been having a rough go of it lately thank u all for ur patience
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sort of here, sort of not here ... but like this for a short starter !
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rain-filled-garden
{my god is this a mood--}
Right??? I have too many in my head and not enough hands to write them all or mental capacity but I NEED to get them out there it's Important™!!!!!!
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Unrelated to all of the FF stuff, Agatha and Cian have been giving me images of their wedding, so that's cool.
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Hey does anyone know if uhhh the crushing sense memory associated with music ever goes away?
I can’t hear certain bands without thinking of certain people or certain situations in my past almost 10 years on. Do you think when old people hear music from growing up they still feel the same way? When they hear “their song”?
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I love my college radio station so much... currently listening to an undergrad with -1 charisma filling the airtime by musing about thanksgiving to the tune of "you should definitely try to get home to see your family if you can, but if you can't you should a least see your friends... thanksgiving with your friends... a friendsgiving, if you will... I've heard a lot about these friendsgiving and they seem to be very popular" unironically I would not change a single thing about this
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I'm reading (trying to read) Fresh Banana Leaves: Healing Indigenous Landscapes through Indigenous Science by Dr. Jessica Hernandez right now and I really want to gather knowledge from this book but I am beginning to suspect that of being an impossibility.
There's POTENTIAL there, I think, but it needed both line edits (some of the words selected are not... the words the author intended? I figured out what word she was going for based on context) and larger edits (there are incredibly repetitive sections, for one thing). The way my brain works means that I can't... turn off the part of my brain wired to dissect the language and figure out how to put it together in a way that would flow. I actually enjoy editing for this reason, but it's not a mindset I like to have for a book I'm trying to learn from, because it can be very distracting.
Also I find the way the author uses "ecocolonialism" really confusing because my own experiences with the literature have seen it used in a very different and specific way. (This very well might just be because of my own reading focuses.) In my readings, ecocolonialism has more referred to the modern practice of enacting colonialist structures and approaches under the guise of environmental protection/conservation (ex. driving an Indigenous community from their land and/or preventing their traditional practices in the name of conserving a part of that land or ecosystem) (an example that would likely be familiar to North Americans would be the creation of the National Parks systems in both Canada and the United States and the resultant dispossession and forced relocation of multiple Indigenous communities... internationally there are also several carbon trading organisations that come to mind).
Again. I'm not sure if this particular challenge is just because I'm applying it inflexibly (inflexibility being one of my many vices), but I suspect that I might not be the only reader familiar with the literature who struggles to make that shift (and who might have benefited from more clarity on the application).
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🎨
“Hmm, not the best but it’s an attempt i suppose.”
Send 🎨 for my Adult/main verse Ardyn to draw your muse !
Send 🖍 for my Ruby weapon/child ardyn to draw your muse! (accepting)
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"Veritas Et Aequitas" - Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Modern Law School AU) - Chapter Nine: Raising The Bar
a/n: only one more part after this besties omg!! sorry in advance for the pain ❤️
Series Masterlist HERE.
Summary: Aemond gets tragic news the night before the two of you are meant to take the bar exam.
TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, tiddy succin, fingering, handjob, p in v sex, angst, character death
Word Count: 2,300 words
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️
Almost Two Years Later…
Thanks to your and Aemond’s almost herculean efforts, you finish your required classes by the end of winter in your third year of law school, leaving you with enough time to take the February bar exam. Preparation for what will be the biggest exam you’re ever going to take in your life is, in a word, stressful.
It’s the night before the exam and you and Aemond are busy with last minute revision, sitting in your apartment, surrounded by empty coffee cups and takeaway boxes. It’s almost like you’re back in undergrad, you muse. Aemond and you quiz each other on every relevant topic, over and over, until your brain feels like it’s going to fall out of your head.
The last two years with him have been nice. Well, nice is an understatement. While you’ve never really gotten around to defining the relationship, it’s the healthiest one you’ve ever been in by far. You and Aemond are supportive of each other, and you genuinely consider him, even more than a hookup buddy, to be a friend. He’s come to your house for the last two Christmases again, which of course ended up with more… Shenanigans.
Your parents and your brother keep nagging you, telling you that the two of you should just make it official. But a part of you doesn’t want to. You don’t know if that’s what he wants and you’d rather have him in your life, like this, than not have him at all. Plus, you still have the scars from your last relationship to contend with. Aemond has helped you get past it, but you’re still scared. Scared of him letting you down just like Robin did. Scared of being vulnerable with him and letting him have the power to hurt you.
And so? You continue like this.
You toss your notebook away from you, leaning back against the couch, “I’m so fucking stressed.”
