#torn sweater series

[voguefashion]

James Dean photographed by Roy Schatt, 1954.

#james dean #roy schatt #torn sweater series #1954 #old hollywood #photography #1950s

[gloomwitchwrites]

Break Up with Your Toxic Boyfriend (4 of 4)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: brief discussion of verbal, emotional, and physical injury canon-typical swearing, protective Simon, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

You might not be his anymore, but Ghost doesn't believe so. When you reach out to him, Ghost makes every excuse to come over, knowing that he can get you back if you just realize that you've always only been his.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // break up with your toxic boyfriend masterlist

Simon stands in the middle of your living room.

He is blood-drenched. Lead-hungry.

Full of venom. Full of fury.

His gaze sweeps over the busted television, the broken bookshelves, and the massive hole in the wall. There are bent picture frames empty of their glass. The photos within are either missing or partially torn. Whiskey stains the wall, running down from the impact point in little ribbons of amber.

Simon’s hands curl into fists.

This is so much fucking worse than what he originally thought. The living room doesn’t even scratch the surface. The kitchen is completely trashed, so is your bedroom where your boyfriend decided to shred up your clothes in anger.

Your… “boyfriend.”

That fucker should be grateful he isn’t here to face Simon. If he were, Simon would make him suffer. Make the prick eat his teeth.

On the phone, you were delirious, each word running together anger, frustration, and a fear that Simon felt in his gut. It sat heavy in his ears. That was enough for Simon to forget all responsibility and come to you.

Otherwise, Simon would not have come. You are not his woman anymore. That obligation to comfort doesn’t belong to him. It belongs to your boyfriend, but he’s the cause of all this suffering.

Why should you seek that bastard out?

No. Simon is glad you called him even though the circumstances turn his stomach and fill his veins with sludge.

He turns around and finds you lingering nearby. Your eyes are red with irritation, and your cheeks are puffy. Simon longs to pull you into his arms, yet hesitates only because you might push him away.

Simon unclenches his hands, flexing his fingers. “You’re breaking up with him.”

He’s not going to step around or sugar-coat this. Simon has always been blunt with his words, and this will be no different.

Your back straightens, hands clasped in front of you, fingers curled around the neckline of your sweater. “Simon—”

“It’s not a suggestion.” Simon lifts his arm, indicating the disaster of an apartment. “This is who he is. This will happen again.” He drops his arm.

Your chest expands. Deflates. “But—”

“Don’t defend him.”

“I’m not,” you snap.

Simon strides forward but you do not retreat. You stand tall, staring up into Simon’s face. Though your cheeks are stained with your tears, you’re beautiful.

“Next time it won’t be the wall or your television. It will be you he hurts.” Simon shakes his head. “And I won’t allow that.” You open your mouth as if to interrupt but Simon is having none of that. “I’ll kill him before that happens.”

“No. You won’t.”

“I will,” he growls. “I’ve never lied to you. Think I’m lying about this?”

Simon watches your throat bob as you swallow. He knows you understand. Fucking hell, he might be distant at times, even cold or blunt, but he never lies to you. Simon has always told you exactly what’s on his mind. Sometimes it has been to his detriment.

It is one of the reasons the two of you broke up. Simon didn’t want to end things. He respected your wishes, but even upon leaving, Simon still considered you his. The issue was with him and how he communicated with you about things. Emotionally, he was fucking distant. Not all the time, but enough that it seemed like he didn’t care.

That’s far from the truth, but Simon didn’t see any of it until you put it all out in front of him and decided to leave. Only then did he realize, and he did fucking everything to work on himself.

Fresh tears develop in the undersides of your eyelids. That’s it for him. It’s over.

Simon moves in, clasping the sides of your face with both hands. “Do you understand?” he asks softly, wiping away the tears with his thumbs.

You don’t nod or even make a sound.

It’s not enough. Simon needs confirmation.

“He will escalate. He will get worse. You will be a target. Tell me you understand.”

There is a sniffle before you speak. “I know,” you whisper, voice cracking slightly.

Simon sighs and wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. You’re warm. A beacon of light in the disaster of a room. He leans in, pressing his cheek to the top of your head. He inhales and his lung fill with you.

With a final squeeze, Simon places a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls back, but just enough to look at you. “I’ll clean up.”

“I can help.”

Simon shakes his head. “No. Sit. I want to do this for you.”

Your brow softens, arms falling away from him as you step back and glide to the sofa.

Simon tackles the bedroom first, shoving all your damaged clothes into trash bags. He organizes everything, making sure nothing is out of place, that it appears as it did before your boyfriend trashed it all. When he’s done, Simon returns to you, putting you to bed.

“Don’t leave,” you murmur, and Simon doesn’t. He curls up next to you, holds you until your breathing becomes shallow and slow.

Only then does Simon unfurl himself, slipping away. He doesn’t leave the flat. He shuts the bedroom door and gets to work, picking up the shattered glass, sending the television to the large rubbish bin. He orders you a new one and schedules it for delivery. He sweeps the floor and returns everything to your kitchen cabinets. Anything that is torn or broken gets trashed. Simon works through your clothes last. Sitting on the living room floor, Simon shifts through every one, trying to see if anything is salvageable. Most of it is, but there is plenty he has to toss.

Simon works until there is nothing left. It’s incredibly late, the time creeping close to the rising of the sun. Returning to the bedroom, Simon kicks off his shoes and removes the balaclava. You’ve seen his face countless times, and showing it now is normal.

When Simon slips into the bed beside you, and your body shifts, turning in his direction. He slides over into your reaching arms. The moment your bodies come together, you sigh with pleasure, and the noise goes straight to his groin.

But Simon won’t. He won’t push. This is not about him.

Sleep floods in, and it is your soft hands caressing his face that eventually wake him.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, voice harsh from dreaming.

“Morning, Simon,” you reply, resting your chin on his chest.

This is how mornings used to be. It sends Simon into memory and the days when he knew he was in love.

Was?

No.

Is. He still is. He still loves you utterly. That never stopped for him.

Your hands are not idle. After caressing his face, they move downward. The shift in your motions sends little shivers through his spine. They are visible and sharp. You inhale, and Simon begins to lean in. You mimic him but pause before your mouths can meet.

“Do you have to go?”

Simon captures one of your wrists with his hand, caressing the pulse point there with his thumb. “I can stay as long as you like.”

The smile that spreads across your face warms him everywhere. He wants to savor it forever. Your gaze drops from his eyes to his mouth. Then, your head shifts to glance at his chest and stomach. He might be wearing a shirt but Simon feels bare under your attention.

As your gaze returns to his face, Simon’s resolve melts away.

Fuck it. He’s doing this.

Grabbing the back of your neck, Simon closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours. There is no hesitation or resistance. You melt into him, and Simon has to hold back a moan. Every kiss is tender. Sweet. He’s missed this—missed you so fucking much it’s a raging inferno under his skin.

There is no part he leaves untouched. His hands roam everywhere, seeking closeness. Seeking your warmth.

“Simon,” you whimper against his mouth.

“I’m right here, love.”

You push upward, swinging your leg over his body, straddling him. Simon is momentarily stunned but you’re already returning to him, pressing you lips to his. He groans and grips your neck harder as your hips rolls against him.

“Simon,” you repeat, and his name on your lips is shifting him around, turning his insides out, revealing all his weaknesses.

His hands and your hands tug and pull. Moving clothing. Shoving bedding aside. When you start to sink down on him, Simon has to break the frantic kissing to breathe deep, to praise you in all the ways he knows how.

Your hands are solid against his chest. An anchor as you rock back and forth.

“Fuck,” he groans.

“Fuck,” he repeats, elongated the vowel as your pussy lightly squeezes him.

Above him, the air from your lungs releases from you in little sighs that creep into his ears and burrow in the folds of his brain. They are collected there. Remembered.

Using his grip on the back of your neck, Simon pulls you right back in, claiming your mouth. You open for him perfectly, your hips momentarily stalling as all your attention shifts to this one connection.

But Simon needs that movement. He craves it like the birds need the wind.

Wrapping his free arm around your waist, Simon flips you onto your back. There is no pause between the time Simon flips you and when he starts to thrust. It is instant. An impulse. A driving force that overcomes him.

Your fingers claw at his back, your legs hooking around the backs of his thighs, drawing him closer. If that is what you want, Simon will do it. Happily.

Pressing his forehead to yours, the two of you exchange breaths. The bed strikes the wall in repeated thuds, pleasure pooling in the base of Simon’s spine.

“Don’t—” You inhale. Exhale. “Stop.”

Growling, Simon presses his mouth to your neck, his pace increasing until his thrusting becomes an erratic, desperate thing. He hears you moaning, feels your pussy clenching down to keep him inside.

It’s too fucking much.

Simon’s own release roils up from the depths. His hips grind forward, creating a seal as he comes. His entire body shivers as one of your hands cradles his cheek. The touch is so soft he almost doesn’t recognize it at first.

But then you curl your fingers under his chin, guiding his face away from your neck to stare into your eyes. He starts to pull away, but your feet stay locked over the back of his legs, keeping him inside you.

Simon smirks.

He has you.

It might not be perfect or even solid, but he has his way in.

You haven’t said it, but you don’t need to.

You are his.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @kittytiddywinks @cinnabeanz @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

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[punk4ndisorderly]

babyfather

Y/N wants to have more babies. Her husband's infertility will not get in the way of that.

or

Y/N wants something only Quinn will give her.

warning: this series will feature smut. i'm not very good at it but i think i needed to add some spice to the plot. it starts in part 2, so read at your own risk, i guess?

the social media prelude

I - you really blew this, babe II

He couldn’t believe his eyes. It couldn’t be. Y/N Y/L/N, eyes bloodshot and puffy face, sniffling, ushering their daughter inside. She wasn’t one to cry very often. Tears were only shed when she felt like her heart was being torn up from her chest. Or when she was incredibly mad. Normally at him.

Quinn considered his options, his right foot taking a step before he stopped himself from actually crossing the threshold of his ex’s new suburban home. They had talked about this. They had discussed boundaries. He was not to invite himself into the house she shared with her new husband. Not even if he was nowhere to be seen. He would’ve told that asshole Eric when he demanded such thing to fuck off, before staring into the eyes of the love of his life and see her begging him to indulge the child she was now married to.

Perhaps waiting for her to come back was the right thing. He wouldn’t want to cause her unnecessary grief, even if his heart constricted in his chest at the sight of her and he wanted nothing more but to clutch her to his chest and assure her that, whatever it was, they could get through it together. Even if they couldn’t anymore.

It wasn’t long before she was back, tugging at the sleeves of her large, well-worn wool sweater. Quinn was aware that she was avoiding looking him in the eye.

“Right. I know you have her next weekend, but I was think about going home to visit my parents and I know they really wants to see her, so I wanted to ask you if we could switch.” Y/N muttered, her gaze fixated on the small garden behind him.

“Yes, don’t worry about it. I didn’t have anything planned yet.”

That was a compassionate lie: he was going to take Willow to an animal shelter so she could pick a pet for him. Too many lonely, silent nights in his apartment downtown. His mom had been on his case about finding himself some company. Of course he probably meant human company, but beggars can’t be choosers. His last meaningful relationship had been with the mother of his child, and the other women that had entertained him along the way usually didn’t take long before realizing they wouldn’t around for long.

“Thank you, Quinn.” she smiled weakly, finally meeting his eyes.

“Is something going on?” the Canucks player intruded, staring intensely at the golden fleck in her irises.

“What?”

“You look upset.”

“This?” Y/N chuckled, pointing at her face. “Spring allergies.”

“Y/N.”

His stern tone told her more than any words could. He knew she was lying. He always did. She used to deny it broke her heart to be so much time apart because of work back when they were together. Assured him they would be fine and it was for the best when she decided their relationship couldn’t endure the strain and the stress of distance. Lies he pretended to believe because he desperately wanted to.

“Yes?”

“What’s going on?”

Y/N tried swallowing the lump on her throat away. It wouldn’t budge. She stepped aside, leaving room for him to walk past her and inside.

“Come in.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/N.” Quinn said lowly, scanning her face for any indication of retraction. “Your husband made it clear I wasn’t welcome inside.”

“Don’t worry about him, Quinny.” the mother of his child nearly whispered, defeat clear in her voice.

He nodded solemnly, entering her house for the first time since she moved in. She hadn’t used that nickname in a long time.

Spacious, homey, filled with light. It had Y/N written all over it. Their daughter’s drawings framed and scattered around the walls made him smile, as the woman who used to love him led him to a crème couch, gesturing for him to sit down.

“Do you want tea?”

“You don’t drink tea, honey. That’s a trick question.” he retorted, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I always have it at home, though. Old habits die hard.”

It took everything in him not to beg her to choose him, right then and there. She used to stock up on all his favorite tea, even if he was never around to drink it. Made him a cup every day, before they went to bed. Mocked him for the scandalous amount of sugar he insisted on pouring in it. After all this time, she still kept tea around for him. Even if he couldn’t come inside to drink it.

“Then it’s a yes from me, thank you.”

Left alone in the living room, he could hear Willow sing loudly upstairs, her little feet stomping around on the wooden floor. The best gift Y/N had ever given him, up there with her love. Not being there when she woke up and when she went to bed every day ate away at his heart. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“I nearly emptied out my sugar stash on this, so it better be good.” the mother of his child teased, handing him the steaming hot mug with a look of mock disgust.

“Perfect.” he praised, taking a sip of the sweet tea. “Are you going to tell me what happened now?”

“You’re not letting it go, are you?”

“No, but I appreciate the effort at deflecting.”

She sighed deeply, sitting on the other end of the couch.

“Eric.”

Quinn tensed at the mention of her new husband’s name. They had been married for two years now, apparently happily so, but he couldn’t help but resent the man that inevitably had stepped into his shoes and shut him out of the new family home. The dark-haired man only had himself to blame for letting her go, but Eric was willingly carving a place for himself in her heart, replacing the memories of him, erasing his touch off her skin, bit by bit.

“I see. Do I need to call up on old favors?"

“If you had come by an hour ago, I probably would have told you to go for it, but I think you would only be wasting it on him.” Y/N chuckled humorlessly.

“Come on, don’t stall.”

Y/N looked him in the eye, hers brimming with tears. He wanted to reach for her, cradle her face in his hands, hold it to his own and whisper kind words into her lips, but he held back. Willow needed at least one of her parents not to be on the brink of crushing heartbreak. It was his turn to be the strong one.

“If you don’t want to talk about it it’s okay. I’m sorry I insisted. I was just worried about - ”

“I kicked him out.” she blurted, tapping at the corner of her eyes to get rid of stray droplets. “He has been lying to me for the better part of our marriage.”

Anger rose in his chest. How dare he?

“You know how I’ve always wanted to give Will a sibling.”

Yes. That had been all they talked about ever since they first found out about her pregnancy. She had to have at least one sibling. Y/N knew what it was like to be an only child and he knew what is was like to grow up with siblings so they agreed on it. But life got in the way and along came Eric, Quinn's dreams of fathering more children with Y/N crashing down in flames.

He nodded, prompting her to go on.

“Eric knew that as well, and he seemed to want a baby as well when we first talked about it, even before we got married. I told him a year ago I wanted to start trying. I’m getting older, Willow's getting bigger and now would be the perfect time to do it… He says yes. I go off the pill. We try. Over and over again. Everywhere. All the time. Even -”

“Okay, sweetheart, I get the picture.” Quinn interrupted, the details of her sex life with another man an excruciating form of torture.

“And we’ve been trying for a year. I’m not getting pregnant. With Will it took us a month. Something must be wrong with me, right?”

"No. Nothing’s ever wrong with you, Y/N.”

“Wrong. I got a doctor’s appointment. I am fine. Great cervix. Ovarian reserve? Excellent. All tests indicate I’m a very fertile woman. So I decided to book Eric an appointment at the urologist. The doctor’s assistant asked me if he had any problems after his procedure, last year. What procedure, you ask? A vasectomy, Q. A fucking vasectomy. After telling me he wanted children just as much as I did. After I married him. Before we started to fuck like rabbits so I could get pregnant.”

Quinn was speechless. How could someone willingly deceive her like that? Trick her into a legally binding relationship, only to deny her her simplest wish? How could he have let her fall in the hands of a man so careless with her heart?

“Say something. Please. I need to know if I’m crazy for hurting.”

“Hey.” the dark-haired man said, not bothering to keep himself in check and reaching out to touch her cheek. “You’re not crazy. I was just caught off guard.”

“Good. I mean, it’s not completely insane of me to kick him out for this?”

“Without wanting to sound biased, I would’ve done the same thing, Y/N.”

The mother of his child nodded severely, as if convincing herself. He let her think in silence, removing his hand from her face and drinking his tea. After a few minutes, her gaze landed on him, a hint of sadness and resignation on her face.

“How did we end up here?”

“I was a stupid son of a bitch and let you walk away. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it weren’t for that. We’d probably have three kids by now. We’d have to lock the door anytime we wanted some time alone. They’d gang up on us to get what they wanted, Willow would obviously be leading the troops. I’d probably be trying to get another baby into you at this very second.”

“Quinn…” she spoke, breathlessly.

“Don’t mind me.” he waved her off, immediately regretting voicing his wants. “Wishful thinking.”

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes prompt #quinn hughes blurb #future smut #hockey #hockey boys #team usa #jack hughes #alex turcotte #cole caufield #trevor zegras #luke hughes #hockey fanfiction #quinn hughes fanfiction

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

What is the life series? What is it all about, really?

Ask the avian, the first victor, in a comfy red sweater and wings sprouting from his back, and he'll say with a forced shrug, as he leans against a tree, it's about life. Bonding, alliances made and alliances torn, enemies made and battles won. It’s all rather poetic, and rather fun to watch.

The way he says the last word causes the camera of the mind to stumble back, and hastily zoom in on another figure in blue. Crystals are swirling around his head, oh so shiny, as he says with quiet defiance in his eyes, it’s a game. Entertainment, for those who want it, and torture, for those in it. Uncertain and unpredictable like all games. The best bet is to cling onto whoever you know and hope you will survive.

A shift yet again, onto another winner, strolling around. Her hoodie is blue but flickers red every once in a while, like lightning. Her wings rustle as she says with a cynical chuckle, it’s the world. Your fate is shaped and you’re always, always inevitably linked to it somehow. The choices are made; you just follow them. But maybe others will carve a different path.

Ask the survivor, in a green shirt and blondish hair. He’s sitting at the seaside, and he says as a new wave converges with the shore, it’s a death match. And don’t you forget it, because in the end it’s all about who survives, and anyone who clings onto other ideals is foolish and dead. There’s no need to kill time when you can simply kill.

