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mariasont · 11 days

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Talking to a Brick Wall - A.H

a/n: rip erin strauss you would've hated this fic

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pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader

summary: in which you overhear your boyfriend aaron's phone call

warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, miscommunication, self-doubt, happy ending but also a terrible ending bc i SUCK at endings xoxo

wc: 2.3k

You had called out your boyfriend's name multiple times as you wandered into his house. He had asked you a while ago if you wanted to come over for a movie night tonight and hell would have to freeze over before you ever declined that offer. However, upon arrival, you were greeted by silence; no response to the doorbell, his phone, or your voice. Thankfully, the key he'd given you last year jingled in your pocket as you let yourself in.

You had a pretty strong suspicion he'd be in his office--after all, this was Aaron Hotchner, a man who definitely did not believe in leaving work at the office.

And sure enough, his voice filtered through the slightly ajar door, the rich hue of his mahogany desk framing the gap. You were about to move towards the living room, assuming he was on a work call of some sorts, but his words stopped you dead in your tracks.

"It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm speaking, but the understanding isn't there. You know what I mean? It's like the concepts just float in one ear and out the other."

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, brows drawn together, as your hand found the wall, leaning towards the door. He couldn't have been talking about you, right?

"I try to share details, to get her involved, but it's met with this vacant nod. As if the depth of it all just doesn't register."

Oh. Her. You tried to fan away the wetness that threatened to fall down your cheeks, each rapid motion a desperate attempt to convince yourself you were imagining things.

"And I'm patient, I really am. But when you're met with that blank look, it's... disheartening. You start to wonder if it's worth explaining at all. It's like talking to a wall."

Okay, that stung. It was like an immediate punch to the gut, your heart seeming to drop into the pit of your stomach. Your shoulders slumped slightly as you tried to rationalize his words, but nothing was really making sense right now.

The internal battle was a cruel one: stay and endure the sharp sting of his words or leave and miss more of what he had to say. The latter won, pulling you away from the door.

You knew you were never going to be the smartest person in the room, and in the past, it was a source of deep-seated insecurity, always a silent specter in the corners of your mind. But then you met Aaron. And he made everything just better. His own intelligence and impressive job never became a yardstick for your worth; he ensured you knew you were more than enough, just as you were.

He had always been the voice reminding you that you were smart in your own right, telling you that your worth transcended any numerical measure of intelligence like a stupid IQ score. But now you were questioning everything.

Anger seemed like the appropriate response, right? But it was hard to be when his words carried a weight of truth to them.

You did have a hard time keeping up when he talked about the complexities of his cases, sometimes feeling like an outsider looking in. But, even if you didn't understand, his passion for what he did was infectious, and you hung on to every word when he explained all the ways his smart brain was able to deduce things about people.

Still, a part of you imagined it was hard for him, that it probably got old fast when you weren't able to hold an intelligent conversation.

Your knuckles were white against the steering wheel, and it somehow took you only ten minutes to get home when it should've taken you twenty.

It was only when you had taken a shower, put on your favorite pair of pink sweats, brought out some Ben and Jerry's, and turned on Legally Blonde, did you check your phone.

Hi honey. What time are you coming over?

You tried to ignore the sensation of an invisible band drawing tighter across your chest.

so sorry, not feeling good. rain check? xoxo

You hated lying to him. Hated lying in general, save for the occasional white lie to protect someone's feelings. The fact that you weren't lying to his face was a small mercy, because obviously he'd be able to see right through you.

Do you want me to come there? I can bring food.

You wanted to be with him, you really did, you had been counting down the days to this movie night all week. But the thought of sitting beside him, wanting to ask about his day, about his work, now seemed like an intrusion. Knowing that your well-intentioned questions might be a chore for him or a source of frustration. The realization pressed down on you, a heavy weight that threatened to snuff your light.

no that's okie! thank you though <3 i don't want to get you sick!

Your phone was ringing, his name lighting up the screen for a FaceTime call, it felt like a betrayal of your own making. It was a skill you had recently taught him (which took forever), and of course now he was using it. Your finger jabbed at the red button, your cheeks turning the same color.

i look & sound disgustinggg rn

I know for a fact that's incorrect. You have a magical talent of looking incredible no matter what.

I want to see your pretty face.

you can be so flattering when u want to mister!

im going to take some medicine & then ill call u l8, k?

Hmm, okay.

love u! xoxo

I love you too, pretty girl.

You hated this. Your eyes were puffy, swollen and wet as you discarded the phone onto the nightstand. He deserved someone who wasn't so pathetic.

You wallowed in self-pity all night, and then all day, and then all week. You went through the motions--getting up, going to work, and then making up some lame excuse when Aaron asked to see you. Name it, and you had probably said it. In reality, you had been holed up in your room, trading glossy magazine pages for confusing behavioral books.

The subject matter was as dull as dishwater, making paint-watching seem thrilling. But you were committed to bringing some depth to your next conversation with him.

Today's excuse had been some half-truths about being buried in work--which in hindsight seemed comical, given you worked at a bakery and there wasn't much that could take up your time outside of contract hours.

You were splayed across the couch in an upside-down sprawl as you attempted to focus on the scholarly gibberish that filled the pages. 'Homology,' 'dichotomy,' and 'typology' melded into a migraine-inducing blur, tempting you to slam the book shut. You were fighting every urge to throw it out the window and paint your nails with that new glittery polish you've been dying to try.

At the insistent knock, you clapped the book shut (thank god) and stood, brows knitting, as you navigated to the door with a soft scuffle of slippers on polished wood.

Flinging it open, you halted, breath caught. "Aaron? Oh, hi, what are you doing here?"

The words sprang forth before you could catch them, your hands scrambling up to smooth the evidence of your couch-induced disarray.

He fixes you a pointed stare as he steps into your apartment, invitation be damned you guess. "I find myself repeating this, yet it seems necessary--peephole first, then the door, sweetheart."

You clamp your teeth onto your lip with such force, you're convinced you've tasted blood. "Oh, right, sorry... I should've remembered."

A flicker of foolishness and a heavy dose of self-consciousness threaten to surface. However, you quickly subdue them, tucking them away as you wrapped your arms around your body, offering him a small smile. Despite everything, your heart leaps at the sight of him. You missed him.

His face softens, his touch soft as he tilts your chin upward. "Look at me. It's fine. I just want to make sure my best girl is safe, that's all."

The temptation to simply crumble there and then, to forget everything and cocoon yourself in his arms, was overwhelming.

You leaned into his hand without thinking, which now claimed the entire area of your cheek. He was always so warm.

You watch as Aaron glances around the room, no doubt noting the absence of work-related clutter. "Still working?"

"Oh, I was, I told my boss I'd help with inventory reports." That part wasn't totally a lie, but it still made your conscience squirm with guilt.

"Do you want help?"

The proposal touches a raw nerve, sparking a defensive reflex. Did he think you were incapable?

"Thanks, but I'm actually all done with them," you lie, your a smile a little too rigid as you head into the living room.

You're keenly aware of his approaching footsteps as you hastily stash that stupid book under a magazine, silently praying he didn't notice. You settle onto the couch, and he joins you, casually drawing your legs over his lap as you recline against the cushions.

"How was your day?"

You wince internally at the automatic question.

"Not too bad," He replies with an easy shrug, his fingers sneaking under your sweats at the ankles, tracing lazy circles on your calves. "We wrapped up some paperwork, had a couple of briefings, and oh, we were introduced to our new consultant today. She specializes in crypto linguistics--really fascinating stuff."

Your eyes flutter briefly, a constriction forming in your throat, a twist in your gut. The mere mention of the consultant being a she amplifies your feelings of insufficiency. It leaves you wondering, why would Aaron ever be interested in someone like you?

"Crypto linguistics?" you repeat, trying to sound curious rather than lost.

He leans in closer to you. "It's a specialized area of linguistics focused on decoding encrypted languages."

You offer a nod, managing a convincing "Yeah, of course," even as your eyes unwittingly drift away from his unwavering stare, betraying a hint of your confusion.

Aaron's hand cradles your head, his fingers sifting through your hair. "Hey," he murmurs, drawing your attention back, "what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

Your chin touches your chest as you mumble, barely audible, "hardly anything."

Aaron's expression turns to a frown, his broad hands guiding your ass and thighs as he positions you atop his lap, face-to-face, leaving you exposed with no place to hide. Your name escapes him with a sigh. "I don't believe that for a second."

You match his frown with your own pout, nestling your face into his neck, concealing the rosy hue that has claimed your cheeks. "Just a rough week is all."

"Is that so?" His voice was a gentle murmur, his hands soothingly moving in gentle sweeps across your back as you breathed out unsteadily. "Funny, that's been my week too. My gorgeous girlfriend seems to have been avoiding me all week."

"Have not," you mumble, your breath warm against his skin, fingers weaving through the hair at the nape of his neck.

He hummed. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong."

"It's silly."

He guided your face back to his, eyes searching yours. "Listen to me. No, it's not. I don't like when you try to diminish your feelings. Talk to me, honey."

That was your tipping point. A wobble in your lip betrays the onset of tears as your voice breaks.

"I just--I know I'm not as smart as the people you work with or even your past girlfriends. I know I don't get things right away especially when you talk about work, and I see how everyone else is so quick, and I'm here, always a few steps behind. I know that it must be frustrating for you, and I'm scared that one day, you'll get tired of explaining, and your patience will run out, and well, you'll see... you'll see that--"

"Baby, whoa, slow down," Aaron urges, his palms tenderly framing your face, a frown plastered over his face. Your heart hammers against your chest, its rapid beats almost audible, as if it might jump from your body. "Take a deep breath, okay? Can you do that for me?"

You draw in a breath.

His thumb delicately erases the tears that have made their way down your cheek.

"When there is something about my work you don't understand, I will gladly go over it as many times as you need. I don't expect you to know everything about that stuff, why would you? That's not why I'm with you. I'm with you because of your incredibly kind heart and the way you see the best in people. I love you because you are you. What is making you think this way, honey? It's breaking my heart."

"I overheard you Aaron," you said, "saying that sometimes it feels like you're talking to a wall when you talk to me."

"What?" he questioned, but his confusion was quickly morphed into concern. "Oh, sweetheart, no. I was talking about Strauss and her lack of understanding of our fieldwork."

"Oh."

"I would never speak about you like that, you know that, right? And if, in some alternate universe, I did, you need to break up with me, or better yet, set me straight." His hands stayed firmly on your face. "You should never tolerate that from me or anyone else, understood?"

You bit down on your lip, hands resting on his shoulders as you nodded. "Yes, sir."

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, sending fireworks to every inch of you as he mumbled against your mouth, "that's my girl."

taglist: @hotchhner

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner hurt/comfort #Spotify

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steveshairychest · 1 year

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After defeating vecna for a second time, Steve decides he's had enough of Hawkins and all things supernatural.

After hunting around for a few weeks, he scores himself a quaint little apartment big enough for him and for Robin when she eventually moves in after college. He doesn't sell his parents' house or demolish it like Robin suggests. No, he leaves it to sit and rot. He hopes his parents will come home one day and find it overgrown and falling to pieces, hopes they'll trudge up the steps to find the note that he had nailed to the front door that says, 'Welcome home :)'. Robin insisted on adding the passive-aggressive smiley face.

They move away from Hawkins and don't think about it for years. Sure, Steve still calls their friends who decided to stay there, and he often finds himself missing their company, but he doesn't miss the place itself. Only the people. He's made it very clear to them that he doesn't intend to step a single foot back into Hawkins until he dies. Everyone knows this, especially Robin, who's been informed on multiple drunken occasions that Steve wants to be buried on top of the hill next to Eddie so that he at least knows someone else in the graveyard.

But then he gets a letter in the mail, a simple letter in a white envelope and it haunts him for days.

The letter is from Wayne. His handwriting is rough and messy but familiar; they've been sending each other letters for a few years now. The cigarette ash smudged in some corners makes him smile. Most of the letter is just niceties; asking Steve how he is, what he's been up to, if he's found himself someone. Stuff he's used to. But then the words, 'I can't be alone for it Steve, I can't do it. I need you here. It's been 5 years, and the day still hasn't gotten any easier. I'd like it if you came to visit.' They punch Steve in the gut and leave him aching for days.

It takes him an entire week to call the number on the back of the envelope and confirm with Wayne that he'll be there. Just this once he'll go back to that retched place. For Wayne.

For Eddie.

The drive passes by in a blur, one second he's on the highway, the next he's passing by the Welcome to Hawkins sign and driving along the streets he thought he'd never see again. Wayne told him over the phone that morning to meet him at the cemetery, said that he wanted to get the hard part over and done with so that they could spend the rest of the day catching up and listening to Eddie's tapes. He'd be lying if he said he didn't cry for a solid 10 minutes in the car park, the memories that he had tried so hard to forget rushing back the second he lays eyes on Eddie's grave at the top of the hill.

He still remembers the hollow ache in his chest the day he helped Wayne pick out a spot. He had gone home that afternoon and begged Robin to make it stop, to hold him and tell him that the pain would go away. She had told him what he wanted, she had held him on the kitchen floor and promised he would never have to feel like that again.

She'd lied. That same ache spreads throughout his body as he trudges up the hill to stand before the shabby grave and the tears he thought he had left back in the car come bubbling back up as he stares down at the graffitied headstone. He hasn't seen it since the day he left. He forgot how overwhelming it is to see Eddie's name carved on the headstone.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited." He says through sobs, his vision blurred by tears as he plops down on the soft grass in front of the headstone. "I miss you." The words almost choke him.

There's the sound of footsteps behind him, boots crunching against the leaves and twigs. Wayne must have finally shown up. Steve doesn't turn around, he doesn't want Wayne to see his tears. He's supposed to be here as support. He's supposed to be the one coming up behind Wayne to offer his condolences. He stops beside Steve and sighs softly.

"Hi." Steve says weakly and finally looks up at Wayne - except... it's not Wayne.

"Hi, Steve."

It's Eddie.

#DUN DUN DUNNN N #interpret this however you want <333 #steddie #tw mentions of death #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #st4 vol2 #steveddie #stranger things s4 #wayne munson

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greeneyed-thestral · 2 months

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I MET MICHAEL SHEEN. 16/03/24, National Theatre

So, if you've read my post about booking tickets to see Michael, you know all about my what-ifs. But the day was finally here.

I arrived at the National Theatre, followed all the Nye signs and here's the Olivier Theatre. I made my sister buy me the show's programme, hoping I would be able to get it signed.

I find my seat, I'm not in the centre but the stage still feels very close and you can see everything (amphitheatres are always the best).

Lights out. The audience is in religious silence. Can't believe I'm actually here, this is happening.

[skip this part in smaller font, if you want to avoid spoilers] In the words of Staged, he really loses himself in his roles. First of all, it's great to hear him speak in a Welsh accent.

But then we also see him turning back into a child, and you can totally believe he's young and innocent again. His stutter feels so real, his struggle and sadness too. The entire ensamble is great during the classroom scene, where they all help Nye against their bullying teacher (using those big canes to make him look scary really works). Hearing young Nye confessing that at times he thinks he 'shouldn't exist' because of who he is was a gut punch; Michael's delivery of that whole part is incredible, in that moment he really becomes a little boy that allows himself to feel vulnerable and says something dark to a friend. The way he jumps while saying "I can visualise and enunciate!" made me wanna jump too, he was ready to give up and then he found the solution through books, it's the joy and relief you feel when you realise that there is another way and your life is not over.

