwen is gonna die, you know you have to save her even if you die

🕷️ lead the way by @foreverrogers

🕸️ you find out your best friend has never had sex. who else would be better to show him just how good it can be?

🕷️ if i could die in your arms by @selfcarecap

🕸️ When another Peter Parker shows up in your world, you give him a chance to have one last moment with the love of his life, someone who looked exactly like you, but also someone who died in his arms.

🕷️ masterlist by @spidey-webz

🕷️ request by @luveline

「 ✦ harry osborn ✦ 」

🕷️ request by @arkhamsrevenge

🕸️ cuddling harry

🕷️ make you better by @stickymolasses

🕸️ You're Harry's nurse and you can't help him feel better physically anymore, so you resort to playing therapist.

• MASTERLIST

• MARVEL MASTERLIST

hopefully all links work, let me know if not <3

last update april 25, 2024

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #Spider-Man #spiderman x reader #spiderman #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker angst #peter parker oneshot #peter parker series #insomniac spiderman #spiderman fluff #peter parker ps5 #peter parker masterlist #spiderman angst #spiderman oneshot #spiderman series #frat!peter parker #marvel x reader #marvel #harry osborn x reader #harry osborn #harry osborn imagine

[spooky-holtz]

I'll Be Home For Christmas

Melissa Schemmenti x reader

Genre: fluff (possibly alludes to smut at one point? If you squint?)

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: I know Christmas was almost two weeks ago but this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks. So enjoy, even if my timing is a little off :)

--------------------

December. Quite easily the best and worst month of the school year. As another calendar year winds down, so do rigorous lesson plans, with most teachers at Abbott choosing to give in to the growing excitement among the students as the holidays draw nearer. 

Less time is spent actually teaching and a lot of allocated lesson time is spent watching movies on huge, outdated TV screens, students gathered around the devices on Eagles rugs that were so generously ‘donated’ by Melissa earlier that year.  

As the month goes on you find yourself spending more time inside your classroom, herding the group of preteens that make up the school choir as successfully as you would herd cats. Needless to say, it’s been a stressful few weeks of carol singing and rehearsals, trying to convince a group of kids that it’s not ‘lame’ or ‘cringe’ to appreciate music the way you do.  

As the resident music teacher at Abbott Elementary, you find it incredibly difficult to get young people inspired in the way you so desperately want them to be, often having to let go of the talent you see among some aspiring young musicians for reasons outside of your control. Though the budget doesn’t stretch to allow much in the way of extracurricular activities, choir practice is the one activity where you have your greatest tool already at your disposal; your voice.  

As much as you adore these kids, getting them to concentrate after a full day of learning is no easy feat, with them often choosing to sit around in groups gossiping or scrolling on Tik Tok rather than join you around the old piano that stands in place of a desk in your classroom, where you sit on your creaky stool, waiting for them to join in with you.  

After a particularly difficult lunchtime choir practice in the middle of December, you find your feet carrying you to the sanctuary you often retreat to during your breaks: the teachers’ lounge. You trudge along the hallway, the heels of your sneakers squeaking slightly against the polished concrete floor as you struggle to find the motivation to get you there, dragging your feet along the floor.  

As your hand wraps around the handle and you pull the door toward you, you’re instantly engulfed with the scent of burnt coffee and the sound of chatter as the little groups that sit around the room carry on their conversations, entirely too distracted to notice the door opening.  

Jim Gardner addresses the room from the small TV that sits on the opposite end, his newscast largely going unnoticed by the audience as they munch on leftovers or pore over today's newspaper. Much like Jim, your entry into the room goes unnoticed save for a pair of emerald eyes that you can’t help but glance toward.  

Melissa is already looking back at you over the rim of her glasses, phone in hand, the slight frown on her features already telling you that she’s noticed the lack of energy you carry. You can’t help but be drawn toward her, almost as if being pulled in by an imaginary force. She’s already pulled the empty chair by her side out by the time you reach her, and you collapse down on to it, sighing heavily, leaning your elbows forward onto the cold surface of the table in front of you for support.  

“Choir practice really that bad today, huh?” she asks, sympathy laced across her face.  

“I swear, these kids are turning me grey even faster,” you groan, bringing your hands up to cradle your forehead, “I mean, seriously, how hard is it to get through ‘Silent Night’ without laughing at the word ‘virgin’?” 

The silence that comes from the redhead is deafening as you turn your head slightly in your hands to catch a glimpse of her expression. Her lips are pursed slightly, and her eyes are a little too focused on your hair, doing everything she can to avoid eye contact; a telltale sign that she’s fighting back a laugh. When she finally reaches enough composure to meet your eye line, she can’t help but snicker.  

The sound makes you take your head out of your hands and throw her the most unimpressed look you can muster, though it’s a halfhearted glare.  

“I’m sorry,” she begins to apologize, “but that word was probably the funniest thing ever when I was that age too. Cut them a little bit of slack.”  

Great, so not only do your students think you’re a ‘nerd’ for making them sing carols but Melissa does too. Because having the woman you have an enormous crush on think that is exactly what you needed to round out your year.  Almost as if she can sense your descent into overthinking, Melissa breaks the silence.  

“Hey, I’m just messing with ya,” she says. She reaches forward, pulling you out of your spiral, and rests her hand on the thigh that sits closest to you, patting gently. “Besides, you’re cute when you’re grumpy.”  

Your eyes dart to hers at the comment and you’re met with a wink. The simple move turns you into putty, melting you to bend to her will. Her hand burns through the material of your slacks where it still lays against your thigh, her thumb rubbing gentle circles in an effort to soothe you. You’re sure your face is matching that same level of heat that radiates from it.  

She smiles back softly before turning back to her phone, leaving her hand resting against the patterned material you wear. The contact grounds you and helps you to think a little more rationally. While she’s distracted on her phone, you reach forward onto the table to grab Melissa’s worn Stanley Tucci mug and steal a swig of the steaming black coffee that sits within. The harsh flavor makes you wince, with you preferring your coffee with milk and an obscene amount of sugar to make it even barely drinkable. The expression you wear causes Melissa to giggle, the redhead having looked up almost knowing that your face would be a picture of extreme disgust.  

As she laughs the hand on your thigh squeezes and she leans into you, the lines around her eyes accentuated by the deep laugh that’s taken over her being. You decide that this is the most beautiful version of Melissa you’ve ever seen. Carefree, happy, and relaxed.  

The moment comes to an abrupt end as Barbara enters the room, both you and Melissa turning to the creaking door as it opens. Her eyes naturally fall to your table, much as your own do when you enter the teachers’ lounge, and her gaze lingers on you before she speaks up, barely giving herself a chance to sit down.  

“Oh sweetheart, you look terrible,” she says, concern laced across her features. She’s not wrong. You know the bags under your eyes are worse than ever, having forgone sleep to choose which Christmas carols are least likely to make a room full of elementary schoolers insult you. You wish you had just chosen to sleep instead because every option you threw at your group of angels ended with nicknames being thrown right back at you.  

“See, I told you that you looked bad,” Melissa says, the playful glint in her eye accompanied with the squeeze of your thigh letting you know she’s kidding.  

“You look like you need this Christmas break,” Barbara adds, “Actually, why don’t you come to the little shindig Melissa and I have here on the last day? Get that break started early for you.”  

It’s worrying how quickly you accept the invitation but Melissa’s hand on your thigh paired with the musky smell of her perfume makes it impossible to decline.  

“Of course, I’ll come! Do I need to bring anything?” You ask.  

“Nothing at all, we’ve got it all covered,” the older teacher replies. “Just bring your dancing shoes.” 

You’ve visibly relaxed at the prospect, which doesn’t go unnoticed by your company. While you’re distracted taking another, albeit smug, sip of Melissa’s coffee, Barbara shoots the redhead a knowing look, quirking her eyebrow as she does so. For a split second, Melissa turns the same shade of red as her hair, caught out by Barb and the confession of a pretty obvious crush she gave a few weeks ago. She quickly manages to regain her composure, hand still resting on your thigh and phone still in hand.  

You would think that a full week later, after hours of Christmas songs later, that you would be sick of carols. But you still find yourself sitting in the teachers’ lounge long after the rest of the faculty has left the building on the final day of school before winter break, with your usual duo and the addition of Mr Johnson. The room is filled with a warmth that doesn’t just come from the school’s subpar heating system, but instead from the situation you find yourself in.  

You feel a slight buzz from the copious amounts of wine you’ve consumed since the end of the school day, your stomach lined with Melissa’s incredible cooking and sweet treats brought in by Barbara. You feel that Mr Johnson is in the same boat as you as he mills around the room, plastic cup filled with what you can only assume is even more wine, swaying by himself to the record that plays from the relic of a radio that sits on one of the many cabinets in the room.  

Your attention is immediately drawn elsewhere when Melissa’s cackle fills the room, her and Barb sharing stories that they’ve no doubt already told each other a few dozen times over the years. You completely miss the anecdote, but you still can’t help a smile from breaking out on your face at the sound of laughter, the noise acting like music to your ears – it’s far better than anything that could possibly be played on that radio right now.  