#limited life smp #limited life #traffic series #traffic life #trafficblr #grian #scott smajor #smajor #smajor1995 #pearlescentmoon #martyn inthelittlewood #inthelittlewood #idk where i was going with this #but the concept seemed cool #uh i was inspired by this other DL post where the watchers ask the soulmates abt their partners #i really liked it but for the life of me can’t remember the name #if someone finds it please dm me cos it was awesome

[spookykoolkat]

the red j.m. | chapter five

CHAPTER FIVE: FORFEIT

series masterlist | main masterlist | previous chapter |

pairings: older!joel miller x plus sized!younger!reader

chapter summary: joel has been acting colder than usual towards you since your encounter in his living room, and when it turns out that tommy paired you up with joel for a last minute adventure on your first day of patrol rounds, you were infuriated.

warnings: 18+ age gap (joel is 57, reader is turning 26), inappropriate thoughts, sexual language, teasing, touching, x-rated descriptions, crude language, mean!joel, mean!reader, mentions of past su*cide attempt, brief mentions of breeding, dacryphilia, cockwarming, p in v, oral. descriptions of sex acts, explicit. MDNI!!! minors r not welcome on my page

wc: 7.6k

na: the smut will be coming soon i promise. lioterally next chapter. I TOLD YOU IT WAS SLOW BURN! but omg i think this is one of my fav chapters lol

MONDAY DECEMBER 23RD, 2024

YOU

the weekend was dreadful. naively, you believed somehow it was a miracle that joel gave you the attention he did on saturday night. no, you just realized it was something he strongly regretted. sunday morning, he woke up without a sound and left as swiftly as he could. 

he was avoiding you. 

it was so bizzare to you. everything happened so fast and life became as domesticated as it could be for you in this world.  you were living with a man and a girl, and now there’s an odd sexual tension between the two of you that you were possibly misreading. it was inevitable, you were deathly attracted to this man. joel miller. 

it’s like somehow being around him and ellie almost healed a part of yourself, you didn’t know what but you felt you could be yourself again. honestly, being in jackson sort of healed a part of you. you were finally getting the chance of finding yourself, finally figuring out what being you meant and who you are, and it was because you were here in jackson. because you actually had two people in your life that you could actually try to begin to trust.

but that doesn’t mean he never pissed you off. and it doesn’t mean that he was never an asshole. 

it was four thirty in the morning when he slammed the door shut on his way out, and forced you to get up and grab all your shit for your first patrol shift. it was supposed to be from six in the morning to eleven in the morning, giving you the first shift of the day. you noticed joel had been taking nights with tommy occasionally, leaving at six in the evening and coming back close to one in the morning. 

he chose to be on the lookout longer, searching longer, doing more than he needed. he was thorough, and for that you respected him. besides his hostile attitude, he was a natural hunter, killer, forager. of course, you could only assume. you hadn’t seen him in action the way ellie and tommy have.

tommy told you to meet him at his house on your first day, and you complied. you were expecting to see tyler standing with tommy outside of his house when you walked up, but this man was not tyler. the thick coat he wore would’ve made it impossible to figure out who it was, had you not seen that coat before. but it was in fact the coat you brought home for him after a shift down at the local buy and trade shop, something you picked up because it was in his size and you knew with the torn hoodies and sweaters he had, none would suffice to keep him safe when he’s out in the cold.

this was the man that made you clench your thighs when he was angry with you, the man who saw you as vulnerable as you were that night, the man who spoke nothing but dirty things in your ear then left you high and dry, ignoring you even as your footsteps crunch in the snow.

“where’s tyler?” you said loudly over the heavy winds and snow, getting closer to the broad figure. it was the man you’ve thought about since saturday night, the man that ignored you even now. 

“me and maria decided you needed an expert ‘stead of a rookie, but since maria is pregnant i wanted to stay, so i put ya with the second best of jackson,” he said clamping down on his brother’s shoulder, “my big brother,” his smile was way too big for this early in the morning, and you internally rolled your eyes. 

“i don’t need an expert, i’ve been out there by myself for years. i can handle myself,” you spit sourly. even joel felt it slash through him a bit, the pure disgust on your voice wasn’t easy to fake and a part of him felt bad. but he knew what he was doing and why he was doing it. 

tommy looked between you two, facing opposite from each other. “just precaution, don’t need ya gettin’ lost.” you could tell tommy felt some sort of sympathy for you, understanding how cruel his brother could truly be.

you scoffed. maybe tommy did feel bad for you, but if he did you wished he would keep the faces he makes to himself. you didn’t need pity. you needed to not be stuck with joel for a couple of hours.

just great.  “i need y’all to search this abandoned town a few cities back, ain’t that far, maybe two hundred, two fifty miles west. figure’s it’d be better takin’ the horses,”  so not a couple of hours.

tommy practically gives the two of you a list, a list of things that he and maria needed, and places to search for the infected. 

“we need soap, and medical shit like gloves, anythin’ works,” he said and you nodded. this seemed a little less like patrolling and more doing duties for him. maybe it was both, but you were a little disappointed. 

“baby steps, a’right?” tommy said, sensing the disappointment on your face and rubbing your arm to warm you up a bit. 

“joel’s got you,” 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

oh it was torture. you and joel would be on this mission for two days. this wasn’t patrol, this was a favor. this was a job taken on by those who weren’t fighters, but could protect themselves. the people who scavenged abandoned towns, homes, cities near jackson to see if it’s worth expanding or if there’s anything they would take. but this wasn’t what you wanted to do, you didn’t want the soft version of what joel did. 

whether you wanted to or not, you worried that he didn’t look at you as capable since the first time he met you you were lying face down in blood soaked snow that formed into a ring around your body. not only that, but when you finally awoke, you tried to take your own life in front of him. you couldn’t blame him if he thought that way, it just made you more weary about your strength and if he would be right to think that way. 

you were desperate to prove yourself to him, for no particular reason. you just wanted him to see that you didn’t need him like he thought you did. 

“where are we gonna sleep?” you asked as the click clack of the horses began to pick up. you rode right next to him, following his lead with the map. 

“wherever we can,” he muttered, unhappily might you add. 

“i mean, what are we doing joel? this is not me patrolling,” you argued to yourself, and he sighed loudly as he looked back down at the map. 

“no, it ain’t. but it’s a taste. stop tryin’ to kill yourself,” he spit and you closed your mouth quickly. you were actually a little offended. he actually got you to shut up, and it felt like shit. 

because he was right. you jumped into everything so fast, getting yourself hurt when you told yourself it’d never happen. so, you just shut up and listened to him when he told you where to go. you didn’t want to fight with him because really, you couldn’t take it. you’d want him to take you with the fury in his eyes. maybe you were mentally deranged for being so distracted by him lately, figuring out that everything about him sends you into a frenzy. this was ridiculous, you were ridiculous. 

you know it’s wrong. but joel made you feel something that nobody else has. he challenged you. he wanted you to snap back at him and bark your insults at him. he may not admit it, but he liked that you had something to say to everything. your attraction was only growing for him, and you were ashamed of it. the man won’t even look at you and you’re ready to open your legs from one glance? 

the sun was rising at this point, passing empty farms and abandoned shacks while joel inspected the map tommy gave him. he was frustrated, you could clearly tell through his grunts and swear words that he spilled. so far, it’s been clean. no infected, no people, nothing but emptiness and nature covered in snow. your gun was still in your hand, ready to aim and shoot but for now you just watched joel. 

he refused to ask for your help because he felt like he was lost. maybe it was his sight, but he truly thought that he mistook a walking trail for a road, derailing the two of you. he was a proud man, and was embarrassed to ask help from a twenty something year old.

he refused to be the one needing help on this globetrotting the two of you did. 

“joel?” you talked for the first time in two hours, and he shot you a glance over his shoulder, you riding a little behind him now. 

“what?” he grumbled, and you sped up to catch up to him. his heart picked up when he heard you so close. 

“are we lost?” 

it was hard for him to be angry with you when your voice fell so soft for him. he noticed the way you spoke to people you didn’t like, or didn’t care for. bored, short and cold. just like him. but even when you didn’t notice, he heard the gentle tone you used with him. maybe it’s because you’re a live fucking wire who kills everyone you ever loved and she knows you’ll blow up on her too.

“no, just-” he stalled and you followed as he flipped the map around, acting like that will solve the issue. you quickly reach over to snatch the map from him, shaking your head and not listening to his noise when you start reading the lines. 

“just stop,” you said and halted your movements. you moved the map around and found your location now, and the circled location on the paper. joel watched you with frustration and embarrassment, but you wouldn’t know. you weren’t the best at picking up social cues. 

“just go straight. it should take you to a road, and turn right then.” you answered, shoving the paper back into his hands and continuing your journey. you waited for him to ride off first so you could trail a little bit behind him, and he did, not giving you a second glance.

it was one hour, then it was two, and then it was three. three turned to five, and finally a break was taken. joel wanted to go as much as he could before he needed a rest, to take a piss, relax his joints. you, on the other hand, wanted to keep going. 

“get there to and back faster if we keep going, just wasting time.” you mumbled to him as you leaned against a tree while he came back around from one, adjusting his coat. the two of you stopped in the middle of the woods that you were forced to cross through, snow falling slower now. the trees were still, and as was the shallow river nearby. 

“do you ever stop complaining?” he finally spoke, but nothing but annoyance dripped from his words as he leaned against another tree, collecting himself. 

“only when i don’t have shit to complain about,” you bit back, rolling your eyes as you watched the stream of water rush. 

“you don’t have shit to complain about,” he argued and you scoffed. 

“alright joel. just, let’s go. the sooner we’re there the faster i can get the fuck away from you.”

“we live together,” he said matter of factly. 

“no shit joel, oh my god, can we just go?” you were so fucking irritated with him. the only thing that came out of his mouth to talk to was to just piss you off even more. he acted like he wasn’t practically breathing down your neck not even three days ago. 

“you’re so damn irritating,” he mumbled as he gathered his things from the snow and swung his backpack over his shoulders, along with his rifle. 

“oh, yeah, right because you’re a real fuckin’ joy to be around.” you spit. you quickly left without him, being much quicker on your feet than he was, and got to your horse before he did. 

“don’t do that shit again, “ he spit at you when he reached his horse. of course, referring to the fact that you went off without him. joel was, needless to say, pissed off. and of course, again, you seem to be the root of his anger. you couldn’t lie, and you fought hard to keep the smile from creeping on your face at your realization. you actually enjoyed when he was angry  because of you. you felt strong enough to have that power over him, at least some sort of power. you just knew how to press his buttons, and he knew how to press yours. 

but just as you took joy in pissing you off, he enjoyed to watch you bite back and get equally as angry as he does because of you.

“it was fifteen feet joel. I know what i’m doing.” 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

it was nightfall when you got to the small town outside of jackson. tommy was off by fifty miles or so. so far, still not running into anything that could kill either of you. taking the horses cut down the travel time by half had the two of you walked, and suddenly you were grateful because joel still won’t talk to you after the little spat in the woods.

it was bothering you an insane amount. you had no problem being unwanted and unwelcome, but this was excruciating for you. you just wanted to knock him off his horse and force him to be nice to you. 

you were behind joel, a little off to his right when you rode further into the eerie town. 

it wasn’t until you and joel stopped in front of a supermarket, tying the horses to nearby trees. the two of you walked into an abandoned supermarket that greeted the entrance of the city, stepping over the frame of the automatic doors that were broken. and as reckless as you were, you just so happened to step on the broken glass of the automatic doors that crunched under your boot. joel shot you an angry look, in a way that says ‘way to fucking go, smart one,’ when the snarling came from the back of the supermarket and you shot one right back. you start to see the pale figures running towards the two of you down the aisle in front of you. 

you and joel hadn’t shared a word since you helped him with the map, so when he tells you to get behind him you don’t listen. you hear angry words, but you don’t listen. a part of you was still angry even when your very life was being threatened, it was true that maybe you held grudges for way too long. you weren’t paying attention to him, you fell into fight or flight and moved to the side of joel and around the cash registers to shoot bullets at two of the angry bodies running at you full speed. 

the thing is, you didn’t want him to have to save you. you didn’t want him to have something to shove in your face later on, a debt you had to repay to him. you also didn’t need him to survive, you didn’t need his protection. even if you wanted it. you knew he might just throw it in your face one day.

joel was distracted, and caught off guard. of any time he could be distracted he chose now, too distracted by the way you quickly maneuvered around him without even noticing. too distracted by the way you just proved you could handle yourself, and then some. and too angry that you never listened to him.

and his stillness was because joel felt the same anxiety, the same nervousness he felt seeing you hold a gun to your own head, and actually felt his chest grow tight. he just froze. this wasn’t like joel, he was always on his toes, eager for bloodshed. but now, it’s pure fear and anxiety. you saw it when you finally noticed the clicker that was close enough to take him apart, and wondered why he wasn’t shooting and instead gripping at his chest. you called his name out, getting his attention and the clicker, raising your gun you shoot three times to watch the clicker drop to the floor.

“what the fuck joel?” you hushed as you tried to breathe normally again, trying to make sure there weren’t any more infected either on the way or here in the store. 

“are you okay?” 

“you didn’t listen to me, goddamnit,” he spit and quickly ransacked the store for whatever he saw on the list. you felt your head spin. was he mad at me? you thought.

“joel are you okay? that was, that wasn’t,” you didn’t know how to say it without making him look weak, ignoring the anger that took over his body. you didn’t even care about the tone and how enraged he sounded, you were worried about him. 

“stop talkin’ and keep watch.” he was so sharp, so cold. 

you sighed and kept watch like he said, walking around the front entryway as joel rushed to grab what was there. you were sure that the sound of the gunshots would’ve sent a plethora of clickers your way, but it was nothing but the sound of wind. 

you were just so angry at him. his very existence and the fact that he still treated you like you were hardly there, it sent a certain rage to your body. you didn’t understand how this was your fault. how anything was your fault.

you had no choice but to follow him, so when he pushed past you with a fuller backpack you followed his lead. you could feel the heat coming from his body as he walked by you, and you knew he was angry. you tried to rack your brain what for. you just basically saved his life. 

he was angry that he just proved again that he failed you. he got lost on the way here because he couldn’t see, and felt a sudden rush of fear hit him all at once. he was weaker, weaker than he’d been when he was traveling with ellie.

it wasn’t long before the two of you rode  into a neighborhood and found streets of abandoned houses, cars still in driveways and swing sets still in the front yard. it was so eerie, creepy. this was somewhere people lived, created families here. now it’s a ghost town. it was nothing. 

after the two of you tie up the horses again, he finally speaks.

“we’re gonna check all these houses, and sleep in one. listen to me for fuckin’ once and stop acting like a fuckin’ kid. come back here if shit goes south.” he demanded ugly, and you glared at him, actually taken aback. 

“you know what joel-” you started but he waved you off. 

“go.” 

you were angry. god were you so angry. looking through house after house, floor after floor, room after room and all you could think about was telling joel off. you occasionally found something tommy and maria were looking for, batteries, a bottle of soap here and there, gloves, alcohol. but, you took everything after you made sure the coast was clear. 

it might’ve taken you and joel about three hours to check every house on the block, some being too destroyed and in ruins to even search through. you looked at the watch on your wrist and the time flashed 12:56AM. and you were still angry. not only were you angry, but you were very much sexually frustrated.

how dare he act like that one night and act like i dont exist the next? you were fuming.. 

joel waited for you as you walked back to the first house on the street where you split up, and as he watched you walk towards him he noticed a scowl on your face. anger in your eyes and irritation, but he didn’t care. 

“nothing. i’m going to bed, goodnight.” you spit, telling him there were no threats and no harm. you walked into the small house and went into the back rooms to look for a bed, finding one bed and couches in the living room. when you walked back to the living room, joel was already standing inside. 

“you need to listen to me when i tell-” he began but you groaned and threw your backpack on the floor, taking your gun to put it in between the cushion of the couch where you plan to sleep. 

“no joel, i’m not doing this shit with you. i’m capable, alright? you’re so fuckin’ angry at me for no reason and want me to just let you take it out on me,” you said loud enough for it to be taken as hostile.

“what the fuck happened? you didn’t,” you breathed, “you didn’t shoot or anything you just froze joel, what’s wrong with you?” your voice was rising, heat rising to your face and you just stared at him. 

“you’re gonna get us fuckin’ killed, you’re just a fuckin’ brat.” he spit at you, and you scoffed. 

“yeah okay joel, i’m a brat. i don’t know shit, i’m just a little stupid girl that doesn’t know shit, right? keep deflecting, keep saying nothing’s wrong when you look like you were having a heart attack,” you say, “you know you’re one to talk, you’re fuckin’ childish you know that?” 

“i’m childish?” he asked, surprised. deflecting. 

“really? that’s what you have to say? nothing about the fact you almost died?” 

“yes you’re childish. you come onto me, and can’t even face me after it. you’re angry at me and for what? didn’t talk to me this whole way and why? cause you regret it? man the fuck up joel, i don’t care if we talk or not but what a fucking partner you’ve been. aren’t you the one supposed to keep me safe? not the other way around?” 

he didn’t respond. you just saw his eyes go dark as you threw pillows off the couch for more room. he knew you were right, and you didn’t want to argue with joel right now. not when you had another day to spend with him, and having to go back home with him. but you were still so angry, at the audacity he had to call you a kid earlier. to act like you were the problem, you couldn’t help it.

“I act like a kid? please,” you scoffed even louder, “I saved your fuckin’ ass back there, really you should be kissing my fucking toes. you have some nerve, man. you might scare everyone, even your brother, but you’ll never fuckin’ scare me. you’re crazy if you think you do.” you laughed genuinely, shaking your head to rid yourself of the redness in your cheeks from your rage. and before you stopped going in on him, you had to top it with the cherry.

“maybe if you weren’t such a prick all of the time, ellie would actually want to spend time with you.” 

“shut the fuck up,” he seethed and you laughed again. that might’ve not been the best idea, but you weren’t know to have the best ideas. his fists were clenched at his side as he stepped closer to where you stood, you just waved him off.

but he knows who his anger is really directed at. he couldn’t be angry at you, well he could, but not forever, he knows. he was angry at himself, angry that you had to risk yourself to save him. angry that you had to do anything for him actually. he was supposed to be your protector here, and now you were his? he felt weak. he felt, almost useless. if you can protect yourself and him, you would never need him then. he was angry at how right you are, and how right you’ve been. 

“i don’t regret it,” he said as you sat on the couch with your back facing him. 

you sat in silence for a bit before you responded, wanting to make sure you heard right. 

“what?” you asked, turning to face him. 

“i don’t regret it.” 

you truly didn’t know what to do. you didn’t know if making a move was the right move, and you felt like you were going to do something you regretted.

you stood up again, and walked to stand in front of him. you needed to see him, to watch him as he watched you. 

“you don’t regret what, joel? touching me?” you asked, getting another not so smart idea. maybe one that would flip the entire dynamic of this bond you had. “then touch me, joel.” 

he was taken aback more than you thought, and you saw the internal fight he put up with himself as he looked over your face and body. 

“i can’t do that, sweetheart.” was he really denying you right now? asking him to finally touch you and he says no? 

“why not?” you said, reaching for his shirt. you didn’t care anymore. your anger was turning  into desire for every minute you were alone with him, and you wanted him to take you in this abandoned house more than anything. maybe it was pathetic, but you couldn’t help the wetness that was pooling in your panties from his soft glare.

“i’ma mean old man, you don’t want me to touch you, don’t think i’d be too nice with ya,” he said with fake confidence. he wanted it so bad, he wanted to let you take his hands and put them anywhere he wanted. and even in your black hoodie that zipped up with your tight jeans on, he wanted to feel every inch of you. he wanted to believe he was doing the right thing by saying no you, but fuck it did not feel right to him. what would feel right is if he was buried in that cunt of yours for as long as he wanted.

“nice? you’re never nice, actually you’re jackson’s biggest asshole, but i was never expecting nice from you. i’ve wanted,,” you breathe and let your palms rest on his warm stomach, the small pouch he put on while he was finally eating meals under your touch. he was so warm underneath, knitting your eyebrows together in irritation when you realized he could’ve been keeping you from freezing all night. you didn’t care if he was nice to you anymore. you could handle mean, roughness, you could handle anything he wanted to give you.