Now, I've watched musicals all my life and let me tell you that man is meant to be in one. He opened his mouth and all I could see was someone that had been waiting a long time for the occasion to show his talent, truly showstopping. He was so free and happy and confident, singing and dancing spectacularly. I couldn't stop smiling and giggling, we all clapped.

It's clear he means every word he says, and when he points and shouts his political arguments at the audience, those who feel called out must be shaking; I thought 'This is how people in Ancient Greece must have felt everytime they went to the theatre'. His Nye is inspiring, passionate, someone you'd want to follow, he stands up for what he believes in and lets nothing get in his way.

We get to watch him flirt, on all fours, waggling his 'tail'; everytime we think we've seen all he's capable of, he does something like this and surprises us.

But most of all, we see him being scared, first of having to do something, and then of not being able to do enough for all of us. At one point everyone has requests for Nye and I was expecting him to shout "Heal yourselves!" like Jesus in JCS, it totally conveyed what it must have been like to be in his role at the time, overwhelmed with daunting responsibilities.

In general, I appreciated the fact that it wasn't a linear biography, they chose life moments that have universal situations everyone can relate too, like they do in bio-musicals. I loved the staging. The colour palette is so recognisable; the curtains and the beds are used in many different ways so everything is explored at its full potential.

He is on stage basically all the time for more than two hours (sometimes twice a day, can you imagine?). Also barefoot and in his pajamas from start to finish, he looks like a teddy bear you just want to hug and protect.

He bows, looks at Nye's achievements, then leaves the stage.

Standing ovation, applause. I go back to the theatre lobby, I was supposed to wait for my sister, but she's late. Meanwhile, a fan asks me how to get to the Stage Door. I start too fear that I'm going to miss my chance if I keep waiting inside, so I decide to go on my own. After no more than 5 minutes, he's outside with us. Forget Nye, I am living my fever dream. He has just finished his second show of the day and yet he's smiling and listening to each and every one, signing and taking pictures. I know many have said this, but he really is an angel.

My sister arrives, and as soon as I'm sure she has the camera ready, I make my way to him. The two girls next to me who were speaking to him needed a pen and I lent them my sharpie, so I got my chance to look generous in front of him.

And suddently it was my turn. This is as much as my scrambled mind allows me to remember: I tell him I'm Francesca and I'm from Italy, he asks me how long I am going to stay, I confess that I had arrived that morning and just to see him, that I would be leaving already the following morning. I can't even focus while he's signing my programme, I just want to find the right words. I manage to say how I enjoyed seeing his passion, all these different sides of him and how watching him sing and dance has been the highlight of my evening. We take a picture together, I feel his hand on my shoulder and I realise my arm is around the waist of this person I love. I had to thank him again, telling him that he only deserves good things and that we are so lucky to have him. He wishes me a safe trip home, and I melt. I leave and I can't stop trembling. On my way back to the hotel I hold on tight to my signed programme and the sharpie that was in his hands just moments earlier. Only later I will realise that he's also written 'Ciao!', 'love' and 'X', without me asking for it or anything! Seeing him act live was a big gift already, but what followed outside was beyond my dreams. I can't look at the photos without blushing, the way he looks at me in the video and then also strokes my arm for a moment, I mean pinch me now.

The more I think about it, the more I can't believe it happened.

I want to thank everyone that under my first post pushed me and encouraged me to see the pros of doing this, I share this beautiful moment of my life with all of you. <3

#michael sheen #nye #national theatre #london #btw I was also wearing one of david's headbands

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jaketsparrow · 3 months

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SOMETHING... | JTK

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f! Reader

Word Count: 10.6K

Summary: When you have to say goodbye to your professor and mentor, a cocky young professor steps in, Jacob Kiskza. Literature used to be your safe place, but now you feel him getting involved in every corner; it doesn’t help that you’re his TA. You deny yourself every opportunity to fall for him until…

A/N: Hi guys :) I know it’s been forever since I’ve put something together and I apologize about that, but this is life. This one has been on my mind since the Grammy U interview and I finally had the idea to put it all together. I hope you enjoy :)

Playlist

*Also I'm so sorry I lost my tag list so if you want to be tagged here's a new form* Taglist

MINORS DNI

MENTIONS OF/ TW: Sexual content (of course), talks about death/grief, angst, swearing, Dom! Jake, restraints, possible orgasm denial, choking, alcohol use, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, ~some~ degrading, praise kink!, I’m sorry if I missed anything, but, etc, it’s filth.

The classroom was cold in the early months of the year. You had gotten in the habit of wearing your coat through the 3-hour seminar. You were lucky that this class only ran once a week, but you often had to stay longer than the students, working with the professor for a few hours afterward. He was always elusive. Always eager to get things done as fast as possible; efficient and snappy.

There was much to admire about him, but his personality often left you rolling your eyes. He always seemed a bit too sure about himself, always being the tough grader, pushing students further than they were willing to go. He cared a lot, especially about the subject matter. He still had that gusto in him to do things right, to be stern.

He was new to the program; and before this, only about a year into teaching. You studied under his predecessor. She was a kinder old woman who cared deeply for you, like your mother away from home. She taught you everything- and even got you to change majors during your sophomore year. She supplemented your reading supplies, nurtured your abilities, and was always willing to sit in deep conversation with you. Discussing the classics, introducing modern pieces, talking about life, talking about it all.

Professor Kiszka on the other hand…

When he took over for Professor Meelo, he took very little time to rip the bandaid off. When you had originally been promised a TA position in the literature department, you were expected to be under your mentor, not a cocky white man.

You spent weeks crying during winter break after first meeting him. The day you met him didn’t go exactly as you hoped. It was the week of finals when you found out Meelo was sick, and that she was stepping away from teaching. As if finals week wasn’t stressful enough, you had to come to terms with the fact that the woman who taught you everything was going to be leaving this world sooner than you would’ve thought. It was even more of a punch in the gut to walk into your introduction meeting to see… him.

3 Months Ago

The walk across campus felt heavier than usual. The winter had been harsher than it usually was in early December. The wind whipped across your bare rosy cheeks, causing freezing tears to slowly fall out of the corners of your eyes. Almost like a bad omen, the weather continued to get worse as you sludged your way across the quad.

The parking lot was nearly a mile away from campus, which was nice during the warmer months; the trees would sway across the crosswalk, blessing the sidewalk with fallen flowers and leaves. The grass was green and lively, a welcome mat onto a wonderful learning home. Between the cracks of the stone walkways, little dandelions would grow. You never understood the people who thought them to be unnecessary weeds. They were bright and yellow lively plants, and when the time of beauty passed, they passed their good wishes onto you. Blowing what once were vibrant petals into the wind. Who knew you’d miss the weeds on your walks?

Instead, now the stones were smeared with remnants of snowy footprints, broken earth that had been cracked through with the force of shovels, and the remnants of the dead earth.

Meelo called you just last week. You begged to go see her in the hospital, but she didn’t want you to worry too much. She agreed to call you every other day, just like your usual coffee arrangements. She loved them just as much as you did. She never had a husband or any children. Her students were her children, her soul was fed enough through changing lives that she didn’t want to take away that love from her students or prevent any child from feeling all of it. You were not the first to bear their soul in her office, but you might be one of the last.

Meelo begged you to go meet the new professor. You had tried to rescind your TA position, but she blocked you at every chance she got. Even while in hospice she still managed to look out for you…

“Please, sweetheart. I know it’s not easy. But he’s young, he’s smart, I think you’ll have a lot in common with him,” She pleaded through the phone.

“But he’s not you. I just, I thought… I thought I’d have more time…” Your voice trailed off.

You tried to hold the phone away from your face, trying not to distress her more with the sounds of your whimpers and tears.

Her voice started again, “You never know what you will learn from him. You have more time with me, but there comes a time when a teacher must share her students for them to learn more. If we stayed in our echo chamber together my dear I’m afraid you wouldn’t learn everything you need to know. Jacob is going to be a great professor, and I know you will learn a lot from him. His research and analysis work is quite extensive. The school and I hired him for a reason. Please. Just give it a try. For me.”

“Just for you.”

And here you were trudging through, feeling every bone in your body telling you to turn around, to go home. But you were doing this not for you, you reminded yourself. For Meelo. She was right, you latched on to her from your early years in college and favored her over all of your other professors. They were kind and nice as well, but it didn’t matter to you in the end, if they weren’t Meelo, they were never going to compare.

The building seemed colder than usual. The large glass windows were covered by their shades; no one wanted to see the gross state of life outside of the classroom. That’s hardly motivating to any student, the fluorescents would give more life than the grey state of the weather.

You pull the door open, walk through the entryway, and follow your usual path down the hallway to Meelo’s room.

The thing about old colleges, everywhere you turn is a little piece of history. Each room has housed many professors and many students. The building had life, had ghosts of its own hidden in each brick, in each stone. You felt the comfort of this presence moving through the hallway.

You stop right before Meelo’s room, catching your breath before you enter. Trying to have an open mind. Kiszka could be something, or he could just be another man throwing words at you. Not that all men were the same, but a majority of the male professors here were lackluster, favoring the male students and the athletes who needed the better grades to stay in the school. And if they favored the women… You always felt a cold chill thinking about that. Thinking about why…

One last deep breath before you enter the classroom. You grab tight onto the handle of your tote bag and strut confidently into the room.

It was empty.

The beautiful artwork and posters that Meelo had filling the room were stripped. Revealing the natural state of the architecture. It was beautiful in its own way but didn’t feel like the educational home you once felt so blessed to be in. The desks were all shoved to one side of the classroom. The previous welcoming U-shape was demolished, instead providing a cluttered destruction of Meelo’s work.

You stood awestruck in the shape of the room. There was no time wasted between Meelo leaving and Kiszka starting to make his mark on the room. The bookshelves that used to be filled in the back of the room had been emptied and their contents sat on the floor in boxes.

You walk over to the boxes, kneeling to gently sift through the carelessly placed books. This was Meelo’s library that she had collected for the classroom. Take a book, leave a book, borrow a book, bring it back. You loved visiting this wall every week, seeing what books your peers were interested in, and which books made their way into the library. Some new, and some returning after long months away.

Sitting on top of the box was the classic “Brave New World”. Aldous Huxley. 1932. Not an original copy, but a new binding. It was like the universe was sending you signs. This would be a brave new world. A world where you might have to come to terms with the fact that Meelo would not be in your life forever. A world where you might have to figure out everything with a new mentor. A world where you thought you would have years to work on your pieces with a woman who understood you, but now you would turn over your heartfelt pieces to a man. One who may not understand you the same as someone else does.

“A favorite of yours?” A voice perks up from the doorway.

You turn to see him. Your eyes work your way up his figure. He’s wearing Chelsea boots, black thick linen pants, a white loose shirt with a black vest, and a dress coat over it. His chestnut hair lays over the shoulders of the coat, and his eyes are covered by circular gold-rimmed sunglasses. He oozes mystery. His arms crossed, surveying your crouched body by the boxes. You hate to admit it, but he may be one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen.

You hold up the book towards him, displaying the cover.

“Not particularly. I don’t like thinking about the takeover of technology. It feels too real right now.” You respond.

He wanders over to you, taking his time, each step creating the most annoying echo in the emptied classroom. He reaches his hand out to yours, asking silently for the book. You hand it over to him and stand to match his level.

He passes the book between his hands, admiring the binds, “Ah, yes, but perhaps something can be learned from the book if more understood its warning… if only more read it…”

“If only…” You let the conversation trail off. Your eyes wander back to the pile of desks on the opposite wall. You feel yourself zoning out, focused only on the change of the room, not on the man in front of you.

“-Your favorite?” He asks.

You snap back to the conversation, trying to recall the beginning of his question, “I’m sorry?

“If this is not your favorite, can I ask which is?” He waves you to walk with him.

You follow him into the office at the back of the classroom. He sits in Meelo’s chair, and you sit in the chair that had held you so many times. You wouldn’t be surprised if the cushion had a you-shaped imprint in it at this point.

He asks a third time, “You don’t seem like the Jane Eyre or Louisa May student, so what is it?”

You let your bag fall off your shoulder and you try to sit up in the chair, asserting some sort of professionalism. Your answer will hold some sort of judgment for him. Although you want to be offended by his comment about the female author’s classics, he’s right. They were never your favorite.

“Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Meelo gave it to me as my first assignment.” You respond, confident in your answer.

He nods in approval, “Lovely choice, very telling. Meelo said you were very bright–one for the classics.”

He leans back in his chair, stroking his chin. His hand reaches up to the gold-rims and pulls them off, clattering onto the desk. He pulls himself towards the desk, resting his elbows on the table.

“Are you going to ask me mine?” He asks, almost presumptuously.

You fight back the urge to roll your eyes. Of course, he has to find a way to be important here. You adjust yourself in your seat, crossing your arms in the process.

“If you want me to know, why don’t you just say it?” You retort.

He chuckles to himself, “Lord of the Rings.”

Your mouth falls so far open that you’re afraid a fly might buzz its way in. You lift your hand to your mouth and try to hide your disapproval.

“That’s a classic for sure.” You reply, “Not one I would’ve expected from a college literature professor, but a classic nonetheless.”

He pushes himself off the desk, running his hands through his long locks before they make their way onto the arms of the seat.

“You don’t approve?” He scoffs.

“I didn’t say that, I just said it’s not one that I would expect.”

“I believe there is a difference between a personal and professional favorite. A favorite you could read over and over again, and you could enjoy without having to think too much about what it all means. it’s an adventure, its heroes and legends, it’s a call for relaxation and enjoyment. I’d rather have my favorite be a well-known classic than a deep thought-provoking story about purity.”

You fight every urge in you to slap the man sitting before you for disgracing such a beautiful novel. But you think about Meelo. You think about stepping outside of the echo chamber.

“I think we may have different opinions on favorites, Professor Kiszka.” You say shortly.

You feel the tension grow between you already. This would be a difficult semester. Even more difficult because as you felt your dislike for him grow, you couldn’t stop staring at the beautiful man sitting in front of you. His brown eyes stared deep into you, trying to assess his new assistant. You tried not to let him in too far. You were not fawning for him, at least you weren’t trying to. You wanted to fight off the growing warmth crying to spread through you. It was like seeing a handsome stranger in the bar; you knew the danger, but almost didn’t want to let yourself protect your heart.

He was by far the youngest professor here, and the most eligible. No ring was on his finger.

“Please, call me Jacob.”

You stood up from your seat, throwing your bag over your shoulder. You try to compose yourself enough not to let any distaste escape from your lips.

“Sorry, Professor Kiszka, I have finals I need to finish, it was a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to working with you in January. If you need anything from me before then, I believe the dean gave you my information.”

You reach your hand out awkwardly, trying to invite a handshake. He cautiously reaches his hand back, pulling you into a firm, but still gentle handshake.

His eyes meet yours. The deep brown staring into you. Although you should have the power from your standing position, you knew he held all the cards from his seat. The handshake lingered longer than you had expected, both of you locked deep into staring each other down. He finally releases his hand.