Almost as if by cue, the pair finish their story and the older of the two decides to rise from her chair, beckoning to you as she does so.  

“Come on, I wanna start to shake my groove thing,” says Barbara, already swaying slightly from the few glasses of wine she’s consumed herself. You raise your eyebrows, incredulous, matching her action and standing from your chair yourself, moving further from the security of the table as a swing version of “Jingle Bell Rock” continues playing. “I need a dance partner and you’re the perfect height so get yourself over here.” 

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond before her hands quickly mold you into shape, moving one of your own to her hip whilst the other grips your open palm.  

“Wow Barb, at least buy a girl a drink first,” you grin as she swats at your shoulder, giggling along herself. The bells on the front of her extremely festive bright red sweater jingle as she does so. The swaying of your ‘dance’ lasts for a mere few seconds before Barbara interrupts it herself.  

“Melissa, I think we may need to swap places,” she says as she glances at where Mr Johnson stands, eyes still closed and nursing his plastic cup of wine. “I have a feeling Mr Johnson may need some assistance.”  

Melissa mumbles her response as she comes nearer to you, seamlessly swapping places with the elder woman. You completely miss the wink that is thrown her way from Barb, eyes still focused on Mr Johnson’s one-man party.  

When you turn your head back to face in front of you, you’re naturally drawn to the bright green eyes that sit slightly below your eyeline. You feel your heart stutter in your chest at the sight, rarely getting to see them this close. It always baffles you how many shades of green, blue and brown come together to create a colour that can only be described as ‘Melissa’. You realize you’ve been staring a little too long when a change of song and her words break you from your thoughts.  

“Come a little closer, you can’t dance properly if you leave enough room for Jesus and the 12 disciples,” she says, her tone playful and smile wide. You can’t help but throw your head back in laughter as her hand snakes from your hip to the small of your back to bring you in closer. There's no mistaking who is leading who.  

When you bring your head back Melissa is considerably closer than before. She’s so close that you can see each individual eyelash under her thick layer of mascara and eyeliner, along with the slightly smudged edge of her lipstick, the deep red of the wine making the colour even richer. The smell of her musky yet floral perfume invades your senses as she looks up toward you. You move your hands from her shoulders to link together behind her neck, her red curls tickling your wrists.  

You can feel every slight movement she makes as Frank Sinatra croons at you both as you sway slightly in place, too scared to move too quickly in case you scare each other. Her thighs almost touch yours and your chests are almost entirely pressed together. You hope she can’t feel your heartbeat; the speed and intensity of it would almost instantly give away your feelings toward her. Her body this close to yours makes your head spin, your mind racing with possibilities of other situations you may find yourself this close to her in.  

You can feel every breath she lets out against your lips, making you aware of how little it would take to connect them with her own. You’re pretty sure she’s noticed too because of the way her eyes keep flicking down to look at them every few seconds. You can feel her hands burning a hole through the material of the shirt against your back. As if she can hear your thoughts, she moves them slightly lower, coming to rest against the waistband of your trousers and dangerously close to your backside. What you wouldn’t give for her to just bite the bullet and slide them into your back pockets to pull you impossibly closer to her.  

“You know, I, uh, never wished you a happy Christmas,” she breaks the tense silence, almost whispering as if anything too loud might startle you. “So Happy Christmas, Hun.”  

She wears a slight smile on her lips, suddenly dropping the hard exterior she always carries to become the softer, more vulnerable version of herself you’ve come to fall madly in love with.  

You can’t help but melt at the sight, your head dropping forward to lean your forehead against hers. She welcomes the move with ease, closing her eyes as you both sway slightly to the music, never moving from your position.  

“Happy Christmas, Mel.” 

#abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #reader fanfic #self insert #fluff #writing #wlw #reader fic #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti self insert #melissa schemmenti x y/n #melissa schemmenti fluff #lisa ann walter fanfic #lisa ann walter x reader

[kentoberry]

SWEET LIKE HONEY ! — albedo kreideprinz.

⭒— SUMMARY · you failed your latest test, but there’s no need to worry when the professor offers you a way to make up the grade ! [ this post contains dark content. full tags utc. ]

⭒— CONTENT · sub fem reader , college au , teacher / student relationship , pervy albedo , dubcon , coercion , panty stealing , praise , implied masturbation , crybaby ! reader , office sex.

to begin with, your day had consisted of burnt toast and unwashed dishes. by the time you were ready to go grab a cup of morning coffee, you noticed a toothpaste stain on your white blouse so you had to get changed again instead. to put it simply, everything was going wrong ! you wanted nothing more than to return to bed, close the curtains, and shut the world out for the day. instead, you powered through and made your way to class.

in hindsight, maybe you should have done just that. you had completely forgotten about a test you had done last week until a piece of paper was slammed down on your desk. your heart dropped as you flipped it over to reveal a big 'c’ in the top corner. bio-chem with professor albedo was the only class you were averaging below an 'a’ in, this was only going to make it even worse ! you had studied your ass off for this test, doing everything you could to increase your knowledge of the subject. hell, you were convinced you had worked harder than everyone else in this class ! it was as though the red ink was mocking you, laughing at your failure. you decided that your only option to rectify this was to visit your professor after class and inquire as to your low score.

as soon as he wrapped up the lecture, you shoved the paper deep into the depths of your bag. not wanting to have an angry outburst, you had opted to grab a long overdue coffee before heading to your professor’s office. it hadn’t helped too much, your shakiness noticeable as your knuckles rapped lightly against the hard wood. albedo took a moment to stretch from his prior position of being hunched over the desk marking papers for one of his other classes. he peered around the door, fluffy hair and cozy sweater making him feel oh so inviting.

“sir, could i talk to you for a moment?” he picked up on the nervousness in your voice instantly.

“of course, miss y/l/n. come in.” professor albedo opened the door wider, gesturing to the couch on the other side of his desk. “am i correct to presume this is regarding your recent examination score?”

you placed your bag down as he closed the door and returned to his own seat.

“yes, sir.” was all you managed. your stared at your shoes, trying to gain control over your emotions though to no avail.

“well?”

you sighed deeply before the rambling began and you gave in. “i don’t understand how they’re so low. i’ve been working so hard, studying all night even-” you hadn’t expected to get so worked up over a silly little letter on a piece of paper that you could just throw to the wind. tears began welling in your eyes, nose becoming slightly runny. “i-if my grades aren’t perfect then i won’t get back in to study for my masters ! how-” sniffle. “how am i supposed-” sniffle. “to fix this?” sniffle.

“first take a deep breath, y/n.” you buried your head in your hands, your professor’s perception of you being added to the list of your worries. the last thing you wanted was for him to assume you were some spoiled crybaby who always got what she wanted ! “we can work something out.”

you looked up at him as though he had just offered you the world. your teary eyes gleamed in the soft light of his office, awaiting what solution the smart man had come up with. albedo wanted nothing more than to fix all of your problems. sure, you were his most diligent student. if he was honest, your poor grades were perhaps… an experiment of his own. he wanted to see how much pressure you could handle, since he was considering offering you a position as his assistant over summer break. you had lasted longer than his original hypothesis had predicted.

your professor’s introverted nature made it difficult for him to comfort you. he decided that the best course of action was to plop himself down next to you on the loveseat, wrapping one of his arms around your sobbing form. you buried your face into albedo’s sweater, dampening the soft wool in your tears. his grip only tightened around you, cooing softly as he caressed your back.

all in all, there was nothing impure about the interaction. or at least, there wasn’t at first. in your sorrowful haze, your hand had accidentally brushed against your professor’s crotch, prompting a sharp intake of breath from the man. his attention was then drawn to the way your breasts were pressed against him.

“s-s-sir?”

albedo’s face flushed red at the fact that you’d noticed his… predicament. your eyes were wide, sobs having halted. you looked so innocent before him, so much so that he couldn’t prevent his dark thoughts taking over.

“i have a proposal for you, y/n. perhaps if you were to help me with the… situation before us, i could ensure your grades stay high enough to secure your place in any future education you desire.”

surely he wasn’t insinuating what you thought he was. you had always thought he was a rather attractive man, though he was your professor ! you should be running to the dean to report him right now.

“you may go, if you so wish,” it was as though albedo was reading your mind. “none of my superiors will believe any negative thought you share about me. now, you can either leave and accept your results or we can…” he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “come up with a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“s-sir, i-” you began sniffling again, though you didn’t make a move towards the door. perfect grades for the remainder of his classes was too good of an offer to pass up, wasn’t it? he could tell that you were considering it.