“you’ve wanted what? talk to me, sweet girl,” he whispered, giving in to your needy tone, taking his fingers and grabbing your chin to look at him, his eyes. god his eyes. the wrinkles around them creased with every facial movement, usually his eyes were a brown, hazelish glaze but now they’re pitch black. something else in his stare. desire and lust. he couldn’t help but indulge himself when he heard you wanted something from him. because he wanted to give you everything. 

you weren’t angry anymore. you were in admiration. you were enjoying being this close to him to see every detail and line and crevice on his face. you wanted to rub his cheeks, feel his skin under yours, but you couldn’t let go of the coat he had on.

“i’ve wanted you to make me feel good. but, you’re just so fucking angry all of the time it’s like you hate me. so i hate you more.” you rolled your eyes at him and he just stared at you. 

he was soaking your words in. his thumb was rubbing over your chin, too close to your lips when you avoided his gaze. even now, you were still spewing your snarkiness at him and all he wanted you to do was beg him to make you feel good. but even being a brat, you looked so fucking pretty to him. eyes wide, mouth parted, your hands rubbing over his chest and abdomen—he needed your touch everywhere. he knew you could only be a brat for so long with the way you were leaning into his touch.

he was cracking, and so were you. 

“i could never hate you, doll. could never tell a pretty girl like you no, ya fuckin’ kill me,” he softly chuckled, leaning into your face close enough to feel his breath on your lips. his hands move from your chin, slapping himself for taking back his word, and letting them fall on your wide hips.

“jus’ always so eager, ain’t that right? bloodthirsty little thing you are,” he teased, referring to the way you looked almost excited  to pull your gun out and use it earlier. he liked it, and in his mind he felt like he was the only one who could tame you. the only man that could be man enough to handle all of you the way you deserved. tyler would never be able to pick you up and throw you face down on the bed, he’d never be able to even touch your pretty pussy the way she deserved. 

his lips grazed the skin of your neck, and you felt something wet glide across the salty skin. his tongue was eager to taste you, so substituting your pussy for your neck was his best choice. if you weren’t already wet, you were now. 

“joel, just, god you’re so fucking frustrating,” you grunted as you curled your fists into his sweater. your wetness was soaking your panties at this point and the throbbing of your clit was making you frustrated.

he just chuckled. “what do ya want baby,” he breathed, now dangerously close to your lips after he trailed small kisses from your neck to your cheek.

you didn’t really know what you wanted now that he asked, and really you were too damn nervous to say the words. i want you to fill me up. pump me full with your cum. tell me i’m yours and you’re mine. what if you scared him off with that? what if you said it out loud and it made everything so much more real? not just touching and flirting? it was too much to ask for. to even ask for anything from him, you felt like a burden. 

“fuck you joel,” you breathed and whimpered, “you know what i want, just fuck me already, or are you too old to take me how i want?” you were desperate for him even if you were being mean about it, and he was loving every minute of it.

you needed him, his cock, his fingers, his tongue inside of you. and you saw how your neediness made him smug, his anger dissipating into nothing but adoration for you. he lightly tapped your ass at your old man remark, and narrowed his eyes at you, but relaxing them again when he saw a long overdue smile on your lips. 

“fuuuuuck,” he drew out with his southern accent, “why are you so fuckin’ hard to say no to when you’re such a pain in my ass?” he asked himself. you felt him grow hard against your abdomen as you clenched your thighs and pulled him tighter to your chest. you needed the friction, but you needed it somewhere only he could give it to you. 

“because i’m askin’ so nicely?” you suggested playfully, distracting yourself from the burning in your core. he practically smiled against your lips. 

“that was nice?” he asked and you hit his chest playfully. 

“i can’t do this with you, it just ain’t right,” he tried to resist again.

“you don’t seem like a man who does the right thing, joel.”  you said smartly and he rolled his eyes at you before sighing. 

“don’t fuckin’ do that, don’t try t’ guilt trip me. you’re fuckin’ trouble.” he’s saying it roughly, but the hard on he has pressing into you says otherwise. before you could take your hands to his cock, he’s grabbing them to remove them and pushing back from you, retracting himself. his self control was thinning, he wouldn’t be able to resist you if he was standing that close to you for another second. 

“you’re an asshole, y’know that?” you said sharply, moving yourself away from him with the sting of rejection on your heart. you turn on your heels and start to walk away from him, wanting to escape to the dirty bathroom. 

“it ain’t like that and you know it,” he defended from behind you and you shook your head. 

“yeah i can tell! let me see, you make me tell you how i want to fuck you and call me baby and sweetheart and all this bullshit, then you tell me you want to do the right thing.” you paused and looked at him, “you get upset because i almost fucked someone, put your hands down my panties, and the next day you hate me. then you’re always fuckin’ mad at me, and then say i’m tryna guilt trip you into fucking me,” 

“i mean what the hell joel. all you have t’ say is you don’t want me and we can fuckin’ leave it at that,” you spit and turned around. he just stared at you still with a hard look on his face, but something on his face that reads he isn’t exactly upset at you.

the silence thickens and a minute after a stare down between the two of you, he looked away. the switch that he had flipped so quick, and you’ve seen it before. how could he act so normal when he was throbbing in his jeans and you were staining your panties wet?

he kind of thought you were going to look away first, but now that you were so angry with him he could use it as a way to keep his distance. he knew exactly what he was doing. he was white fanging you. and he was doing it successfully. 

“goodnight.” he said quickly without looking at you, and he walked past you to the back hall. you were turning back to sit on the couch as he took the bed until he came back out with all of his things in his arms. 

“take the bed.” he ordered and you huffed. 

“i’m fine out here,” you argued. 

“take the bed.” he wasn’t budging.

so you gathered your things and huffed away to the bed, still thinking about the way he spoke to you when you decided to just leave your shoes on and sleep. you thought about why he’d trade you for the bed, it being this comfortable you figured he’d take it for himself. he was an old man, looking for comfort in anything he could.

you wondered why after all this he was still insistent on doing the right thing. you felt like doing the right thing was out of the question already with the way he spoke so crudely to you. you knew he wanted you too, you knew he was fighting himself to not touch you how he wanted. 

but he had that instinct. the people he cared about before him. always. he couldn’t let himself delve into the possibilities of what would happen if he did do exactly what you wanted. he knew he was no good for you even if you tried to put this image of being a tainted person up. he knew that though you might think the two if you are similar, that he was far worse than you thought. 

he couldn’t compete with the idea you created of him, that he was this holy protector that did everything to keep his loved ones safe. while he did protect, he was also taking. he could take no credit of the hero title, he never felt like one. to protect his family, he tore people’s families apart. 

he didn’t know how, or when, but he knew he was going to hurt you if he let himself be smitten by you. he was going to make you really hate him if he gave into you, if he let you control him the way he feels like you do. he couldn’t let it happen. not tonight. 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

DECEMBER 24TH, 2024

joel was right when he said you’d be home by nightfall had the two of you left before sunrise. the two of you were back before midnight after awkwardly gearing up and leaving promptly at four in the morning. it gave you time to explore the surprisingly empty city, yet still managed to have most of what tommy and maria needed. 

to occupy your mind from joel’s eyes burning holes into your back as you took the responsibility of holding the map, you thought about what could’ve happened to that small town. it was eerily empty. something about being there made you feel like your stomach was churning, like someone was watching you. 

you wanted to bring it up to tommy and maria when you met back with them that night, and even bring it up to joel when the two of you finally settled back into the house you hadn’t been in. but no words were spoken again, leaving an uncomfortable silence between you two that ellie noticed. 

it was just the two of you once again in an empty house as ellie left to spend the night at a friend's house again. joel told her this time to tell someone before she leaves, if she left. 

the clock struck twelve in the morning the minute the door slammed behind you, and without saying a word you trudged  upstairs with a sigh and slammed your bedroom door. it felt childish, but that’s what this whole thing was. 

you were throwing a fit that he wasn’t even acknowledging you unless he had to, yet you didn’t even know if you fully wanted him in the way you thought you did. the thought of having a companion, in this hypothetical situation let it be joel, and having someone that close to you again scared the shit out of you. 

you’ve always had commitment issues. always had a fear that you’d duck and run before something bad could happen between the two of you. some people call it self sabotage. 

you threw all of your gear sloppily in the closet that was on the same wall as your door and rummaged through the suitcase to grab a pair of panties and a shirt. you needed a shower, and you were desperate to just lay your clean head against a pillow and black out. you couldn’t bring yourself to think of joel anymore, and as you mindlessly walked to the bathroom that was on the second floor you heard the door to the bathroom open.

unfortunately, it opened right as you were grabbing the knob and before getting the chance to look up at the familiar scented man after the door swung open, the hand that gripped his towel around his waist unclenched. 

you didn’t know if it was your surprising appearance that caught him off guard, or the fact that he didn’t expect anyone to be there in general, but he stilled and his hand involuntarily flexed, dropping the plush towel from his hips. joel felt the breeze before he even realized his fingers let it slip, but still kept his eyes on you. 

you were staring. you knew you were staring, of course you knew you were staring, but you couldn’t give a shit. he was hard. you saw the throbbing immediately, the way it jerked and hit his abdomen when the towel dropped, how disgustingly big he was compared to anything you’ve seen. realistically as you practically drooled over his cock, you thought it was eight inches max, but the girth somehow made it look more swollen, more to take.

if you were any other random woman he was housing for the time being, he would’ve immediately picked up the towel to cover and excuse himself as he scurried embarrassingly to his room. if you had been any other woman that had tried to throw advances at him and purposely tried to see him in the shower, he would’ve hated the look you were giving him. 

he wanted to hate it even more because it was you, but fuck do you look so sexy and you made him feel sexy. it wasn’t often he felt desired since he was an older man, and now that you’ve given him a lick of it, he was addicted to how you were put into an immediate trance. you were looking at all of him in all of his glory. and with your help. joel had been jacking off in the shower before he got out, stroking his angry tip to the thought of putting it between your lips. 

he was going to allow himself to indulge just that one time. he promised himself. but he wasn’t a good person. he wasn’t a good, honest man. he was a liar, and a sweet talker, someone who knew the power of persuasion. he could have you if he wanted to, could’ve had you on your knees in the shower for him while he rubbed a thumb over your cheek. 

he knew what he was capable and yet, he settled for fucking his hand thinking of your cunt. but the good man in him, the honest man in him was pleading to escape. plotting his escape.

you couldn’t stop gawking at his cock. it was peppered with long veins, one specific one trailing down from the tip to the base of his cock, and you could actually see the precum dripping down his angry, throbbing tip.

to him, you stared as if he was the last man on earth. and he enjoyed the attention so much he wanted to show you just exactly how much he appreciated the way you desired him.

it took self restraint from dropping to your knees right now, to feel his tip hit the back of your throat so he can shove his way into the tight walls of your throat. you imagined the noises he made, how he would talk to you, how he’d praise you. you craved it now. 

you were in awe, maybe even a little scared. all of your fantasies and imaginations finally had something to base off of, and now that you saw how girthy and long he was, you were intimidated. there’s no way he’s that big. god, he’s almost 60!

finally, after what seemed like an hour but really was just a minute or two, you closed your eyes shut and cringed at how you must’ve looked, how obvious you liked seeing him like this. and how smug joel must look with how easy it is to get you to surrender yourself to him.

you memorized the way he looked though. the dark curls that gathered at the base of his cock, trailing up to his stomach before thinning out right below his belly button and the little straight line of sparse hair trailing up his stomach a bit. the way his thighs looked so thick and strong, perfect for you to take a seat if you wanted because you’d have no doubt about not hurting him with your weight, the way his rough hands clenched into fists at his sides and the way his stomach wasn’t the most toned but was firm and still wet, tan. 

you knew if there was any chance of being able to actually sleep with the man, it'd take some finessing to fit all of him in any of your holes. but even though the size was intimidating, you could just tell that the stretch he'd provide sliding inside of you would be everything you've ever wanted.

you wanted to feel his body under your fingers while you sunk onto him, watching him watch you. you needed him, and you couldn’t fucking understand why this desire and urge was coming out now. to feel so strongly about him that it frustrated you to tears, it was morbid because this was based on pure attraction.

he didn't know you, you didn't know him. not really.

you were inching closer and closer to your downfall with every look over of his body. but he was loving it.

“i’m, god, i’m sorry, i was just���shower, i needed to, wash uh,” you breathed as you opened your eyes again and looked away as he grabbed the towel from the ground. “just, you know. get clean, wash certain uhh–areas, and stuff.” 

joel was thoroughly amused. you actually managed to shift your eyes around to see that he was fully covered again and he was in fact grinning smugly at you. you’d never seen joel express any other emotion other than negative, and it sent heavy fluttering to your core and throughout the tendons of your thighs.

“‘s all good, honey,” his voice was hoarse, raspy and god did it make the slickness start to run down your cunt and into your panties. “go ahead,” 

joel slide between you and the door frame, breathing you in without shame and letting you feel him graze the cloth covered throbbing length against you, smiling to himself at your body’s reaction. 

you quickly shut the door without looking at him again, releasing a long breath that you had been holding. again. you were angry because he knew exactly what he was doing. he was torturing you, and took all the pleasure of doing so.

joel actually expected you to fold right there, in front of him while he was hard all because of you. he expected you to break and ask him why he’d been ignoring you, again, and tell him how you want him. he honestly expected more than just a stare from you, he couldn’t read your face exactly so he couldn’t tell if you enjoyed the view or not. 

but after your babbling and messing your words up, he knew it wouldn’t take much more to break you. suddenly, the urge to stay away from you so he wouldn’t bring harm to your life was overpowered by the urge to ruin you in every way possible all in one day. he wanted to see your hard shell crack because of him, before you cracked his. 

because whether joel wanted to admit it or not, he met his match with you. and god, he wanted to prove to you that maybe you weren’t as strong as you seemed. his sick, twisted mind wanted to see you crying for him, begging him, pleading for him to make you feel good. he wanted to see you break for him, he wanted to be the only one to see you fucked out for him. he accepted the fact that being away from you and not being able to touch you as he pleased wasn't going to last any longer.

he was just waiting for the right moment.

#plus size smut #chubby smut #plus size reader #joel miller #joel miller x plus sized reader #fat girls #smut #joel tlou #chubby #joel the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #the last of us hbo #joel miller x plus size reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller series #joel miller x female reader #joel miller tlou #joel and ellie #tlou fanfiction #tlou #tlou2 #plus size series #plus size representation #body positive #curvy

[wannab-urs]

In The Next One

Summary/Warnings: Dieter thinks you’ve been together in every past life and he’s lost you every time. Vague-ish smut. There’s a thing with a knife, but no actual slicing lol. Graphic and explicit descriptions of mental illness, drug abuse, etc. Dieter does mild self-harmy things. Implied biting hard enough to break skin during one scene? And as always with my poor dieter baby, suicidal ideation… and more? Idk just be fucking careful with this one. Love y’all. (WC: 1550)

A/N: I went to a Boygenius concert and became immediately obsessed with We're In Love, Lucy's song about Julien. The whole past lives... to be known is to be loved... just the whole general vibe. It immediately made me think of my baby Dieter so here we go.

Series Masterlist | Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

Isn't it enough that we stripped down to our skin? Cold and porcelain like bathers in a painting

Dieter wraps his arms around you from behind. You’re chopping an onion to make dinner. He slips his hands on top of yours, holds the knife in your hands and chops with you. You tilt your head into his where it rests on your shoulder affectionately. You let him guide your hands for a moment. He keeps his grip on the knife, but drops your left hand, guides the knife to his left palm. You freeze, forcing his hands to stop.  

“Woah, Dieter. Babe. Stop. What are you doing?” 

“Blood Oath.” 

“Like that weird movie we watched? Son of Rambow?” 

You pull the knife from his fingers, set it on the cutting board, wrap his arms back around you. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles into your shoulder. “Like Son of Rambow. Just want you to know how much you mean to me. Want us to always be connected.” 

You turn to face him, press a thumb into both cheekbones. Your eyes burn and so do his, crying onion tears. You press a kiss to his torn lips.

“We don’t need that.”

 “You could ruin me, you know that? I don’t know if I can ever be without you.”

He pulls away from you. Fidgets with the rings on his fingers. Digs a hand into his hair and tugs hard. You step right back into his space, pull his hand out of his hair and right back around you.

 “Hey? Made for you. Remember?” You press your lips into his scruff covered jaw. Gently smooth his hair back out. Slip your hands over his shoulders and down his back. Pull him so hard into you it feels like you’re trying to mold him to your body. “I’m not going anywhere Dieter.” 

You pull his ugly sweater over his head. Set it gently on the counter. Toss your own t-shirt on the floor. Press your bare chests back together. Let him feel how real, how solid, how corporeal you are. All the way here even when he is not. You keep your bodies pressed together and pull him to the bathroom. Undress him fully and pull him into the shower with you. Forget about dinner and let him fill you instead. 

And I told you of your past lives, every man you've ever been It wasn't flattering, but you listened like it mattered

Dieter taps the ring on his middle finger against the glass mug of green tea in front of him. Chews his lips as he works up the nerve to tell you a theory he has. Something important. You have to know. 

You sit across from him, looking out the window. The park you spend so much time in just visible from your booth. You’re watching a pair of hummingbirds dance around each other. 

“Do you remember the night we met?” Dieter traces the triangle on his forearm instead of looking at you. You drag your eyes from the birds.

“Most of it. We were kind of fucked up, so the details are hazy. Why?” Your finger joins the path he traces on his arm, following just behind. He changes direction so your fingers bump each other at the highest point.

“I think we’ve always been together.” Dieter doesn’t elaborate. You’re used to his non sequiturs. He doesn’t have a train of thought so much as a shipping yard of them. A little maze like. Disconnected. You remember something you said that night. 

“I asked you why it felt like I’ve known you my whole life. And you said ‘Maybe you have.’” Drugs may have made you say it out loud, but you knew then just as much as you know now that you were made for each other. You had always known him, somehow. 

“I think, in all my past lives, I’ve had you and I’ve lost you.” Dieter pulls a piece of dead skin off his lip. Sucks the iron tang onto his tongue. “I think I’ve never known a life without knowing what it’s like to be without you. And I think it’s going to happen again.” 

He knows he’s been getting bad again. He broke your phone. He almost hurt you. He can’t figure out which thoughts are rational and which ones aren’t so he just drowns out all of them with all the drugs he can get his hands on. He isn’t so numb that he can’t see the way he’s hurting you though. He has to make sure you love him. He can’t fucking bear it if you don’t love him anymore. 

You dig a fingernail into wrist, make a crescent shape in the skin. He focuses on the tiny pain, lets his mind still. You press your lips into his palm and settle his hand on your cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dieter. If I left you in my past lives it was all so I could find you in this one.”

Will you still love me if it turns out I'm insane? I know what you'll say, but it helps to hear you say it anyway

Dieter paints a portrait of you. He smears the canvas in cerulean, plum, vermillion. Vibrant colors that match your aura. You find him at the window, forming the shape of your lips with a thumb, brush between his teeth.

“Beautiful.” You whisper it into his neck. Drag your lips down the column of his throat. He pulls you into his arms, spits the brush to the floor. 

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

You look into his eyes, shining with tears but dulled by so much pain.