“It was a pleasure.” You start to leave the office, but he makes one last remark, “Oh, one last thing…”

You turn to face him, “Yes professor?”

He reaches into the desk and pulls out a cloth-bound book, handing it to you. You slowly return to the desk, taking the book from his hand—the Lord of the Rings.

“Try it for me? You do have a whole winter break…”

You rub your hands over the cover, smiling at his request. You place the book back in his hand.

“I used to read it as a child. No need to give it a try when you’ve read it four times already.” You smile at him.

Even if it wasn’t your favorite, didn’t mean it wasn’t a favorite.

Present

In some ways, your relationship with him felt like a love-lost marriage. Just moving through the motions. You sat in on the classes and took note of who engaged, and who didn’t. You graded assignments, tests, and papers, with him always double-checking and doubting your work. You didn’t sit in on long conversations with him like Meelo. Perhaps some of that was your fault, always quick to get to work. He adjusted to you quickly, understanding how you needed to work, and letting you grieve.

Meelo passed quickly into the semester. You cried once in front of him when the news broke. You nearly snapped his head off when he asked if he could help you. From that moment on he took on this cold persona, but you don’t blame him at all. You knew in your heart that you would not have the same connection with him as Meelo, so it was easier to never try.

Through everything, your work never faltered, and your school work remained the priority. Perhaps it was a way to hide through all the pain but the calculated steps it took to grade provided a soothing rhythm amongst the distress.

You never failed to notice all the times you caught him catching glances at you. You were silly to think that it meant anything more than just a quick look, but still maybe somewhere in your heart, you had hoped that maybe he was thinking of you more than his assistant. For weeks you watched him stroll into class, always wearing a disheveled but somehow put-together outfit. You loved seeing how he would piece together different clothes from his collection. Never repeating an exact outfit, but always finding new ways to repurpose the same items.

One day he walked in with a new addition to his look, a cluster of pendants on a necklace. They looked older, more worn in than any new silver. You asked him about it briefly, trying not to engage in a further conversation.

“They’re coins, Spanish coins, designed after ones from the 1600s. I think the jeweler lied to me when he said they were originals, but they still look okay… Do you think so?

“You look like a pirate.” You responded.

A sexy pirate. You shoved that thought deep into the back of your mind. Holding on to it, because you didn’t want to forget how good he looked.

His Thursday classes were always one of the better ones. This was one that you had to take yourself for your graduate program. There was no TA’ing involved as that would be a huge conflict of interest if you got to grade your papers. You chose to sit in the back corner of the class by the window, in hopes that when spring rolls around you could watch the foliage return. The unfortunate thing about this choice was the waiting. February was colder than you had expected and the windows provided no warmth.

When you were TA’ing you got to sit at the edge of the office and the classroom. Kiszka brought a space heater for you to place at the doorway. He joked he didn’t need his assistant ‘freezing to death’, because then ‘who would grade the papers’.

You tried your hardest to not let him favor you, but you knew he was someone who would be kind no matter how much you asked him to stop. He would leave books on the edge of his desk for you to read and when you tried to return them he declined and told you he already had a copy in his collection. You doubted that and always protested in fear that you thought you might lead him on. But in the end, it was always you walking out with a new book in your bag.

He was trying his hardest to get along with you. Some days it was easier and you would entertain his questions, but other days it was easier to be quick and move along. This relationship was not going to be a fairytale. You had already found your soulmate once, and you lost her. In your mind, there was no more room in your heart to let someone in. And why should you prepare space for someone if you truly don’t know if they want to be there?

This class although interesting became boring as the weeks went on. The class had fallen into a seasonal depression of sorts. Many like you had expected to have Meelo for the semester when you had booked your classes, so when Kiszka showed up and tried to shake things up… It wasn’t easy. He was skilled and smart, sure… But not the same. He craved involvement and wanted the class to join in with him, but often would push people further than they were willing to go. A room full of mid-20-year-olds was truly a space of burnout. Many of these students had already passed four, sometimes five years of school before they stepped into this class. They no longer have that lively interest in reading and analyzing literature but want to create their own.

“-And what was this author trying to convey through his use of metaphors?...” He asked from his commanding space at the front of the class, “No one?... No one picked up on this…? Or are you too scared to be wrong?”

Your attempts at fighting off eye-rolls also subsided the longer this course went on, and this roll came on hard. You’ve heard this line countless times through multiple classes. He wasn’t wrong, but he could at least find different ways to say the statement.

“Y/N? Care to enlighten everyone?” He calls to you, in need of saving the class who had lost attention nearly an hour ago.

“Sure. It’s a metaphor for how women are treated in society.” You answer.

He grits his teeth and sighs, “Not quite, but you’re close…”

You lift yourself from your slump, “No, that’s right. She is clearly trying to convey the expectations of women in society and how we are treated. As a female author, she leaves these metaphors to be very simple for female readers to understand. For males, it’s harder to grasp that the severity of these situations could imply the treatment of women, but that’s what she’s trying to explain.”

He clasps his hands together giving them a brief shake, “That class, that is how you analyze. Literature can be read in different ways by different readers. The author may have a clear intention of what they are trying to write, but others may be able to relate it to other aspects of their life. I have my own interpretation, and you all may have others. That is how this should be working. There is nothing wrong, with how you analyze, just that you have the knowledge to back it up…”

Every time you tried to make him out to be the bad guy, he ended up being in the right. You hated how smart he was. You hated how much you wanted to watch him while he stood up there. You hated how he wasn’t her. But you knew you didn’t want him to leave.

“So with that,” He continues, “Finish up the last few chapters and please come prepared with statements next week about your findings. I want you to dig deep; feel the author. I’ll see you next week.”

The class starts their shuffle for the door, while you meander to your usual spot at the doorway of the office. The next class wouldn’t be in for 20 minutes, but you would at least have time to warm up.

You click on the heater and walk over to Kiszka’s rolling desk chair. You take your coat off and rest it over the seat, pushing it over to the door. Kiszka finds his seat at the front of the classroom, pulling out his book of the week. He usually would try to follow you, asking you what you were reading, then the next day showing up to class with an identical copy. It was annoying and endearing how much he wanted to learn from you. You wondered if it upset him that you weren’t as keen on learning from him.

He confided in you that Meelo was an idol of his as well, and although he didn’t get to learn from her, he was going to try to through you.

You pull your copy of Anna Karenina from your bag and join him. Your chapters ahead of him, but you enjoy being one step in front of him.

You peep up from the back of the room, “I didn’t ask, but please tell me this isn’t your first time reading this.”

He lifts his head from the book slightly, eyes still skimming the page, “Third.”

You sigh in relief. That would’ve been embarrassing; for him.

You return to the book. You’re finding it harder to dive in today than usual, something is different… You see out of the corner of your eye that Kiszka has put down the book altogether, and you can sense him staring. This lasts a few moments, but you try to remain focused on the words, but catching yourself having to re-read the paragraphs; not processing the sentences you’ve already read.

A minute goes by and he hasn’t returned to his pages. Instead, you hear the squeak of his chair rolling over to his computer. A few clicks and a frenzy of taps on the keyboard.

“Hey.” He prods.

You look up again from the book. He peers at you over the edge of his computer and then closes it so he can see you better. He grasps his jaw lightly, stroking it in his hands.

“Yes?” You asked, trying not to seem annoyed by the interruption.

“Let’s go over your manuscript. I want to see it.” He continues.

No. It’s not time yet. You’ve been meticulously editing it for months now. He wasn’t supposed to read it until midterms, you were supposed to have more time…

You drop the book into your lap, “It’s not ready…” You close the book, “Also we have class in twenty minutes, you won’t be able to read it all by then.”

He stands up from his seat, straightening his vest out, “I canceled class. Pull it out.”

Two Hours Later

Some time had passed. You both sat in his office now. Him at… his… desk, and you still positioned by the heater at the door. At this point you were warm enough to finally take your sweater off, stripping down to a simple black t-shirt. You saw him staring through the pages when you pulled the sweater off. If he had looked any harder you think he might burn a hole through the book.

The office was silent except for the occasional click and clack of the heater, and the flickering of the candle on his desk. He flipped through the lightly bound pages while you continued through your reading. Every couple of minutes you could hear the stroke of his red pen hit the pages. The words or corrections will wait for you later. You could sit and scoff at them later in your apartment. The man said his favorite book was Lord of the Rings, how could you possibly trust his editorial judgment?

You had made it about a hundred or so pages through your book, which was slower than you would’ve liked. You still couldn’t breach the interferences. You thought the silence would help, but hearing his hums, his pen strokes, the occasional sip of scotch… It was all a distraction.

You couldn’t stop looking up from the book to watch him slyly admire your work. You knew your writing was good; Meelo had seen the early stages of it all. She heard the direction and loved every word… A complete sadness rushed over you thinking of how she would never see the final product.

Kiszka would adjust himself every few minutes; switching positions in his seat. You wanted to trust yourself enough not to look every time he shifted his hips, but those linen pants he loved so much left little to wonder about him. You had a closeness to him that you didn’t want to admit. As many differences as there were between you, there were just as many similarities. He was an outsider here; you could see that clearly. The other professors didn’t trust him because of his age- the students tried to walk all over him because of that too.

Even though you wanted to hate how pretentious he seemed, deep down you knew it was a facade to seem more studious to others. You saw the real him in glimpses. The kindness he offered to you that many others most likely wouldn’t have. Your youth and love for literature matched his perfectly, although you couldn’t always find the way to express it correctly. Your loyalty to Meelo prevented that at every chance.

Letting him read this manuscript was a big step that you didn’t fully even realize until he had reached the halfway point. You wanted to go and rip the pages out of his hand, throw them out the window, prevent him from seeing you too deeply… But something inside you needed to know what he thought of it.

Frustrated by your lack of progress, you lowered the book into your lap. You took this time to look around the room. It had changed so much since you had seen it back in December. Kiszka’s library had taken up the room, along with his record collection. When you would come by early in the morning to drop off the graded work, you would hear him playing some of it. Blues, rock, the classics. You never disturbed him during these times, it felt too intimate to interrupt. Instead, you would place the binder of essays on his classroom desk and scurry away before he could come to say hello.

You place your bookmark into the page opening. You calmly stand and place the book where you once sat. Quietly, you make your way over to his collection.

You see him peer up through the pages. Curious about your movements, watching you silently behind the manuscript.

You lower yourself to the floor, sifting through the jackets of the vinyls. Alphabetical. Of course. You make your way quickly through the a’s and land through the b’s. As cliche as it seems, you truly love Abbey Road, and of course, there it is front and center with the other Beatles albums. You pull it out from the shelf, removing the jacket carefully from the sleeve. You lift the vinyl out and place it on the record player. It’s a modern one, which feels very out of character for Kiszka. He always seemed like the type to randomly have every item of his be nothing newer than 20 years old.

You press play and lower the needle onto the music.

Come Together plays softly through the speakers. You turn to look back at him, seeing if there is any protest. Instead, he has the red pen out, slashing across the paper. You grit your teeth and try not to engage. You return to his collection, running your fingers along the remainder of the vinyl. The plastic tickles through your fingers, creating a click, click sound as each jacket releases from your hold.

Although you did want Kiszka to keep reading, you felt it was necessary to distract him, to try and persuade him to step away…

You continue from the vinyl collection, traipsing through the room. It’s like a library out of a movie, truly. You admired his office deeply and loved to gaze at it while he was lecturing. Sometimes when he was deep in his philosophy of literature speeches, you would lean back in the chair and try to read the book titles from afar. Your eyesight was good, but not good enough to make out the exact names of all of them. You never dared to peruse like this before, but this moment presented the perfect opportunity.

You were his captive for the remainder of his reading. Well… In all reality, you didn’t have to be here, but you didn’t dare leave that manuscript alone. It had been stored with you in your tote for the past month. You tried to take chunks of edits at a time, working through it yourself when you had time but didn’t want to share it with anyone until you felt that it was complete.

You tried to fight Kiszka off, but the notion of him canceling class meant that he found taking the time to do this very important…

The books that were displayed on these shelves were not the type of books that you would find at your local bookstore. They were older, worn in, some of them originals, even some you haven’t read yet. Maybe he did have some things that he could show you…

You make your way to the last set of bookshelves, rounding the back corner of the office. The last edge of the wall had his makeshift bar.

The liquor was all dark, amber-colored. Very manly, you thought to yourself. Bottles of whiskey and scotch lined the makeshift bar. Jack Daniels, Sazerac Rye, Macallan Double Cask… You recognized some of the labels.

Kiszka crept up behind you, “If you wanted a glass, you could’ve asked.”

He reaches down below you to fetch a rocks glass from the bar. He grabs the Macallan Double Cask and pours a finger for you. The alcohol flows effortlessly out of the bottle, barely splashing into the glass. He hands the glass to you, your hand brushing his. His touch is warm… Kind. He takes his other hand and grabs your shoulder, in a comforting way. You want to seem completely normal, but feel your cheeks getting rosy from the touch. You suck on your bottom lip and try to hide your face.

You take a large swig of the scotch, trying to be mindful of not wasting such a good drink. He looks at you, shocked at your ability to take it so easily.

“Wow. Good.” Is the only words he can mutter.

You smile meekly. The praise makes you feel undoubtedly shyer than you had just before.

“Are these originals?” You ask, pointing to the corner section of his library, “I couldn’t tell, and didn’t want to touch them if they were.”

“Many of them, yes,” He responds, “I trust that you would be gentle with them, please, which one were you curious about?”

You make your way over to the shelf, placing your drink down on the small table near the corner. You reach up to fold out the red bound book. Its title was completely faded from the binding, but we’re curious as to which one it was. He follows closely behind you, close enough to almost be on you.

He laughs, “Funny you should grab that..”

You open the cover to find Lord of the Rings printed in big black letters.

“Oh, dear god.” You sigh.

“It is an original if that makes you feel any better about it. I know you hate this book, but still-”

“No, no,” You protest, “I never said I hated it, I just said it wasn’t my favorite. Remember we have different opinions on that professor.”

He scoffs and takes the book from your hand. Rubbing the cloth binding with his thumbs.

“Want to know something funny?” He questions.

You did. You really did. You wanted the connection at this moment… For whatever cosmic reason it finally felt okay to banter with him. You nod your head, approving him to continue.

“I saw the movies before I read the books.” He laughs, “My brothers and I loved it, we were practically obsessed, but I was younger then and a stupid boy who didn’t read like I do now. Not the fairytale way most people find their favorite but it reminds me of childhood…”

You wanted to laugh, you wanted to make fun of him for it. But you knew that this was a special moment for him. A look into his past, a presentation for more. He places the book carefully back on the shelf, tucking it back into its spot.

“Well, I guess that makes more sense now. But, as a graduate professor, you ought to just say you like the pretentious shit. No one’s going to take you seriously.”

He turns from the shelf, “Who said I was worried about that? If I lie then I am a fraud. I don’t care if anyone says that.”

Oh fuck. His confidence is so intoxicating. He’s right. Why should he care?

“I just- I meant… I thought that the other professors-”

“You thought that they don’t take me seriously? Right. They don’t. In schools like this, you have to earn respect. I’m not an alumnus, I didn’t go to Harvard, but I do a damn good job at what I do. As much as you may protest some of my teaching, I know what I’m doing.”