Aemond turns to you, admiring how adorable you look in your pink tracksuit, one that you proudly declared to him is Juicy Couture as you did a little twirl when he entered the apartment, “I know, Princess. But you’re going to do amazing. I have complete confidence in you,” he pulls you closer, to rest your head against his chest, being soothed by the sound of his heartbeat.
You glance up at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Thanks, Aemond. I don’t think I could’ve made it through these last few years without you, truth be told.”
He feels his heart beat a bit faster at the tender little gesture, and he resolves that, after the two of you finish the exam, that he’ll ask you out. For real this time. And he has a feeling you’ll say yes.
“You’re not too good to study with a nepo baby?” he teases, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger, resting his forehead against yours.
“Well, you’re a cute nepo baby, at least,” you tease, laughing when he pokes you in your side, tickling you, “Quit it!”
“Same here, though,” he says earnestly, “I don’t think I could’ve managed all of this without you either, Barbie Girl.”
You smile at the familiar nickname, letting out a soft moan as he moves his lips to your neck, kissing you, nipping at your sensitive skin, “Aemond, what’re you doing?”
“Helping you relax,” he whispers against you, continuing to attack your neck with kisses, “I think we should make use of that bathtub they installed. I can massage your back, you massage mine. We can be each other’s stress balls, so to speak.”
You bite back the urge to immediately agree and instead, turn to smirk at him playfully, “You wanna fuck the night before we take the bar? Aemond Targaryen, that’s pretty risky, even for you.”
His voice is confident as he pulls you into his lap, his large hands resting on the curve of your ass, squeezing gently, “You like it when I’m risky. We’ve been through a lot. We deserve to relax, Princess.”
You relent and allow him to lead you toward the bathtub that’s been recently installed in your apartment’s bathroom, watching as he strips off one article of clothing after another. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to how goddamn good-looking he is, stupid Valyrian genetics. He turns on the tub and gets in, motioning for you to come sit between his legs, that stupid smirk on his face that never fails to drive you absolutely insane. You get rid of your pink jacket and tank top, your sweatpants, and your underwear, feeling like a goddess with the way he stares at you, the way his chest and cheeks flush at the mere sight of your naked body. You climb into the bath, sitting between his legs, your back resting against his chest.
Aemond presses a kiss to your temple, feeling you relax against him. He’s pleasantly surprised when you turn around to straddle his lap, the water sloshing around the two of you. He feels your hand slowly working his cock to full hardness, letting out a low moan, tilting his head back. He feels warm and hard and heavy in your hand, and you feel that familiar throbbing between your thighs. As if sensing your need for him, Aemond’s fingers immediately find their way to your pussy, teasing you, the warm water making ripples around the both of you and your absolutely sinful ministrations. His fingers are so long and graceful as they move in and out of you, both of you bringing each other closer and closer to the edge, thoughts of the bar being the furthest thing from your mind. Aemond’s lips find your tits, mouthing at you almost desperately, suckling at your nipple, then switching to the other.
That’s when you hear Aemond’s phone go off, “You need to answer that?”
He shakes his head, moving his lips away only to utter one word, “No.”
Aemond moves his hands to your hips, lifting you up only to let you sink down onto his cock, both of you letting out a groan of pleasure at the feeling. The moment is sensual and intimate as you gaze into each other’s eyes, the sound of his phone ringing far in the distance, your hips rolling against his, his lips on your neck, your face buried in his shoulder. He bucks his hips up against yours, meeting your movements with his own, moving one of his hands to toy with your clit, making you whine his name pitifully, bouncing up and down faster on his cock, letting him fuck you harder, deeper, as you chase your peak.
And when you squeeze around him, your climax imminent, Aemond lets out a growl of your name as he cums deep inside you, the two of you sitting there for a moment, catching your breath.
“That was definitely relaxing,” you hum, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Aemond smirks, moving to capture your lips with his, a soft, sweet kiss.
The two of you get out and dry up, and you see that Aemond’s phone is still ringing, “Hey, Aemond, I think that’s your ringtone for your mom, isn’t it?”
He arches a brow, grabbing his boxers, pulling them on while you put on a pink nightdress, “Yeah… Can you give me a second? I’m going to answer it. Just in case.”
You nod, “Yeah, of course. I’m just gonna grab something to eat.”
He gives you a peck on the cheek before picking up the phone.
When you reenter the bedroom only a few minutes later, you see Aemond standing by the foot of your bed, his face white as a sheet. You move toward him, taking his hands in yours, frowning in concern.
“What’s going on?”
“I… My father,” he says, slowly, as though he can’t believe what he’s saying, “He’s dead.”
You know about Aemond’s fraught relationship with his dad. It’s the reason he’s avoided going home for the last three holidays. Viserys Targaryen never really gave much of a shit about any of his kids from his second marriage, and Aemond was no exception. But still, he was Aemond’s father. You move your hand to the nape of Aemond’s neck, pulling him into your embrace.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper,” pressing a kiss to his temple, “I’m so sorry.”