“we can take it slow, darling. i do not wish to make you too uncomfortable.” his hand was on your shoulder, the other resting on your hip.

a weak “okay” left your mouth.

albedo pulled you onto his lap, resting you on top of one of his thighs. his hands found their way underneath your shirt as lithe fingers started digging slightly into your hips. he rocked you slowly against him as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. how embarrassing that you had to let your professor use you like this just so that you could pass a class !! he admired how you’d fully given into his advances, your body practically limp for him to use as he desired. your arms wrapped around him as salty tears began gently rolling down your cheeks. attempts to keep your cries quiet were futile, with your professor pressing soft kisses to the crown of your head in an attempt to comfort you. the way you were so vulnerable for him spurred him on further. you were too weak to pleasure yourself, so he had to do it for you !! your legs were tightening, thighs wanting to give you more friction than you were already receiving from him. albedo took note of this. he lifted you off of him enough to remove your clothes. the man allowed you to keep your shirt on, for it would save you from any further embarrassment should somebody walk through the currently unlocked door to his office. your sobs only increased as he removed your panties. luckily for him, you were too preoccupied to see him shoving them deep into his pocket, no intentions of returning the lacy fabric to you. you felt so exposed, hiding your face even further in him.

“there’s nothing too worry about, sweetheart. i think you look ravishing like this.” he dragged a finger between your folds, only to be met by his slick covered digit. he took it for a few short laps around your aching bud, relishing in the whines that became mixed with sobs falling from your lips. albedo sat you back down so that you were straddling his thigh. he spread you enough so that your clit was resting against the rough material of his trousers. subconsciously you began rutting your hips against his lightly colored slacks. albedo kept one hand on your back, gently guiding you, while the other began stroking your hair. tears covered his sweater, accompanying your sweet moans.

“so good for me,” your professor would whisper, along with other praises of how you were his “favorite student” and how beautiful you looked rutting against him so desperately. you’d be lying if you said his words didn’t increase the wetness pooling between your legs, though you felt so humiliated in this position that you felt more tears falling simultaneously. your cunny was spilling juices all over him, most definitely ruining his pants.

you grew exhausted rather quickly, between the cries and the stress today had thrown at you. no matter how much albedo was encouraging you to keep going, your trembly voice barely whispering to him that you “can’t” do any more was enough for him to lend a helping hand. what kind of professor would he be to ignore a student in need ? as you remained clinging onto him, he continued to hold your head as his other hand reached between your thighs. his fingers circled your entrance, gently tapping it. he wanted nothing more than to scissor you open and stuff your pretty hole nice and full, though he didn’t want to scare you off. he wanted to keep you in a position where he could continue to have control over you, which meant giving you your desired grades while he persuaded you to keep returning the favor for him. how could he allow for such a sweet thing like yourself to escape his grasp ?!

you felt your eyelids growing heavy as your professor’s fingers massaged your puffy clit. his touches were like feather, using his index and ring fingers to spread you open as his middle finger stroked you ever so lightly. he tapped against the bud periodically, enjoying how you trembled with every graze. your voice was mostly gone, barely able to warn him that you were close. “g-g-g gonna-” was all you could manage. the man knew exactly what you struggled to communicate.

“cum for me, sweetheart,” the dirtiness and shame you felt at your professor’s words combined with his saccharine tone made you shake. he rubbed directly onto your pulsing clit as your body began spasm on top of him. albedo held onto you as pleasure rushed through your veins and even more of your cum spilled onto his thigh. he helped you ride through your high, the scent of sex filling the office. you pulled yourself away from him as your breathing calmed. he was in half a mind to drag you back into his embrace, though his curiosity regarding the shy expression he imagined adorning your features prevented him from doing such. your hair was a mess, tear stained face red. your eyes were slightly swollen, fresh tears still dancing down your puffy cheeks. you tried wiping them away and clearing your running nose with the back of your sleeve. albedo grabbed a tissue from his desk, assisting you as you sat in defeat. your eyes spotted the wet patch you’d left on his trousers. you couldn’t help but apologize profusely, despite barely being able to form a sentence. albedo looked down at you, pads of his thumbs gracing your cheeks. “don’t worry, sweetheart. i always keep spare clothes in my office, just in the case of any lab emergencies that should arise.” the man would wait until you left to change. the way your weak form exited his office was intoxicating, staring intently at how your hips swayed slightly with each step. despite how he wanted to feel you wrapped around the aching in his pants so very badly, he would instead prefer to take you in a much less formal setting. for now, the panties that you had unknowingly left behind would have to suffice.

#kentoberryposts #albedo kreideprinz smut #albedo kreideprinz x reader #albedo smut #albedo x reader #albedo x you #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut

[delusionalfanficwriter]

burn

“Y/N, we can’t discharge you until we know you are going to be taken care of at home. You can’t handle this by yourself.” Dr. Meed told me as I lay against the hospital bed. 

“Doc, all due respect, I can clean and change the bandages myself. There’s not need to worry anyone.” I try to convince him but I can see him not caving. 

“You’ve been here for almost 2 days and I am pretty sure you didn’t even tell anyone what happened. You don’t have a place to go to as far as I know. So I will not discharge you until I see someone in person who tells me that they will be there for you. You can be out as early as tomorrow morning.” I watch him say before making his way out of my room. I sigh and close my eyes knowing the repercussions if I make the inevitable call. Thinking strategically of a list of people, I figure out who I am going to call. 

As the phone rings, I come up with a script, but it all leaves my head when the voice on the other end answers. “What do I owe this pleasure, Y/N?” 

“Hey, O’Hara, just wondering what you are up to tomorrow?”

“Planning on getting a coffee and furniture shop for the apartment. Want to join? I haven’t seen you since our game a few days ago.”

“I would love to, but I have a favor to ask you.” 

“No, you can’t drive my car or go to the animal shelter. You remember how emotional you got leaving the animals behind.”

She’s not exaggerating and I laugh at the memories. “No, Kel, I actually need you to pick me up.”

“Obviously dummy. You don’t have a car,” 

“From a different location.”

“So secretive. Where is this location I am picking you up from?” She asks, fully curious as if I am giving her tea.

“The hospital downtown.”

“Y/N… why would I be picking you up from there?” I pick at the blanket laying on top of me. 

“Something happened and I ended up here but I am okay. I promise. They just won’t discharge me without confirming someone can come pick me up and care for me.”

“Y/N!!! Why didn’t you call me sooner? What happened? You know what, I am on the way. We will talk.” She frantically yells on the phone before hanging up. I close my eyes hoping to get some shut eye before she storms in here. I groan as I hear my phone constantly vibrate and see messages from both my Gotham FC teammates and USWNT asking what happened and if I am okay…I’m going to kill O’Hara.

A half hour passes and soon enough not only is Kelley coming through my door but Kristie, Ali, and Sonnet. 

“What happened?!” Ali asks, approaching carefully looking at any damage she might find.

“I’m okay. My apartment caught fire and I got burnt in the process, nothing crazy.” I act as if everything is fine.

“Nothing crazy?! Y/N, you have burns!” O’Hara whisper yells. 

“Wait, Y/N, when was this?” Kristie observed knowing well enough I hate bothering people. 

I bite my tongue and whisper, “2 days.” That’s when all hell broke loose. 

The hospital room was filled with a cacophony of concerned voices as Ali, Kristie, Sonnet, and Kelley vented their anger and frustration at the situation. I couldn't help but wince at the onslaught of their emotions, but their presence meant the world to me. They were like a protective shield, ready to battle any adversity, even against their teammate's stubbornness.

"Y/N, how could you not tell us?" Ali's eyes blazed with intensity, a reflection of her passion on the soccer field. "We're your teammates, your friends. You can't just hide something like this."

Sonnet's voice, though calmer, was no less concerned. "And now you're telling us it's 'nothing crazy' when you have burns from a house fire? But two days in a hospital is not nothing.”

As we continue going back and forth, Dr. Meed, returned to my room with a surprised look on his face. He had probably expected a more difficult situation based on our previous conversation.

"Y/N, it looks like you have a support system in place," he remarked, a hint of approval in his voice.

I nodded, feeling grateful for the incredible people who had come to my aid. "Yes, doctor. They're going to make sure I'm taken care of."

Dr. Meed assessed the room, noting the presence of Kelley, Ali, Kristie, and Sonnet. "Well, I believe we can arrange for your discharge tonight if you got this team to care for you. I can have the nurses prepare your medications and instructions. You'll need to follow up with your primary care physician within a week."

My heart swelled with relief at the news. I had been eager to leave the sterile environment of the hospital.

"Thank you, doctor," I said, genuinely appreciative.

Dr. Meed nodded and started discussing my care instructions with the group. They listened attentively, taking notes and asking questions to ensure they were fully prepared.

Kelley stepped forward and shook the doctor's hand. "We've got it from here, doc. Thanks for taking care of her."

The doctor smiled, his demeanor much lighter now. "You're welcome. And you take care of yourself, Y/N."

… … … … … … … … … … … … 

Kelley left me no choice but to move into her apartment until I recovered and since Sonnet was visiting her, they figured two pairs of eyes and hands were better than one when it came to me. They had a routine set from the moment I left the hospital and today is a new day. Teammates have been stopping by and visiting. I laughed and smiled through every encounter after I got a talking to about hiding my injuries. 

“Is Y/N getting a little tired?” Lynn said as I seem to be drifting off. 

“Seems like it. She has had a long first day out of the hospital.” Kelley says and excuses the company in the room and says goodbyes to them and I mutter a goodbye as well. As they leave, Sonnet gets a new set of bandages ready for my legs as Kelley gets my antibiotics and pain meds. 