He breezes past you and strolls back over to the bar to pour himself another drink. You reach back for yours and hold it between your hands, trying to collect yourself. You hope that you didn’t hurt him.

“Did I offend you?” You ask.

“‘Course not,” He takes a swig, “I just wish you would realize that it doesn’t matter what standards others hold you to. You are not someone else. You are you.”

“I know that.” You respond dryly. Your answer didn’t sound as confident as you wanted it to be. It came out unsure and desperate.

“Then why has your whole academic career been based on your relationship with one woman? Why must everything you do be for her?...”

You stand there silently. Completely struck with emotions. Anger, sadness, discouragement.

“She… She made me who I am,” You pipe, “She’s the reason I am in this program.”

He strolls back over to you, locking your eyes with his. It’s intimidating, this look he has on his face. He’s studying you, seeing how lost you feel. Truly for the first time you couldn’t even try to put up any walls. He had broken you down.

He places his hand on your shoulder again, “Can I show you something?” He asks.

Before you have time to even object to him, his hand moves from your shoulder to your waist, guiding you back towards his desk. You feel butterflies growing inside you.

No. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He is your advisor. He is not someone you should feel this way about. He’s trying to help you, he’s not interested in you.

The vinyl finishes its song and moves on to Something. He guides you into his seat. You place the glass down on the desk and wipe the condensation from your hands onto your thighs. He reaches over the desk and twirls the manuscript back in front of you. The pages sit open about two-thirds of the way through. He stands behind you, practically leaning on your back. His chest rests against your shoulder, pointing at the beginning of the page.

“See this paragraph here?” He questions.

You strain so hard to not melt at his touch. His hair is grazing your cheek. It smells wonderful, but you can’t admit that. He has this gentle but clean musk about him. He smells like a perfectly cared-for bookstore. A soft smell of tobacco and oak. The chains with pendants are draping over his neck, sparkling in the moonlight of the night, softly clanking together with his movement

You need to focus.

You respond, afraid that you waited too long, “Yes?” Your voice wavers, the lack of confidence creeping back through, “Is there something wrong with it?”

He turns to face you, “Yes. I have a big problem with it.”

You feel your heart sink. What could be wrong with it? The back half of the book is the best part, it is the part you feel most confident with. You feel confused. All of those walls and confidence you felt once in his presence were lost.

“What…? What problem?”

You look back at the pages, disregarding his closeness to you, pulling the bundle of paper back towards you, and flipping through to the previous pages. He puts his hand on yours, stopping you from searching. He lowers himself next to the seat, squatting to be at your eye level. His thumb wanders back and forth over your wrist.

He smiles a crooked and cunning smile, “It’s some of the best writing I’ve seen in years, and the author was too scared to even share it with anyone. She lost someone and had to do this all on her own. That’s terrifying, but it’s still her work. ”

You look at the hand holding yours. It’s strong but has a softness to it. It has a few rings sitting on them, but none a wedding band. You lower your head and release your wrist, grabbing it with your other hand. You sigh heavily and grasp your hands in front of the pages. Your hands travel up to hide your face, which presents a melancholic smile that you can’t let go of. You can’t tell if it’s the liquor or his presence, but you feel a glow coming from inside.

You rush your hands past your face and through your hair, resting your hands on the back of your neck. Scoffing, you turn to look at him. His amused smile is irresistible.

“You,” He starts, “Are an amazing writer.” His hand lifts from the pages and reaches up towards your cheek, holding your face in his palm, “And no matter who your teacher is, you can still do it on your own.”

Your hand finds its way up to his arm, holding him back. Staring longingly at each other. Both deep down knowing that this was about to lead down a path you couldn’t return from.

“Professor-” You initiate.

“Jacob.” He replies.

“Fine… Jacob. This- I… I don’t think.”

He quickly removes his hand from your face and comes to his senses. “Oh, dear, um… I’m so sorry y/n… I…”

You let yourself slump in the seat. How could you? How could you squander that moment? After years of wishing to find a man who was at least half as interested in literature as you… Here you are throwing it away. But you could be right to do so. He was your professor, you were his assistant, the moral implications of this all…

Jacob stands and leans back onto the desk, stroking his chin, concerned. Thinking about it all. You can see the nerves climbing through him. He feels embarrassed.

You reach your hand up to your face again, burying your emotions into your skin.

“I just thought- I, fuck.” He continues, “I thought we were turning a corner, I was looking and I thought I saw you-”

“You did.” You respond, “...I was looking.”

You lower your hand from your face to stare back at him. You put the manuscript back on the desk and stand.

“You… You were?” He searches for the answer.

“Jacob… For months I have looked. I didn’t want to like you. I didn’t want to admit that to myself. My mentor was my heart and soul, she was everything to me. I didn’t want to give you any chances because I didn’t want to lose someone like that again… I can’t handle that heartbreak. But…” You trail off.

“But?” He inquires.

You reach for the scotch glass and swirl the liquid around. Staring deep into the stormy amber.

“Fuck it.” You take the last of the scotch into your mouth and turn back to Jacob, “You… You are what I’ve wanted. I can’t deny the way I feel when it’s just us. When I see you deep in thought, when you push me to go further; when you challenge me. When we’re alone, and I see you for the man you are. When I see how genuinely fucking amazing you are. And I’m so mad at myself for not opening myself to you.”

Jacob peels himself off the desk and stances himself in front of you. He grabs your hands and holds them tenderly in his. You drop your head, your hair falling over your frustrated expression.

“You were grieving, you wouldn’t have been ready for this.” He reaches his hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

You look up to him with doe eyes. He was the older man, coming in for the prey. You wanted to be his. You wanted to have him. You wanted it. You denied it for months. You denied it from the moment you saw him. You denied yourself to knowing him in fear that this exact moment would happen. But here you were. Unveiling yourself to him in the very place you felt the first attraction.

“I want to be ready. No, I am ready. I want this. I can’t deny myself happiness because of everything that happened,” You said.

“Are you sure?” He asked. Trying to test you.

You nod your head in approval, trying once again to keep the emotions bottled in.

“I don’t want you to feel any pressure because-”

“Please don’t say it. I know. I know this is all morally fucked up, but I’m an adult, you’re an adult. Just treat me like one.”

He smiles, admiring your maturity, “If you want to do this, there are some things we have to settle first.”

You look up at him confused, “Things? What things?”

“More like rules,” He answers, titling his head playfully, “I need to know what you’re comfortable with. I don’t want to scare you even more than you already seem.”

He returns his hand to hold your face, just like he previously had only moments before.

“I’m not scared Jacob. What rules?”

“As much as I like to be gentle with women, I also enjoy being rough.” He says through a velvety tone

You jolt back, at first fearful of his words, but relax quickly, reminding yourself you don’t need to be scared.

“How rough are we talking…” You prod.

The cunning smile returns across his face, “Don’t worry, I don’t leave marks, at least too bad of marks… And only rough enough that you’ll still be wanting more by the time we’re done.”

You bite your lip at the thought. You’re no virgin at this point in your life, but you’ve never been able to explore this type of intimacy. Every man in college is practically an amateur at pleasuring women and even more so when it comes to exploration in sex. You’ve read plenty of books to know about the type of sex he was talking about. As much as you enjoyed the classics and the light-hearted romance, you still found yourself picking up a steamier romance book in private.

You wanted that. Had practically dreamed about it before…

Being here with this man, who was only a few years your senior, felt like you could practice this fantasy safely. He knew what he was doing, he could show you pleasures you didn’t even know you could enjoy. Even if you felt like you couldn’t learn more from your education with him, perhaps there were other things he could teach you. It was all becoming a bit too exciting.

His hand moves slowly down from your cheek to your waist. His palms gently grazed your spine until they locked in on your love handles.

“So,” He continues, “Are you going to be my good girl? Can you be good for me? Do you think you can take it?”

You reach out to his chest, moving aside his shirt which had barely been buttoned. With one swipe down his sternum, you unlatched all of them revealing his smooth golden skin. He watched you intently, seeing you explore his skin like never before. You traced your fingers along the opening, feeling your need to reach more grow. With each second that passed you felt the insatiable thirst to be close to him; to feel him. His grip on your waist tightened with each pass you made over his chest.

His other hand joined him on your opposite side. You feared that your hips may break with his excited hold. You looked up at him, biting your lip, trying to remain coy. That soft smile appeared on his lips; you had answered with your body language.

He pushes his hands further into you and lifts you onto the desk, your ass barely resting on the edge of the wood.

“Words,” He said, pulling himself closer into you, resting perfectly between your legs, “Nothing’s going to happen until you tell me you want it to. This isn’t going to work sweetheart unless you use your words.”

“Jacob-” Are the only breathy words that you can mutter.

You can feel him growing, feel the linen pants barely holding back his excitement. You feel your heartbeat travel from your chest, down into your stomach, into your…

His hand moves up to your jaw, holding it firmly in his grip, “Y/N, follow the instructions. Words. I’m not going to wait much longer.”

“Yes-”

Before you can even finish he’s pulling you into an embrace. Your lips meet his. The soft taste of scotch remaining on both of you created an intoxicating addicting feeling. It was complete passion, complete neediness to be one. His tongue introduces itself into your mouth… Soft, wet. Beckoning. The noises you both are making sound feral, completely unusual for the both of you. What once was a prim and proper relationship between you became a fervent desperation to touch… To fuck.

His hands traveled down your body, first reaching your chest, grasping you completely in his hand. Rolling his palms over the front of your breasts, driving you completely mad. You wished the barriers of clothing had been completely stripped away, but he was too hungry to even keep you waiting for long. His hands reached under your shirt, plowing underneath the wire of your bra to find your naked breasts. A soft relieving moan escaped your lips through the breaths of the kissing.

You reached your hands out to find the remainder of the buttons of his vest closing you off to his body. You made quick work of unbuttoning them, reaching your hands across his midsection; climbing to his back. Reaching up towards his shoulders, feeling the softness of his skin across the pads of your fingers. God, he was perfect.

His fingers traveled to your nipples, running his thumb and forefinger over the bud of your nipples. Before you could even realize what you were doing, your nails dragged down his back, raking into his skin. He paused the kissing for a moment to let out a moaning growl. He slid his hands out from your bra, slipping down to the edges of your shirt, attempting to tug it off as fast as he could. You snatched your hands out of his shirt to raise them over your head, giving him complete access to strip you.

He placed his hand between your breasts and forced you down onto the desk, your head falling onto the manuscript below you. He shook off his vest and was quick to pull his shirt off.

“Seems like I’m not the only one who likes it rough, huh?” He asked.

You lifted your head from the desk, “No, definitely not.” You responded. Unsure where this untamed version of you had even come from.

“No, sir” He stated, pushing you back down.

“What?” You asked, skeptical of what he meant.

He mounted himself once again between your legs, grinding himself into you. He traced his finger down your neck, to the waistline of your pants.

“Sir… That’s what my good girls going to call me, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, unaware that you were even doing so, “Call me Jacob,” you mock, “Call me sir.”

He reached back up to your jaw, pushing his thumb into your cheek, “If you’re going to be a brat we’re going to need to set some more rules. Good girls don’t get punished, but you’re already testing me.”

Completely stunned, you look back at him trying to emulate a softness, an apology. You had to admit though, you weren’t scared of him… If anything you were more turned on by the thought of his punishments.

“And how would you punish me, sir?” You ask in your best sultry voice.

He let out a low grumbling laugh. He studied your body, not even acknowledging your question, just thinking… Thinking of what he would do to you. He grabbed onto your hips and pulled you hard into his cock. There was no wondering anymore. You could feel how large he was, how excited he was. If your own body wasn’t blocking it you could probably see it entirely.

“Maybe,” He starts, “Maybe you’re not going to be my good girl,” His hands dig deeper into your waist, “Maybe, you’re going to be my little slut.”

The word echoed through the room. It sent a shiver down your spine, but not the feeling of being displeased, it was a feeling of being right. Being here with him, being under his control, felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders. He could see you in a way that someone hasn’t seen you for months. He was learning every inch of you and would learn even more as the night went on.

He leaned down from his high position to plant gentle kisses along your neck. Gingerly leaving behind little reminders of passion.

“-And if you’re going to be my slut,” He whines through breathy kisses, “you need to know the safe words.”

You run your hands up to his hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingers. Tracing his scalp over your fingertips. You don’t want to go this slow, the breaks are killing you. You just want to feel him. You want to feel him on you, in you, taking you completely as his own.

His kisses finally reach the band of your jeans, but that doesnt stop him from exploring further. He pulls down on the jeans to reveal more of your stomach, delivering gentle almost tickling kisses.

“Green,” He whispers, “Means you like it… You don’t want me to stop.”

His hand travels over to the button of your jeans, popping the metal away from the denim. Your eyes follow him, watching his hair fall over your stomach, the metal of his necklace chilling your bare skin. His shoulders look strong here, masculine, powerful. Watching him focus so intently on you is killing you. This is a man unlike any other that you’ve been with, he’s focused on treating you first, even if there were some other pleasures in it for him.

“Yellow,” The zipper slowly starts to unravel as he pulls your pants further down, “Means you need me to slow down… If you need a break…”

Your pants steadily fall off of your legs, finally being exposed to him entirely until they fall onto the floor. The only thing separating you from him now is your thong. Which you are now praising yourself for wearing today. He resumes his consuming kisses across your midsection, joining back down where he had left off. His hands slip underneath him to grab the edges of the lace, sliding off the thong with ease.

His kisses start to graze you closer to your…

He stops and lifts himself. His hand leads up to your mouth, putting his pointer and middle finger into your mouth. You accept them, excited for what it means.

“Red.” His voice develops a more serious tone, “Means stop.”

He removes his now slick fingers from your mouth, returning them down below. His fingers reach your cunt, and you welcome him with excitement of your own. Your body is in shambles waiting, wanting to know what it feels like. His fingers dance across your aching clit, his thumb padding the bundle of nerves, sending shockwaves through your deprived body. A loud distressed moan escapes you, you can’t help but express your enthusiasm.

“Don’t worry sir,” You shudder through achy moans, “I don’t think I’ll need to use that one.”

“Good girl.”

Without any hesitation his fingers breach you, filling you up. He stands over you, watching you grow with the agony of pleasure. Your breath hitches with each pump, your back arching with each lift of his fingers. His thumb traces back over your clit, stimulating every inch of you.

Every attempt at communicating the feeling faulters, except for, “Oh fuck-”

Your body is shaking with each movement. He’s painting the perfect picture of an orgasm with just one hand. The power he holds, the knowledge he has. He knew how to please you better than you knew how to.

His free hand makes its way around your neck, gripping it, holding you in place so he can work harder at you. You’ve never been choked before, it’s a completely new sensation. The gasps for air were something you thought you’d fear, but instead, you were wishing he’d hold on harder.

“Green?” He asks, looking for permission.

You nodded your head ferociously

You feel yourself completely letting go under his control, something you feared once to let him have all the power. But here, now, held down to his desk… You never wanted it to stop.

“Words.” He barked.

Your hand reaches up to hold his wrist, “Yes, yes…”

“Yes, what?” He asks again, his fingers slowing their movement. Clearly, he wouldn’t be letting you get away with anything. You had to be obedient and do as he told you.