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his body wracking with silent sobs. He clings to you tightly, hands clutching you as though you’re his only tether to this world. As though you’re the only thing keeping him on solid ground.
“I’m here, whatever you need,” you whisper softly, kissing his forehead, allowing him to continue holding you, “Do you want to be alone or do you-”
He shakes his head immediately, pulling back and wiping at his eye, “I… I don’t want to be alone. I need you,” he rasps.
You lead him to your bed, pulling back the sheets, tucking him in almost as though he’s a child, resting a comforting hand on his cheek. You get in beside him, and he immediately wraps his arms around you, clinging to you.
“Are you still taking the bar tomorrow or do you need to fly home for the funeral? I can take care of it for you,” you offer softly.
Aemond is silent for a moment before mumbling against your shoulder, “There’s no way I’m not going to take it. Even if I don’t do as well now… He’d want me to take it,” he pauses, “It was a heart attack. He was gone before the paramedics even showed up.”
“That means he didn’t suffer,” you comfort him, “And he had your mom and Daeron with him at the end,” he nods reluctantly, holding onto you, “Try and get some sleep. I’m here for you.”
You dry his tears and he thinks to himself how grateful he is that he has you.
The next day is the first of the two day-long exam, the exam that will dictate the course of your future. You squeeze Aemond’s hand as the two of you walk in and press a quick kiss to his lips.
However, as the exam is about to begin, you hear Aemond’s phone go off. Immediate grounds for dismissal from the exam. Your eyes go wide in horror and you turn to look at him, seeing that his face is completely ashen. The proctor comes to escort him out, saying that he will be marked as failing the exam, and that he will be able to retake it in July. Several months from now. You’re about to get up and follow him out, but he shakes his head, motioning for you to sit down. You do your best to put the whole situation out of your mind, and do your best on the exam.
When you text Aemond after day one is over, he doesn’t answer. When you knock on the door to his apartment, yet again, no answer. You wait for a while, knowing he has to be home, but eventually give up and go to your apartment next door.
You shoot him a quick text.
You: I’m here if you need me.
Aemond: Thanks.
The next day, when you get home from the last section of the exam, you see Aemond sitting on the steps outside the apartment building, smoking a cigarette. You frown slightly as you approach him.
“I thought you quit-”
“Desperate times,” he sighs, exhaling, “This is such bullshit. I studied my ass off and they just… This is…”
You try to take his hand to comfort him, but he brushes it away, earning an injured look from you, “Aemond?”
“Don’t. Just don’t. How the fuck am I supposed to tell my mom I failed because I’m an idiot and didn’t turn off my phone?” he sighs.
“Your mom loves you, Aemond,” you try reasoning, “And you can retake it in a few months.”
Aemond scoffs, looking at you, “You should be ecstatic right now.”
Your jaw drops, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He chuckles bitterly and shakes his head, “You know what I mean. I guess you won our little contest. Come graduation, you’ll be a lawyer and I won’t be. Congrats.”
You feel tears beginning to prick at your eyes, “I thought we’d moved past that.”
“What does it matter to you, anyway?” he says, speaking before he has time to think, “You’re not even my girlfriend. You can’t commit to me because you’re a coward and don’t want to put labels on anything. I’m just the guy you fuck sometimes. A convenience. That’s all we are to each other, isn’t it?”
You swallow thickly, holding your head high, letting his words sink in, “I’m sorry about your dad, and I’m sorry about what happened yesterday, but I don’t deserve to be treated like this when all I’ve done is try to be there for you.”
Aemond watches you walk to your car, wiping at your eyes, refusing to let him see you cry. As you drive off, there’s a loud burst of thunder, and the skies open, pouring rain onto the Cambridge streets. He buries his face in his hands, regretting everything that he’s said to you, swearing that the moment you get back, he’s going to apologize.
Only, instead of hearing your keycard swipe at your apartment, he gets a call.
From Mount Auburn Hospital Emergency Room.
He feels as though he’s going to pass out, only making out a few words.
Your name.
Black ice.
Skidded.
Emergency contact.
Aemond grabs his coat and runs out the door, all the way to Mount Auburn, praying to whatever higher power may listen that you’re alright.
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Beyond — s.h. x f!reader
Chapter Ten: Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You
summary: you head home for the holidays with steve.
warnings: holidays are celebrated with family (left ambiguous); semi-public sex, oral and p in v; smut. (5k words).
modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington.
story masterlist
——
Days bleed into a week, and soon a week bleeds into a month and you’re once again getting on a plane, this time with Charlie in tow, headed to the place you called home before making your place with Steve your new one.