“No,” you lie. He looks away from you. A sob catches in his throat. He chokes on it. He knows he’s insane, knows he should try the hospitals again, knows that wouldn’t work. It never does. 

You pull him to the bedroom. You kiss the tears off his cheeks. You strip each other bare. You press your love into his skin with your lips, tongue, teeth. With your fingers and hands. You kiss him so hard it hurts. He slowly responds to your touches, the dull ache in his eyes fading to something deeper, open, vulnerable. He pushes inside you and stays there for a moment, relishing the fact that this is the closest he can be to you. You don’t try to make him move. Just pull him even closer to you. Wrap yourself around him and pull him close. He moves his hips shallowly, barely separating from you at all. Grinding into you. He devours your lips, your neck, your shoulder. You settle your teeth into the space where his neck meets his shoulder. Bite until you taste salt and iron. He wraps a hand in your hair and pulls your mouth to his. Buries himself in you with fervor now. Decides he’ll leave bruises inside you to keep himself there even when he’s gone.

In the next one, will you find me? I'll be the boy with the pink carnation pinned to my lapel

You’re snuggled up on your too small green couch. You’d had a huge argument. You had thrown buddha statues and crystals and incense holders at him and screamed that none of this shit was going to help him. He had to take his Fucking Medicine. 

He’d hurled his empty bottles of hydrocodone and oxycontin and xanax at you, like any of those were what he was supposed to take. Like any of that could help him. He’d dropped to the couch and curled into a little ball, his whole body shaking with sobs as he tore at his curls with trembling hands.

You had knelt on the floor next to him, pulled his hands away, cradled his head in your arms. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers into your chest. “I’m so sorry I’m fucked up again.” 

He buries his head deeper into your shoulder. You think he means he’s sorry his mental illness is acting up again. Or that he’s sorry he did too many drugs again. 

He means he’s sorry he came out wrong in this life just like all the other ones. You were made for him, but maybe he wasn’t made for you. Not this time and not all the times before and he won’t be next time and he can’t fucking take it. 

You climb up behind him. Press his deteriorating frame against you and try to pour all your love into him. Try to put him back together. You whisper to him about how much he means to you. That you won’t leave him. That you love him and just want him to feel better. 

He can’t be better though.

“I’ll try harder in the next life. I’ll try to be okay next time. I’ll be so good for you.”

“I’ll find you.” A promise you seal with a kiss to the crown of his head. If he finds you in the next life, you’ll take him as he is. You love him now and you always will. 

You drift off to sleep with your lips pressed into his hair. His breathing slows and slows and slows. 

I could go on and on and on and I will Go on and on and on until It all comes back

----

Series Masterlist

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo fics #Dieter Bravo fan fiction #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #The Bubble #A ghost of you #agoy

[azucarmorena97]

Money Ties (Jungkook Love Story || Pt.3)

Pt.2 || Pt.4

Your parents have worked hard to get to the top and have made sure to teach you everything you need to know to be successful in this business: from tough but lucrative financial decisions, down to the right ball gown for any given banquet. A promising and extravagant future awaits you- that is, if you agree to one teensy detail...

Son of Mr.Jeon Sr. and heir to June Company, Jeon Jungkook is an immature playboy with nothing to offer a woman but good looks and a crap ton of money, and he stands to inherit much MUCH more, so long as you both enter into the arranged marriage contract that was drawn up before the pair of you were even born.

You're more than willing to try, but you're not sure you'll be able to stand each other long enough to inherit a single penny...

Series Warnings: There will be smut in the near future and I will label those chapters as such. As I say before most of my pieces- I do not endorse any themes, ideas, or behaviors in this series. This is all purely fiction/fantasy! Feel free to inbox me suggestions/ideas/what you'd like to see in this series and I'll see what I can do! Enjoy <3

Recap: "I hope you know you didn't ruin anything. My husband and I feel very strongly, even more so now, that you're the perfect fit fr our family." Your heartbeat picks up in your chest; you were sure you blew your chance to bits, but here she is, offering it all on a silver platter for you.

On your way back to your suite, you try calling your dad three different times, and each time the calls go straight to voicemail. For the most part, you've gotten used to getting his voicemail and can even recite it word for word- but right now, him being here for you is crucial. Even though your mom couldn't make the time to actually be here, at least she shows she cares, even if it is through blowing up your phone every hour; at least it's something. She even helped pick out the gifts for the Jeons: gold cuff links for Mr.Jeon, a lovely pair of jade earrings for Mrs.Jeon, and a silver chain with a medallion fo Jungkook. All your life, your dad said he couldn't wait to be there for when you would finally sign the agreement that they'd spent years tailoring and planning, only to cancel last minute because of work. Well, if he wants to leave you out in the cold to figure this out by yourself, then you're gonna do it your way.

Once inside the suite, you peel off the pretty little outfit you'd carefully put together for tea and toss it onto the bed, switching into a pair of baggy sweats and an oversized sweater, and the warmest socks you packed. You're finally going to dive into the manila envelope. You plop yourself into bed and take out everything, ignoring the initial feeling of being overwhelmed at the sight of the busy papers, looking past the legal jargon to find the bare bones of it all. In a matter of twenty minutes, you're completely locked in; you highlight, circle, annotate, even cross out some parts. You slowly realize how little your parents are settling for in this "partnership", as your dad likes to call it. According to this contract, their precious daughter is only worth 15% of the 'Jeon Empire', while Jeon Jungkook will be the majority owner of June Company, including hotels, restaurants, as well as owning shares in your parents' company and other smaller endeavors. Well, that just won't do. If you're going to be committing yourself to a marriage, it's for the long haul. All of your adolescent and teenage years were spent avoiding boys like the plague for fear of getting too attached and ruining your parents' dream for your life. Even your college years have been all about work and climbing up the ladder to get to this point- 15% is horse shit.

After three agonizingly long hours, the contract looks like a Frankensteined version of itself; torn apart and put back together. You hold it up in triumph- you almost want to take a picture just for the memories. "Proud of you," B/f/n says through a loud yawn. You had to call her about an hour in for moral support. "No, don't be tired. You can't be tired. It's still early!" "Hun, it's 3AM here." "Oh right..." You sigh, stuffing the contract back in the envelope, "I forgot about the time difference... ugh, I'm just so bored here. I have nothing to do." "Girl, you're at a whole luxurious hotel, all expenses paid- if I were you, I'd be doing a spa day, visiting the restaurants, drinking up all their liquor- you just don't like being alone." You roll your eyes. She's right, of course, but you're not gonna give her any validation. "I guess I'll just try to get some sleep...I have a big day tomorrow." "What time are you meeting them?" "We're meeting for brunch at 11." "First it was 'high tea' and now Brunch," She echoes with a sleepy smile, "How classy." You roll your eyes, "Good night, B/f/n," You laugh. She waves lazily and then you hang up the phone. "Well, since this is an all expenses paid hotel..." You bite your lip and look over at the door, "...I'm gonna go use their copier."

AT 6AM, your alarm goes off scaring you violently awake. It had taken you hours to finally fall asleep in the first place. You'd tried to close your eyes after your face time, but ended up tossing and turning until 2AM. This jet lag is something else. Or maybe it was stress for today; I mean, you are preparing to sign a contract to marry a man you hardly know (and also kinda hate), which was essentially created when you weren't even a thought in your parents' mind yet, which will, in turn, lead to lifelong stability for you and your family as well as further growth for your family's businesses so everything is kind of on your shoulders and will all fall apart if you don't do your respective part- oh God, you might have a panic attack and you haven't even gotten out of bed yet.

You speed through your morning routine so that you can look over your edits again, though as soon as you sit down, your phone begins to buzz with all your incoming notifications. You scroll through, ignoring some texts, answering a few emails- and then you come across one from your dad from an hour ago. You take a sip of your coffee as you open up the message and, when you do, you almost spit the coffee out against the pretty clean white hotel wall. Staring at you is the "finalized contract" (or so it's entitled) that your dad made 'edits' on for you to print out and sign. You look over the entire thing and with every sentence you read, you feel the anger rising in you. The "edits" he made didn't even make the deal that much better for you, not to mention, how can your dad flake on you in regards to coming on this trip, ignore your calls and texts, but still have the nerve to send me this shitty contract at the asscrack of dawn on the DAY OF the supposed signing? Fuck that. You're gonna send them your draft and your parents can cry about it. You're done doing things their way. You open up your laptop and quickly go to your saved files, opening up YOUR finalized version that you'd scanned and re-typed. You cue it up in a message and type in Mr. and Mrs.Jeon's email addresses, along with their lawyer's email. For a moment, you hesitate, letting the mouse hover over the 'send' button, but then you count how many times your parents have made you feel completely alone in just the duration of this trip, plus every time you've had to make yourself small for others to be big- "Fuck it." You hit send and then close your laptop to put your outfit together for brunch.

Brunch is held on the balcony at their hotel restaurant, Juniper. The vibe is definitely upper class, and you see it's bustling with guests. "Hello, Miss; will you be dining alone?" The hostess asks. You shake your head, "No, actually- I'm with the Jeon party." Her eyes widen for a second before she bows, "Oh yes, Ms.L/n, allow me to show you to your table. You smile and bow in return, feeling slightly embarrassed that she clearly felt the urge to kiss your ass a little extra just for being associated with the Jeons. She leads you around the corner to a wall of windows, much like the ones on the roof top when you'd gone for tea. As she opens the double doors, you see Mr. and Mrs.Jeon sat at a table straight ahead, Jungkook's back facing you. Your heart starts beating rapidly in your chest; it's happening. This is it. The entire ride here, you were psyching yourself up saying you'd be confident and strong and that if they didn't like the changes you'd made to the contract, they could kiss your ass- but right now, you feel your legs might turn to Jello. "Y/n!" Mrs.Jeon calls out excitedly, getting out of her seat and running over to you. Mr.Jeon and Jungkook look over in your direction; one giving you a big smile and the other...with a rather unreadable expression on his face. You smile and bow, "Good morning everyone." She politely dismisses the hostess and guides you to the table, where Mr.Jeon and Jungkook are standing to greet you. "Annyeonghasimnikka," You bow again. "So polite, isn't she Jungkook?" Mr.Jeon says, lightly hitting Jungkook's shoulder. You bow slightly, "Hello, Jungkook." He nods, "Hey." "Please, sit," Mrs.Jeon says. You immediately notice that Mr.Jeon is wearing the cuff links you'd gotten him, and Mrs.Jeon is wearing the earrings; Jungkook seemed to be the only one not wearing his gift. Figures. "We haven't ordered just yet so you have some time to think about what you want." "Oh that's okay, I'll take whatever you recommend." "Oh, I love that. I'm getting you my favorite- the praline french toast is so good paired with the fritata and...the eggs benedict with salmong." "Sounds good," You laugh, finding it endearing how excited she is. You wonder if she ever chews Jungkook out like your mom does to you You spend most of the time talking to Mr. and Mrs.Jeon; basic chit chat about life, how the food was, and other pleasantries- until Mr.Jeon receives a call and excuses himself from the table for a moment. Then, Mrs.Jeon says she wants to check in with the chef about something really quickly, leaving you and Jungkook at the table alone. You take a sip on your mimosa and then turn to him, "How are you, Jungkook?" He straightens up a bit and clears his throat, "I'm fine. How about yourself?" "I'm good...I- I'm hopeful that today's meeting goes well." He nods slowly, seeming deeply pensive about what you've said, "Well, it should be quite lucrative for you if it does." His tone is almost bitter-sounding. You furrow your brows, not liking how he's making it seem that you'd be the only one benefiting. "Well, according to the contract, it should be quite beneficial for the both of us, wouldn't you say?" "Oh, please. What are pennies to bills," He scoffs. "I mean, considering you can't even get a penny of mommy and daddy's money unless you get married, I'd say we're in the same boat," You lean back, deciding you're done with the niceties. He wants to be a jerk? Two can play. He glares at you, knowing you're right but, of course, refusing to admit it. "Don't you ever get tired?" "Of what?" He asks, face scrunching in annoyance. "Of the stick up your ass?" You smirk, crossing one leg over the other as your swirl your glass from the stem. "This whole thing is fucked and you know it," He says, throwing himself against the backrest of the chair in defeat. You nod slowly and thoughtfully, "Maybe, but as I always says, 'Anything worth having is worth fighting for.'" He rolls his eyes, "Whatever."

"Sorry, Kids. I just had to get that done before I forgot. Is your father still not back yet?" Mrs.Jeon asks, sitting back down at the table and looking around. "No, I guess he's still on the call," You say, "He sounds like my dad." Mrs.Jeon laughs, "Well, birds of a feather flock together." "I'm sorry everyone- Y/n, I just got off the phone with your father. Goodness, it's such a shame he couldn't come," Mr.Jeon says, a big smile on his face as he sits down. "You- you spoke to my dad?" "I sure did. I'd called him this morning about the finalized contract he'd sent me last night but he didn't get back to me until now since he was on the golf course." It takes everything in you to keep your eye from twitching. The golf course. Priorities. You plaster a fake smile on your face and clear your throat, "Actually, Mr.Jeon, the one he sent you is not the finalized version." He looks up confused, "No?" You shake your head and reach into your purse for the crisp new manila envelope, "I had to make some edits of my own." They all look at each other and then back at you, "Oh- alright," Mr.Jeon takes the envelope and he and Mrs.Jeon look over it together. You can practically see the gears in their heads turning, meanwhile, Jungkook is looking at you with his eyes narrowed wondering what it is you're up to. "Y/n," Mr.Jeon laughs nervously, "This is...substantially more than what your father and I had previously discussed." You nod, "Oh yes. 40% more, to be exact." "Mhm..." Mr.Jeon hands the paper to Mrs.Jeon who continues reading. "I believe the 15% we'd originally agreed upon was quite generous as even a fraction of the money we receive from the various businesses would be quite a profit for you." You purse your lips as you listen, trying your best to be as respectful as possible, "Yes, that's true. It would be quite a lot, however, I think it's reasonable to divide assets 50/50 between spouses, seeing as how I'll not only be a part of June Company itself but also be behind the scenes as a wife. Not to mention, when I have kids, there is no longer incentive for Jungkook to stay married to me, is there?" Mr.Jeon looks at his wife, who is looking back at him with the same concerned expression. "Y/n, our motivation for having you marry our son isn't to...produce an heir," Mr.Jeon says, "It's to help him mature and give him something to work for." "Dad, I don't need to get married to mature. I'm capable and I'm ready to run the company. Please, just let me show-" "You shut your mouth. With all the debt you've gotten me in with your incessant partying, the charges in property damage-" Mr.Jeon's face is turning more and more red, while Jungkook just looks away. He's completely quiet as he his father continues hurling criticisms and but Mrs.Jeon puts her hand on his chest to keep him from saying any more. "Mr.Jeon, I want to be able to help all of you- but I think both I and Jungkook are sacrificing a lot, and a large portion of that sacrifice is on yours and my parents' behalf. He and I will both be turning our lives around for the sake of our families. I just want to make sure we're both getting what we need from this." Jungkook turns slowly to look at you, his expression softening, along with his father's. Mr.Jeon is silent for a little while. "I understand if this is something you and your family cannot get behind and if that's the case, we can rip up this contract and put it all behind us, no harm done- but if you all want this as much as we do, these are my conditions," You say as gently as possible. You glance at Jungkook, whose eyes are fixed on you- causing for you to quickly look back at Mr. and Mrs.Jeon. "Well...I think we'll need some time to think this over. I'll have my lawyer look this over and we'll let you know what we've decided by tonight. How's that sound?" Mr.Jeon asks, giving you a tired smile. You nod, "That sounds just fine, Mr.Jeon. Take all the time you need."

You grab your bag and stand up and everyone else follows suit, "I had a lovely brunch. Thank you so much for putting it together for us to have this meeting." You turn to Jungkook, "I hope we're able to move forward together," You say with a bow and, for the first time, he bows in return. "Please have a good rest of your day," Mrs.Jeon says, stepping forward and hugging you goodbye. "And as always, please let us know if you need anything," Mr.Jeon says with a genuine expression. You nod, "I will."

Of course, not two hours since your brunch with the Jeons, and your dad was already blowing up your phone. How interesting the way that works, isn't it? Your dad only calls when you don't do things exactly as he asks. You sent every single call to voicemail until they stopped coming in altogether- though he'll most likely call right before bed. You'd spent the rest of the day out and about near the hotel; something you thought you wouldn't get a chance to do this time around. It helped to get your mind off things for a minute. You'd even gone to a cute little cafe and answered some of your work emails (you can't ever completely disconnect, though it doesn't hurt to at least have a change of scenery).

By the time you come back to your suite, it's already 8PM, though of course you're not even a bit tired, so you decide to bother B/f/n for a bit. "Mm...hello?" "Hello," You practically sing into the phone, "did I wake you?" "Mhm..." "Well, wake up- I gotta tell you what happened today." "Y/n, look, I promise I'm interested but I do not have the mental capacity to receive any new information right now..." "You're no fun." "Hey, I already told you, you have other options for entertainment." "The spa's closed right now, I've already gone to the eateries inside this hotel, I've used the free wifi and even the copier. I've done everything, there's nothing left, B/f/n," You whine. "Not everything..." She says, sleepily eyeing you. You instantly know whatb she means and you violently shake your head. "Nope. Uh-uh. I am NOT getting a drink by myself." "Oh come on, if you wear one of those skimpy little dresses you packed, I promise you won't be alone for long." You narrow your eyes at her, "How do you know I packed skimpy dresses?" "You just told me," She smirks. How does she do that? "And what am I supposed to do if a man walks up to me and offers me a drink thinking he's gonna get some?" "Oh come on, you're not even engaged yet. Live a little." You roll your eyes, "Clearly, you're very sleep deprived and that's why you're talking crazy. Call me when you're rested." "Sounds like a plan," She says before abruptly hanging up the call.

You sit and look over at your suitcase, contemplating your next move... "I guess a drink won't hurt."

The hotel bar is nicely tucked away on the first floor, a small ways away from the lobby. It's decorated with gold trim and pretty golden flowers along the cherry-wood walls. The vibe is definitely dark and sultry- you suppose you dressed appropriately: off the shoulder a-line mini dress and some simple strappy heels. You put a lot of effort into looking effortless tonight. It's not as packed as you expected, though it's definitely not empty; people are sat at various tables, holding conversations, the occasional stray laugh reaching your ears over the soft music. You'd hyped yourself up before coming down, saying you weren't gonna worry about who was or wasn't looking at you; you were just going down to have a drink and then go right back up- but when you realize the room is full of mostly men, you hesitate to take a seat. "Welcome in- can I get you anything, Miss?" The bartender, a kind-looking older gentleman, asks when he sees the lost puppy look on your face. "I-uhm, yes. I'll take an espresso martini, please?" "Of course." You set your clutch down on the bar and then take a seat. "Meeting anyone?" The bartender asks. You laugh sheepishly, "No, just...wanted to get out of my room." "I suppose that's a good thing," He says. You furrow your brows, wondering if he's gonna take the opportunity to be creepy, "And why is that?" "Because that young man over there has been watching you since you walked in," He says, nodding behind you. Your heart flutters a bit, and you feel flattered by the possibility of someone actually checking you out.