Sonnet carefully peeled off the old bandages, her touch delicate but precise. The adhesive clung to my skin, making it an uncomfortable experience. As she pulled the bandages away, my breath caught in my throat, and I bit down on my lower lip to stifle any cries of pain. I could feel the slight tug and sting as the bandages left my raw, sensitive skin.

Kelley, sitting by my side, offered an empathetic smile. "We're almost through this part, Y/N," she assured me, her fingers lightly tracing circles on my forearm.

Sonnet continued her work, unwrapping each bandage with the utmost care. Her face was a mix of concentration and sympathy as she revealed the burns on my legs. When the fresh bandages came into contact with my wounded skin, a sharp wave of pain coursed through me, causing me to clench my fists tightly.

"Easy, Y/N," Kelley murmured soothingly, her hand slipping into mine and offering a reassuring squeeze. "You're doing great."

Sonnet nodded in agreement, her expression filled with understanding. "We're trying to be as gentle as possible, but I know it's still painful. Just a bit more, okay?"

I mustered a nod, grateful for their presence. The pain was a reminder of the challenging journey I was on, but the unwavering support of my teammates made it bearable. Sonnet continued her task, her movements swift and precise.

Once the bandage change was complete, Kelley handed me the antibiotics and pain medications. She watched me closely as I swallowed the pills, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and care.

As I leaned back against the pillows, Kelley and Sonnet took their seats beside me.

Fatigue threatened to overtake me, I clenched my eyes shut, resisting the pull of sleep. I knew that once I closed my eyes, the nightmares would return, vivid and tormenting. The darkness had become my enemy, and my reluctance to face it was exhausting.

Kelley noticed my struggle and squeezed my shoulder gently. "Y/N, you need to get some rest," she whispered, her voice filled with concern.

I nodded, my lips forming a weak smile. "I know, Kel. It's just... the nightmares. I can't handle them."

Sonnet shifted closer, her touch soft and reassuring. "We won’t leave your side, Y/N.”

Despite their comforting words, the fear of what awaited in my dreams persisted. The mere thought of reliving the traumatic experience made my heart race. I bit my lip, fighting back the anxiety that threatened to consume me.

Kelley's fingers brushed a strand of hair from my forehead, and her gaze met mine. "Y/N, you're not alone in this. We'll be here to wake you up if those nightmares come knocking. But you need sleep, okay? You've been through so much."

I nodded, my eyes heavy with exhaustion. The room seemed to blur as my eyelids drooped. Sonnet's hand still rested on my knee, and she leaned in, her voice a soothing lullaby. "Close your eyes, Y/N.”

As much as I resisted, I couldn't hold onto consciousness any longer. My eyes closed, and I was plunged into the unsettling abyss of sleep.

#uswnt fanfic #uswnt imagine #uswnt x reader #woso fanfics #woso x reader

[thesuperiorrobin]

Your Instagram FT: Damian

Liked by: Dami_Wayne, Timmy_Drake, jay_Hay,Dicck_GrAy, 1000+

Y/N_L/N: i love it when he talks historical art to me 😍🥵😳

View 398 comments

Jay_Hay: I thought you guys canceled???

└ Y/N: we lied 😇

└ Dami_Wayne: yeah I did not want any of you guys to ruin this date like you three idiots did the last time

└ Dicck_GrAys: we didn’t do anything???

 └ Y/N: you started and argument with an old lady after she called you out for stalking us. Jay somehow got detained by the police and Tim ended up vomiting all over the manager bc he was ‘overwhelmed’ but we all know he was sick that day 🙂🙂

Liked by: Dami_Wayne, Timmy_Drake, jay_Hay,Dicck_GrAy, 1000+

Y/N _ L/N: i swear I saw mine and Damians wedding flash before my eyes 💀

View 298 comments

Timmy_ Drake: isn’t it “I saw my life flash before my eyes?

└ Dami_Wayne: Don’t ever correct her ever again Drake

Dicck_GrAy: was i the maid of honor?🥹

└ Y/N: fortunately no 😊

Jay_Hay: the funnel cake Almost went back up on that ride.

Liked by: Dami_Wayne, Timmy_Drake, jay_Hay,Dicck_GrAy, 1000+

Y/N _ L/N : they told us not to jump. But we did anyway 😋

View 198 comments

Dami_Wayne: Them we had to save Drake bc he was drowning.

└ Timmy_Drake: I had a stomach cramp ☹️

└ Jay_Hay: we told you not to drink three cups of coffee and a bowl of pasta

└ Timmy_Drake: I was hungry :|

Liked by: Dami_Wayne, Timmy_Drake, jay_Hay,Dicck_GrAy, 1000+

Y/n _ L/N: Damian told me if I won he would by me pandora bracelet with 6 charms. I’m literally putting my blood sweet and tears into this stupid game bro😭.

View 397 comments

Y/N: update lost. I somehow ended up with 26 cards left ☹️

Dami_Wayne: you really do suck my love. Even though you told me countless of time.

└ Y/N: I tired and lost ☹️

└ Dami_Wayne: I know

Jay_Hay: DAUMMMM U SUCK.

└ Dami_Wayne: Todd shut up you went bankrupt playing monopoly with her.

└ Y/N: that’s right. I suddenly don’t feel sad anymore 😁

Liked by: Dami_Wayne, Timmy_Drake, jay_Hay,Dicck_GrAy, 1000+

Y/n _ L/N: Alfred was gone for the day so we decided to cook pizza!

View 497 comments

Dami_Wayne: it didn’t turn out very good.

Y/N: we ordered take out instead. He somehow burnt it🙂

└ Dami_Wayne : you mean you beloved. You Burnt it by convincing me to leave it for another 15 minutes

└ y/n: who’s fault was it to listen to me.

└ Dami_Wayne: Touché

└ Jay_Hay: Ohhhh relationship drama. Fight! Fight! Fight!

#damian al ghul #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #batfamily #batman x fem!reader #robin x reader #batfamily x reader #damian x reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian scenarios

[andreafmn]

Speak - Chapter 5

Word Count: 3.2K

Story Description: Bella Swan was a disaster when Edward had left. Deciding she needed a little help, Charlie Swan receives with open arms his younger daughter (Y/N) Swan. She helps Bella during her depression and becomes inseparable from her long-lost friend Jacob. What she didn’t expect was falling for a hotheaded short-tempered silver wolf.

Chapter: 5/?

A/N: The long-awaited update is here!!!!!

This chapter is dedicated to @madcatlady for the hilarious ask. It honestly made me laugh 😂😂 I really wanted to make this more of an enemies to lovers (I still can) but soft Paul makes me too happy. Also, the ending for this was gonna be different but I made it into the next chapter If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories. You can request at any time any story or one-shot you desire. Hope you enjoy, and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

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Chapter 5

(Y/N) had gone to bed with anger flowing through her veins. It made her burn up with rage, slowly bubbling up to the surface.

Bella had always been unconsciously selfish in her sister’s opinion. At least, she hoped it was unconscious. To (Y/N), her sister always found a way to make every situation about herself, and everyone allowed it. Her heartbreak had taken over her father’s life, threatened to take over their mother’s, and was slowly snaking its hands around hers. But Bella would not become the center of her life, she could not.

But the next morning, (Y/N)’s anger had seemingly dissipated. Even if Bella believed the world revolved around her, (Y/N) would not let hers do so. At the end of the day, it was Christmas – a day of happiness and forgiveness. She would enjoy it with or without her sister.

The smell of slightly burnt coffee filled her nostrils before she had opened her eyes and she knew her father was already up. Her excitement for the day was again replenished and she readied herself for a long afternoon. It was her first holiday back in the city of Forks, and the first Christmas she’d have in the town. Nothing would stand in the way of a good day.

“Morning, dad,” (Y/N) smiled at the flustered man. He had taken a sip of the scalding coffee. Not only did he burn his tongue, but he had to taste the awful batch. “Merry Christmas.”

“Oh, merry Christmas, honey. I really am a menace in the kitchen.”

“Thankfully not on the grill,” she chuckled. “Why don’t you sit while I make a new batch and a light breakfast?”

“I guess I’m still not used to having you girls here,” he sighed. “Normally I’d just go down to the diner and get some food there. And now that Bella’s like… like that, I’ve had to take care of the food again.” 

“Well, I’m here now. So don’t worry about that,” (Y/N) smiled. “We’ll just take it one day at a time and hope for the best. It’s the only thing we can do.” 

“Then we should get ready soon to go over to Billy’s house,” Charlie responded, resigned. “Were you able to at least convince Bella to come?”

“No. She’s as stubborn as ever.” 

“I really hoped she’d want to come. You both always enjoyed Christmas time.” 

(Y/N) shrugged from the stove, the pan she shook scraping slightly the iron grates. She had hoped that, at least for this holiday, Bella would put her family first. Alas, her teenage angst took over and she was once more glued onto the swivel desk chair, overlooking the backyard. All she wanted was for her family to be together during such a special holiday – especially one that promoted togetherness. But all Bella could do or think of was the idiotic boy that had broken her heart.