With your excitement bubbling up to the surface, you hop out of the car with your bags in hand, and Steve rushing over to help you with them, waving to where your sister stands and waves in hearty greeting. Your fur child bounds into the home with much preamble, giant paws rushing forward to crash into Caroline, standing on the front step slapping her thighs and shouting “Come here, boy!”
She basically ignores you as you enter, earning a little ruffle on the crown of her head from Steve’s fingers, which she swats away with little effort, beaming up at the man she’s only met a couple times now, and throwing her arms happily around his neck.
He chuckles, grinning widely over her shoulder as he hoists her up into his capable arms, locking eyes with you in your doorway. And if you didn’t already feel so much love toward him you could burst as of late, you would now.
Caroline is glowing. Grinning from ear to ear as he twirls her around and settles her down on the ground, those greedy eyes of hers locking on the bag Steve brought that’s quite literally full to the brim with gifts for family and friends.
“What’s in there?” she asks, bouncing on her tippy toes as you and Steve remove your jackets, Steve’s fingers waving to where your father rises in the living room. “Are those gifts?”
“Yes, but you’ll have to wait to open them,” Steve chuckles, reaching over to grab your hand and tug you beside him, brushing a kiss against your cheek. “Where should we unpack everything?”
“You’ll be staying in my daughter’s room,” your father explains, coming forward to hug you both. “Gifts can go in the living room. Dressers in the bedroom are cleaned out and the closet is empty too. Charlie boy, come with me while they get situated.”
“Your bedroom, huh?” Steve muses quietly as you walk through the home, suitcases rolling behind you down the hall.
“Yeah.” Your cheeks grow warm, a heat crawling up your neck swelling as his eyes meet yours. “Don’t make fun. It probably hasn’t changed since before I started undergrad.”
“Just wanna see where you grew up, is all,” he says, and there’s a hint of mischief in his eyes that you’ve grown more acquainted with these weeks.
Grow acquainted with once again as soon as he enters, taking in the lavender walls, the dark furniture, your vanity. The bed is still as you remember, with white sheets and a plush comforter that your back meets as your husband pushes up against your chest, mouth sliding languidly over your own.
A hum spills from you before you can think any better of it, thighs falling apart to make space for him between your legs, throat bubbling with a moan as he rocks his already stiffening cock against the seam of your jeans, pressure just right against your clit. A vague awareness settles over you as those perfect fingers slide into the front of your jeans, seeking out your warmth, over where he finds you already wet for him.
“Steve,” you mutter breathlessly, head tipping back against a pillow as he kisses along your throat, “anyone can hear right now.”
He flops over onto your side, bringing you with him. Fingers glide up and along your thigh, settling in the back pocket of your jeans to pull you closer, warmth pooling where his skin touches yours through your clothes. Your forehead presses up against his, fingers tangling with his free hand.
“Welcome to my humble abode, Harrington.”
“I like it,” he muses, glancing about the room. “Weird to think of a time when I didn't know you. I’ll have to ask for all the old photo albums. Isn’t that what these holidays are for?”
“You wouldn’t,” you gasp jokingly, swatting at his abdomen with your entwined hands.
But he does. You spend that first night sitting around the kitchen table with Caroline nearly leaning over Steve’s shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of photos from your teenage years.
Most of which are full of braces and wide eyed youth. Eddie with his arms around your shoulders after graduation, Robin and the two of you on the hood of your first car. Dustin and you, when you babysat him. Later, pictures of you and Eddie with Dustin, Lucas, Max and Mike playing DND with the kids, their bored expressions and your overeager grin to try and compensate for their lack of enthusiasm.
Your father even pulled out the younger pictures. Years when your mother was still around, her smiling face, your parents with their two girls. Pictures of you and Eddie in the trailer park, your front teeth missing and his hair shorter, your knees scraped and muddy, and his jeans always torn and tattered.
After, Steve talks about his job while your sister dozes against his shoulder, having told him all about her TikTok page and showing him the endless videos she’s made. Your smile grows at the sight of them, his arm around her shoulders, the blanket you draped over her lap drawn tight around her body.
He seems at ease. Comfortable in a place he’s really only been in once. And when you later crawl into bed, with his arm slung low around your hip, there’s a stark understanding that this home was your home for the longest time.
Until you were nineteen and moved away for school, until you made a life for yourself in the city.
Now — now home resides in the man sleeping soundly beside you. Months ago, the thought would have scared you, made you want to run away from the immensity of it. Now, you only feel this tangible closeness. This understanding that as much as you are his, he is yours, in the way that feels untouchable. Wholly yours, and stronger every day that passes.