You turn slowly to where he'd nodded and scan for a moment before finally seeing him. How did I not notice him before? "That's the hotel owner's son, you know," The bartender adds. Jungkook's expression is a bit unreadable, but he's definitely looking at you. His eyes are completely fixed. You turn around quickly and bite your lip. You can't leave now, he'll know it was because of him and you can't stand the idea of him feeling like he drove you out of that bar. No way. You straighten out your back, forcing your body to relax as much as possible- or at least have the appearance of relaxation. The man puts your drink in front of you, and you gingerly take your first sip. "How can you drink those things?" Jungkook's unmistakeable voice says from right behind you, causing you to choke and spit some of your drink back into the glass. Your eyes widen in horror. "Bless you," He smirks. He looks over at the bar tender and signals holding up two fingers, to which the man nods. "Jungkook," His name feels so strange on your tongue; up until this trip, you've just refered to him as 'the Jeon's son', and using his name still feels so...intimate, somehow. He leans back in his seat, looking at you as though he's sizing you up, "And who, might I ask, did you dress up for tonight?" "Myself." You say, side-eyeing him. He's very brazen for someone you've only just met again after so many years. "Hm." "Hm, what?"

"Oh nothing...it's just, well, humans are performative beings, you know? Everything we do, whether consciously or not, is to attract." "Oh? And you're saying this to imply that I'm trying to attract someone?" You take another sip of your drink, trying to hide your unexpected nervousness. He shrugs, a cocky smile spreading across his face. "And who do you think I'm trying to attract, Jungkook? You?" You scoff. "Hey, you said it." You blush slightly and look down at your drink, your fingertip running up and down the stem of the glass. He definitely smells like he's been drinking- a lot- but you also catch hints of musk and wood- even burnt cinnamon. Shitty men shouldn't smell this damn good. You glance down at his neck and squint your eyes; is that-? "You're wearing the necklace?" He furrows his brows for a second in confusion before the realization sets in, "Oh- yeah. I look good, don't I?" His lips turn up into a coy smile. You clear your throat and shrug, "I think I'm just good at picking out jewelry." He chuckles and shakes his head, "Your disdain for me is quite amusing." "Almost as amusing as your insistence on flirting with me." "Well, don't get too flattered, you might fall in love." "Ha," You scoff. The bartender sets two shots down in front of Jungkook, who then slides one over to you. "What's this for?" You ask, immediately suspicious. "To celebrate." "Celebrate what?" "Us, of course." "Oh please," You roll your eyes, "Just the other day you were yelling at me and accusing me of attacking you, then you implied that I was some sort of gold digger and was just trying to mooch off of you." He nods thoughtfully, "Yes, that's true, I said some pretty...crass things. I suppose I should apologize for that. As far as the shot, well- I've decided to accept it." "Accept...what?" "The fact that this train is leaving with or without our 'yes', so we may as well enjoy the ride along the way, right?" As he says this, his eyes fall slightly, and only for a moment. You almost wonder if you'd seen it at all. "And what's caused this change of heart?" "Truthfully...this entire arrangement has been hanging over my head all my life. It felt like a noose slowly getting tighter and tighter. But seeing my father so stunned by your demands...it felt like my first deep breath in a while." You're surprised at how genuine Jungkook is being right now, though before you're able to respond to what he's just said, your phone buzzes in your clutch. "Excuse me," You say. It's a text message from Mr.Jeon. You quickly swipe it open and your mouth drops in shock. 𝙼𝚛.𝙹𝚎𝚘𝚗: 𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘, 𝚈/𝚗- 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚆𝚎'𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝚆𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝟷𝟸𝙿𝙼 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚠𝚢𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝.

You look up back up at Jungkook, who simply picks up the shot and holds it up in the air, "To the ride." Your shocked expression turns into a smile, and all you can think to do is pick your shot up as well. "To the ride."

#bts #jungkook #suga #jin #namjoon #jhope #jimin #bts imagine #bangtan sonyeondan #angst #jungkook x reader #bts slow burn #bts enemies to lovers #bts arranged marriage #jungkook arranged marriage

[bullet-prooflove]

LittleMouse!Series Part Five: Acts of Violence - Alden Parker x Reader

Tagging: @yezzyyae @neapolitantoebeans @mandy426 @kmc1989

LittleMouse!Series

Don't... - Alden hates what your doing.

Waiting - You leave your ex waiting.

In Sickness & In Health - Alden and your ex sit down to discuss you.

Bordeaux - You come home to an unexpected surprise.

It’s the third time that Alden’s tried to call you tonight and the second time it’s gone directly to voicemail. It gives him a bad feeling because you don’t turn your phone off, not since the night that one of your team members called you in crisis. You’re available to them twenty-four, seven, the same way that he is.

Something’s wrong, he just knows it.  

He breaks the speed limit on the way to your place, it’s a miracle that he doesn’t get pulled over. When the lift takes too long to descend, he takes the stairs instead, two at a time until he reaches your floor. He listens for sounds on the other side of the door before he lets himself in. There’s nothing but silence, which in itself feels ominous. You usually have a little music on when he comes over, you hate the quiet.

When he enters the apartment, the stench of blood hits him almost immediately. There’s a strong copper tang on his tongue and something inside of him just dies because he knows an act of violence has been committed in your home.

The kitchen is in chaos. There’s shattered glass across the tiles, crushed yellow petals from the roses he bought for you the other day scattered amongst the pieces. There’s crimson smears across the shards, the vivid liquid intermingling with the water from the broken vase. Your cellphone lies discarded alongside of it, the screen shattered, it looks like someone stomped on it.

The glass crunches underneath heel of his boot as he withdraws his weapon and approaches the closed French doors that lead to the living room. He catches a flash of movement through the windowpane but the darkness of the room beyond obscures his vision. He’s careful as he uses his fingertips to push down the door handle, nudging his shoulder against the door so it opens.

The living room looks worse than the kitchen. The driftwood coffee table that you adore is in pieces, shards of wood jutting out of the ruined frame. There’s a broken wine bottle decanting Bordeaux onto the rug and a bloody stem from a wine glass cast off onto the sofa. Your books have been torn from the shelf and tossed onto the floor. The door of your gun safe hangs open, almost torn from the hinges.

When he turns his attention to the other side of the room, he doesn’t expect to see you standing there, gun in your hand. It’s pointed at Kristof as he kneels on the floor in front you, his hands cuffed behind his back.

The two of you are a mess. There’s blood streaked through Kristof’s blond hair from the wounds in his scalp. There’s glass amongst the strands, from the vase in the kitchen Alden realises. You must have tried to get to your phone when Kristof had come for you, smashed him in the head. His nose is broken and it’s a bad one, the kind that’s going to result in plastic surgery in the future.

You aren’t in a much better state. Your lip is split, a thin thread of crimson running down your chin, the hollow of your left eye is swollen and bloodshot. There’s a crimson stain blossoming across the white sweater that you’re wearing, the heavy fabric is practically soaked in it. He can guess who got stabbed with the stem from the wine glass.

“Alden.” You say his name with a breathlessness that alarms him. “I need you to take over because I think I’m about to pass out.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#alden parker imagine #ncis x reader #alden parker x reader #alden parker x you #alden parker #ncis

[sunflowerabyss]

Charms of Fate: Chapter 15

Paring: Remus Lupin x Fem!Professor!Reader

Series Masterlist

Plot: Amidst the echoes of a bygone era, you return to Hogwarts years after parting ways with Hogwarts. What begins as a journey fueled by nostalgia transforms into an unexpected reunion with Remus Lupin, now a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. As the past intertwines with the present, the two former classmates navigate the complexities of grief, the resurgence of friendship, and the unwritten chapters of their shared history in this tale of rediscovery and the magic that binds them together.

Warnings: angst, fluff

_______________________________________________________

You, Hermione, and Harry raced to the tower where Sirius was after Buckbeak landed. Pulling out your wand, you yelled, "Bombarda!" and broke the door. The sound echoed through the tower, and the three of you rushed in, adrenaline pumping. As you entered the room, your eyes fell on the emaciated figure of Sirius, chained and weary, but a spark of hope ignited in his eyes at the sight of you.

Without hesitation, you approached him, wand at the ready. The chains binding Sirius clinked as you expertly cast the unlocking spell, setting him free. Quickly mounting the hippogriff, you all soared down to safety. The sound of Sirius' whoops and laughter filled the air, a joyous proclamation of freedom and vindication.

"I'll be forever grateful for this," Sirius said, "To all of you."

"I want to go with you," Harry replied.

"One day, perhaps," Sirius countered. "For some time, my life will be too unpredictable. And besides..." Sirius placed his hands on Harry's shoulder that reminded you of a father talking to his son, "you're meant to be here."

"But you're innocent," Harry frowned.

"And you know it," Sirius said, sitting Harry down on a bench and kneeling in front of him.

You jerked your head at Hermione, motioning to her to give the two brave men some space. You and her walked off a few feet away. You crossed your arms over your chest.

"I'm quite proud of you, Hermione," you state. Hermione furrowed her brows at you.

"Whatever for, Professor?" she asked.

You smiled down at her before answering, "You showed bravery and leadership that not many people here show all that often. Your quick thinking and intelligence are a big reason why we were so successful tonight." You let out a small laugh.

"If you want me to be honest, I think you were more of the adult than I was." You place a hand on her shoulder. "You might be the brightest witch of your age, but you are also kind, sharp-minded, and resilient. Tonight is a night I want you to look back on and be proud of yourself."

Hermione, one who always has words to say, is speechless as she pulls you into a tight hug, tears welling up in her eyes. She mumbles a small thank you against your dirty and torn sweater.

You see Harry and Sirius approaching you from the corner of your eye and you and Hermione step away from each other. Sirius walks up to you with a mischievous smile, a mix of playfulness and sincerity in his eyes. "You threatened me with a wand. Never thought I'd see the day."

You chuckled, "Well, Sirius, a bit of caution in uncertain times. But I always believed in your innocence. It just wasn't you."

"I understand. I would have done the same. Anything to protect James and Lily's boy."

Sirius pulled you into a warm embrace, his gratitude evident. "Take care of Moony for me, sweetheart. He deserves the happiness he's found with you."

"I will," you replied, hugging him tighter. "Don't be a stranger."

"Never," he said simply.

With those parting words, Sirius embraced you all once more. As he flew away on Buckbeak. The tender moment was ruined when the bell from the tower began to chime.

"We need to go," Hermione said promptly.

It was quite literally a race against the clock. The pounding of each of your footsteps against the stone of the castle filled your ears, almost as loud as the heart beating in your chest. Racing back to the infirmary, you bumped into Dumbledore closing the doors.

"Well?" he asked.

"We did it. It's fixed," Harry declared.

Dumbledore inquired, "What do you mean?" Walking down the stairs, he whistled. You scrunched your nose at the odd man that Albus was.

Just in time, you, Hermione, and Harry opened the doors to witness your past selves vanishing.

Confused, Ron questioned, "How did you get there? You were just here; I was talking to you. And now you're there?"

The three of you laughed, and you asked, "Harry, Hermione, what is he talking about?"

Hermione replied, "No idea, Professor."

"Yeah Ron, it's not like you can be two places at once," Harry added.

____________________________________________________

Harry walked into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, making his way up the stairs to Remus' office. As he entered, he couldn't help but notice the sorry state Remus was in. Remus, catching Harry's stare, managed a weak smile.

"Believe me, I've looked worse," Remus remarked as he packed his belongings into boxes. Harry surveyed the office, noticing the numerous boxes and chests containing Remus' things. "You've been sacked," Harry observed.

Remus shook his head, tearing some papers in frustration. "No, I resigned actually."

"Resigned? Why?" Harry inquired.

"Well, it seems that somebody let slip the nature of my condition. This time tomorrow, the owls will start arriving, and parents will not want, um, someone like me teaching their children."

"But Dumbledore—"

"Dumbledore has already risked a lot on my behalf. Besides, people like me are… well, let's just say I'm used to it by now." Remus flicked his wand, closing his trunk with a sigh. "Why do you look so miserable, Harry?" he asked.

"Because none of it made any difference," Harry replied with a heavy heart.

"Didn't make any difference? Harry, it made all the difference in the world. You helped uncover the truth. You saved an innocent man from a terrible fate. It made a great deal of difference. I am proud, if anything." Remus handed the Marauder's Map back to Harry. "And since I'm no longer your teacher, I have no guilt giving this back to you."

Harry managed a small smile. "Have you told her?" he asked, his tone somber. "The truth? That you're leaving?"

Remus' eyes narrowed. "No, and it's for the best. I have done enough damage to her. It's best if she doesn't."

"She'll never forgive you."

"I would rather her hate me for leaving than her loving me and risk getting hurt again."

Your voice cut through the tension, firm and unwavering, "That's not for you to decide, Remus." Harry, sensing the need for privacy, bid a quiet farewell and left the room, leaving you and Remus alone.

The atmosphere was charged as you both locked eyes. Remus, ever perceptive, noticed the scars on your face that mirrored his own, and regret flickered across his eyes. The air between you two was heavy with unspoken words, the weight of years of longing and separation.

"This isn't some Romeo and Juliet story, Remus," you asserted, breaking the silence.

Remus, however, countered, "But isn't it? Two lovers, destined to be apart because of something bigger than both of them."

"I don't care that you're leaving," you confessed, frustration laced with emotion evident in your voice. "I care that you were never going to tell me. I spent years without you, and I don't want to spend a second more without you."

The scars on your face and the pain in your eyes mirrored his own struggles. He knew he couldn't protect you from every danger, but old habits died hard.

"I don't want to see you hurt because of me," Remus confessed, his eyes searching yours for understanding.

"This isn't about protecting me. It's about us," you emphasized, your frustration giving way to a plea. "I won't let you go without a fight."

As Remus continued to pack, you couldn't stand idly by. You reached out, gently grasping his arm to halt his movements. "I love you, and I won't let you walk away."

The room seemed to shrink with the intensity of your emotions. Remus, caught between the desire to protect and the longing for a shared future, felt the weight of your words.

The gravity of your words hung in the air, and Remus felt the weight of your honesty. In that moment, something shifted. He realized the depth of your feelings and the pain he had inadvertently caused. Remus took a step closer, his expression softening.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he admitted, remorse coloring his voice. "I was trying to protect you, but..." he trailed off. "I can't even do that."

"Then don't," you urged, your gaze unwavering. "Don't hurt both of us by leaving without giving us a chance."

Remus took a deep breath, torn between his fears and the love he felt for you. The room hung in suspense, the air thick with the unresolved tension between you.

You reached out, gently tracing the lines of his face with your fingers, mirroring the scars that told stories of both pain and strength. "You can't protect me from my own choices, Remus. I'm not asking you to shield me; I'm asking you to share the burden with me."

Remus nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I don't want to leave you," he confessed, vulnerability in his gaze.

"And I don't want you to," you replied, determination in your voice.

In that moment, the barriers that held you apart for so long crumbled. Remus pulled you into his arms, and you held him tightly. The reconciliation was bittersweet, but it carried the promise of a new beginning.

"I love you," Remus whispered against your hair.

"I never stopped," you whispered back.

The resolution came with shared kisses, mending the wounds of the past and promising a future where the two of you would face challenges together. Love had weathered the storm, and now, it was time to embrace the calm.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #older!remus lupin #older!remus lupin x reader #professor!remus lupin x reader #professor!remus lupin #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #sirius black #hogwarts #jk rowling

[cynoisms]

Short little thing about he/they Phantom feeling insecure..xp

prewarning tags: body dysmorphia, slight sh mention (just scars), hurt no comfort 💗

below the cut <3

Most ghouls are comfortable with who they are. I mean, who wouldn't be? All ghouls are different, no two are exactly alike so why does it matter? What bothers him so much?

He doesn't know. He doesn't want to know. What they do want, is to curl up behind the couch and nest there until he feels better. Away from wandering eyes and judgemental stares.

But he can’t.

The moment he steps outside their white walls of confinement is the moment they’re perceived by his packmates, by his Papa, by the Sisters who happen to walk by, the abbey kits, and the other ghouls they don't quite know yet.

He never wants to meet them, not Ifrit, not Mist, not Alpha, or Pebble, Ivy, Zephyr, Sunny…

None of them. No matter how much Mountain or Dew talk about them. Because the moment he meets everyone else he’s perceived by their eyes and they can't control how.

So they find themself curled up in his wardrobe instead. Safe from the never-ending series of eyes falling on their crooked body. Shielding himself from the sight of limbs jutting out in odd angles. No longer staring at the mass of broken bone and torn skin

They grip their arms, feeling the marred texture underneath. Frustration pools in his eyes.

Why couldn't he just be…normal? Why did they have to be so bothered by anything and everything? Fangs dig into his lip, a loud whine slipping out.

Their breathing starts to quicken at the imagery of their body. Why couldn't he be normal? Why couldn't he be like every other ghoul and just live?

They’re trembling in the wardrobe now, wishing for a hug from Swiss or Aurora, but he just can’t bring himself to the thought of their eyes on him.

They feel like throwing up, tears are streaming down his face; soaking into oversized sweaters and baggy pants, none of which belong to him.

Oh how he wishes a sense of normalcy, but their eyes were watching.

Their eyes were watching and he must obey.

But who’s eyes are they? Who’s forcing him to react like this?

It was them. Always their fault. Always their thoughts.

Never-ending eyes..

No longer safe in his wardrobe, alone he weeps.

#tommys rambling #phantom ghoul #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #angst #aeon ghoul #im sorry phantom #i still love you i swear

[mask131]

The evolution of Morticia Addams (2)

Step two of Morticia’s “life” : the 60s television series. Here is the sitcom Morticia, as played by Carolyn Jones.

Of course, due to being played by Carolyn Jones, Morticia couldn’t keep the “ruined beauty” and withering style of the original cartoon. Her appearance still stayed the same - thin, tall, pale, with long dark hair, and a tight-fitting hobble black dress. But she is now much more conventionaly beautiful, as well as much more “glamorous” in design. Her robe doesn’t look as much torn out as elegantly cut, her hair is much more lush than in the drawings, and we can also note the addition of a few jewels: a jeweled ring on the finger, a small necklace on the collarbone... This is a much more classicaly elegant gothic lady, a more... “aristocratic” look. They even hint at her paleness not even being natural: she rather uses baking powder as makeup! 

On a similar note, for the sake of acting, this Morticia lacks the emotionless of the original cartoons. She isn’t a perpetual blasé as Charles Addams conceived her: she is a pleasant, charming, happy woman/wife/host who smiles and laughs (though quietly). She can be prone to anger or jealousy sometimes, and we see her shed tears. She is emotive (though not much more emotive than regular people - just more emotive than her original incarnation). But despite these emotions, she stays the calm and quiet member of the family - in front of her husband’s reckless, enthusiastic, extravagant behavior (or Uncle Fester’s), she is a voice of prudence and reasons who advices caution and is always ready to prepare a nice cup of henbane to soothe people’s nerves. Even her movements are restrained by her tight-fitting dress (which makes her only more “elegant” in gestures). In fact, it is this quietness that makes her bizarre in the eyes of normal people: where the original Morticia’s lack of visible emotions made her eerie, Jones’ Morticia disturbs people because of how calmly, quietly and normally she reacts to the most unusual or distressing things. 

The Morticia of the 60s television series was designed to be the opposite of the “classical” couples seen on television. She was designed to not fit in the classical “bickering couples” seen so much on sitcoms: she deeply loves and cares for her husband and family, she is the one that easily gets worried for them whenever something seems to go “wrong”, but she is also willing to make sacrifices or changes for the good and well-being of others. Her feuds with Gomez are rare and memorable, and most of the time just based on misunderstandings easily solved. This is part of Morticia’s general kind and caring behavior: she is always displeased by seeing people unhappy, and always ready to help them... in her own ways. She can still be stern and firm though, for example if someone tries to flirt with her (she reminds them that she is married and a faithful wife), or if someone is rude to her or her family.