"Whatever," (Y/N) spoke abruptly. “She’s the one that’s missing out. If she wants to stay at home and wallow in self-pity, so be it. We cannot let her consume every part of our lives.”

“(Y/N), she’s your sister,” Charlie said. “She’s sad and we can’t just leave her behind.”

“It’s not even for a whole day, dad. She’ll survive a couple of hours of staring out of that window,” she whined. “It’s your day off. It’s Christmas. We’re not gonna spend today trapped in the house because Bella has a bad case of the blues.”

“(Y/N)…”

“Dad,” (Y/N) said sternly. “We are gonna go to Uncle Billy’s house. We are going to celebrate Christmas. Then, we will come back home and find Bella in the same spot. But we deserve — you deserve — to put her in the back of our minds for a couple of hours and enjoy ourselves. And that’s an order, sheriff.”

“Alright, you win, (Y/N),” Charlie chuckled slightly. “And thanks again for breakfast. I promise one day I’ll get the hang of it.”

“There won’t be any need whilst I’m here, dad.”

After a small round of chitchat and the background noise of cutlery hitting the ceramic plates, the two of them left for their respective rooms to get ready for the day. Before going back downstairs, (Y/N) popped into Bella’s room where she was not surprised to see her sister sat staring out her window.

Her sister looked pitiful. Chair bound and frail. Heartbreak in the simplest definition. There was not a single trace of the girl she had grown up with. There was a Bella before Edward and the one that was left barely counted as a person.

(Y/N) entered the room, a wrapped present in her hands. She sauntered towed her sister, unsure of what Bella’s reaction — or lack thereof— would be.

“Hey, Bells,” she spoke softly, unsure of where they stood after the conversation they had the night before. “I got you this cause, after all, it is Christmas. I know you don’t want to come with us, but I still wanted to get you something. You can open it, or not. It’s really up to you. But, merry Christmas, sis.”

Silence seemed to be the prevailing answer.

“So, is she finally gonna come?” Charlie asked as (Y/N) exited Bella’s room. “Did she have a change of heart?”

“Nope,” she answered – she wasn’t a miracle worker. “But that doesn’t mean we’re not gonna have a good time. Now, let’s go.”

As they drove down the streets to the reservation, Charlie and (Y/N) sang along badly to Christmas tunes. A white scenery blurred past them as they headed through the snow-covered streets of Forks, putting the older Swan daughter to the back of their mind. The air felt lighter, a weight lifted off their shoulders. They both felt like they could breathe, even if just for a little bit.

The red barn-like house came into view before they had realized that Forks was far behind them. As the truck rolled to a stop, Billy and Jake exited the house to greet their guests. A playful smile played on Jacob’s face when he saw his new girlfriend. A smile that Charlie Swan did not like.

“Now, (Y/N), I know that you two are now sort of together. But I don’t wanna see all that lovey-dovey stuff between you.”

“Dad,” she chuckled.

“No, seriously, (Y/N). I don’t wanna see it.”

“So, it’s okay as long as you don’t see it? Got it.”

“Don’t push it, kid.”

“Alright, dad. I’ll keep it low-key for you.”

With another giggle, (Y/N) stepped out of the cruiser, her hands packed with a bag filled with presents and a six-pack of beer. And from the back of the car, Charlie pulled the trays of food they had prepared.

“Here, let me help,” Jake told Charlie, grabbing hold of two of the four trays he was carrying.

Charlie tried his best to hide his feelings of slight anger toward the boy. He’d known him since he was a baby but seeing him get so close to his daughter unnerved him. Still, he answered, “Yeah, thanks, Jake.”

“Hey, Jake,” (Y/N) smiled, kissing Jake’s cheek.

“Hey, (Y/N).”

“Alright you two, keep it moving,” Charlie grumbled. “And, again, I don’t wanna see any funny stuff between you.”

He walked in front of them, saying hi to Billy as he walked into the house to put the trays down. Everyone could notice the annoyance on his face. As much as he loved Jake, it was one thing for him to be his best friend’s son; it was another for him to date his youngest daughter.

“How’ve you been, Billy?” (Y/N) asked as she made her way into the house and the man rolled inside.

“Very good, (Y/N),” he smiled. “So, Jake and you, when did that happen?”

She chuckled in response. “It started at the bonfire, but it’s been a long time coming. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, between you and me, you’ve always been my favorite of Charlie’s youngest daughters.”

“It’d be weird if I wasn’t.”

“I truly hope this union is of benefit to the both of you,” Billy said, placing a comforting hand on her forearm. “If it is meant to be, I’m sure your father will come around sooner or later.”

“Waiting for sooner rather than later,” she sighed. “It’s kind of hard to see where this is going when dad is breathing down our necks every time we’re in the same room.”

“He means well,” he chuckled. “Charlie’s very new to this whole parenting teenagers thing. It’s hard to see your kids grow up so quickly. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll keep him by the barbecue as much as I can so you two can have some alone time.”

“Thanks, uncle Billy.” 

In her happiness, (Y/N) missed Billy’s knowing gaze. He knew something neither of them did. Deep down, he knew the pair would not last long – there were other forces in play. But if this is what they wanted, for now, he would never interfere. Young love was hard to come by if that’s what this was.

They entered the kitchen and laughed as they witnessed Jacob’s pleading face. Charlie had not let down his menacing stare as he prepped the meat they would cook. Though his hands worked on the food, his eyes glared at the boy relentlessly.

“Hey, Charlie, got the grill up and running already,” Billy announced. “Why don’t we put this thing to cook already?” 

“But I’m not done yet.” 

“I think you are,” he chuckled. “Come on, let’s go.” 

Charlie grumbled as he left through the backdoor with Billy and back into the snow, leaving the two teenagers on their own. With a smile of mischief, Jake and (Y/N) crossed the small kitchen and were finally able to engage in a hello kiss.

“Hey,” she whispered as they parted from each other.

“Hey, back,” Jacob chuckled. “Your dad was close to shooting me there.” 

“Well, you did kiss his youngest daughter in front of him,” (Y/N) teased, wrapping her arms around his neck. “And you’re the first boyfriend I’ve introduced to him. Look how well that turned out for Bella.” 

“But you’re not Bella,” he said. “And I’m not Edward.”

“That is very correct,” she laughed before pecking his lips. “You’re way better.”

“You could say that again,” Jake grinned. “Also, how many boyfriends didn’t make the cut?” 

“Why? Are you jealous, Jake?” 

“Just want to know what I’m up against.” 

“Believe me, none of them match up to you.” 

Suddenly, the sound of a screen door startled them apart. Charlie walked in, the angry scowl still on his face. He muttered under his breath as he opened the drawers in the kitchen, finally finding tongs. And as he left once more, he shot them another glare.

The pair couldn’t help but burst out in laughter as they watched Charlie’s figure disappear through the door. They understood where the father was coming from. Opening himself to having another daughter get her heart broken was too much for a technically “new” father.

But as much as they understood him, it didn’t mean they would try too hard to make him comfortable. They were young, a little reckless, and very excited to be in a relationship – at least (Y/N) was.

As the adults chatted outside, cooking the meat and drinking beers, Jake and (Y/N) gravitated toward the couch, cuddling on the seat. The fireplace was on and the radio was set on a jazz station, playing a song neither of them knew.

“So,” (Y/N) spoke up, looking at Jacob from his chest. “I know we said we wouldn’t do gifts, but I got you something.”

“(Y/N), you promised,” he chuckled. “Although, I will admit I also got you a little something as well. You go first.”

(Y/N) stood up and went to get the wrapped gift she had placed behind the tree. She was excited. It was their first Christmas together ever, and more importantly, their first as a couple. She had dreamed of this moment since they were kids.

Jake followed behind, grabbing the bag he had packed his gift into. He was sure they had both gotten each other small things. They hadn’t been together for that long and there wasn’t anything riding in the presents.

“So, I know you’ve been saying for a while that you needed these for a while, and they were very hard to get.”

Jacob’s eyes were wide in surprise as he unwrapped the box in his hands. (Y/N) had gotten him a pair of Timberland boots with a steel toe. He had dropped one too many tools onto his foot whilst working on cars and he was in desperate need of these shoes.

“Wow, (Y/N)! This must have put a dent in your wallet.”

“It’s worth it,” she smiled into the hug he gave her.

“Well, here’s yours,” he tried to pull a smile, but he knew it wouldn’t even compare. “It’s not as good, but I didn’t have much time.” 

“That’s okay,” (Y/N) responded. She knew whatever he had gotten her would be meaningful and caring, a testament to who he was. And she was very confident in it until she finally saw it. “A… candle.” 

“It’s got a nice smell,” Jacob chuckled awkwardly. “I thought you’d like the smell… I know. It sucks.” 

“No. It’s, um, it’s nice.” (Y/N) was trying to hide her disappointment. She’d seen this type of candle. They sold them at the gas stations in the area as passersby souvenirs. “I’ll put it by my bed and I’ll think about you every time I light it. I love it. Thanks.” 

“And I will basically live in these boots,” he boasted. “I love them.” 

“I’m glad.” 