——
Snow falls over Hawkins throughout the night. Not the fluffy kind like in the city — the kind that turns to slush. No, it’s thick and wonderful and blankets the earth in a white halo, your sister’s excited laughter from down the hall rousing you from your slumber beside Steve.
A low yawn falls from his lips, the arms slung low around your waist pulling you tight against a broad chest, his nose mouth already finding its place near the curve of your neck, lavishing your skin in delightful kisses that have you wanting to fall back into bed with him over and over again.
But you know your sister, and you know her excitement over gift giving, and therefore understand that it’s only a matter of time before someone is banging on your bedroom door and demanding the two of you come into the living room to join her in her chaos she calls fun.
“Where’s Charlie?” Steve hums, rubbing at his eyes as you roll over in the bed, running your fingers along the lines of his abdomen. “I didn’t feel him by my feet.”
“I’m pretty sure your son betrayed you for his aunt,” you tease, winding your arms around his waist, chest brushing his as you lean in to give him a quick peck. “Good morning.”
He presses another longer kiss to your lips, smiling into your skin as he rolls you over until you’re straddling him. Thighs splay on either side of his hips, his fingers gripping at the dough of your thighs, rolling you over his already hard cock. It’s a tortuously slow drag, his head rubbing just so against your clit, eliciting a pitiful wine from softly parted lips.
A few more days — a few more days and you’ll be back in the city, and in the privacy of your own home. Until then, it’s wandering hands beneath the dinner table. It’s gentle brushes of skin as you ready for bed at night, a giggle as he pulls you into a room when no one is looking, ready to kiss the breath out of you. Simply trying to find moments where the two of you can simply connect.
Last night, it had been him tugging your sweats down and pushing your panties to the side. It had been his hand curling over your mouth as he slipped into you from behind, muffling your sobs as you quivered and clenched around his cock, stealing the very breath from his lungs.
“As much as I would love to watch you come on my cock right now,” he exhales, cunt throbbing as he tugs you closer so you’re laying on him. “I think I just heard your sister’s bedroom door open.”
“And we will hear a knock in…” You pause for a moment, pressing your hand to his sternum, “three…two…one.”
Three short taps echo through the bedroom, Steve’s hands there to help you up and off his lap as your sister hastily scrambles into the room, her nose wrinkling at the sight of the two of you.
Your legs are still in Steve’s lap, his hair a bit of a mess, and you’re certain you look interesting enough as well, tossing and turning all night without the comfort of Steve’s bed back home.
“I’m awake,” she grumbles, rubbing at her tired eyes as she walks the short distance to your bed, draping her body over your chest, just as Charlie hops up onto Steve’s lap. “Charlie doesn’t like to sleep, does he?”
“He’s just a puppy still,” Steve laughs, patting the dog’s head, his pink tongue falling from his lips at Steve’s affections. “But now you know why we asked if you really wanted him to stay with you last night.”
“Did you make coffee?” you ask her, exhaling as your hand runs up and down her back, Steve rolling over to teasingly shove her hand away when she pokes at his shoulder. “If you make us coffee, I’m sure Steve over here will let you open your presents from us.”
“Bribing your sister?” Steve gasps, mock aghast, a hand splaying over his heart.
“Done,” she giggles, rolling off of you.
Her feet hit the carpeted floor with a thud, legs carrying her out of the bedroom faster than she arrived. Charlie prances after her, his little yips and excited barking making your father shout down the hall for Caroline to calm down this early in the morning.
“Should we get up?” he asks, laughing at your muffled moan into his chest, face pressing against his sternum. “I wanna give you your present too.”
“Steve, we said no presents because we just had that second honeymoon —”
“I wanted to spoil my wife,” he murmurs, tilting your head up with a finger curling around your chin. “Let me.”
“You’ve spoiled me enough these past few weeks,” you tease, clambering off his lap, pulling off your ratty old tee shirt, his eyes zeroing in on your bare chest, before sliding a sweater over your head. “But seriously, Steve. Better not have been anything extravagant.”
He shoots a smirk your way, and you walk down the hall and out of your childhood bedroom, meeting your father where he sits in the living room, Charlie presently sprawling over his lap and trying to smother his face in wet kisses. Caroline has already separated the gifts into piles, coffee cups for you and Steve set out on the coffee table.
With a grateful sigh at that first sip, you both settle down onto the couch, watching as Caroline opens gift after gift from your husband. Things you hadn’t even known he’d purchased her.
“I bought her clothes,” you say a little icily, though there’s no heat to back the words up when you catch Caroline’s bright and beaming smile as she opens new ring lights and other technology for what you know is meant to be her growing TikTok obsession. “But — she seems to be enjoying herself…”
Steve curls his fingers around your shoulder, brushing a kiss to your temple as Caroline opens her last package, and within is a new iPhone. The latest model — and one of the gifts you allowed. She’d been needing one, her old one nearly on its way out. But it’s her reaction that has your eyes watering, her shrill screaming that nearly rattles the walls of the home, pre-teen throwing herself onto your laps with strangling hugs and screeches of thankyouthankyouthankyou.