On the other hand, Morticia does fit a lot of the classical tropes of the 50s and 60s sitcoms, notably by fitting (in her own way) the “housewife” role. Unlike in the original cartoon, for example, she is seen cooking and preparing all sorts of things for the family: meals of unusual meats (such as alligator’s), stews with unusual ingredients (eye of newts and other bizarre things), or cups of henbane instead of cup of teas. Like her original version she likes knitting, but here she knits sweaters for various members of the family (she likes to send gifts to distant cousins, aunts and uncles) ; and her passion for plants of the old cartoons is translated here into a full passion for gardening. But unlike a traditional 50s housewife front-lawn garden of little flowers, Morticia feeds regularly a greenhouse of exotic carnivorous plants with pieces of meat, her favorite (and most notorious) being Cleopatra, an “African Strangler” often seen bothering the Addams’ guests. And unlike traditional gardeners, when she picks a flower about to bloom, it is to cut its bud off.

Despite playing several of the classical “housewife” tropes, Morticia is also quite unique as she is a very talented and cultivated woman with talents for various domains : a recurring topic of the television series is her picking on a new hobby or a new occupation, and excelling at it, but sometimes getting too passionate and neglecting her husband or family as a result. As such she has been seen to be a very talented writer of children stories, an excellent painter, and a quite gifted sculptress - she fits very well with the “strange bohemian family of artists in a little traditional suburban neighborhood” vibe the show intended to display. Among the many talents of this woman are also musical ones: she is from time to time seen playing music, notably with a Japanese shamisen. (Because you know, back in 60s America everything that was too foreign in nature was just weird and bizarre). 

While the show did not made Morticia as ghoulish as her original incarnation, they still tried to kept little hints at her inhuman nature here and there - notably with the most memorable joke of her character. “Can I smoke?”. Morticia loves to “smoke”, but what she means by that is crossing her arms, and having smoke come out of her body. Several details and elements of the show also strongly hint that Morticia is actually a witch (ranging from her wearing a pointy witch hat from time to time, to her ancestry going back to Salem, and the witchy nature of her immediate relatives - because in this show she is the “outsider” part of the Addams clan, due to being born in the Frump family, close friends to the Addamses, but still not of the same bloodline). 

#morticia addams #morticia #the addams family #addams family #60s #television series #sitcom #carolyn jones

[redeemingvillains]

the soul's brand (vi) - draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x half-blood fem!reader

summary: in an effort to keep you safe, you and draco make a drastic decision, but will it work?

word count: 3.1k

chapter five series masterlist

Each night you spent together, while more carefree now that you had settled into the truth, felt more and more like the last, like sand slipping through an hourglass, impossible to see how much time was left until it was too late.

You were adamant that you focused on being with each other and keeping things lighthearted, but the torn pages of the book sat heavily in Draco’s pocket. He managed to keep it to himself for nearly the rest of the week, each night content to focus on you, to laugh, to tell stories, to forget for a little while.

Friday came around and you were curled in his arms watching the fire. You had been a little on edge all night. Draco noticed the change in your temperament but trusted you tell him if it was something you wanted him to know and before long you broke the silence. “I know you’re worried about me being safe. And, after everything you’ve told me, I’m honestly a little worried myself.”

He hugged you tighter upon hearing that, distraught at the idea that he had worried you and pressed a kiss to your cheek as if that could solve all of the world’s problems. “But I was reading something the other day, a spell…” You pulled a small piece of parchment out of your pocket covered in the neat lines of your script. You fidgeted as you turned to look at him. Were you nervous? he thought. You were never nervous around him and he found it endearing, sweet even to see a side of you he’d never seen. He was swept up in the way you worried your bottom lip with your teeth, he wanted to kiss away every worry when you said “It’s called Anima Notam” and he couldn’t hide the shock on his face as he sat up straighter.

“You know it” you said, your voice falling a little, realizing that if he knew it but hadn’t mentioned it you were taking things a little too far suggesting that you cast a charm reserved for spouses, for soulmates. “Forget it, it’s silly really, there’s not a lot of evidence that it even does anything.”

His mouth hung open as he looked at you before digging into his own pocket and pulling out the pages from the book. You took a minute to register it before meeting his eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it involves burning my initials into your skin and included descriptive phrases like “excruciatingly painful branded mark”" he said emphatically. “Plus, like you said, there’s no guarantee. I would never put you through something like that without a guarantee it would work.”

You looked down at your notes and took the pages from him, reading the text through slowly. “I couldn’t find anything else…” you said after a while.

“Me either” he said quietly.

“Draco, I don’t think we have a choice. If there’s even a chance this will do something, I’ll take it. After everything you’ve told me…” you swallowed back mental images of Fenrir, Nagini, of the ruthless evil he had described… “I don’t want to face this alone; I don’t think I can do it.”

He hated this. He hated how scared you looked. He hated all of this, the fact that you even had to discuss this.

“My mom has it” he said. “I didn’t realize it at first, but I recognized the picture of the scarred mark, I just never put it together before. It has to be somewhat legitimate if she has it.” You nodded, eyes meeting his. You took a deep breath and pulled up the sleeve of your sweater, holding your arm out to him. “Will you?” you asked quietly, vulnerably.

What did ever do to deserve someone like you? He had no idea. But he knew he had to keep you safe and this was the only way he knew how.

He pulled you gently off the couch to the ground with him, his back against the sofa as he faced the fire and pulled your back into his chest, his large frame engulfing yours as you sat between his legs. He held you against him for a brief moment in a warm embrace, whether to calm you down or to calm him down you weren’t sure. He flattened the crumbled book pages beside him so he could read them and took your bare wrist in his hand. The spell wasn’t hard, but he wasn’t sure how he would cope with the pain he would be inflicting on you, which was why he was adamant about holding you in his arms the entire time. He brought your wrist up to his lips, kissing it tenderly before kissing the side of your head and whispering. “I love you. And I am so, so sorry.”

“I love you Draco” you whispered back the weight of the words matching the weight of the moment as he held your arm firmly in his hand and set his wand upon your wrist.

As Draco spoke the words of the spell, he rested his head against yours and you closed your eyes, feeling the weight of him and the pressure of his wand against your wrist.

Within seconds an unimaginable pain burned from your wrist to the tips of each of your fingers and up your arm and you tried to tug yourself away without thinking as a pained gasp escaped your lips. His voice quivered but he held you firmly in place with his body. You opened your eyes, certain that he had plunged your hand into the fireplace. Your wrist was smoking and the room smelled of burnt flesh. You had burned yourself occasionally with your curling iron, leaving a small raised mark on your neck or on your fingers that was sensitive for days. Now it felt like he was holding the entire iron against your wrist. You squirmed and yelped as tears fell freely from your eyes. “D-D-Draco" you cried, unsure if you could go on. You could feel him shaking and holding you tighter against him, speaking the spell clearly but through gritted teeth, the smell and the pain nearly making you sick. Just as you felt yourself slipping from consciousness he relented, tossing his wand down and letting your arm go, a bruise forming where had held it so tightly. You immediately pulled your arm into yourself, pulling your legs to your chest as Draco scrambled to pull you into his lap. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” he repeated over and over again as he pressed kisses to the top of your head, his shaking breath matching your own. He held you, rocking you back and forth. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

After a few moments, he whispered “please look at me.” You raised your tear-stained face to him before looking down at your wrist. An angry red burn marked a cursive DM about the size of a galleon on your wrist. The pain was still so bright you could feel your heartbeat there as you rested your head against his chest, exhausted. “Please tell me you don’t hate me” he said.

“I could never hate you, Draco. I asked for this and I’m sure once I can think straight again, I’ll be happy we did it. I know I’ll be happy either way to carry a piece of you with me...” you said, drifting off. He realized the pain had exhausted you so he pulled a blanket over you both as you slept on him and he stroked your hair.

By the next morning your wrist looked and felt much better. The swelling had subsided and the angry red skin had faded leaving only the faint, white, raised outline of DM on your wrist. It was still a bit tender to the touch but you had slept longer and harder than you had in ages, deep into black nothingness. You woke tangled in pillows and blankets on the floor of the Room of Requirement, tucked into Draco as he slept soundly beside you, an arm thrown protectively around you. He awoke to the feeling of you looking at him, smiling, as you brushed hair out of his eyes. For a moment, he thought he was still dreaming, your warm body pressed against his, your smile, the feeling of your fingers in his hair, his eyes fluttered with sleep. I could get used to waking up next to her he thought before he remembered what had happened the night before, rising quickly, wanting to be sure you felt alright, carefully examining your wrist. “How does it feel?” he asked while he fussed over you.

“It’s okay, I’m okay” you said, laughing sleepily at his reaction. “It doesn’t hurt if that’s what you mean... I don’t feel any different, though. Not sure if that’s intended or not?” Were you supposed to feel less afraid? Stronger? You couldn’t tell.

Draco looked down at his initials on your skin, his heart aching with the echoed sounds of your pained cries in his head. But something about seeing his name, his mark on you made him unfairly happy. Just when he thought he couldn’t possibly be more attracted to you, here you were bearing the brand of his soul on your body. He leaned over and kissed you deeply, pushing you back into the pile of pillows and blankets as he covered your body with his own. You were only momentarily caught off guard by his fervor until you met it with your own, your tongues twirling together and your heart racing in your chest. For a brief moment you felt your wrist twitch, a tingle running through it like warm honey.

Throughout the day, even when you weren’t physically near Draco you felt closer to him. The idea that he had marked you as his own stirred something deep inside you. It was clear how much he cared for you and agonized over keeping you safe and this was as close to a public declaration of his affection as you could get, much more impressive than the displays of affection you saw in the corridors between classes: held hands and chaste kisses.

You smiled knowingly to yourself. You felt on top of the world. What you had was much more intimate, much more meaningful, much more permanent. His name would be immortalized on your body forever. You found yourself eagerly looking forward to tonight, more eager than you had ever been to be back in his arms. There was a heightened weight on the night that felt important. You were meticulous with your hair and makeup, careful not to wake your roommates. You tiptoed out of the common room early, unable to wait any longer to see him. You bounced nervously on the balls of your feet, waiting to see that unmistakable flash of white hair in the dark, to capture his smirk with your lips, to feel his arms around you. It felt like more than a day had gone by since you had woken up in his arms.

You looked down at your watch. It was 10 minutes past midnight. He was rarely late, but you didn’t let that worry you, too excited to think clearly.

At 12:30 you began to get impatient, sitting down to lean against the wall.

Just before 1:00 you felt your wrist tingle. It wasn’t painful, but it was like you could feel your heartbeat there again. You rubbed it absentmindedly but the feeling only got stronger. You pulled up your sleeve and were shocked to see what looked like light under your skin, tracing the initials like a ghost running its finger over them. It marked the scripted D and the curving M and repeated the rhythm, D, M, D, M pulsing in time with your heartbeat. You were on your feet before you knew what you were doing. Somehow you knew he wasn’t coming. Somehow you knew you needed to go back to your room, now.

You crept back through the corridors as the thrum of your wrist continued, unrelenting. Part of you wanted to run and find Draco, but the beat and pulse of your wrist told you better. You crawled back into your bed, fully dressed, heart and mind racing, trying to comprehend what was going on.

Sleep evaded you so when the sound of distant shattered glass hit your ears and it felt like the castle rocked side to side you shot straight out of bed. You and your roommates made your way into the common room. The pulse on your wrist had resumed and you pulled your sweater over your palm.

Several of you wandered into the corridor to find various parts of the castle in disarray. As you walked further towards the Great Hall the ground was littered with broken glass and stone, dust and ash flying through the air on a cool spring breeze. You turned the corner to see every pane of glass shattered in the Great Hall, the breeze shaking the remains of the tattered house banners in the ceiling. Hysteria set in quickly as students began to panic, bumping and pushing into each other, scrambling back towards the common rooms or trying to get their own look at the Great Hall, fear permeating in the unknown.

You searched frantically for Draco but the crowd was in utter chaos. You felt someone grab your arm and turned to see Hermione and Ron. You grasped each other firmly in a brief hug before you heard murmurs and shouts from the courtyard. A large crowd had gathered around something, something you knew couldn’t be good; you didn’t need the pulsing of your wrist to tell you that as you saw the foreboding clouds in the sky gathering in the form of the Dark Mark. You were sick to your stomach, desperate to know what it was and afraid to look at the same time. You gripped Hermione’s hand firmly in your own as you got closer only to see your headmaster laying prostrate on the ground, unmoving, unbreathing. You choked back a sob at the grim scene in front of you, of what it meant, of who might have done this, gripped with terror to know how it happened, praying, pleading that it wasn’t what you thought.

Before long, Harry appeared, pushing through the crowd and falling at Dumbledore’s side. Your eyes bubbled with tears, mirrored in the eyes of so many of your classmates as you watched in pained silence as he wept. Professor McGonagall lifted her wand silently, casting a beam of light. You all followed suit, creating just enough light for the clouds in the sky to fade, leaving the grounds awash in a grey pallor.

The professors and staff were in such a state of shock they didn’t have it in them to call for order. The careful façade of the safe haven they had tried to create this year was shattered by the corpse on the ground. The castle remained in utter chaos that night, with students wandering aimlessly, travelling in small groups, heads huddled, whispering, crying, spreading rumors about what happened.

You, Harry, Hermione and Ron found a quiet corner of a nearby courtyard. Harry had been there. He had seen what had happened.

He didn’t know about you and Draco, he only knew that you knew him distantly from your childhood, which is why he thought you continued to defend him, though he didn’t understand why. Now, you tried desperately to read the expression on Harry’s face to see if your worst fear had come true. Had Draco truly done the unimaginable? Worse, if he hadn’t, what had happened to him? He wasn’t anywhere to be found in the castle, you knew that if he was, he would have found you by now. And the mark on your wrist was eerily silent, returned to a simple scar.

Harry was understandably distraught. Though hours had passed, he was still breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to tell you all what had happened. He relayed an unimaginable story about travelling to an oceanside cavern to retrieve a locket, a piece of You Know Who’s soul. He told of how he fed a cursed and poisoned liquid to Dumbledore and was then overwhelmed by a sea of the living dead, how they barely escaped with their lives.

As if that wasn’t enough, he said when they returned to the castle, Dumbledore forced him to hide as none other than Draco Malfoy appeared. Harry sneered. He was furious and you felt your heart sink into your stomach. You had stopped breathing. Hermione cast you a sidelong glance as Harry continued. “I was right. He’s one of them, he’s a Death Eater and he’s been trying to kill Dumbledore all year.”

Your chin quivered and you bit your lip as tears burned behind your eyes.

“Blimey” muttered Ron under his breath, his face awash in the disbelief that you felt settling in your own bones.

“He disarmed Dumbledore, he said he didn’t have a choice, that Voldemort was making him do it. Dumbledore tried to talk to him, to reason with him, but it was useless. Before long the door burst open and in walked Snape, Bellatrix, Fenrir and a few other Death Eaters I didn’t recognize. They were adamant, encouraging him on.” His voice choked and you felt a sob burning at the back of your throat, though not for the same reason.

“In the end it was Snape.”

You let out the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. “What?!” you said with so much force the trio looked at you.

“It was Snape” Harry confirmed. “He stepped in front of Draco and he killed him. He killed Dumbledore.”

You lowered your head into your hands, breathing heavily as you took it all in, your emotions warring within you. You were relieved that Draco hadn’t had to do something unimaginably cruel. You were in disbelief that your ongoing suspicion of Snape’s double life had been confirmed. You were in mourning that Albus Dumbledore was dead, terrified for what that meant for the future.

Dumbledore was the only wizard You Know Who had truly feared. And now he was gone.

chapter seven series masterlist

taglist: @moiravim

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy x you #draco lucius malfoy #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Nobody

CW: Choking/strangulation, whumper as whumpee, guns, brief dubcon and gore mentions, brief gendered slur towards the end

For @amonthofwhump day 11: Strangulation

You can find more Nanda on Jameson’s masterlist

-

He was stupid, really. Just fucking full-on stupid. No excuse for it, no reason, no understandable explanation for what he'd overlooked. Forgetting to check one single room in the enormous house. Losing track of one person for just a few seconds. Not even his assigned target. 

Just one single man in one single room that Nathaniel Benson hadn't accounted for.

One stupid mistake, and now he's on his back with heavy hands closed tight around his neck, gasping for a thin thread of air he can just barely pull into his lungs. 

This asshole, with a face like a thumb that got delusions of grandeur, is going to kill him and dump his body and Nanda's brand new house will go to some chump who doesn't even deserve it. 

"Let… go-" He hisses, but honestly, he doesn't even know if this guy speaks any English. There's no reason for Thumb Face to know it, they're deep inside the borders of another nation across the breadth of the world. But he says it anyway.

It's pure instinct, and just as stupid as forgetting to check that room. Like the guy will just decide to pull back, whoopsie-doodle, guess I'll stop trying to kill you since you clearly don't actually want me to… 

As it is, the guy only sneers down at him, and leans forward. His weight on Nanda's stomach keeps him pressed into the floor, just a few feet away from his gun. 

He could fix this, if he could only reach that gun. Just a few inches too far away. Just a little too far. 

Just far enough. 

Bright white bursts like fireworks flash in his vision, his body pleading with him for oxygen he can't provide. Between those sparking lights, he can see the snarling expression of the man who will soon murder him, his teeth far too white to seem real, sweat beading up on his forehead over a pulsing vein. 

I am going to die at the hands of a man who looks like a child drew him while blindfolded. 

His fingernails scrape and scrabble along the man's thick forearms, gaining purchase but no strength to pull him away. He's already torn long red gashes, but none of it moves the man at all. 

If only he could reach his fucking gun-

His vision grows dark at the edges, heart pounding, desperate to force what oxygen he has left to his brain to keep it working for as long as it can. 

The darkness is growing… 

Who will even miss him? After he's pitched into some dark river and found by police who see no identification on an anonymous corpse? Who would notice when Nathaniel Benson never comes home?

No one. No-fucking-body.

He has a brand-new, entirely empty six-bedroom house with a cleaning lady paid by automatic draft who has never seen his face. It would take a year for the drafts to stop. He has a series of one-night stands with cute boys who come their brains out under his whip and his dick but never want to fuck him twice to show for every time he's tried to find someone with tastes like his own who won't tell a safeword as soon as things really get fun. Phone numbers that won't pick up if he calls. Pretty men who leave when he enters the bar. 

He has a sister who would mourn him, but he only speaks with Sammie once a month or so… oh, and nieces and nephews who might remember him for a couple of years. He has parents who pretend he never existed until he's right in front of them…

Who would miss him? 

Christ, who would even pay for the tombstone? Or even be notified if anyone did identify his body? One stupid mistake and his life stops like it never began. 

Nanda finds just enough air to grunt, but when he tries once more to breathe in, the bastard's thumbs on his windpipe and his fingers closed tight leave no room. 

The air stops in his mouth, over his tongue, sits there like a weight or the name of a lover he doesn't have. 

The guy's wearing a V-neck sweater and when he leans over so far his stomach is pressing to Nanda's chest, he sees a flash of light on dull metal through the growing darkness taking over his vision. 