“Yes… Please, Sir,” You beg.

The words were getting harder to communicate. If he could finger you into oblivion, you might let him if it meant you could feel this good again.

He smiled in approval and resumed his previous pace. Steadily building faster, and faster. Harder and harder. You could feel how wet you were becoming, it really didn’t take much for him to draw the excitement out of you. The swirls of his fingers and the vigor of his motions were precise… Calculated, trying to accomplish only one mission; and he was close to succeeding.

Your moaning only got more frequent and louder, you couldn’t hold back. The pleasure was far too great to stay quiet. He almost let you be loud too, only for a few moments before reminding you of your location. He lifted his hand off your neck to lift a single finger to his lips and then pointed around the room.

“If my good girl can’t stay quiet, I’ll have to make her. We don’t want anyone spoiling all the fun.”

You nod your head, remembering you were still in his office. Your surroundings had escaped you completely; only thinking of him and you.

His thumb started to apply more pressure, practically begging for you for more. A softer moan forced its way out, helpless to be silenced. His hand plasters itself over your mouth, holding you silent. The pads of his fingers resting deep into your cheeks.

“I know baby, it’s so hard… You’re gonna be so good and come for me now, okay?”

Finally being relieved of speaking, you nod your head, ready for the climax. His fingers dive upward, grazing the sweet spot buried inside of you. The pressure, the sensation it’s all too much. You feel your belly tighten, your back arching. He’s trying to hold you steady as you writhe in pleasure. There’s no stopping anything now.

“Do it baby, come on… Be a good little slut for me…”

Your eyes roll deep back into your head. You feel the sweet sensation of release wash over you. Like a wave of ecstasy, traveling from your toes, past your aching clit, through your belly, all the way to your head. Stifled moans slip through the cracks of his fingers. His fingers stay at their steady pace, pushing past your orgasm. You feel yourself dripping around him. You’ve never come this hard in your life, you’ve never felt the devotion to make you feel this good. Your body is quivering around him, unable to shake the overstimulation. You’re squeezing onto his wrist, trying to come down easy, but everything he’s doing is making the sensations crash into you.

He takes his hand away from your mouth and you immediately gasp for air, trying to find serenity.

“Oh god,” You moan, “How did you-”

He shuts you up by taking his mouth to your soaked cunt, sliding his tongue through the mess he made. You place your hands beside you to sit up slightly. This was a sight you did not want to miss. You take his hair in your hands and tuck it aside. Each stripe of his tongue makes you wince, you want him to stop, but you can’t let him. It feels too good. It’s too much but just the right amount all at once.

He was consuming you, desperate to explore every inch of you. Wildly eating you up, trying to capture every last drop of his work. You were spilling into him, it was never-ending. It was like you weren’t even there; everything except your pusy. This was a high that you never wanted to come down from. He was devoted to keeping you there as long as he could, but you couldn’t hold on for more.

You fell back onto the desk, squirming through it all. He had you right where he wanted you. You let yourself fall into him, trying to take it all. Your hands reach over the desk, trying to find somewhere to hang onto, but instead knocking the scotch glass off the desk. Shattering loudly beneath you.

Jacob didn’t stop though, he was completely distracted, locked in. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Yellow.. Yellow..” You begged, completely overstimulated and shocked. How could you even ask for that?... But it was impossible to withstand any more sensation.

He stopped slowly, easing you out of the enjoyment. His hands reached up over your thighs and rested on your hips, slowly petting them with his thumbs. He looked up at you through glazed-over eyes, completely drunk on your arousal. He didn’t want it to end.

Slowly raising himself back to a standing position, you could see how hard he had gotten. He felt just as much pleasure as you did. He was completely lost, coming back to reality. Chin dripping with your wetness…

He leaned back over you and kissed you sloppily. The passion was more fiery than before. You did something to him and he did even more to you. It was strange to taste yourself on his lips, but exciting nonetheless. You were caught up together. Complete and one at that moment. And then it all stopped…

Footsteps approached outside the classroom. You both stopped. He removed himself from your lips and raised his head to listen.

A knock at the classroom door.

“Hello?” Someone called out.

There was no mistaking that someone was in this office, between the music, the glass breaking… They knew.

“Everything okay in here Kiszka?”

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. He stands and reaches for his shirt, buttoning it with no haste. He grabs your shirt and pants and kicks them under the desk, “Go, get underneath the desk,” He whispers, “Now.”

#jake kiszka #greta van smut #gvf fic #gvf smut #jake kiskza x reader #jtk x reader #jake gvf #professor fic #gvf #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka gvf #jake kiszka series #jake kiszka angst #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut

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thebibliosphere · 2 years

Text

I receive many wonderful and kind comments about Phangs in my inbox daily, but the ones that stick with me the most are always from fellow neurodivergent people, usually elated or crying because Phangs is the first book they've been able to read since their teens, sometimes even decades.

"I thought I'd lost the ability to read; I thought there was something wrong with me; I thought I was broken," over and over and over again.

I've talked about it before, but just in case you need to hear it: it's not just you; it's the publishing industry.

If you follow my Twitter, you may have seen the thread where I talked about what that was like, and how I was often handed the "problem" writers who struggled to conform to the industry standards. (The original thread is gone, but for context, it was about the lack of accessibility in publishing for people with ADHD) I didn't know it then because I wasn't yet diagnosed, but I understood the problems these writers were having because our brains functioned on the same wavelength.

I understood why they felt specific changes harmed the text, but I also understood that it was the cost of being published, and it was my job to help them with it. I went above and beyond to make it as painless for them as possible. All the while listening to my colleagues around the wine water cooler deride these writers as "pretentious" and "too thin-skinned for publishing."

I hated them. I still hate them, and I hate that the industry is the way it is because it's really not that difficult to accommodate.

Suppose an ADHD author tells you the changes you've made have made a sentence incomprehensible to them (and I cannot stress enough how distressing it is to have something you wrote be turned into something you cannot read). In that case, it's likely because you've removed certain critical elements for the sake of brevity. It might not look like vital elements to you, but for ND brains, longer sentences with additional qualifiers and descriptors can really help us latch onto the "rhythm" of a text, which can help us feel more immersed and hold our attention better*.

Filler words can help with this; it gives our brain time to process but also figure out which parts are essential and to hold onto. It's sort of like, uh, how people say "like" and "uh" a lot (😋). These act as both social cues that indicate that while we might be pausing in our speech, we are not done talking yet, but also help keep our brains jogging along via the act of vocal stimulation. (If I can find the study I read on this, I'll come back and post the link.)

Regarding "superfluous" adjectives and "weak" adverbs, they often function to provide emphasis and context we might otherwise miss. Sure, you can go overboard with them, and they can lose all meaning if you do, but the general writing advice that "adverbs NEVER be used" is not only lousy in general but also means those of us who struggle with social cues and emotional context can be left feeling out of the loop.

I can't tell you the number of times I've had to go back and verify that a character is experiencing an Emotion because it wasn't emphasized, or the author tried to make it into a gut punch by using "sharp, punchy" language (but all they use is "sharp, punchy" language!), and my brain glossed over it because, well, if it's not part of the greater sentence structure, it's irrelevant.

And this shit is my job! I'm being paid to notice these things! It's just not how my brain works naturally, and forcing it to do so long-term is not only exhausting but distressing. Why would I keep trying to read something that causes me exhaustion and makes me feel stupid because I'm struggling to understand it?

Now, obviously, there will be times when a text needs sprucing up. Everyone has their "comfort" style of writing, and while repetition can be soothing to read, it can also make the text hard to engage with. Same with run-on sentences. Sometimes you need those one-word gut punches. Or everyone's favorite, the italicized "oh."

The trick is finding a happy medium between the two that retains your personal voice and writing style. A good editor will work with you to make this possible. A bad one will hack everything to pieces and tell you, "that's just how it's meant to be."

I was lucky with my editors. Sometimes, I had to tell them that the proposed changes wouldn't work and were causing me distress because I couldn't read them. And I knew. I knew if I couldn't follow the sentence structure, a good chunk of my prospective readers wouldn't be able to either. They weren't doing anything wrong. They were doing their jobs and ensuring my book had as much mainstream readability appeal as possible. However, the problem is that "mainstream readability," as we've already established, isn't accessible to a large chunk of the population. So we found ways to work around it. We made it work.

As is evident in the messages I get in my inbox daily.

Every single day, someone else tells me their friend recommended Phangs to them, and they were skeptical because they haven't been able to read a published book in years. And every single day, someone new tells me they loved Phangs, but the biggest thing they loved about it, was that they were even able to read it at all.

So thank you for the greatest compliment you can give me. A lot of work went into ensuring Phangs would be accessible to as many people as possible.

Also, sorry the industry is like *gestures* this.

----

*This is a generality and not true for everyone. People are not monoliths. I am merely speaking from my personal experiences from the things I have observed in the industry as an editor, a writer, and a lifelong reader who also now struggles to read the current style favored by the mainstream industry.

#writing #publishing #adhd #long post #sorry to just keep ranting about adhd stuff atm #but it's all on my mind

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jksprincess10 · 1 year

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hi there, sending this in an ask as you instructed!

new transfer to bogota and javier recognizes the reader from around his hometown. maybe a bit of fluff, reader remembers him but teases him that she doesn't, ends in smutty goodness?

whatever you come up with will be amazing, i'm sure

Hiiii! Loved writing this! Thank you so much for your request! Excited to hear your feedback.

Summary: Welcoming new hires wasn’t always like this. But after Escobar’s empire shattered, the embassy employees were more in a party mood. Due to the success of the operation, the embassy of the USA in Bogota hired more DEAs. In the flood of the new faces, there was a familiar one for Javi.

CW:alcohol, friends with benefits, face sitting, pussy drunk javi, squirting, jerking off.

➳ Masterlist

➳Send me a request

Javier was still preoccupied with work, staring at all the pieces falling together on his board when Steve Murphy burst in his office.

“C’mon man, let’s go. You were more fun before.”

“Fuck off, Murphy.” He said between his teeth, lips still barely holding on to his usual lit cigarette.

“I heard there are new hot girls…” His partner shrugged, and he was out the door.

Fuck. He knew how to get his attention.

The Texan grabbed his leather coat and followed meters behind, Steve hiding a sly smile in front of him.

Nervousness filled your gut. You wouldn’t think you’d be thrown in the arms of a party on your first day as the newly transferred DEA agent. But here you were, standing in the middle of a busy bar, feeling totally out of place, feeling dizzy with all the noise around you.

You got a drink, hoping the alcohol would loosen up your nervousness. Your glass came up to your lipstick-covered mouth, as a familiar figure appeared beside you.

“Didn’t think you’d be transferred here after all those years.”

You turned your head to smile innocently at him, like you didn’t recognize his warm voice.

“I’m sorry? I think you’re getting me mixed up with someone else.”

He crushed his cigarette in an ashtray laying on the bar, thick eyebrow curved in a confused look on his face. Of course you’d recognize Javier Peña. You just wanted to fuck with him. Or fuck him. Who knows.

“I guess I didn’t satisfy you enough to be remembered.” He shrugged it off.

Your smile widened, and you took another sip of your glass.

“Hmmm… I remember now. Javier Peña? Sorry, might have fucked too many people in-between. You probably know the struggle.”

Javier smirked, clearly understanding your game now. He asked for a glass of whiskey and sat beside you. You finally did the same, turning your upper body to him.

He had barely aged. He still dressed the same as in college, but the mustache was new.

“You still with that asshole? What was his name… hmmm… Chris? No. Darren?”

“Yeah Darren. Didn’t last long after college. Still single… This job makes everyone run away, doesn’t it?”

The man nodded in sympathy.

“Well, to old times. Salud!” He said as he tipped his glass towards you.

“Salud!”

Another man you didn’t know, blonde, white, sat beside Javier.

“Told you there would be hot ladies.” He addressed to Javi, like you weren’t even there.

“Oh yeah, but I know her. Went to college together.” Javi shrugged.

“So I can’t be hot if you know me, hm? You didn’t complain back then when I was sucking your cock, asshole.” You said as you downed your drink and asked for another one. Just to find the courage to make a move on Javier.

Steve playfully punched his partner’s shoulder.

“I like her already!” He exclaimed.

The silly game of cat and mouse between you and Peña didn’t last long. When people started to leave, you took your cue and Javier offered you a ride to make sure you’d “make it home safe”.

While he was driving, your hand teased his thigh through his tight jeans. You leaned in and whispered to his ear:

“You know… we might have to go to your place. I’m not fully moved in yet. What do you think?”

“Missed me that much, hm?”

You went back to your seat with a flirty smile on your lips.

“You could say that.”

You had barely made it past Javier’s door and took off your shoes when he pulled you towards him by the waist, the familiar warmth of his big hands sending shivers through your body. His face met yours, warm-golden eyes melting your brain. You grabbed his cheeks to pull his face closer, kissing him eagerly. You both found familiarness of each other’s lips, moving together in pure harmony.

You used to be friends with benefits, you knew this man’s mouth like the back of your hand.

But the mustache tickling your face was new.

Your nails trailed down his cheeks to the slight squareness of his jaw while you deepened the kiss. It seemed like the game of cat and mouse was still on when you were fighting for dominance. Javi won eventually when he guided you through his apartment and pushed you on his bed, his body on top of yours.

You let go of his lips to regain your breath, and your thumb brushed over his neatly trimmed mustache.

“This is new. I like it.”

“Yeah?” He wiggled his brows in a suggestive manner, making you chuckle.

“Let me see if the rest still looks good…” Your fingers pushed away his heavy leather coat and hastily undid his shirt, revealing skin that got tanner over time.

His shirt silently fell to the ground, and Javi didn’t waste any time discarding you of your blouse.

“Your boobs got bigger.” He said, grabbing your breasts, brown eyes looking curiously at your barely-covered skin.

“Oh shut up, like you’d remember.”

In one clean movement, he got rid of your skirt and panties. Two of his fingers trailed down your pubic bone, slowly, while your lips latched onto his. When your noses hit, you got an idea. You rolled over him and pressed his body down the mattress, feeling the curve of his erect cock on your thigh.

“I wanna sit on your face” You breathed desperately against his lips that were stained pink from your lipstick.

“Fuck. Yes. Burry me in that sweet pussy of yours.”

Your “new” but familiar colleague pulled on your waist to bring your hips on level with his face. You fingers curled against the headboard while Javi grabbed your thighs to push you down. The tip of his nose brushed against your clit and you squirmed with a whine.

“Again.” You demanded.

You heard him laugh, but you stopped caring about his teasing when he swiped his nose confidently between your folds, caressing your sensitive bud of pleasure.

“God. I missed fucking that nose.” You bluntly said between unretained moans.

“Hmmm.” Was all you could hear from Javi.

His tongue sneaked between your folds to find your wet hole, and you completely lost it. He kept swiping his nose against your clit, teasing you from every angle. Your hands grabbed harder at the headboard while you had you first orgasm.

You gladly wet his mustache, and he pulled you down a bit, so you’d lay fully on his mouth and not on his nose.

“Can’t breathe, Peña?” You said between laborious breaths.