Your father is next, with new wines for his wine rack, tickets to see one of his favorite music artists, and plane tickets to visit the two of you in the city. His mouth twists into a wobbly smile, his thanks a hug with his son-in-law that has you nearly melting on the spot.
You wonder briefly if Mr. Harrington ever hugged his son like this — even once. A giant bear hug, his arms locked tight around Steve’s back. It breaks your heart to know he likely hasn’t — that for so long the man who holds so much love in his heart it can overflow with it has gone without.
Especially from the one person who should have.
Can even see your answer on Steve’s face as he settles back down beside you. The look of pure joy across his features, uncontainable, and the line of tears building along his lower lashes you brush away with a gentle swipe of your thumb.
Clearing his throat loudly, Steve asks Caroline to pull out the small little box nestled by her kneecap. A box precariously shaped like a ring which has your name on it in beautifully curly calligraphy.
“Steve…” you mutter, a little breathless, heart in your throat as Caroline rests the box in your palm.
“Open it,” he says softly, mouth at your temple, arm around your frame as you pull at the box and open it to reveal a diamond band with a curve to perfectly sit around your engagement ring. “It’s just a little something. Look at the inside.”
And there, engraved in a sprawling font, are yours and his first name initials and the date of your wedding, and the words ‘I do’ beside that. Your gaze flickers upward, to the curve of his lips, and you’re kissing him. A breathless thing that has Caroline gagging dramatically, earning a scolding from your father.
As you pull back, Steve lifts the ring and you raise your left hand, watching his thumb graze your ring finger lovingly before sliding it in place. Three rings sparkle up at you, his hand still around yours as he kisses you once more.
“I’d do it again,” he says, and you know what he means. “I’d do it all over again.”
I’d do it all over again and marry you.
And you’d do the same.
——
The winter air chills you through your winter coat, boots clicking on slushy snow as Steve steers you through the parking lot and up to the Hideout. Recently renovated, and sprawling with bodies, intent on seeing Corroded Coffin for an exclusive hometown show.
The place is crawling with people — vastly different from the times you would sit on a barstool in the back and cheer on your best friends from high school, with only a few other patrons in the vicinity. You can’t think of anyone more deserving of this than Eddie, though. Years spent working his way up, trying to be the best at his craft, and now skyrocketed to fame.
Steve guides you over toward where Chrissy, Robin and Nancy are already situated around a table, all of which oooing and aaahing over Nancy and your new rings. Robin had finally gone ahead and proposed after months of living together. A small engagement within their own apartment, shared over glasses of wine and champagne and exactly what both wanted.
Chrissy is practically bouncing on her feet. Excited to see her new boyfriend perform for the first time. The actress looks stunning as ever in her all black dress that might be a little too formal for the crowd, but looks positively chic on her frame.
“I’m gonna go get us drinks,” you whisper, leaning up onto your toes to press a kiss below your husband’s ear. “Save my spot, will you?”
His hand is warm against your lower back as you slip through the crowds with sights set on the bar. The opening band has already started their set, the strumming of guitar strings greeting your ears as a familiar voice breaks above the crowd.
“What the heck are you doing in town, beautiful?” Chance asks as you approach the bar, coming forward without even a moment’s thought, wrapping his arms around your shoulder. “Thought you were a big shot veterinarian in the city now. Married too. I saw all the magazine articles at the supermarket.”
“Oh,” you laugh uneasily, rubbing your left hand unconsciously against your opposite bicep as the bartender asks for your orders. “Yeah, almost done with school. And yeah, married. Happily married.”
“You look great,” he muses, elbow dropping down to rest against the countertop. “Seriously. Just so crazy to see you here again. Seems like forever.”
“I pop in from time to time,” you tell him, heat creeping into your cheeks from his compliments. “I’ve been so busy it’s hard to get over here as often as I’d like.”
“How is your family? Gosh, how are you?”
And he’s beaming. Grinning at you in a way that reminds you of those early days of your relationship — when everything had been rose-colored glasses and champagne bubbles in your belly. But now you feel nothing, only the creeping desire to be back at Steve’s side, enveloped in his warm embrace, comforted by his mere presence.
Chance prattles on about his life. How he’s the new head coach at Hawkins High for the basketball team. You’re shocked to hear it, knowing he’s loved the sport for years now, brows rising at his words as he continues, the bartender seemingly taking forever to make your drinks.