He doesn't think about it. Thinking is getting harder, it would take too long to think it through. Instead, he pulls his right hand back, jams it up under the guy's shirt, and pulls the gun awkwardly out of the underarm holster he's wearing. 

He's nearly gone, he can't see anymore. His heart pounds in his temples and ears and he hears absolutely nothing when his finger pulls the trigger, once twice three times, the gun kicking back into his own stomach, over and over. 

He's not even sure if he really fired it - or just hallucinated it - until the hands on his throat go slack and then fall away, as the man slumps to the side, half-on and half-off of Nanda.

He coughs as his throat whistles with new breath, head spinning from the lack of and sudden overwhelm of oxygen, laying limp on the cold hard floor. 

The man with his thumb-shaped head coughs, too, but it doesn't do him any good. He'd coughing in a thick, wet way that tells Nanda he shot through his lungs, or at least through one. 

Nanda manages to shove him off the rest of the way, and with agony starting to throb behind his eyes, he rolls onto his side and then onto his hands and knees to crawl to the place his own gun had fallen. The thumb man's gun in one hand, his own in the other, he turns around to face the dying asshole whose hands he can still feel like ghosts clinging to his throat. 

"Fuck you," He says in a rasping, whistling thin reedy voice. "I wasn't even h-here to kill you."

He raises his own gun, a wonderful familiar weight, and fires. 

The man's head abruptly loses half its bulk and now it isn't shaped like anything at all. But the wall behind him is painted a beautiful bright red streaked with grayish-white. 

Nathaniel Benson slowly drags himself to his feet, holstering his own gun, stumbling down the hallway. He checks his watch, closing his eyes as the world lurches around him when he tries to focus on the numbers. 

The target will be home soon. 

He has two hours to clean this mess up if he wants the kill to be according to his original plan. Or, he supposes, he could brew some tea, clean up his fingerprints, and kill the bitch when she walks in the front door after the opera. Or just after.

Let her see her thumb-lover's body, first. Let her mourn him. If she even does. He’s not sure how anyone could mourn someone who smelled so much like beer cheese dip without pretzels.

Still, give the target a couple of hours to discover him.

Then kill her. 

Nanda leans back against the wall, his own sweat trickling down the back of his neck to disappear into his shirt. 

Get the job done. Get home.

And then go find someone who will do anything he wants and still miss him when he's gone. 

-

@finder-of-rings  @endless-whump  @arlinthesnep  @thefancydoughnut  @newandfiguringitout  @doveotions  @pretty-face-breaker  @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow  @boxboysandotherwhump  @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump  @whump-tr0pes  @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump  @whumpiary  @orchidscript  @nonsensical-whump  @outofangband  @eatyourdamnpears  @hackles-up  @grizzlie70  @mylifeisonthebookshelf  @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp

#whump #amow winter whumperland 2022 #strangulation #choking #choking tw #whumper turned whumpee #choking whump #bbu #but only vaguely #box boy universe #nanda #he is so fucking weird #Nanda in the Before Jameson times #contract killer #assassin #failed assassination #hitman whump #hitman #look we can't always be perfect at our jobs right #whump community #whump writing

[bbgem329]

Things Are Never As They Seem—Chapter Sixteen

Pairings—Sebastian Stan x Actress!Reader, Sebastian Stan x OFC (PR relationship)

Summary

You and Sebastian Stan have been dating privately for over two years. Everything is perfect until he is coerced into a PR relationship when he signed with a new agency to advance his career. Trouble ensues…

Warnings

MINORS DNI!!! 18+++. SMUT. PIV. Love making!!! Soft, Christmas fluff. Language. PR relationships. HW is gross. Did I miss anything?

Notes!!!

Thank you sooo much for your patience! Life has been a little crazy for me with school and work but I’m back and going to really, REALLY try to be better about consistently posting! Thank you for your support ! ❤️❤️

Series Masterlist

—————

December 25, 2020

“Merry Christmas, Momma!”

You peeked over the top of your book to find Sebastian standing on the opposite end of the living room, a sleepy Bentley cradled to his chest.

Your brows furrowed, a light giggle slipping past your lips as you pulled yourself into a sitting position, distractedly setting your book aside. “Is that a Santa hat?” You tilted your head to the side, nose scrunching, “With ear holes?”

“Isn’t it amazing?” He laughed, shuffling closer as he repositioned the pup in his arms, dangling him in front of you. “I found it yesterday while I was picking up more wine and the stuff for the charcuterie board tonight. I wanted to surprise you with it.” He dipped forward, head tilting at the last minute to press a quick kiss to Bentley’s furry cheek before flashing you a beaming grin. “I think he loves it.”

Bentley looked highly unamused, borderline disgruntled but you kept your mouth shut, not wanting to dim the pride shining in Sebastian’s baby blue eyes. He was obviously pleased with himself so you’d let him have his moment for now because there was absolutely no way Bentley would wear that all day. No matter how hard you tried, the dog refused to wear anything—a little, yellow rain jacket you found at the local pet store, a hand knitted Christmas sweater you bought from a boutique at the Christmas market, a big, blue tuxedo bow for his collar.

It wouldn’t be long until you found it torn in half or ripped to shreds. You gave it twenty minutes—tops.

“Aren’t you just the cutest thing, Bent.” You lifted a hand to scratch just beneath the pup's jaw, showing him a little love and appreciation for being such a good boy and putting up with his dads silly antics. “So handsome.”

Sebastian gave one last little ruffle to his head before setting him back on his four feet. You tried to bite back a grimace as he immediately took off towards your bedroom, no doubt to get up to some trouble and find a way to get that Santa hat off.

Hopefully you found the scraps before Sebastian did.

“He’s going to tear it to shreds, right?”

Your head whipped in his direction as he plopped down on the sofa beside you, a pained, guilty smile splitting across your face.

He nodded, lips pressed in a thin line, “I thought so.”

You shuffled closer, snuggling right into his side as he lifted an arm over your shoulders and pulled you closer. “He’s just a puppy.” You whispered, tilting your head back to kiss his dimpled chin. “He’s a little baby. He’ll get better.”

“I know.” He huffed out and you couldn’t help but hide your smile against his neck over the cute, exaggerated pout on his lips. “And I will admit, for the most part, he’s a great dog.” He sighed softly, strong arms wrapping you up tighter in his embrace, pulling you effortlessly across his lap, your blanket falling to the floor and exposing your bare legs. “Just wish he wouldn’t tear the shit we buy him. I mean,” He tossed an arm out, shaking his head softly, “That rain jacket was fucking adorable.”

You chuckled, head bobbing frantically in agreement, “I know right.” You slid your hands up his bare chest, stroking gently over the soft skin as his large hands wandered your thighs, “I don’t think I’ll ever get over that.”

Sebastian laughed lightly, shaking his head again for a moment. “Anyways.” He mumbled, squeezing you tighter to him, pressing a kiss to the top of head before nuzzling your hair a little. “Good morning, baby. You were up early.”

“Good morning, sexy.” You let slip a bit of a giggle, tilting your head up, hooded gaze locking with his as you slid your left hand further up his chest, over his throat, and around to tug at the fluffy locks at the nape of his neck. “Merry Christmas.”

“Mmm.” Sebastian leaned forward to brush his lips over yours, one large hand skimming up your back to cup the back of your neck as the other remained steadily on your waist. “I wanted to wake up to you.”

“I’m sorry.” You breathed out, lips just barely skimming his, “I was too anxious and excited for today.”

You drew him closer with a firm yank to his hair as you adjusted yourself to straddle his lap, thighs on either side of his waist before finally connecting your mouths in a heated kiss. Sebastian groaned into your open mouth when you parted your lips, allowing his tongue to slip seamlessly in to tangle with your own.

It wasn’t long before you felt yourself getting lost in the kiss, your only thoughts on the taste, feel, and smell of him. The way his hands traveled your waist, down to your ass giving it a desperate squeeze, pulling you harder against him. The taste of fresh and mint on his breath, letting you know he’d brushed his teeth for this purpose before coming to find you. The pleasurable feeling of his growing bulge hidden beneath his tight gray briefs, brushing perfectly against the apex of your thighs.

All of it was almost too much but not nearly enough at the same time.

Your head lolled back, a soft moan tumbling from your lips as Sebastian’s lips left your own to trail soft, open mouthed kisses across your jaw and down your neck.

You let your hands wander as your eyes fluttered shut, allowing them to trail down and over his smooth, toned back and through his ruffled locks as you unconsciously ground yourself down on him.

It felt so fucking good. And it had been so long since you’d felt him like this—been touched by him like this. You couldn’t believe you almost forgot what it was like.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, baby.” Sebastian groaned against your neck, grip tightening on your hips, pushing and pulling you against him.

You liked when he did that—moved you how he liked, took control. It made you feel so small and safe. Like you were in more than capable hands.

“You drive me nuts.” He grit out, tangling his fingers in your locks and with a hard yank, your head snapped back, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Did you know that?”

The heat in his dark gaze sent a new wave of slick into your panties. As if you weren’t wet enough before. Just one glance from him and you were soaked most of the time. You both loathed and loved the effect he had on you—particularly the former over the past couple days since he’d shown up at your door.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold out on him. You’d said you needed time and that was true but every day the itch became stronger and stronger—making it nearly impossible to resist.

Would it be so bad?

You couldn’t find a reason not to when it felt this good. Nothing would ever feel better than his hands on your body—him inside of you. And the only thing between you now was a pair of briefs and your panties.

And you knew.

You knew if you gave in, it would feel a billion times better than this.

“Tell me to stop.” Sebastian begged, voice cracking slightly. You couldn’t remember a time you’d seen him so desperate, so needy. The wild look in his eye, the pleasant flush spreading from his cheeks down to his heaving toned chest, the distinguishable swell in his pink lips from how desperately they brushed your own. “Please. I won’t be able to stop.”

You didn’t want him to stop though.

And you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t plan for this when you slipped on these comfy, gray cheeky panties and matching bralette top after your shower this morning. As if you hadn’t shaved and exfoliated your entire body as thoroughly and quietly as you could before he woke this morning.

You were ready.

And it was perfectly okay to want this.

Sebastian was yours to love, and you were his.

Time between the two of you was limited lately and shouldn’t be wasted on petty fights and “punishments” when in just a few short weeks, you’d be apart again. And with all the talking through things and issues you’d worked through, he knew very well what he did was wrong and had more than made it up to you.

You were done waiting. You needed him now.

“Don’t stop.” You gasped out, hands sliding up to grip his shoulders, giving yourself more leverage to grind yourself down over his bulge. “Don’t ever stop.”

Something akin to a pained whimper slipped from between his lips, “Are you sure?”

You didn’t hear him, too lost in the pleasure building between your legs, core tightening with every pass over your clothed clit against his covered, hard cock.

Just a little more. And then you’d be there-

“Y/N.”

You let loose a pitiful whine as he pinned your hips down across the tops of his thighs—forcing you to a stop while his free hand creeped up to hold your jaw, cheeks squished uncomfortably as he forced your attention to remain solely on him.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, baby.” His voice was low, nearly a growl and it made you clench from inside out, in the best way possible. “Are you sure?” His grip softened slightly, dipping down to gently kiss along your cheek until he reached your ear and whispered softly, “ I need to hear you say it.”

You didn’t respond immediately, instead you pulled yourself back just slightly and your heart clenched when for just a moment disappointment flashed clear as day across his face. It was gone in an instant, his face neutralized within a second but you’d seen it—the insecurity, the hurt.

You didn’t want him to feel that way.

Despite what you’d been through in the last six months, you never wanted to be the reason he hurt.

Before he could resonate and stew in those feelings, you crossed your arms over your chest, hooked your fingers under the hem of the cotton bralette and with one sure tug you yanked it up and over you head, tossing it carelessly behind you.

You cupped both of Sebastian’s cheeks, pressing yourself against him, bare breast rubbing against his warm chest. “I’m more than sure.”

Sebastian surged forward, catching your lips with his in a desperate kiss. He drew your hips forward again, guiding them back over his hard length and setting a steady rhythm.

You pulled away for a second, chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath, “Off!” You demanded, fingers clawing at the band of his boxers, tugging them down as best you could. “I want these off now.”

Sebastian didn’t need to be told twice, steadying you with one hand on your waist, he lifted his hips and tugged the constricting fabric down around his thighs, freeing his hard, leaking cock.

“Maybe we should move this to the bed-”

You didn’t give him the chance, tugging your damp panties aside before impaling yourself on his cock.

“Oh my fucking-” His back arched, grip tightening on your waist as his eyes rolled back in his head and string of pained moans rumbled up from his chest. “Shit, baby.”

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. You took a moment to catch your breath, letting your tight body stretch around his thick length. You’d clearly gotten ahead of yourself. It had been months since you’d taken him like this and you’d obviously underestimated his size.

It definitely wouldn’t be the first time. After time away, you always seemed to forget just how big he was.

“Breathe.”

You did as he said inhaling deep through your nose, and exhaling out of your mouth. You leaned into him, foreheads pressed together, your arms looped around his neck.

Just taking a moment to feel each other—to adjust again.

It wasn’t long before your deep breaths turned into soft moans as his skilled fingers found home on your swollen clit, rubbing you perfectly to your liking so he could loosen you up.

“Gotta a little ahead of yourself, little lady, didn’t ya?”

You didn’t miss the teasing tone in his voice but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when your body was loosening up, stretching more for him as you slowly sunk the rest of the way down on his cock.

“Yeah.” You managed out, eyes fluttering shut as you leant down to connect your lips to his, one hand wandering the skin of his back and the other tangling in his hair. “‘M good now.”

That was the only indication Sebastian needed to lose himself completely in your body. His hands slid from your hips to your ass, fingers digging into the supple flesh there as he set a rhythm, moving you up and down his cock.

“God, baby.” He groaned, head lolling back against the couch as you fucked yourself harder and faster down on him, cerculean eyes all hooded and hazy as they traveled up and down your bare form. “You gonna cum already? Hmm?”

You let out a little whine, head bobbing as you pressed yourself closer to him, angling your hips just right so your sensitive little nub rubbed perfectly against the trimmed hair at the base of his cock.

You didn’t even have to say anything, Sebastian leaned further back, rolling his hips up more with every deep thrust to help you grind and rub yourself on him.

“That’s it baby.” His grit out, jaw falling slack as his gaze zeroed in on the way your body was taking him, swallowing him whole and leaking cream all down his length. “Look at you. Look at the way you take me. No one will ever compare to you, baby. No one fits me like you do.”

You could feel it now, your body tightening and that tell-tale flutter deep in your navel. You were almost there. You let your eyes flutter shut, taking in the feeling of him deep inside—hot, heavy, and hard. The way his hands felt wandering your body—tugging at your nipples, squeezing your hips, pinching your ass. His lips trailing along your neck and jaw, the whispers of his hot breath across your skin.

“Are you there?” His voice sounded so far away, so out of it. “Tell me you’re there. It’s been so long, you feel so good. Can’t hold back any longer.”

“Almost.”

You let out a startled squeak as Sebastian pulled you against his chest before flipping you over on the couch. He drew your legs up over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half as he planted one foot on the ground for leverage.

“I need you to cum.” He groaned, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched tightly. He skimmed his hand down over your belly, starting to rub your sensitive little bud between expert fingers as he set a brutal pace, fucking into with your reckless abonden. “Can’t hold on much longer. Your perfect pussy’s tryna milk my cock.”

You gasped at the new angle, hands clawing at his back as the tip of his cock rubbed perfectly against the spongy spot inside you with every thrust and his fingers brushed perfectly over your clit.

One last deliberate rub and a deep stroke of his cock and the coil snapped deep within your naval, bursting outwards.

Sebastian’s only warning was a stuttered cry of his name before you were clenching down hard on his cock, pulsing in waves around him.

“Oh fuck.” He cried out, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his body began to tighten and tingle. “I’m cumming. I’m cumming inside you.”

He pinned you down, hips humping sloppily against you as he buried his cock as deep as possible before letting go, painting your walls with his cum.

The satisfied groan he let out before collapsing on top of you was felt deep in your soul.

It had been so long and this is exactly what finally coming home felt like. You didn’t realize how much you needed it until you were basking in post orgasmic bliss—your body completely numb, tucked contently under the weight of Sebastian’s warm body.

“I love you.”

You let out a soft breath, leaning up just slightly to press a kiss to his shoulder, hands skimming softly up and down his back, “I love you, Sebastian.”

You groaned softly when he pulled back, sliding down your body until he was eye level with you, his softening cock still nestled inside of you.

He looked down at you, so much adoration and love swirling in his light eyes as he traced his fingers down your cheek, across your jaw, and over your lips. “You have no idea how beautiful you are right now. I mean,” He shook his head, laughing a little to himself, “I meant you’re beautiful all the time but right now…” He clicked his tongue, eyes tracing over your face, “You’re just everything.”

He buried his face in your neck to hide the blush rising to the apples of his cheeks and you couldn’t help but laugh—over his bashfulness and the feeling of the scruff of his beard tickling your neck.

Just as you opened your mouth to respond, a knock sounded at the door, pulling you both back into reality.

“Oh fuck.”

“That’s your mom.”

You and Sebastian shared a look before jumping into action.

“You go get freshened up, baby.” He nodded in the direction of the bedroom as he pulled his briefs back up, snapping them into place. “I’ll distract her for a bit and start the oven for the cinnamon rolls.”

“Thank you.” You squeezed past him after snatching your bralette off the floor, rising up on your toes for a quick kiss before scurrying off in the direction of the bedroom, “You're the best.”

—————

“You okay?”

Your head lolled lazily back to look up at Sebastian just as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. His arm tightened over your shoulder, pulling you tighter into his side as his free hand cupped your jaw, tilting your chin up so he could steal a quick kiss.

“I’m good.” You offered him a smile, a real one when he squinted at you, expression skeptical. To prove more of a point, you wiggled even closer, snuggling under the crook of his arm with a content sigh “I’m really good.”

And you meant it.

Today had been one of the best days you’d had in a long time.

Maybe part of the reason you felt so content and relaxed was because you started your day with mind blowing, ‘make up’ sex.

But really, it had only gotten better from there.

Once you had situated yourself and thrown on a pair of Christmas pjs, you had a lovely breakfast with Georgita and Sebastian. Nothing was ready like you’d intended it to be before she arrived but part of the fun had been preparing it together.

Sebastian, being the music loving man he is, hooked his phone up to your speaker to blast Christmas music while Georgeta cooked the eggs, you monitored the cinnamon rolls and cut fruit, and your lover fried up some bacon. You’d had a nice, slow morning sipping coffee, opening presents, and swapping stories of your favorite Christmas memories.

The day rolled into the afternoon and still you found yourselves lounging, watching a few Christmas movies. It wasn’t until four that you all got your butt in gear and started getting ready to head over to your friends house for a little Christmas dinner/get together.

It wasn’t anything fancy so you threw on a pair of light wash, mom jeans, an oversized, cream turtleneck sweater, and a pair of tan Chelsea boots. You slipped a long, plaid coat on to top it off and add a little color, and styled your hair in loose curls, letting them fall effortlessly over your shoulders and down your back.

Chad, never one to disappoint or miss out on an opportunity to host, had a whole feast prepared. And because everyone in attendance had brought a little something, there was more than enough to eat and then some.

You were surrounded by the people you loved most in the world and only real, good friends on your absolute favorite holiday.

What more could you possibly ask for?