“As much as I’d like to die suffocated by this sweet pussy…” He rasped against your wet skin, making you shiver. His tongue replaced his nose, putting pressure on your already sensitive clit. He traced almost painful circles, while you find your high once more.

“Fuck. Javi. Let me touch you…” He held you by the small of your back while his other hand got to work undoing his pants, not stopping his pressure on your cunt whatsoever.

You leaned your back fully into his hand, while you reached behind you to grab his naked cock. You jerked him off messily while he was still swiping his tongue against your clit in a painfully slow motion. You felt him growing harder under your hand, and you went faster, motivating him to do the same.

It was too much. The overwhelming sensation in your belly, the familiar feeling before you squirted. You almost let go of him while your thighs shook on each side of his perfect face, your juices sliding down his chin. He drank all he could eagerly. Finally, he let you go to breathe a little.

“Could cum only like this, your pussy’s fucking perfect. God.”

You smirked and looked down at him, while you stroked him to let him meet his end. The DEA agent traced lazy circles on your heat while he enjoyed your rapid movements against his hard cock.

You stopped only when you felt warm liquid between your fingers. You let your body fall beside his on his bed, falling in the arms of your sweet after-sex haze.

When you turned your head to look at him, you could still see your juices glistening on his nose, plush lips and chin. He took a few breaths, cleaned himself up, then he rolled over to cradle your hips. The expression on his face suggested another round, and you couldn’t tell him no after all this time away from him.

#javier pena #writing request #javier pena x you #javier pena x yn #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x y/n #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut

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bronx-bomber87 · 9 days

Text

Hello my wonderful fandom family :) We're finally back to new eps. I wasn't ready for this episode in the least. Idk I was ever gonna be ready tbh. If this isn’t the most apt ep name ever following the last ep. Bare with me as I once again sort through my thoughts and such. I'm really struggling with the 'mini' portion of these reviews the last few eps.

Ain't nothing mini about my emotions haha But I am sure come summer they'll be more refined for sure. Also thank you to anyone who reads these thoughts and enjoys them. It's still a trip to me people appreciate my thoughts. I just want to be a ray of sunshine and positivity with these.

A source of comfort while we all go through this together. Cause that's the beauty of fandom. Going through it together. Once again wanna preface there will be ZERO tolerance for bashing of any kind. They are both going through it right now. We all love these characters so much its why we're on here. I love conversation and comments but not spreading hate. With that in mind let's start eh?

6x07 Crushed

Tamara moving out still..... Ugh. I’m so sad about this. Truly the end of an era right here everyone. Also Lucy not wearing her necklace gut punch already to my feels...Poor Lucy wants her to stay but would never ask Tamara to do that. I wanna cry already for Lucy....I hate her necklace being missing and it's very obvious it's missing. *sad sigh*

I do love Lucy taking Tamara out to fancy dinner least. Channeling her emotions into something positive. Wanting to love on her before she goes. Tamara mentioning Tim getting kicked out of Metro…She isn’t wrong it is down hill after the pinnacle of Lucy indeed. Trying to give her a compliment but Lucy isn't taking it that way. I wanna cry for a second time. She looks so distressed. *sigh* Two massive pillars in her life are now gone and it's felt in this brief moment.

Tim in his old Metro office disassembling it. My heart. You all know how much I loved him In Metro. Killing me. Also just shows how much of a nose dive he took after this Ray debacle. Grey seeing this and sighing before going in after him. Tim seems like he’s in robot mode when Wade enters. Saying all the things he thinks Grey wants to hear since he’s back. No real emotion behind it. Just the grunt mentality he thinks he should have.

Gonna be more than just his trust you’re gonna need to earn back my love….Love Wade having him to ride along with Dr. London. Anyone needs it our boy does right now. Of course Tim bites back on this idea why wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t be Tim if he didn’t. Tim saying breaking up with Lucy has nothing to do with the Ray situation. Uh... it has everything to do with that my love EVERYTHING.

Grey standing his ground saying if he wants to regain his trust this is where it starts. I love him saying breaking up with Lucy and being bounced back to patrol due to being reckless makes him question his judgement. As it should…You forget Timothy this man watched you grow with Lucy for years. Saw how much she made you grew and joy she brought out in you. Of course he is questioning your actions. He just watched you throw away the best thing ever that's ever happened to you. Your judgement is being judged severely....

I adore Wade Grey. He's not only putting Tim in his place and saying he could mandate therapy (which he would be justified in doing...) Or take the ride along. Then saying he’s taking Lucy out too. Just so he knows he is looking out for them both in this moment. The man knows what he is doing.

I can’t believe Smitty doing breakup odds. I’m incensed by this tbh. Also I want punch the dude who said Tim would’ve cheated. He would NEVER. How very dare you. I hate that list. It makes me wanna rage out so hard. If any of them knew them at all they’d know it would never be something like that. Also her and Aaron? Ewww no no no.... Lucy had every right to ream Smitty out more than she did. So inappropriate it's insane. For shame sir truly.

I'm glad she shut it down. Last thing they need is the station gossiping about them like this. They're going to anyways but Ugh I hate this whole thing. I feel sick. Of course she runs into Tim right after.... Worst timing ever. Breaks my heart because he still is excited to see her but she isn't ready for him. How could she be? He looks so sad. But Tim what are you expecting my love? No way she is ready to be near you let alone talk. This hurts to watch…Lucy trying so hard just not to have a meltdown right there in the station.

I was very excited for him to have this ride along I will say and this opening scene is why. Dr London on his ass already. I love it. As she should be. Saying he’s bringing Aaron as a buffer. Which he is… Classic avoidance attachment style. That’s our boy. She’s not wrong he prefers surface level relationships (other than Lucy...) to a deep intimacy. His default state with anyone who isn't his girl.

She has him dead to rights already. Saying it’s a defense mechanism when someone is raised by an overly strict or domineering parent. A father. She’s not wrong. We all know his history. Tim of course isn’t about this whatsoever only making her assessment about him even more valid. Their scenes starting off real strong.

Grey wanting to check in on Lucy I do love it. He’s not wrong she’s been through HELL this year. The detectives exam, Jeff Budney and now losing Tim. God this hasn’t been an easy season for her. To say she's going through it is the understatement of the century. I'm hurting for her so very much. Her entire world has been rocked to it's very core in the last week alone. Not mention everything else before this.

It’s so awkward Lucy inviting everyone but Tim to Tamara’s going away dinner…. In front of Dr. London too. That shot from Tim’s body cam seems very intentional. As he looks at everyone she’s inviting but him. Way his head goes back and forth. Grey patting Tim on the arm on the way out. *phew* Rough start to the shift.

Of course their first call is disturbingly close to what she and Tim are dealing with. Not exactly what Lucy needs. Hearing this woman talking about thinking he was the one then it just ended. *heart clutch* Crushed is an apt name for how I was feeling during this episode.

Lucy has clearly kept this all inside for too long with her reaction to the situation. Wade would never set you up like that. Just shows how hyper sensitive she is atm. Why he's doing this ride along with her. He wants to keep you sane not crazy. I wanna hug her so much. 'I do watch too much reality tv. It's my bad' Lmao. Needed a little levity. This made me chuckle.

We hit the ground running about breakups with Dr. London. Honestly no need to beat around the bush for this observation of Tim. ‘Breakups are a trigger for many men. Especially since stereotypical gender roles prevent them from seeking out help. For fear of appearing weak.’ If that isn’t Tim and this entire situation right now…

Hell that's his ENTIRE life. He was shamed into never wanting help and if he did he was meant to feel weak for it. Just like she is stating above. She is very good at her job and just getting started. Tim can't hide in any of his normal brush off statements. Which I love. She has him pegged already and it shows. Quite the opening jab from her to start this off.

Lucy looks on verge of tears at all times right now and I’m dying. Especially when Grey brings up his name. Asking if they’ve talked since the breakup? Melissa straight killing me in this shop right now everyone. Those pre tears.....Saying she thought he didn’t care about her personal life. He’s not wrong if it affects her job it does matter. The point of this ride-along. To gauge where she is currently.

‘Smart to make the connection between IA and them breaking up. ‘Just a bad week.’ Oh its so much more than that…. Lucy protects him of course with the unethical portion. Bad place or not she's not going to cast any suspicion with that. But It’s so very clear she is painfully unaware why he did this to her. To them.

Only that he’s not emotionally available to her. *sigh* This is true. The man is a disaster zone atm. I mean he’s definitely occupied mentally in a way she doesn’t understand yet. Hell I don’t even think Tim understands it really. All he knows is he think's he's toxic and she’s better off without him. Which is a huge part of this episode tbh.

So she isn't wrong he is not emotionally available right now. That much is painfully true. The joke about the Diamondbacks was funny but sad at the same time. They found good way of getting little funnies in there with Grey. I do appreciate that. I'm a sports girl so I this made me smile.

Dr London really coming at Tim in this next section. She is wasting ZERO time with him. ‘Lot of romantic feelings start out as platonic love.’ Going right for it when she says he and Lucy were friends first right? His reaction…Gonna makes me bawl Eric. Hurts to watch this. Looks like he wants to cry. Ugh Tim. Killing me softly. She is getting under his skin quicker than he was expecting and you can tell. Hitting at a very raw nerve he's trying to keep hidden. He looks so distraught and emotional when he replies 'I was her T.O.'

Tim saying he’s not depressed. Oh my love….but you are. Depressed and wracked with a massive amount of guilt. ‘I broke up with her.’ So so defensive. Can’t let good doctor see this whole thing is crushing him. That would be weakness. He is fighting off a panic attack in this moment. So unsettled by this entire interaction. She is picking up on that guilt that is all but exuding out of him in this moment.

She really brings it home saying internalizing guilt and shame leads to self directed anger. Self harm and suicide. If that isn't Tim Bradford my god. The self directed anger is him in spades. His face while she tells him all this.. Oh my lord. She has him dead to rights once again. He is experiencing so much guilt about it and it’s written all over his face. Tim is barely keeping it together while she is telling him stonewalling will only get him sidelined. Honestly I’m glad she’s confronting him like this. Coming at him so hard cause Tim needs that especially right now.

He can’t have passive people in this life when it comes to this kind of stuff. The one person who could knock sense into him he’s pushed away. So Dr. London being here is much needed. Of course Tim snaps at Aaron cause he can’t handle what he’s currently going through. Lashing out because what she is saying to him is true and he isn't able to handle it. Hitting very close to home. So he's defaulting back to S1 Tim in this moment. Destroying Aaron in the process..

I love them talking about Tamara and the unconditional love Lucy has shown her. It’s so true. It’s that love that gave her courage to leave. Even though it's hard to watch happen. It shows what accepting unconditional love can do for you. Lucy bringing back to Tim because how could she not? Mentioning about letting people go even if you really care about them them. *sigh*. You can tell she is on the verge of tears once again.

That feeling where you've been keeping it inside for far too long. It comes out in anything you talk about. Like right now in this moment. Even talking about Tamara is cycling back to Tim and it shows how deeply upset she is. How could she not be? She is losing two of her people in one fail swoop. It's a miracle she hadn't lost it sooner than this moment tbh.

Lucy crushing me some more in this episode. Further proving she has zero idea why Tim did what he did. How he could let go so easily. It was a blindside for us all but none more than for her. His person. The one who never ever expected him to leave her side. Tim did leave her with a cheap cliche nonsense about deserving better. It's so much complex than that but I can see why she is so angry about that. She deserved better than that.

It’s what upset her so much in that 6x06 scene. Because it felt like a cop out to her. When it’s so much deeper than that but Lucy doesn’t know that. Thats what killing me and her. Lucy going off saying it was her decision to make what she deserves. It’s true. She is so justified in saying this. Sadly Tim made that decision despite her willingness to love him no matter what.

Took away her choice to keep him even if he felt he wasn't worthy. Wasn't just HIS choice to make. That's what pissing her off and rightfully so. He doesn’t understand the unconditional love she had to give him or how to accept it. All he could see was how much better she was without him. All she wants is a real conversation with him and she didn't get to have that. He took the choice away from her and she's left holding the emotional bag of it all and it sucks.

Punches keep rolling with Dr London. Attacking his problem at it's damaged root. As much as he is trying to bury it he cannot hide from her and her assessment of him. This is a huge turning point in the ep. Tim saying he owns his mistakes and moves on. So cut and dry and she isn’t having ANY of it. Nor should she. He hasn’t moved on in the slightest. Once again pegging him for not only not being over it but having his whole identity being wrapped up in acting honorably. If he was past that he wouldn’t have ended things with Lucy. We wouldn't be here. But he feels not worthy and not honorable enough for Lucy so he cut ties.

Her noting it’s had a devastating effect on his self esteem. Which is why he is punishing himself. i.e He let the love of his life go. He feels he doesn’t deserve such things for being so un-honorable. My broken boy. Tim isn’t sure what’s she is getting at. Asking what she's talking about? She continues to portray him accurately. That he is punishing himself by depriving himself of something he loves. Something that brings him joy. Or someone....Clearly that someone being Lucy.

The joy she brought to his life he no longer feels he deserves. Lucy was the one constant in his life that made him happy. So he’s depriving himself of it in order to punish himself. This sounds so harsh and severe but I relate to this. When I was new at my current job. I wasn’t very good at first. I was down right on the verge of being fired. I got a game plan to fix myself from my leader. BUT I was punishing myself for not being good enough in the first place. How did I do this? I took away something I loved and brought me joy. Music.

I refused to listen to music during my job because I felt I didn’t deserve it. I wouldn’t let myself enjoy it till I was better and had earned it back. I got to a place where I let myself have something I loved back and it helped so much and ultimately got me through it. So I relate to Tim doing this to himself i really do. He is denying the one person who brings him joy because of that self-punishment. He feels he has failed who he should be therefore he can't have what he wants and needs most. Lucy. You can really see it hit Tim by time Aaron rejoins them. She hit the nail on the head and Tim is feeling it.

Lucy spotting Tim and touching her tattoo SO MUCH. Ugh my heart. Her grounding method to remind herself she's a survivor. The problem with all that is him being the reason for that reminder. Which just hurts. I'm not crying you are....Tim so out of his depth all he can do is be awkward with his ‘Clocking out?’ Babe....No...(Also I feel personally attacked by this song they chose for this scene.)

Lucy calling him out for it instantly. Because well she’s his person. Bad place or not she is always gonna tell him what he needs to hear. Won't let him hide behind niceties. Confronting that things aren't ok between them and she won't let him use it to hide. Asking for a real adult conversation with him. One which he is NOT ready for. This hurt to watch not gonna lie. This whole situation hurts.

Tim deflects….with another cheap answer of saying he can’t give her what she wants. Ugh. You are everything she wants you foolish man. I don’t blame Lucy for cutting that convo off at the knees. She wanted more depth from him and got nothing in return. Telling him he has more to figure out than she realized…and feeling like she is no longer than person to help him with that.

My heart is breaking all over again… Lucy always felt she was his person to get him through anything and to hear this only hurts her further. Coming to that realization and taking off because of it. The song running through this scene is poignant and hurtful…Also the continual clutching to her tattoo as she departs from him. I'll just be weeping in the corner don't mind me....