But you laugh all the same at his jokes, feel yourself easing into the bar as he continues, the ghost of a smile crawling across his lips as his gaze roams over your features, before settling on something over your shoulders.
You shouldn’t be surprised when you feel Steve’s hand low against your back, nor should you be when his lips press against the crown of your head, his words stern as he says, “I’m so sorry to interrupt, I just need my wife to help me with something. Nice meeting you, my name is Steve.”
“Chance…” he trails off, just as you’re tugged away from the bar and down the back halls leading to the bathrooms.
Your mouth opens to protest, but Steve’s quick to quiet you with a rushed, “Get in.”
The door locks behind you with a harsh click, your eyes needing a moment to adjust to the yellowy light. His hands are on you before you can think, turning you to face your reflection in the mirror, just as his mouth descends on your throat. Your left hand crawls up your chest and onto his cheek, gentle hum spilling on a swift exhale as he sucks greedily at that spot he knows reduces you to a puddle, cock already hard against the fullness of your ass.
“Steve,” you whisper, turning around to face him.
Hands rest against his chest, noting the rapid rise and fall of his breath, the way his eyes are so dark they’re practically molten. And then he’s gripping you hard and fast. Fingers around the back of your neck, bringing your mouth to his in a bruising kiss, your feet pulling up onto your toes as you grip at his collar, dragging him nearer to you.
“He looked at you like he wanted you,” he murmurs. “Your ex, right? Don’t blame him, honey. You drive me crazy, you know that, right?”
He begins trailing kisses along the column of your throat, smirking to himself as he tugs the top of your dress down, sucking along the top of your breast, before dragging the cup of your bra down and trailing across your sensitive flesh. He breaks free from your nipple with a loud pop, mouth swallowing your unspoken words with another searing kiss.
“God, I’ve missed you.”
“Steve,” you rasp out hollowly, his fingers creeping along the hem of your dress, inching the floaty skirt up and up until he can feel the edge of your underwear, index and middle finger seeking out your already slick center. “Oh — nnng — been only a couple of hours.”
“And even that’s too long, honey.” He rubs lazy circles against your clit, relishing the way your body trembles in his arms, mouth curving up at the low whine that punches from you when he dips a finger in, opening you up for him. “Wanna kiss you here. Can I?”
You shouldn’t — you’re in a public place, you know that. But there’s something alluring about the image of Steve Harrington dropping down onto his knees before you that reduces your thoughts to nothingness, head dipping rapidly as you press your lower spine to the sink countertop for support, heart hammering loudly in your ears. He tugs your underwear down your thighs, the skirt of your dress ruffling prettily against your hips, tucking the lacy scrap of material into his back pocket.
“So fuckin’ pretty.” His breath dances along your core, hot and inviting, tongue teasing along your clit, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh. Those hazel eyes look up into yours as he flattens his tongue and licks into you, murmuring, “Keep your eyes on me, baby” into your heated flesh. “Look at me.”
He’s an expert at this point on unraveling you. Has spent the better part of weeks fucking you against practically every surface of your home, learning the best ways to have you crying out his name. But there’s something salacious about it now — how he feasts on you in the dimly lit room, people outside, the sounds of your slick and his greedy moans spurring on your racketing desire.
Drives you closer and closer to the edge fast, chest heaving wildly with your panted, “I want your cock.”
He grips the backs of your thighs tighter, sucking on your clit until your eyes roll back in your head, fingers tangling in his hair tight. You’re jealous of his hand rubbing against his own cock, hard in his jeans, straining against tight denim, and you grip him tighter with a whine.
“Steve.” His eyes flicker up to your face as you shamelessly beg for him. “Need you to fuck me. Right now. Please.”
Never keen on making you wait, Steve turns you around, your hips bumping against the countertop, hands splayed against the cool marble. Behind you, you catch the image of Steve loosening the buckle on his belt, the metal clasp clanging in your ears, followed up by the tug of his zipper downward. His cock is freed and the dress is hiked up over the swell of your ass, back arching a little needy for him.
“Ready for me, sweetheart?”
You drop down to your elbows, feeling the tip of him against your entrance, keening with the ache to be full of him. To be so full until all you see is stars dancing behind your eyes.
When he pushes in, you both sigh at the way it feels like coming home. A deep, throaty sound that spills into the empty bathroom, hearts pounding in tandem as he pulls back slowly before pushing forward to the hilt.
A hand drops to the curve your ass, spreading you open for him, watching as his cock disappears over and over again within you, slick with your need.
“Come on, baby,” he grounds out, the slap of his hips against the backs of your thighs echoing in the bathroom, driving your lust higher. “Let everyone know how good your husband fucks you.”