It was hard for (Y/N) to keep her dismay at bay. She smiled, talked, and laughed through dinner, but it was hard. Jacob could have gotten the candle that morning – zero thought and preparation had gone into the gift. She would have preferred he stuck to nothing. Even that would have been better since he would have kept the promise.

Instead, she was left with a gas station candle that smelled like apples that had been stuffed into a red bag. She was allergic to apples. They made her throat itch and her eyes swell, it had been years since she had even smelled one. Though thankfully, this one was laced with a fake fruit smell, she couldn’t wait to store it in the deepest corners of her closet.

Whilst they were enjoying the pumpkin pie she had made, a knock resounded through the door. The four people in attendance stared at each other.

“Are you expecting anyone else?” Charlie asked, wiping off the whipped cream that had accumulated on his mustache. “Though it’d be just us tonight.” 

“We aren’t,” Billy responded. “It’s a bit late for that.” 

“I’ll check who it is,” (Y/N) offered, quickly standing. “It’s probably a tourist that got lost. You guys carry on.” 

As the men went on with their conversation, (Y/N) went to see who was at the door. It was Christmas night, whilst it was snowing. If it was a tourist, they were crazy to be out at that time.

But when she opened the door, she was surprised that not only was it not a tourist, but it was Paul Lahote standing there in shorts and a tank top. His hair was dusted with white snowflake specs, the ones on his skin melting away right after contact.

(Y/N) was quick to close the door behind her. If there was anything she didn’t want it was for Jake and Paul to get into an altercation with her father and Billy around.

“Paul,” she chuckled as she pulled her jacket closer to her body. “What’re you doing here?” 

“I was actually hoping to run into you here,” he responded. “This may sound weird, but I, uh I got you something.” 

He handed her a rectangular box beautifully wrapped in red metallic paper with a white bow for decoration. She could tell he had taken his time to wrap the present – or had asked someone skilled to do it for him. By the cover alone she knew he had put care into the present.

“Can I open it now?”

“Please,” he smiled. “Go ahead.” 

Carefully, she undid the paper, not wanting to even rip it, and she pulled a long box from inside. When she lifted the lid, she gasped. Inside a gorgeously crafted dreamcatcher, with cream feathers and colorful beads rested. Attached to the rim, a wooden wolf totem was attached. It was simple, it was thoughtful, it was beautiful.

“Oh, Paul, it’s stunning,” she said. “But you didn’t have to. I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s okay,” he chuckled. “I just saw it at a local shop, and it reminded me of you. The wolf totem, it’s for protection. The wolf is supposed to help you manifestmore protection, better instincts, and stronger relationships in your life.” 

“Seriously, Paul, it’s beautiful.”

 Without knowing it, she was beaming. The surge of happiness that grew inside her was unfathomable, and she found herself wrapping him in a hug. This stranger had gotten her a more thoughtful gift than her boyfriend and friend.

Paul stiffened at first, surprised at the sudden show of affection. But instantly melted into her embrace, wrapping his own arms around her.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he smiled to himself. But the moment was cut short. From far inside the woods, a wolf called out to his pack, saying it was time to change shifts. “Uh, that was all. I just wanted to give you this. I should be heading back home now.”

“Oh.” Was she disappointed? “Then, I promise one day I’ll repay the favor.” 

“There’s really no need.” 

“I insist,” she said with a bright smile. “Seriously, Paul. This actually means a lot. Thank you.” 

“Sure thing,” Paul smiled, running his hand through the back of his neck. “I’ll see you around. And, Merry Christmas, (Y/N).” 

Before she could answer him, Paul seemed to vanish. (Y/N) couldn’t see his body anywhere close. So, she spoke to the air, “Merry Christmas, Paul.” 

(Y/N) was quick to hide the gift in the car, under her seat. If she went back into the house with it, she was sure it would only cause discord with Jacob and her father. It was better if neither of them knew about one of the best gifts anyone had ever gotten her.

“Who was it?” Charlie called out when he saw his daughter walking back into the house. “You were out there for some time.” 

“Oh, just a couple of tourists that got lost leaving the rez.” 

“Tourists?” Jacob questioned. “Today of all days?”

“It was a newlywed couple, on a honeymoon road trip.” 

“Mmm, young love,” Billy smiled toward (Y/N). It made her question if he had seen who she was actually speaking to. “What a great gift it is.” 

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#paul lahote #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote x y/n #paul lahote x reader #twilight #twilight fanfiction #the twilight saga #twilight saga #twlight #twilight fan fiction #twilight imagine #paul lahote smut #paul lahote series #speak #fan fic #fan fiction #fanfiction #fanfic #jacob black #jacob black imagine #billy black #charlie swan #edward cullen #isabella swan #bella swan #alice cullen #jasper hale #emmett cullen #rosalie hale #esme cullen

[rosepascal]

Hi congrats on the milestone! I never usually send things in for celebrations cos I worry that the person feels stuck going through loads of requests (plus my ideas are rubbish hence why I don’t write but am a reblog queen👸) buuut- if you have time.. can we talk/Drabble about Joel stressing over the thought that he’s fucked up a first date in Jackson cos he’s so been out of action for so long? Love to hear your thoughts!😘

Omg I love soft!Joel thank u for sending something in!! sorry it took so long im finally back home lol

warnings: sad and soft joel. He's a cutie though

Joel really did it this time. Of all the things he could fuck up it had to be a date with you. The one thing he was stressed about for so long, the one thing he swore would go right. It's like the universe heard his pleas and said fuck you.

It was his first date in so long but he was confident he still had it, at least a little bit. But one thing after another went wrong that it felt like a sign. That he was too old, too callous, he was out of shape and out of the dating scene for too long.

He had it planned out. A nice dinner, he'd get you flowers from the garden, he'd play music from the record player he found. Ellie even offered to stay with a friend for the night. Things started to go south quick.

The dinner he's made a hundred times ended up burnt. The flowers trampled by some damn foxes. So they sat sadly wilted in the vase on the table. The record player broke. On top of that Joel just couldn't get out of his own head. Overthinking everything that he says to the point where he left you in an awkward silence. He tried real hard. Y

ou were so, sweet to him. So perfect in his eyes. Someone who deserved a man who could take you on a real date. To the nice restaurant in Jackson that he hates because they're so snooty. And buy you nice things instead of scavenging abandoned buildings.

When you left he could just tell he blew it. Blowing out the candles he throws the crumpled flowers outside and stomps off to bed. Defeated in his one sad dating attempt.

"Soo how did it go?" Ellie asks in the morning, wiggling her eyebrows as Joel comes down the stairs. He grumbles something that she can't here and starts the coffee pot.

"So not good." Joel remains silent as he sips his coffee.

He barely slept last night, fully convinced that he truly fucked up his chance with you. That you wouldn't even want to see him again let alone give him another chance.

"What did you do?" Joel looks up at Ellie in confusion.

"What makes you think I did somethin?" Joel says. She shrugs and leaves the kitchen counter.

"Hey! Get back here and clean your damn plate!" Joel calls after her but she's already out the door.

"Damn kid." He shakes his head as he takes her plate and puts it in the sink.

"Hey Joel, is now a bad time?" Your voice catches him off guard.

He nearly drops his cup when he sees you standing in his kitchen. You look nervous, hands behind your back and shifting your weight. Then it dawns on him. This is it. You're gonna tell him that last night was terrible and you never want to see him again. At least you were nice enough to tell him in person.

"No no, it's fine. Look I'm real sorry bout last night." You tilt your head, confused by what he means.

"Joel..." Here it comes he thinks. He braces himself for rejection, in fact he's already accepted it.

"I had a great time last night." You pull out the crumpled flowers that you found on his porch. Despite what he thinks you loved your date last night. It doesn't matter if the food was a little burnt or the music wasn't working. Getting to spend time with Joel was enough for you.

"Sugar, I made a real mess of things." Joel says, like he's trying to convince you he's not worth it. You laugh and hold out the flowers.

"Joel, all of that stuff is trivial. I don't need the perfect date, I just need you." He's speechless. Joel doesn't get speechless often, or ever really.

"So...I was hoping you'd go on another date with me." You say nervously.

"Of course, I promise I'll make it up to you." He takes the flowers and sets them on the counter.

"I'd be happy just sitting outside, watching the stars with you." You tell him. A serious tone to your voice. You need him to know that you mean it.

"I know a great spot, it's quiet. We can go tonight." He says and you smile.

"Then I'll see you tonight." In a burst of confidence you lean in and kiss his cheek.

Butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you quickly turn and run away. A smile you can't get rid of on your face. Joel tries to hide his smile as he sips on his coffee.

"See you tonight sugar."

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #1k celebration

[zooophagous]

(This entry of Wayward Souls contains a sex scene, viewer discretion is advised)

“I told you I’m fine.” Ursula grumbled and sipped her watery coffee at the breakfast nook. The table had been wiped down thrice. Why was it dusty? Why was everything so dusty? She swore she saw little wafts of lint fuzz on the surface of her creamer.

“You’re not fine. The reason you aren’t in incredible amounts of pain right now is probably because that burn on your leg went all the way through your skin and wrecked all the nerves in it.” Artemis replied in an annoyed tone. “It’s not as if we have any concrete plan anyways so what’s the hurry.”