I wasn't expecting the scene we got here in Grey's office. But was so pleasantly surprised. My hope was that Dr. London broke through to him. That his ride along with her wouldn't be a one-off. I’m so proud of Tim I can't even tell you. To not only see he has work to do but to ask if he could start seeing her as a patient. He seemed disappointed she didn't mandate sessions. Which he needed so he could advocate for himself. Blair had pegged him early on and I think this will be so so good for him.

His healing journey is starting now and I’m so excited for him. Even though my heart is outside my chest right now for our couple. This is going to be good for Tim. I know people have been weird about Dr London. I haven’t gotten a bad feeling from her. I could be wrong but haven't gotten that. I think this is the healing Eric was talking about. That journey he needs to be in order to find his way back to Lucy. Grey's line was perfect. It's SO hard to ask for help. Tim can see something is wrong and wants to fix it. This is a beautiful start to this journey for him.

This final scene with Tamara and Lucy made me cry. This whole ep has made me cry really. Their relationship has always been one of my favorites. To watch how they’ve both grown. How Tamara learned to trust again and receive that unconditional love Lucy had to give. Gah I love it so much. Took a broken untrusting girl and molded her into a confident bad ass. I've never been able to classify what they are. They're sisters, friends and family all wrapped up in one.

Hard to watch Lucy lose this piece of her life on top of everything else. Tim may have a lot of growth to do but I think Lucy too has room to grow from this all as well. She has been given quite the bad hand in this season. Maybe she can get some direction and clarity what she wants to do with career and such. I hate that she has to be the collateral damage to everything this year. It's hard to watch. But I am interested to see how she handles it all. See how she stands after all this. I think as hard as this is will end up making her more resilient.

Lucy been struggling with her own stuff this year as well. Being so good about pegging everyone around her but being blind in her own self awareness. it's going to be interesting to see how Lucy handles everything moving forward. I hope you all know how deeply my heart breaks for her. I don't like seeing her hurt anymore than I do Tim. I wanted to cry for her most of this episode. That being said I do think this growth journey will be good for her as well. Like Eric said she'll be ok they'll grow stronger from it. Can't wait to see how it plays out.

I wasn’t expecting one more scene with him reaching out like this. Telling her she was right. He’s mad himself. That stark realization that is coming over him. My god I’m so proud of him I could burst. Not only advocating for himself but telling her it was an emergency. When everything inside him is trying to do the 'honorable thing' and not call it an emergency when it is. To see he's not being a burden by reaching out like this. It’s so hard to take care of yourself when you don’t think much of yourself. It’s a foreign feeling and to act on it even more so.

Learning it’s ok to ask for help, to be imperfect, to set healthy boundaries and grow. Not an easy place to get to. This scene is HUGE for Tim. Now I mean this in the nicest way I can muster but If you can't grasp how groundbreaking this is for him you don't get him as a character at all. Nor do you understand the gravity of this SL/situation. Of what this final scene represents for him. Tim is seeing something is broken within himself and he doesn't know how to fix it. All he knows is something is wrong and he doesn't want to feel this way anymore. He wants to understand why and to get better.

I know I spent most of my 20's running away from therapy. Saying I didn't need it. That it was non sense. Pushing everything down and deflecting like Tim did. Wrapping my identity in the same things. Being SO DAMN HARD on myself. I still struggle with this but learning to give myself more grace. I can't properly explain the feeling you get when you realize you can't out run your demons anymore. What sets off something inside you that says 'I don't feel right, I don't know how to fix it but I know it's time to.' All I know is what sets it off is different for everyone.

For me it was the fact that I was set off by a kind comment. It was from a sweet lady who was a client of mine. Who commented on earrings my mother had gotten me. I hadn't thought much of it then she looked me in the eye with so much sincerity and said 'Your mother must love you very much.' That comment just hit me so hard. Triggered me. Cause some of my deepest seated trauma comes from my mom. I remember getting in my car and crying after. Texting my sister and telling her I thought it was time I got help. All I knew was something was wrong and it was clawing to the surface and I couldn't ignore it any longer.

That's Tim in this moment. Ray resurfacing was his demons coming up for air and not going away. This is his 'Come to Jesus.' moment about himself. Knowing what Dr. London was telling him today rang true. He just doesn't know to handle it and is reaching out for help to sort it out. Now He couldn’t gotten to this place without Lucy let’s not forget that. Tim wouldn't be in the place he is without her. BUT this is not Lucy's responsibility to fix. Nor should it be. As much as we love her being his person, this is Tim journey to go on.