“Here you go, babe.”

A delighted gasp fell from your lips as a wine glass filled to the brim with a very inviting dark red liquid was dangled in front of your face. You glanced up at a grinning Blake, “Is this…?”

“Oh, yeah, honey.” He nodded, smile growing even bigger, maybe even a little crazed, “This is the good shit.”

“God.” You rolled your eyes, fingers wrapping eagerly around the stem of the glass, ���You’re so trying to get me drunk but ya know what?” You paused to take a big gulp, releasing a content sigh once it went down, “I’m so here for it this time.”

“Come on, Blake.” Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head, “You always do this to me, man. This shit gets her so good and you get to have all the fun Y/N to yourself and I have to deal with her when her head is in the toilet and she spends the next day moaning and groaning and cursing life.” His bottom lip juts out in a small pout, a cute furrow between his brows, “It’s like you do it on purpose.”

“Hey.” You frown, eyes flickering back and forth between the two as Blake takes a seat on the opposite side of you, “Are you saying I’m a bad drunk?” You turned to Sebastian, pouting at him, “I thought you liked taking care of me? You said you like coddling me!”

“Baby, I do!” He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over your flushed skin as he angled your head towards him before dipping down to kiss your pouty lips. “I love taking care of you. I was just messing with Blake. I love you in all shapes and forms—hungover and all.”

“Aw.” You cooed, tugging him down to peck his lips, “I love you.”

“I love-”

“Ugh.” Blake gagged, rolling his eyes as he tossed a hand up at you, waving you off, “You’re both so fucking disgusting.”

You smiled against Sebastian’s lips, laughing a little when his hand slid to the back of your neck, forcing you to stay with your lips against his. Blake despised physical displays of affection, Sebastian knew this and used it to get under his skin whenever he could.

“But I’ll let it slide this time I guess,” Blake grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, one hand swirling his wine glass, “because I’m glad you guys are reunited and better than ever. I can’t stand it when my parents are fighting.”

A full belly laugh burst from your lips as you turned to look at him, “Aw, now that you’re all in love and in a serious relationship, you’re getting used to PDA.” You pressed your cheeks to Sebastian’s, a beaming smile lighting your whole face, “We’re so proud of you, darling.”

Blake waved you off with a roll of his eyes but you didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered to Damian across the room, the corner of his lips corking just the slightest. You followed his gaze, your own smile growing as you took in his lover squished between Georgita and Blake’s father, Ted, having what looked to be a very riveting and animated discussion.

This was how it was supposed to be.

This was your family.

You took a moment to take all in, bringing your glass to your lips for another generous sip as your eyes traced each and every face in the room.

Yeah, you were right where you belonged and you wished there was a way that you could freeze this moment right here and come back to it when you missed your people and your home the most. There wasn’t a doubt that you would need it in a few weeks when everyone went back to the real world and you and Sebastian went your separate ways for the next few months.

Your lover must have sensed your little ‘come to peace’ moment because he gave your shoulder a little squeeze and pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head, “Merry Christmas, pretty girl.”

“Merry Christmas, Seb.” You tilted your head to peck his lips a few times before relaxing back into his embrace, your head resting on his chest, just over his heart beat, “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

—————

TagList

@justlovelifeblog @inlovewith3 @buckybarnesandmarvel @sleutherclaw @snugglingbucky @perlaluna @littlewhiterose

@idontwannagomrstarkk @abihaaa14 @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @sebsgirl71479 @getofffmydick @eccentricnos

@justlovelifeblog @inlovewith3 @buckybarnesandmarvel @sleutherclaw @snugglingbucky @perlaluna @littlewhiterose

@idontwannagomrstarkk @abihaaa14 @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @sebsgirl71479 @getofffmydick @eccentricnos

[helloheyhihowdyheya]

Take a Chance | college!au | (p.1)

Peter Parker x reader

Masterlist

Summary: You have a routine. It may seem boring to some, but you like it. Until, some honey-eyed boy comes along to mess it all up, but maybe you like him too. Maybe.

Word count: ~3k

Warnings: Don’t think there are any...except for some second-hand embarrassment in the future?This series is a bit of a slow-burn, about 5 chapters, and should end up pretty fluffy. 

A/N: Hi! This is my first time posting a fanfic. Please comment/like if you enjoyed it, and feel free to give me any tips or advice on improving. Thank you!

Your professor walks to the front of the class, clasping her hands together. A few students that had begun to doze off startle in their seats. “Alright class, that’s all I have for today. Post your discussion questions and answers by the end of the week, and your essays are due next Thursday. Don’t forget!” She stands by the podium, shuffling papers around while waiting for any students to ask questions.

You finish shading the cartoonish doodle in the margins of your notebook before jotting down the assignments. “English Composition and Literature” never holds your attention long, harder classes and to-do lists always pulling your thoughts in other directions. You listen well enough in class and do the assigned readings, so you don’t have much to worry about. You pack away your things and make your way through the crowd of students, ready to stop by the campus coffee shop on the way to the library — your favorite part of your routine.

You thank the barista as they call out your name with your order. It warms your hands on the walk to the library, the autumn air feeling stark against your skin. The campus trees have exploded into reds, oranges, and yellows over the past couple of weeks. They look like flames waving in the wind — some last attempt at building warmth before the deadly cold settles into their branches. You don’t mind taking the long way to the library.

The heavy doors shut behind you, the building quiet besides a few small conversations. You don’t complain. Being surrounded by so many beautiful books is definitely preferable to assigned groups bickering about their projects due the next day. You grab a seat at a table near the back of the library, taking out your planner and laptop as quietly as possible.

Your attempt at not disturbing the peace proves unnecessary as someone bursts into the building. The doors slam closed, the sound breaking through the silence as it echoes across the room. It’s hard to see from your position, but it appears to be another student. His hair is all over the place, his backpack barely hanging onto one shoulder, and his chest heaves against his blue sweater with his heavy breaths. 

You roll your eyes. Great, another college guy acting like he’s the only person in the room. To your annoyance, he looks to be speed walking in your direction. He nearly crashes into a seat at a table near yours, ripping open his backpack in a panic. He riffles through chewed-on pens and stray papers haphazardly torn out of a notebook while you try to keep your head down. He seemingly can’t find what he’s looking for as he groans, once again interrupting your attempt at studying.

“Um, excuse me?”

You sigh, looking up at the guy after a moment passes. He looks a bit familiar, though you assume he probably has neater hair most of the time. His slightly panicked eyes seem to be a permanent feature, however.

“Yeah?”

He clears his throat, his hands playing with the frays of his sleeves as he tries to find his words. “I left my Great Gatsby book in my dorm room….” You nod, waiting for him to continue.

“And I think my in you’re English class, right? Wait, no. I mean-”

Before he can stumble further, you pull your copy out of your backpack and offer it to him. “Professor Bennet, right?” You recognize him a bit more now. You think he’s the one that tries to sneakily walk into class late most of the time, unlike his epic library entrance. 

His tense body finally relaxes at the sight. He gives a quick nod and grabs the book. “Thank you so much. I need to study a bit before my tutoring session. And I need to actually start reading this instead of looking at Sparknotes for every chapter,” he says with a nervous chuckle.

Your eyes widen. You had finished the book last week to get ahead in the class. Though you can’t be that surprised given how little you saw him paying attention to the professor. Or even being in class for that matter. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, you tell him, “Well, I made a bit of a study guide if you’d like to look at it before your tutor gets here.”

He had been staring down at the book, seemingly trying to read and hold a conversation at the same time. But he looks up with scrunched eyebrows and a tilted head. “I would love to see that study guide, if you’re okay with that. But I’m not waiting for my tutor, just trying to fit in extra studying. I’m here to tutor a classmate in molecular biology.”

You freeze for a second in the middle of getting up to hand him the study guide. Oh. You feel a little bad about assuming he needed help for your entry-level English course. You guess he just doesn’t pay attention for the same reason you don’t.

He takes out his phone, the screen unsurprisingly cracked, and starts taking pictures of your extensive notes. He pauses his flipping, taking a look at the tiny doodles adorning the margins. You open your mouth to apologize or explain, but the small smile spreading across his face stops you from rambling.

“Thank you, again. You’ve just saved me a couple all-nighters. I’m Peter by the way. Peter Parker.” 

You tell him your name, but he nods like he already knew it. You say, “Nice to meet you. And don’t worry about the book. You can just give it back a couple days before the essay.”

He thanks you, again, with a wide smile. You go back to your table and return to planning your assignments, though not focusing very well. Peter’s classmate eventually joins his table for the tutoring session, and you can’t help but get distracted by it. You don’t really understand the complex topics they were discussing, though anything might be a bit more interesting than homework.

You also enjoy listening to the way Peter explains things. No wonder he didn’t need to pay attention in English. He really knows his stuff. Still, as you put in headphones to better focus, you’re not sure that qualifies him to skip classes and barge into buildings. And he’s put you behind in your routine.

After completing part of your assignments, you check the time. Usually, you’re able to get all of your urgent homework done in one sitting at the library, but it’s already later than usual. Not wanting to miss dinner or be in a disruptive working space anymore — you glance towards Peter (who placed his water bottle on your book! You take a deep breath, knowing he’ll pay you back if he ruins it) — you pack up to head back to your dorm. You don’t notice, but Peter looks up as you pass, staring longer than he probably should have.

The walk back is not as peaceful as earlier. Your drink is cold, the wind has picked up, and you now have more work to do when you get back. 

Your roommate Lilly is in the dorm when you arrive. She takes her headphones off and says, “Oh hey. Wanna grab something to eat? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, but it can’t be too long. I still have some work to get done tonight.”

Her eyebrows raise. Usually, you come back from the library assignment-free. “Yeah, that’s okay. Are you feeling the dining hall or do y’wanna order out?”

“Um…” You start, thoughts distracted by all you had to get done. You weren’t used to this change in your routine. “I don’t care. You can pick.”

Lilly ends up calling a local place, getting your usual order for you. You’re silently grateful she chose this option. This way, you can catch up on work while waiting for the food. You put your headphones in and focus, clearing any thoughts of Peter’s disruption.

You spend the next day relaxed and happy back in your trusty routine. Wake up, get ready, go to classes, grab lunch, more classes, head to the coffee shop, then to the library for homework, and relax with Lilly. You hope it lasts into the next day, but that doesn’t seem to be the case when you enter your English classroom. You see Peter glance at you, but he quickly looks away. Thinking nothing of it, you walk to your spot, ready to zone out for an hour, but you notice a drink in your regular seat. You give a little sigh, about to move to the next seat over when you read the sticky note attached to it.

It has your name on it, followed by a “Thanks again!!!! - Peter” and a little smiley face in messy handwriting. 

You look back at the boy. He doesn’t look away this time but instead gives you a thumbs up and a cheesy smile to match. You give a nod of thanks to him but look back at the drink confused. It’s your usual order…how’d he know that? Did he really pay that much attention to your choice of beverage during your short interaction?

Either way, you enjoy it throughout the lecture. You occasionally take notes on examples and themes you hadn’t thought of before, but you end up doodling for most of the time again. Some pictures of artsy molecules and atoms sneak into the images, but you quickly erase them in case Peter asks to see any more of your notes. 

As the professor wraps up, you plan to thank Peter for the drink once class ends. But as soon as she lets the class go, he grabs his stuff and practically runs out of the classroom. Maybe he’s late for yet another thing.

You let out a small sigh, feeling a bit disheartened though you’re not sure why. He just gave you the drink as a thanks, that’s all. No need for a whole conversation about it. Though with your drink already in hand, your usual routine is already off course again. Maybe you can just go to the library early, get all your work done quickly today. Sitting through a lecture can fry a brain, and you’d like a little break before doing more schoolwork, but this is how your routine goes. And you like it like that. 

You go through your other more pressing assignments first before you completely lose motivation. There’s no grand entrance from Peter today, which is fine by you. More time to focus on classes, even as your brain gets fuzzier and fuzzier from outlining essays and completing worksheets for so long. You finish with your discussion questions and answers on The Great Gatsby, quickly typing it out within minutes — that’s enough thinking for one day. Your writing isn’t as good as it could be, just enough to get you a good grade.

You can barely remember what you wrote a minute after submitting, but you’re ready to go back to the dorm and relax with Lilly. 

You two end up attending a crafting event put on by the RAs, showing up in your pj's and hot drinks. Lilly paints a small pot for her hundredth succulent. She says it’s only her ninth, but you tell her that they’ll have to hold an intervention for her succulent obsession soon. You decide to take some paint and a small canvas provided by your RA. You plug your headphones in and watch a Bob Ross video on your phone. 

After a half an hour, many mistakes littering the canvas, and accidentally covering your fingers in paint, you turn to Lilly and ask her, “Hey, how do you think it turned out?”

She turns towards you, her mouth turning into a suppressed smile. “Um…you know how Bob Ross says there’s no such thing as accidents?” she says, her smile growing bigger as giggles break through. “Well, I don’t think he ever saw you paint,” she laughs out.

“Hey! It’s not that bad. Maybe the trees could be a little more defined. And the clouds could look fluffier…but I think he would be proud.” You say, holding your painting up to the light. It wasn’t as good as Bob’s, but it was yours.

You look over at Lilly’s succulent pot. She drew vines wrapping around, flowers of all colors blooming along the leaves and stems. That succulent is going to be happy with its pretty home.

You’re content, happy to laugh and not worry about school or routine for a couple of minutes. You hope, again, that it lasts for the rest of the week. But you’re once again in for a surprise when you walk into English class, though it’s not Peter’s doing this time. 

Your phone buzzes as you settle into your spot. You get a notification that the grades for the discussion questions and answers grades are in. Mindlessly logging in to the app, you nearly drop your notebook you were holding when you see it. The assignment had few points, but your score was even smaller. There’s a note from your professor alongside the numbers. 

“I’m sorry to dock your score so much, but this is far from your best work. Please talk to me if you need help with our Great Gatsby assignments. I look forward to your essay.”

Your heart sinks a bit. Your grade can take the hit, but you’re not used to these words of disappointment from your professors. You look up to the front of the class to see her setting up the presentation, but she takes a second to glance your way. You can’t quite read her expression, but you look away quickly. You look back at your answers, and they’re rambling with weak grammar and weaker points.

You tried listening throughout the lecture, wanting to improve and make up for the half-assed assignment. Bu your thoughts get in the way of focusing — thoughts mostly against yourself, but they soon turn elsewhere. You can’t really blame him, but if Peter hadn’t kept getting in your way, this wouldn’t have happened.

It’s not his fault. He got you a drink — that’s not a crime. It’s just…you can’t get him out of your head and it’s messing with your routine. Your focus. Your thoughts. 

As if he could read your mind, or the universe had impeccable timing, the classroom door creaks open. There’s Peter trying to sneak his way into class late. The professor gives him a hard look before returning to her lecture. He passes by your spot and lays something on your desk. It’s your copy of The Great Gatsby.

You’re grateful he returned the book early now, needing to really analyze it to write a great essay. But, later. You can’t bring yourself to read it during class. Your doodles this time have dark, thick shading, your pencil lead nearly snapping in half from the pressure.

As class ends, Peter stands up and turns towards you. But when he looks at your spot, you’ve already left. You plug in your headphones, tuning out the world. The leaves on the balding trees look duller today. You hope your trusty drink and library studying can turn this day around. 

Sitting in your usual place, you try ignoring the way your heart jumps and eyes turn towards the door every time someone enters through the door. You really should be focusing on your work, not on him.

Maybe he only tutors once a week in the library?

Focus.

Maybe he tutors in the student center on other days. Or was it just a one-time thing?

That is not focusing.

You turn your music louder, forcing yourself to get your mind off of him. You finally get through almost all of your work, except for English. But your stomach growls loudly, demanding your full attention. Fine, redeeming your grade for some academic validation can wait until your stomach is full. 

On your way back to the dorm, you feel ready for this day to just end, excited to just spend most of the night with Lilly and forget about today. Except, when you walk into your dorm, she’s not there. 

You look to her little whiteboard calendar to see if she has anything planned for tonight. On it is a bright pink sticky note saying, “Hey! I headed over to my group member’s dorm to work and eat dinner. Sorry! See u soon <3 - Lilly”

Even her swooping handwriting and i’s dotted with hearts aren’t nice enough to soothe your disappointment. It’s okay, you can have a free night to yourself…at the dining hall.

You let out a defeated sigh, grabbing The Great Gatsby and head to get yourself some mediocre food. The sun is on its way down, but not quite at sunset yet. The blue of the sky shines just a bit darker.

The dining hall is fairly full, the sound of chatting friends and echoing laughs fill the building. You find a table near the back with your tray of today’s dinner. You pull out the book while eating, mostly just picking at it. You have snacks back at the dorm that probably would’ve tasted better, but you’re already here.

Thumbing through the book to find examples of capitalism for your essay, you notice there’s extra writing in the margins. You had been marking up the text as you read, thankful the school lets you take notes within the book. But these notes don’t match your handwriting.

You had marked an example of the American Dream on a page, but now there are scribbled words under yours. It’s hard to make out the small handwriting, but it seems to explain how that example connects to Gatsby’s struggle and dissatisfaction despite achieving this dream. You mark that page down, planning to look back at it later.

These little notes are scattered all throughout the novel, making new points or asking questions. Was this Peter’s handwriting? If so, he was making a lot of good points. You could’ve used this for those discussion questions.

His writing makes your notes a bit hard to study, but you find yourself reading through his thoughts about the book. You spend most of the time trying to decipher his messy words, but a lot of it made sense and bounced ideas off your notes. 

Your plate is left half full, forgotten while you finish reading through the book. You finally flip through the last page, just about to put your things away and make your way back to your dorm when you see a shadow lay across the table. You look up to see a familiar smile.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fluff #college au #tom holland #tom holland peter parker

[aiylabaysal]

Art in motion - @jroycethethird

Sleep was impossible. Every noise that whispered in the darkness sounded like a threat coming to finish the iron blade job that had carved out a piece of her, and no matter how tightly Aiyla closed her eyes, she could not get it back. The night was suffocating her, and no place felt safe...no where was safe, not here. She had half a mind to portal herself into the thick of mountains that were no longer home. Rather than run, Aiyla called a car and pulled a heavy sweater over her lithe frame, shielding her wings in heavy cotton before shrinking into the car's back seat that let her out outside Art in motion at half after two.

She took slow steps, her head on a swivel when she came to a known security guard taking a smoke outside the back entrances- she laid on the smile and let him look at her with pity that made her stomach turn- it must have been the secret to getting whatever she wanted, letting people look at her as if she was something to pity. She wanted to bare her teeth. She could be fierce. A wild thing that belonged to death as much as she belonged to it; she hadn't. Instead, she disappeared into the darkened halls of Art in Motion, moving through the halls like a ghost.

She found it peaceful in the dark. Void of any other person, she followed a well-worn path she'd taken a hundred different times until she came to a series of bright photographs she'd loaned out months ago. They didn't feel like hers anymore. She knew she had taken the photos, yet they felt torn from her. Her wings vibrated painfully at her back; she had no one to ask why as her legs shook under the weight of suffering grief, and Aiyla collapsed onto the bench before the photos. She kept a glossy-eyed gaze on the photos and allowed silent tears to roll down her cheeks. Hearing the descent of footsteps, she white-knuckled the bench, "I'll only be a moment longer." She answered, assuming the security guard had come to usher her out so they could return to their quiet night.

#chat. royce #injury tw