“Well dear, two things. We need to find a way to clear both your name and Mr. Strauss, so long as the powers that be are convinced he’s a murderer, we have no allies and nowhere to run, and the house won’t stay hidden very long. Second and more importantly-” She said with an emphasis on ‘importantly’- “We need to find Troy before the Witchfinders do. He’s in mortal peril, and if he shifts again so is everyone else in a five mile radius. He’ll blow the lid off of our entire way of life, or blow off his own head, or BOTH in short order.”

She huffed and crossed her arms. “And I don’t know about you but I cannot coordinate a lycan hunt with zero staff from a damn hospital bed. Besides. I hate jello.” She slurped her coffee and managed to spill some of it, then furiously blotted it up with a scowl.

Artemis sighed. “You’re right, you’re right. As always, of course.”

“You sound unconvinced.”

“It’s just… if we do find him, we have nowhere to house him. We don’t have a safe bolt hole for him anymore. What if looking for him just makes both him and us a bigger target anyway? Maybe he’s safer as is.”

“As much as I wish I could believe that, Artie, there haven’t been any sightings reported of him, and he hasn’t self-reported either. Neither I nor the two or three remaining staff members has been in contact with him. His silence does not bode well.”

She stared blankly into her coffee with a thin lipped seriousness. “If it is too late for him, I still would like to find him. Give him a Christian burial. Keep him out of some skull collection.”

“The skull collections never seemed to be an objection before.”

A deep voice came from the room behind them. Mr. Strauss had risen, and slowly shuffled into the kitchen with a wide, ugly yawn that showed the full length of his fangs.

“Believe me Strauss, Troy deserves a better end than anyone you bumped into in the research library. If it makes you feel better, I’m sure they’re all nicely cremated now along with my rare books and my research and my files and all of my payroll- oh God.” Ursula dragged her hands down her face.

“Tax season is going to be AWFUL after this. Ugh.”

“Chin up, Frau Harker. The photos in the news show that the library was only partially burnt. All you have to do is hunt down the looters who no doubt are sharing their newly unearthed secrets on the information superhighway.”

“This injury isn’t making me want Dilaudad, Strauss, but you are.” Ursula finally caved and wrenched open her pill bottle full of some prescription pain killer.

“I am surprised the hospital let you go, looking like that.”

“You aren’t the only one who hates hospitals, Strauss.”

“Yes. I do agree with you, however. Troy must be found, and found soon. If he is still alive it is likely he is injured, lost or captured. They may be tormenting him as we speak.”

“Alright, you win. I’m outvoted.” Artemis stood up and began to walk away. “But we’ll start tomorrow. We need at least one night’s rest, then tomorrow we’ll pack, and then hunt for Troy. Auntie, can you handle your own wound care for a bit?”

“I can handle it better than the good for nothing triage nurses. I’m in the best possible hands. My own.” She gulped down a handful of pills. “Still, if we’re going to take a night to rest, I’ll dip into these painkillers. It will at least force me to sleep.”

“If your leg continues to bother you, I will happily assist you in amputating it.” Strauss grinned and licked his teeth.

“Don’t threaten a member of the Van Helsing family on their home turf, Strauss. You’ll wake up the ghosts and piss them off.” She got up with a grunt.

“I’m going to get some rest. Artie, you should too. We’ll have plenty to think about on the drive into town.”

Artemis turned and walked stiffly down the hall. Ursula went her separate way to the guest room she’d claimed for herself. Strauss lingered alone in the hall. He tilted his head and stared at Artemis’ back as her shadow grew fainter further away.

He was unsure what it meant. Her emotions could only be conflicted, negative- but she was still difficult to parse. He hesitated a moment, then followed her. She made it up the stairs, to the master bedroom. She entered it silently, but left the door open behind her.

Strauss hesitated at the threshold. This was not a clear invitation. Or was it? Well. He did not wish to be alone all night long in the Van Helsing manor, so he resolved to be rude, and ask forgiveness if needed. He pushed his way into the dark space. A cool night breeze brushed past the gossamer curtains, lifting them in billows. Artemis’ dark silhouette stood among them, arms crossed, head down, apparently deep in thought. He quietly crept behind her and finally rested his head upon her shoulder. She startled slightly but instantly tamped it down.

“Mr. Strauss. There’s something I need to give you.”

“Oh?” He wrinkled his brow in confusion.

“Your freedom.” She pulled a folded paper from her pocket and handed it to him. “That is a signed form of relinquishment from the Institute. Only blank one I could find in storage. It hereby, and henceforth, deems that you are no longer the property of the Van Helsing Institute.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re free to go, Strauss. Even if the chase was called off now, I don’t have the facility to adequately care for you anyway. It was stupid and clueless and heartless and just… cruel to even capture you in the first place. I’m giving you my word that if you leave and save yourself now, nobody from my side will hunt you down.”

“Artemis.”

“I should have done it a long time ago. I’ve been meaning to all along, you know? That was the end goal. To release you back into the wild at the end of the project. Well, the project is over now. So we can skip to that step.”

“It does not work that way, Van Helsing.” He hooked his claws over her shoulders and held her firmly while whispering directly into her ear. His cold, stale breath made the hairs on her neck rise.

“You have caught the tiger, Frau Van Helsing, and you have tamed it. Have you not read The Little Prince? You are responsible forever, for what you have tamed.”

She pulled out of his grip and spun to face him, only for him to catch her by the wrists.

“Get off.”

“What was it you said to me before? Once a vampire is invited in, it is hard to convince them to leave?”

“Don’t make me knee you in the groin.”

“Troy is my friend too Artemis.” He let go of her and backed off. “Believe it or not, so is Ursula.”

“I don’t know if you can call your gaolor a friend, Strauss.”

“No, I cannot. You are my captor, yes. But you are not my friend. You are something else. You, Van Helsing, are my mate. You own more of me than you can relinquish with a piece of paper.” He took the form and let it fly out the window on the breeze.

“If you attempt to leave me behind, I shall declare you my rival and hunt you. I would become a quarry too tempting for the seasoned slayer to resist. I will stalk you like a wild beast if you dare put me out.”

“You’re only in the line of fire any time you’re close to me.”

“Then let me die happily, for once. I have already died miserable before.”

He put his hands back on her shoulders, this time more of a caress and less of a grip. “There is also, to be considered… the ‘little death’ as well.” He licked his lips.

“That’s what you’re thinking about? At a time like this?”

“And what better time. One more evening of rest, and then tomorrow? We do not know if we will live or die. If I am to be captured and slain like a predatory animal, I should like to go to my grave with a pleasant memory to warm my bones.”

She rested her hands on his chest and looked him up and down before finally looking him in the eye. “I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish we had a little more time.” She smiled sadly. “Best to make the most of it while we can. Memento Mori.”

Strauss dove in quickly for a kiss, quickly enough that his fang caught her lip and made her bleed. She gasped, but grabbed him by the head and ears, controlling his advance. He backed off long enough to lick her blood from his lips and continue, gently threatening with the tips of his fangs.

She grabbed his shirt and began to steer him towards the bed. He continued his onslaught of bite-feints, using his height to loom over her until she lay flat on the bed beneath them. He folded his body over her own like a cloak.

While he kissed and groped, she popped open the buttons of her blouse, and freed herself awkwardly from her bra. She felt her way down Strauss’ torso to his pants, trying to find and open his fly. He wasn’t holding still. Finally she had a handle on him and slid her hand into his pants to hold his arousal.

He stopped his barrage of kissing and stared fixedly at her. She stared back with a confused look of concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“Van Helsing.” He slowly backed off of her. “I very much desire to bite you.”

“Like actually bite me?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” She breathed heavily and looked away. “Excuse me a minute.”

She rolled out from under him and left the bed. Strauss sat down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands with a frustrated groan. Embarrassing. Complete failure as a lover, but was that surprising?”

“Here.”

He looked up. Artemis had returned, holding something.

“Was ist das?”

“It’s fine. We just need to use a little protection.” She smirked. The item dangling from her hand had straps. She approached and fitted it over his face, obscuring his mouth- and strapped it tightly into place.

“A muzzle.” She stated matter of factly. “An old type of vampire management tool. Inhumane by our standards… but maybe it will do for this.”

Strauss reached up and felt the thing on his face. It was uncomfortable. It conjured up memories of a film about Silent Lambs he’d watched with Troy. “You would muzzle your loyal lap dog, Van Helsing?” He teased though muffled.

“I’m responsible for you, remember? That means you’re allowed to bite when I say you can. If you’re staying, you’ll have to be good.”

She did not have a well practiced authoritarian voice. Still, being made to obey gave him a thrill, a thrill that ran down his leg to his groin and quickly lured him back to bed. She took the strap near his ear and steered his head down to her chest and pulled him over her like a blanket.

He had already managed to escape from his pants, and his anatomy was now craning outward, begging to be touched. She would make him wait. One knee held him up and off of her for the moment, and she took his hand and guided it to her skirt. Her underwear was quickly discarded.