Now my family/friends got me to place where I could see I needed help. Just like Lucy has for Tim. But it was up to me to take the first step. That's what this scene represents for him. His first step on his journey to healing himself. He knows he has work to do and I know he'll do it. He and I are alike and he will put his all into this. I'm excited the writers did what they did in this ep. Shows they're going to put the proper care into this SL. I can see a pathway way to their healing now and I feel like I can breathe for the first time in three weeks. I'm excited to see where the rest of the season goes for them both I really am. As always thank you for any likes, comments or reblogs I get for these they mean the world.

~~~

Side notes-non Chenford. Mostly lol

I like the idea of Celina moving in but she’s not wrong it would be an emotional minefield… but do love the idea of her living Lucy I don’t want her to be alone. Have one little win for her.

This was the song during that finale scene. Thank you D to finding the link above. it's Chenford Personified in this ep. Once again whoever is doing this songs. You need a damn raise this hurt so good. The lyrics were so Poignant and painful. These one were my fav. 'I miss you. I miss you. I’ll always forgive you."

She will forgive Tim because that's who Lucy is. One of the many reasons Tim fell in love with her. That never ending desire to trust people and forgive them. To see the best in them. She will look at the deeper meaning of his actions and help him past them once he gets there himself. He will have to earn that forgiveness of hers and I have no doubt he will.

This will be a process of that I have no doubt. It won't be quick or easy but my god it'll be worth it. They always are. I don't expect this to be resolved by seasons end but I do expect them to be on their way there by the finale. This is a beautiful growth journey they're about to embark on and I'm ready to go on it.

#Caitlin's mini reviews #chenford #6x07 Crushed #s6 #the rookie 6x07 #tim x lucy #tim bradford #lucy chen #lucy x tim #eric winter #melissa o'neil #the rookie #otp: doing my job #otp: unless it is

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oizysian · 3 months

Text

VII. GIRLS NIGHT

All Eyes on Me masterlist

Word count: 2.4k

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Once the wine and food arrived, I grabbed the bottle off of the tray and opened it hurriedly, taking a few gulps before I heard someone speaking to me.

"Hey, slow down there, champ. Save some for the rest of us."

Brie took the bottle from my hand and looked me in the eyes for a brief moment before turning away towards the food and pouring herself and Lizzie a glass of the wine.

The look she gave me was one of ... worry? Was she worried about me?

Lizzie watched the interaction wordlessly, then sat at the edge of the bed and waited for her glass to be filled.

"You're our designated babysitter." Brie said as she passed a glass to Lizzie. "You have to be the least drunk out of all of us."

"Why me?" I whined. "I should be the most drunk."

"You can't be hungover on a plane for six hours, Y/N." She took a delicate sip from her own glass as she watched me.

"I'll sneak you some wine, Y/N, don't worry." Lizzie whispered to me, giving me a wink before nearly gulping down her first glass.

Damn. Looked like she had something she wanted to forget too.

Brie shot Lizzie a look and she shrugged, swirling the remains of her drink.

"I don't need a babysitter. Maybe you do."

"Says you." Brie shot back playfully, grabbing the opened bottle and pouring more into Lizzie's glass.

Lizzie stuck her tongue out at the other woman and silently sipped at her drink. All I knew was that I didn't have enough to drink yet to deal with their bickering, however playful it may be.

"Gimme." I made grabby hands for the bottle and Brie shook her head.

"You get a glass just like the rest of us."

I nodded, grabbing a glass off the tray and holding it out for Brie to pour the wine into.

She looked from me to the glass, another look I wasn't sure I understood. After filling my glass, I brought it to my lips and damn near drank it down.

"You know, I don't even like wine."

"Then why are you drinking it, loser?" Brie asked with a laugh.

"I like the way it makes me feel. Warm and tingly." I looked at Lizzie who was now staring at me, finishing off her second glass of wine. "Maybe you should be slowing down, Miss Olsen." I teased her and she just smiled at me.

"Hush. I can hold my own. Plus, I'm older than you - I tell you what to do."

"How do you know that?"

"You look like a teenager." She laughed. "You can't be older than twenty-five."

"For your information, I'll be thirty this year."

"Thirty! You lie."

I shook my head and gestured over at Brie.

"Ask Brie. She knows."

Lizzie's eyes widened in shock when she saw Brie nodding at her unasked question.

"So, I'm not much older than you." I shook my head. "You're the same age as my husband."

I must've paled at her words because Brie's expression changed from relaxed to worried at the sight of me.

My mouth went dry and I did my best to nod at what she had said. Once again, her mentioning Robbie threw me for a loop. I felt like I had been sucker punched straight in the gut. I had to get used to her talking about her husband if I was going to be her friend.

I downed the rest of my wine and put my glass out for a refill, which Brie didn't hesitate to give me. Maybe she felt bad for me. I wasn't sure, but I wasn't about to ask.

"Are you okay, Y/N?"

Her gentle eyes bore into mine and I could almost feel the burning tears forming behind my eyes. I shook the emotion off and smiled at her, brushing off her worry.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about tomorrow. Still getting used to flying." I lied. And I was damn good at it.

She nodded in understanding and continued to sip at her drink.

"Some people never get used to it, but I think it can be relaxing. Especially if there's a good movie on."

"I couldn't even tell you what movies they showed on the flight. I was too busy daydreaming, staring out the window."

"I do that too." She smiled, about to say something else, when Brie cut in.

"What did you guys order? I already forgot what I wanted." She said as she sifted through the various food items we had brought to the room.

"Eat what you want, Brie." I said as I sat down on the floor across from Lizzie who was still perched at the edge of the bed. "It's all for everyone."

She shrugged and started to eat something I couldn't quite identify. I finished off my glass once again, and laid down on the floor. I heard someone approach me and I looked up to see Lizzie standing above me, her glass refilled and a smile on her face.

"You sure you're okay down there?"

"I'm Gucci."

"Gucci?" She asked, laughter in her beautiful voice.

"Yeah, it means I'm fine, essentially."

She nodded in understanding and went over to the food tray to eat with Brie. I shut my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. I could be her friend. I made it this far. I met her, she likes me - as a friend - and we get along fantastically. I couldn't let my dumb feelings mess this up for me. I could lose her all together if I let this crush get in the way.

I opened my eyes at the feel of someone nudging my leg. Looking up, I saw Brie, a look of concern on her face.

"You okay, gaymergod?"

I rolled my eyes at her and sat up again, wondering how long I had been laying there since a good chunk of the food was now gone.

"I'm fine, Brie."

"Gaymergod?" Lizzie questioned.

"Emphasis on the 'gay'." Brie teased.

"It's my Twitch handle. It's how people know me online."

"You go by 'Gaymergod'?" She giggled and I nodded.

"Y/N_gaymergod, actually."

"You dork." She kicked me gently with her foot and I kicked her back. "Stop! You'll make me spill my wine!"

"You started it." I laughed as she continued to kick me, clearly uncaring about the drink in her hand.

"Stop playing footsie, you two." Brie grabbed the wine bottle. "It's time for a refill."

"As the designated babysitter, I think you two have nearly had enough."

"We didn't even finish the bottle yet!" Brie exclaimed, topping off Lizzie's drink and refilling her own glass to the very top.

"Maybe you shouldn't."

"Maybe we should."

Lizzie got up from her spot on the bed and went over to the food tray, picking something up and then gesturing over to me.

"C'mere, Y/N. You need to eat."

"Eat what exactly?" I heard Brie mumble under her breath and I gave her leg a kick as I passed her by.

I eyed the food that they left for me; various finger foods and snack items. Lizzie had a small sandwich in her hand and she brought it up to my lips.

"Open."

I did as I was told and she fed me the sandwich. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but the best part about it was feeling her fingers ghost over my lips as she pulled away.

"It's okay." I said as I swallowed. "What else is there?"

Lizzie began animatedly pointing out and describing each of the food items left on the tray. I couldn't lie, I was staring at her and didn't hear a word she had been saying. Her voice was like a lullaby, a soft hymn made just for me. I nodded as she spoke, licking my dry lips as I watched her. She was a piece of living art.

"And then there's these little green things. They might be French. Or Italian. I'm not sure." She laughed and I laughed with her.

"That's a big difference." I picked up what she had been talking about and popped it into my mouth. "French. Definitely French."

"I thought so. Brie was probably just trying to make me feel stupid by telling me I was wrong."

"Yup!" She called out from the kitchenette, digging around the fridge for some of our leftovers.

I shook my head and took another random finger food before heading over to the bed, plopping down with a thud. Lizzie watched me for a second before walking over to me, standing in front of my legs.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

I nodded and she sat down next to me, taking my hand in one of hers.

"You know you can talk to me about anything?"

I looked down at our hands and nodded again, earning a squeeze from her.

"Words." She encouraged.

"Yes, ma'am." I teased and she smiled.

"I know we just met, but I think you're really fantastic. I can tell you have a good heart."

"Thanks, Lizzie." I looked at her from the corner of my eye, unsure if I could look at her without my emotions seeping through.

It felt like my heart was stuck in my throat.

"Don't be so gloomy, okay? We're supposed to be having fun! I don't want your last memory of us to be so sad."

"I'm not sad." I argued.

"That's not what it looks like."

"She's right," Brie chimed in. "But I know what'll cheer you right up."

She went looking around for her bag, tripping slightly over her own feet as she explored the messy room. She found it under a few discarded sheets and went digging around inside it. Turning to us, she held out a joint and a lighter, smiling triumphantly.

"Tada! Drugs!"

I laughed and Lizzie rolled her eyes, but also looked amused. She walked over to us and put the blunt between my lips. I held onto it as she lit it and took a deep toke, holding the smoke in my mouth before exhaling slowly. I took another quick puff before passing it off to Lizzie, who did almost the same thing I did, but held it in longer. She let out a small cough as she passed it back to Brie, who relit it and inhaled it deeply.

"That shit is strong, Brie."

"Yup," she said, her voice straining from holding in the smoke. "And we're gonna finish it."

It was fat and long, and clearly Brie had packed it just for this occasion. But I wasn't so sure she had Lizzie in mind when she rolled it. If this was meant for just us, we would've surely gotten fucked up beyond belief.

She passed it back to me and I continued the rotation, all of us enjoying each other's company, and the joint, as the room became thick with smoke.

Lizzie's giggles we're infectious, and I found myself giggling right along with her as she laughed at something stupid Brie had said. I laid back on the bed, done smoking for now, and watched as the two blondes finished up the blunt.

"Are you sure you're done? I'm gonna kill it." Brie said as Lizzie laid down next to me, curling up against my side.

"Dude, kill it. I'm done and she's obviously done too."

We both laughed at the sight of her, half asleep, drunk and high off her ass.

"Don't laugh at me." She murmured softly, which just caused us to laugh more.

I heard her whine as she buried her face in the pillows and I pat her hair gently in apology.

"We're not laughing at you."

"No, not at all." Brie said sarcastically, coming over to lay on the other side of me after discarding what remained of the joint.

After a moment, we heard her snoring softly and I sighed, bringing my hand back to lay on my stomach, already missing the feel of her silky hair between my fingers.

"You're down bad." Brie laughed and I elbowed her in the side, doing my best to not disturb sleeping Lizzie.

"I am not. And I've done nothing to prove that I am."

"It's just the way you look at her." She raised herself up to look at me. "I bet nobody's ever looked at her before like that in her life."

"I'm sure Robbie does."

"Yeah, I'm sure he does."

She looked me over for a moment before speaking again.

"Prove you don't have feelings for her."

"How?" I asked helplessly. "That's, like, impossible."

"Because you do."

"No, because how can I prove something like that?"

"Kiss me."

I swallowed roughly, my eyes traveling from her eyes to her lips. They were nice and from what I remembered, they were soft and sweet. I took a deep breath and lifted myself up slightly, careful to not wake Lizzie, and pressed my lips against Brie's.

Our eyes closed instantly and I felt her hand cup my cheek, pulling me closer to her. We parted after a moment, gasping for breath, and then continued to explore each other. She tasted like whatever sweet candy she had found in the fridge and like weed, which I'm sure was the same for me. She moaned softly and I pulled away from her, only to press another small kiss to her lips as I moved away completely.

"That was ..." she started.

"Yeah." I finished.

"I still don't believe you though." She smirked at me and I knew she was just saying that to get me to kiss her more.

"You never will, will you?"

"Nope." She smiled widely and kissed me again, but I pushed her away this time.

"We have someone here with us, remember?" I gestured with my head to sleeping Lizzie and I felt my heart squeeze with pain at the fact that it wasn't her I was kissing.

It never would be.

Brie groaned dramatically and got up from the bed, heading into the kitchenette. That woman had an iron stomach. I leaned back into the pillows and Lizzie got closer to me, wrapping her arm around my middle as she slept peacefully. I wrapped my arm around her and held her as she slept, happy to at least have this with her.

"Goodnight, Miss Olsen."

#oizysian writes #elizabeth olsen x yn #brie larson x y/n #brie larson x female reader #brie larson x you #brie larson x reader #brie larson #elizabeth olsen story #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x female reader #elizabeth olsen fanfic

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franklespine · 2 months

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How am I just supposed to carry on with my life after 6.08 of House md. HOWWWWW?????!!!!! Kill myself that was gut wrenching. Never had I had such a punch to the gut like that ending was. Cameron telling House that she loved him. Telling him about how all he cares about is sweeping and manipulating people into his puzzles and games. "You'll poison [Taub and Thirteen] just like you poisoned Chase ... you ruined him."

Oh my god. I cannot believe they just made me watch that.

The building tension between Chase and Cameron in this episode in the fact that the only way Cameron could continue to be with him was to believe that killing Dibala wasn't his fault but House's - that Chase was his "personal sock puppet", and that to move beyond this they had to leave.

Comparatively, Chase struggles to wrap his head around the fact that Cameron forgives him for an act that he perceives was not only the "worst thing [he's] ever done", but entirely his fault. He's spent the past few episodes overwhelmed with emotions he doesn't know how to deal with. House told him to get some help and Chase interprets this as going to confession where he just begs the priest to give him a way to achieve atonement and lift the burden off of him. And then when the priest tells him there's no way to do that without taking responsibility for his actions he just goes to the bar so long Cameron almost reports him missing and drinks himself half to death. So I think the reason he struggles so much to understand why Cameron forgives him is because he doesn't forgive himself - he doesn't regret what he did and still thinks it was the right thing to do but that doesn't mean he isn't wrought with shame and guilt because of it. And then he slowly realises throughout this episode that Cameron hasn't really forgiven him - she just doesn't believe he was at fault. But he can't run away from what he did and, probably more importantly, he doesn't want to leave House. He tells Cameron that killing Dibala was his fault and despite everything, he'd do it again.

And then - you ruined him - Cameron says to House. Jesus Christ just kill me. 'You broke him beyond repair'. Because despite Cameron's penchant for broken people, she doesn't want them to be beyond repair, emotionally.

"I'm sorry for you both. For what you've become. Because... there's no way back for either of you."

UGGHHHJFNEWJONORGOW

Honestly, as much as House fucked with Taub, Thirteen and Kutner, it wasn't like with his original fellows. He didn't change them, fundamentally, like he did with Foreman, Chase and Cameron. Each of them has a slightly different breed of a complicated, messed up relationship with House that no one else (not even each other) will ever understand - and now none of them can truly leave. They're stuck there in that hospital, in some way, with House forever, seeing reflections of House in each other and in themselves like a disease. Like Cameron says in 5.13 "I'll always say yes to House. I studied under him. He's in my head." And Foreman too is 'ruined' - he got away from House, begins acting just like him and now he is entirely un-hirable - here is the only place he has to go. And I think the fact that Chase was the only fellow in s3 who was fired by House (rather than leaving himself), and then came back to the same hospital (with Cameron) to work as a surgeon is rather telling. He referred to House as God, he maybe received the worst treatment from House and still sucked up to him the most for his approval and validation, he's a capable and intelligent doctor but yet in the diagnostics team he bases his diagnosing suggestions off of House like he's his entire frame of reference right from s1 (making diagnoses not based on actual medical knowledge but how House reacts to each of them, how he phrases his questions, how he starts the conversation).

Jesus christ. Just the way that he fundamentally altered something deep inside each of them, irrevocably, is just sooooooo... RAHHHHDJBFJBFHFEOFHEW.

This show man what in the world.

Erm. On to episode 9 I guess.

#house md #house md 6x08 #robert chase #allison cameron #eric foreman #greg house #the messiest team of doctors you've even seen #also is it just me or do I feel like s6 is more heart wrenching than the past seasons #like it always had its moments but i just feel like this is another level of angst LMAO

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writtenbymisunderstoodnerds · 11 months

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Why won't you tell them? (Preath x Reader)

Based on this request. Hopefully it's what you were looking for!

Another request completed! I'm slowly working my way through them. This is not edited. Hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: Slight mentions of feelings of worthlessness and not being enough.

Words: 2.2K

"When did this relationship become all about you two? Where's my say in this? Relationships are about compromise and working together, but I guess maybe we're not in a real relationship seeing as there is no compromise, it's all about you two and I get no say."

"Y/n-"

"No, I know you are scared, but you're not even willing to start by telling our family or friends. Do you have any idea how it makes me feel to have my girlfriends not want even a single person to know about us? Do you even realise how worthless and not enough it makes me feel? It feels like you don't care about me or my feelings, like you're ashamed of me, like I'm just a dirty little secret for you to keep hidden away."

I grabbed my bags, heading for the door. Christen and Tobin quickly followed, stopping in front of me before I could leave, "Wait, where are you going? We can work through this."

"My cab is here. I'm away filming for the next month remember? Take this time to figure out what you want and we'll talk when I get back. See you in a few weeks."

They looked like they wanted to say more, but sighed and told me they loved me instead. I didn't want to leave on bad terms, but at this point there wasn't much else to be said. We had been going in circles for weeks now and I honestly couldn't keep doing it. I loved them beyond words, I couldn't imagine myself with anyone else, but I was tired. I was tired of feeling like they were ashamed of me, that our relationship only existed within the walls of our apartment. Hopefully, the time apart would make something change. Even if it wasn't a good change, which I was really hoping it wouldn't be, it had to be better than living with the constant self-doubt and questioning about them and our relationship.

I stepped around them, stopping just before the stairs. Even if we were fighting, I still needed them to know I loved them. You never know what's going to happen or when the last time you'll see someone is, "I love you too."

---

I hadn't had the chance to read the script for this episode before I got to set. When I finally read it, it was like a punch to the gut. The whole show centered around a couple that was in a secret relationship, one wanted to tell people, but the other wasn't ready. This episode was centered around a fight about it. All it did was remind me about the fight we had before I left, about the uncertainty of our relationship. The only upside to this was it would give me a chance to express my feelings while also making the acting look more real.

The whole filming of the scene was painful, more often than not leaving me crying myself to sleep at night. I hadn't heard from Christen or Tobin since I left. I missed them like crazy, I was miserable, but we needed space from each other, they needed space to figure out what they really wanted. There had been countless times that I wanted to message them, to just forget about this whole thing so we could go back to how we were. I knew I couldn't though.

Filming went by quickly and before I knew it the episode was airing. I never watched the movies or tv shows I was in, but I knew Christen and Tobin did. Even without watching it, I knew my emotions were on full display. There had been countless comments from people who watched the show. Most seemed to be focused around the fight scene. It was the scene where I had almost lost control of my emotions completely. The tears and emotion in my voice was real, the scene having taken me back to our fight. The fans had picked up on that with multiple comments along the lines of 'There's no way that acting was fake, the emotions were too real' and 'Something tells me that there were real emotions behind that, who would ever hurt someone as wonderful as Y/n?'.

Part of me hoped that this would make Christen and Tobin realize just how much they were hurting me. That maybe it would make them a bit more willing to compromise. As much as I wanted the world to know, I would just be happy with our families or friends knowing. Hell, I would just be happy with them acknowledging my point of view and trying to come up with a starting point we were all happy with. As much as I didn't want to admit it, if nothing changed when I went home then I don't think I could stay. Their love and my love for them wasn't enough to outweigh the pain they were causing.

Christen and Tobin's POV

It had been almost a month since Y/n had left for filming. We hadn't talked since she left, wanting to give her space, but we were also terrified. Maybe she would talk to us and decide that we were done. In a way, not talking to her meant nothing bad could happen yet. We missed her like crazy though, since the start of our relationship we had never gone this long without talking. In a way it was a wake up call. We got a glimpse into what life would be like with Y/n and it was not something we ever wanted or wanted to even experience again. The fear had overtaken us for so long, it was hard to break out of that. Even now without Y/n, it was hard, but now it was clear that something had to change.

We watched every episode Y/n was in. She had come so far since we first met and we were insanely proud of her. What we didn't expect was the episode to be so close to our current reality. The hurt, sadness, anger and tiredness was so real. It hit us hard, like a punch to the gut. We were hurting the women we loved because we were too scared to even tell one person about us. It didn't help that most of the comments were about how real her emotions were, even coming from the team who adored Y/n. Everyone could see something was wrong. Everyone could see the pain radiating off her. Something had to change because if it didn't then we would lose her for good. That thought alone was a thousand times worse than the idea of what people would think of our relationship.

"We can't let her slip away from us, we can't lose her."

We didn't know when Y/n was coming back, we didn't even know if she was going to come back home when she landed. It took a good five minutes to write the message, but it was time to bite the bullet and just do it.

Christen: I know we haven't talked since you left and we're sorry. These last few weeks without you or talking to you were absolute hell. We wanted to give you space, not contact you if it wasn't something you wanted right now.

Tobin: We love you so much Y/n, we are so far from ashamed of you and we're sorry we made you feel like we were. You're not just some secret we want to keep, we want to shout our love for you from the rooftops, but we let fear get in the way. Things are going to change, we swear.

Christen: I know we hurt you and that's something we will regret it for the rest of our lives. We don't actually know when you're back or if you were planning to come home, but please come home when you land, we need to have a proper conversation about this.

Y/n: I love you too. I'm back tonight, see you then.

"We're doing it, we're telling everyone. The only opinions of our relationship that actually matter are ours. That's something we should have realised a long time ago before we hurt Y/n."

"Let's do it. Let's announce it right now."

We didn't spend much time finding the picture we wanted to use. It was our favourite picture of the three of us. We were cuddled up on the couch, Y/n with a huge grin as we kissed her cheeks. The fear was overwhelming as we typed out the caption, but we pushed through. This was something we were determined to do, no matter how terrifying it was.

Y/n's POV

I was waiting at the airport with one of my costars, scrolling tiktok to kill time when I was brought back by her practically yelling at me. "What the fuck Y/n?"

My hands went up in surrender, utterly confused as to what was happening, "What did I do?"

She turned her phone around, showing me two separate Instagram stories of pretty much the same thing. It was a selfie of Tobin, Christen and I cuddled up on the couch, both of them kissing my cheeks. Tobin's was captioned, 'A month is too long to be without you, we can't wait for you to get home <3 <3'. While Christens was captioned, 'I can't wait to be in your arms again, hurry home because a month is too long <3 <3'

I felt my heart speed up as I realised what this meant. They had just announced to the whole world that we were together. Without me being there, without talking to me, they had told everyone. They had broken through their fear. A part of me felt guilty though. What if I had pushed them into something they weren't actually ready for? I never wanted to force them into something they really weren't ready for, I just wanted them to actually consider it. I couldn't help but worry that they'll start to resent me for it. "Oh yeah, that. Surprise I guess."

"They're cute. How did you manage to get not one, but two beautiful women to date you when I can barely get one? That's just not fair."

I laughed, genuinely laughed for the first time in over a month, "Beats me, but I'm not complaining."

My phone started blowing up, I muted the notifications, not wanting to deal with it right now. I snapped a quick selfie, showing my luggage in the background before uploading it. 'Hurrying home to you <3'. Then I quickly messaged them so they knew I had seen it and that I loved them.

Y/n: I can't believe you did that, you didn't have to jump straight to the whole world, but I appreciate it. I love you both so much, I've missed you so much and can't wait to see you. My plane lands at 6, I'll see you at home <3

Before I could even get in the door, a body slammed into me, arms wrapping tightly around me. Christens perfume filled my senses as I melted into her arms. I hadn't even realised how much I had missed them until now. Every time I was away, I missed them, but after not speaking to them for a month, it was like ten times worse. Tears prickled my eyes as I held her tighter, only pulling away to connect our lips in a slow, soft, lingering kiss. Everything I had been missing and craving since I left. The tears were fully falling as I pulled away, taking Tobin's hand and pulling her into a hug. I sunk into it, holding her just as tight as Christen. Our kiss was slightly more wet and salty due to the tears, but just as amazing. Being back with them was like a weight had been lifted. Things had been tense for quite a while, but now I felt the familiar sense of peace that I only ever experienced with them.

We finally made our way inside, the tears were wiped from my cheeks as Tobin kissed my forehead, "Don't cry baby."

"I just missed you both so much. Let's not go a month without talking again. You're not going to start hating me are you? For making you tell everyone?"

"No. That will never happen, that could never happen. We love you Y/n."

Christen wrapped her arms around my waist, a light kiss being placed against my jaw, "You didn't make us do it, we chose to, we wanted to. You gave us the push we needed to do it, but you didn't make us. We're sorry for how much we were hurting you. We're sorry we ever made you feel like you were worthless and not enough, or that we didn't care. You mean the world to us Y/n, there is no one in this world that is better for us than you, there is no one in this world that we want and love more than you."

"We will never forgive ourselves for what we put you through, but we will do whatever it takes to make it up to you, to rebuild whatever trust or anything we have broken."

I pulled them down onto the couch, enjoying the feeling of having them cuddles against me again, "Yes you hurt me and yes I questioned our relationship, but you didn't break any trust or anything. You don't have anything to make up to me, you already have. You did the thing that terrified you, for me. So please don't beat yourself up for what happened. It happened, we've acknowledged it and now we're putting it behind us and dealing with whatever comes next together."

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #christen press x reader #christen press/reader #tobin heath x reader #tobin heath imagine #christen press imagine #preath x reader

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