His hands were cold, and his claws left a distinct pinching sensation on her more tender places. She didn’t care, and didn’t stop him. The physical pain was like a shock that jolted her brain away from the emotional agony of the past few days. Strauss’ free hand had found one of her breasts, and he rested his head near it, listening to the pounding of her heart to excite himself.

Artemis relaxed beneath him and allowed him to lavish his pleasures on her. She felt an awkward piece against her leg, and opened her eyes to see Strauss trying and failing not to grind against her in desperation. She took pity on him and took him into her hand and pulled him down into the crease of her body.

There was a pinching sensation again as he mounted her and began to chase his own release. He wanted to be rough, but cognizant of his own strength, instead gripped the sheets until they ripped beneath his claws to spare her soft skin the abuse.

She wrapped her legs around him, easy to do with one so thin, and held and massaged his ears as his desire rocked the bed. He burrowed his face into her neck. She could feel his teeth against the other side of the muzzle, trying and failing to find purchase on her artery.

The denial of the bite seemed to frustrate him, and his pace increased as he looked for satisfaction one way or another. Artemis felt her breathing grow shallow and her muscles tight, as Strauss carried her to the finish.

He had done his job. Now he sought his own reward. He settled into a steady rhythm and a nearly trancelike stare. He had called her his mate, yes, and she got the sense that this strange being, this creature was truly more ‘mating’ than he was making love. For all the sense that made.

She held onto him tightly as he braced for his crescendo, and with a shudder and a grunt she felt the uncomfortable wetness of his release in her embrace. He ground to a stop, and slowly deflated off of her to fall by her side, still clinging to her in a possessive embrace.

“We’ll need to get up and get cleaned up early before Ursula sees us.”

“Don’t think about her right now. Let us sleep. May I stay here with you Van Helsing? Please?”

“Of course.” She nestled in next to him. “Strauss? Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“That’s too bad.” She mumbled, nearly dozing. “After all of this, you really shouldn’t.”

“Do you love me, Van Helsing?”

“I do.”

“Then that will cover a multitude of sins.”

#wayward souls #writing

[modern-day-bard]

Worth The Feeling

A/n: Hi! This is my first time writing fanfiction and I will admit that the first few chapters are a little rocky, but hang in there and I promise it’s a fun little read. I tried to structure this story as a cutesy, lighthearted romance novel, and I think I found that pace later on. With some of the chapters containing adult content, I would ask that minors do not read or interact with my posts. There is explicit smut and fluff, and some intimidation in a couple of chapters. Other than that and the age gap (MC is 26, Javi is in his 40s), there are no other major trigger warnings. I also purposefully did not give the main character any physical descriptors, other than her being shorter than Javi, because I wanted whoever is reading it to be able to picture themselves. I found it too difficult to write the story from the perspective of “y/n.” I tried to choose a name that was hopefully racially ambiguous enough so anyone could connect with the character. Finally, if you do choose to read my story, thank you and happy reading! Summary: Ava Cohen is a 26-year-old production assistant working tirelessly to achieve her dream of one day becoming a film director. As hiatus from her last project comes to a close, she returns to set with Norwick Productions, whom she has worked with for the past four years. After a major fo paux on the first day of work, Ava is worried she has offended the star of this next production: Javi Gutierrez. She will soon come to realize, this couldn’t be further from the truth. When the cast and crew travel to Italy to film on location, the seriousness of what Ava is feeling becomes all too real, just as a new career opportunity lands in her lap. As tensions run high, watchful eyes set in, and her career is put at stake, can all of this be worth it in the end?

Content Warning: 18+

Chapter 1

I wonder if it's possible to drive with your eyes partially sealed shut. It should be illegal to be awake this early. 4:30am call time on the first day? I've been on more productions than I can count, though I fear this one will finally be the one to take me down. At least this morning we're on the sound stage as opposed to on sight in Italy. Maybe most 26-year-olds would be jumping at the opportunity to fly abroad with all expenses paid. But to me, the thought of being stuck on a steel tin in the sky for any amount of time is enough to make me consider throwing in the towel on this job all together. But I'm not going to think about that right now. I take a deep breath as I pull onto the lot. The first day on set is always the most chaotic. The amount of people who seem to forget how to do their jobs during hiatus grows every time we return. I can't judge of course, because I may soon be one of them. I've been with Norwick Productions since I was 22, and I'm already feeling burnt out after only four years. Granted, the burn out could be due to completing grad school homework until one in the morning, and arriving here before the sun came up. Regardless, my first stop is craft services for coffee. After I'm caffeinated and signed in, my duties pile high. As a Production Assistant, I'm given any and all tasks other employees didn't have time to complete. Sometimes the lack of time to complete the task was due to a lack of desire to complete it, which could lead to some pretty unfortunate chores for me. Picking up dry cleaning, faking tears over the phone to convince the fire department to give us a permit, walking talent's dogs, cleaning up said dog's poop, you name it. I even had to shave our leading lady's armpits. Twice. They take the "other duties as assigned" line on the job application to the extremes.

Talent is arriving in two hours and we still don't have everyone's trailer set up, so that is my first stop. The one thing I pride myself on is that despite being a major movie buff, I had an uncanny ability not to get starstruck. No matter how often their name was trending or how many awards these people have won, I always saw them as part of the crew. Was I a little rattled on my first set? Sure. But when you realize how helpless a lot of these rich actors are, the sparkle sort of wears off.

I typically never got a chance to read the script beforehand. It isn't a requirement of PAs, and in fact, we're not even allowed to see them every time. So until I have the call sheet in hand, I'm not sure who I am setting up these trailers for. And in my dazed need for coffee, I forgot to grab a call sheet (a huge no-no for PAs, but I'll blame it on last night's homework bender). From what I saw inside a few minutes ago, it looks like the first scene has something to do with the CIA. There were giant print-outs of the lettering all over the wall. For now, all I have to go off of is the CIA and the impending doom of travel to Italy in a few weeks. I finish prepping the two lead's trailers with a welcome letter, various snacks, and a copy of today's filming schedule. I check my watch: 6:00am. Still a half hour until they arrive. I tip my head back, taking in as much of my coffee as I can as I head toward the door of the trailer.

I swing the door open, and crash right into something hard. The movement sends my coffee splashing down the front of my shirt and dripping onto my shoes. "Shit." I hiss, looking down at my soaked t-shirt. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry." A sincere male voice causes my head to snap back up. In my sleep-deprivarty, I didn't connect the fact that I had crashed into a person and not a wall. The man in front of me is taking off a pair of sunglasses, a mortified expression on his face. A face that I don't recognize. He's certainly attractive, and possibly in his forties? His dark brows are pulling together in concern, his brown eyes deep with sympathy. A rush of embarrassment creeps up my cheeks as I realize that I had walked directly into his chest when I was trying to leave the trailer. I take a step back so I don't have to crane my head to look up at him. "I'm sorry, I wasn't looking." I say quietly, warmth still coating my cheeks. "You're sorry? Don't be. I wasn't looking either." He steps inside, ducking his tall frame under the door to enter. "And your poor shirt..." He gestures to my now semi-sheer t-shirt. I put my coffee down on the small table and cross my arms over my chest. "You don't have to worry about this trailer," I say, changing the subject. "I already prepped it." "Oh, uh, thank you." He looks confused now, and he starts shrugging off a backpack I didn't realize he was carrying. He tosses the bag on one of the chairs at the table. I notice he doesn't have a walkie either. He must be new, and sure to get a talking to by Lloyd if he's dumping his stuff in a talent trailer and strolling around without a walkie. "When were you hired?" I keep my tone casual, conversational. I find that I can deal with embarrassment better if I keep the other person talking. "About five months ago, I think." He starts to run his hand across the table between us, watching his own movements carefully. I get the sense that he's trying not to look at me. "Well, welcome aboard. I should warn you that the director is pretty strict about PAs walking around without walkies. Trust me, I got my ass handed to me during my first week. Super embarrassing." I roll my eyes for emphasis. He looks up at me then, his smile warm, and his tone carries a humor that I don't quite understand when he says, "Thank you. I'll keep it in mind." "No problem. Oh, and I'm Ava." I extend my hand and he takes it. His hand envelopes mine, and I realize in that moment that he is quite a bit larger than me. This realization, combined with the warmth on his palm makes me feel funny. "I'm Javi." He smiles again. "Good to meet you," I say, taking my hand back to check my watch once more. "Talent should be arriving soon so wherever you need to be, I would head over there now." I walk toward the door as I say it, taking extra care when opening the door this time. "I'm sorry again, Ava." He calls after me, his voice still just as sincere as the first time he apologized. "Don't worry about it!" I call back, closing the door behind me. I take the few steps down from the trailer, breathing a sigh of relief to be out of that moment. However, that sigh gets sucked back down my throat when I see the two words in bold on the front of the trailer I just left. Javi Gutierrez

And if my cheeks were red before, now they are maroon.

Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

#pedro pascal characters #javier peña #the mandalorian #joel miller #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez fanfiction #javi gutierrez smut #javi gutierrez x you #javi gutierrez fluff