A white hot pleasure zings up your spine and you’re coming, fluttering, crashing around him, crying his name as his hips falter in their rhythm, his own end approaching. He’s spilling into you, warm between your thighs, body folding over your back as his kisses splay across the column of your spine. You’re vaguely aware he’s speaking. Terms of endearment and affection, whispers for you to stay still so he can clean you up.
Your chest is still heaving as he pulls the edges of your dress back down, hand reaching for your underwear in his back pocket when he teases, “No.”
“No?” you huff out with a pout, pressing a kiss to his neck, right where his pulse still thrums away.
“I’m keeping them.” He cradles you in his arms, your chest pressing against his, the warmth of him blocking out the chill in the air. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
A chill runs up your spine at his words, fingers wrapping around his free hand as he unlocks the door and an annoyed looking patron rushes in, cursing at the two of you for whatever they think you just did in the bathroom.
And as you approach the table, Eddie’s voice nearly shouting your name as you rush forward and crash into his arms, you can’t help but think this is the best holiday season you’ve had in a long while.
Here, with the people who matter most. Here, as Eddie eventually gets up onto stage and plays his heart out. As your friends all gather together, mouthing along to the words of the songs. Chrissy nearly falling into you in her drunken excitement, Robin and Nancy blissfully in their own world, Steve standing at your back, with a hand around your hips.
Here in the place you once called home with the people who now are home. Those you can run to, find cover, fall into. And behind you, the man whose heart is your home. A soft pillow to land on, a place to rest your head, the one your soul has unknowingly longed and searched for.
The one you have now found.
Perfect.
——
You’re gasping. Breath falling in short pants, fingers spreading over Steve’s back, nails scraping into the heft of his muscle. His hips roll down into yours, endless strokes that have you seeing white, his words against your ear soft praises that make you whine soft and pretty in his ears.
The rest of the world sleeps within the home, except for you, Steve and the moonlight that spills in through your softly parted windows.
He’s hiking your thigh up around his hip, your back arching into the mattress, foot digging into his lower back. And he’s hitting that spot inside over and over again that has you muffling your moan into a pillow, his own face pressing into your sternum as he comes.
Chests heave with heavy breaths, bodies rolling over to seek one another — like magnets in the night, coming in close and tangling tight. His arms around your waist, your arms around his, hearts beating hard against sternums.
He lifts your left hand, kisses at the bands there, toys with the newest ring and rests it over his chest. Over his heart where you now reside. Your gaze follows the pathway, where you can feel it thrashing behind his ribcage, threatening to break free.
His eyes meet yours in the darkened room, mouth dropping against yours for a long, searing kiss that has your head spinning, swimming, spiraling. “Honey…”
It’s a whisper. A long sigh.
You lean into his palm as it rises to rest against your cheek, his thumb stroking long lines against your pretty features. Comforting, gentle, loving.
“Your ring,” he mutters after a while, sliding off the newest one, holding it up in the moonlight. “I want you to know, if I could do it again, I would mean every word. I would marry you again, in every universe.”
“Steve…”
“I love you,” he whispers, “I’ve never felt this way before, but I know it. I’m in love with you, sweetheart.”
And there it is. The words you’ve felt rattling around in your mind. The words you’ve been holding on your tongue for safe-keeping, waiting for the perfect moment to release them into the open.
I love you. I do. I love you. I do.
You lean down and kiss the planes of his face. The tops of his cheek, the curve of his jaw. His temples and forehead. The bump of his chin. The plush of his bottom lip, the bow of his upper lip.
When you fully press your lips against his, he rolls you beneath him, shoulders on either side of your head, keeping his weight off of your form. And he looks at you — he looks at you like he holds the world beneath him. Like you’re delicate and yet fierce and wholly his.
And you know in your heart you are. You are his, he is yours. Equally so.
“I’m in love with you, Steve,” you tell him, brushing at his cheek, feeling him smile as he leans into your palm. “I have been for a while now.”
So he loves you like that. Deeply and languidly, in the dying moonlight. Softly, until you shudder beneath him with his name a prayer on your lips. Until you catch your breath once more and roll over beside him and his arms find your waist in the night. Until you’re so wrapped within him that you don’t know where he starts and you end. And maybe that’s how it’s always been, how you know it’s always been meant to be, the promise of your vows and your love the sweetest balm to lull you both into blissful rest.
——
figured the lovebirds deserved some happiness before the next two chapters. two more, and then the epilogue to go. let me know what you think, please. comments/reblogs/likes are encouraging to your creators. 🩷🩷
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a brew of history
Part One
content warnings: modern au, no real warnings except explicit language
word count: 1.3k
additional tags: mutual pining, embarrassed ellie, barista!ellie, just fluff really, best friend jesse
a/n: first ellie post omg hehe. i haven't written fanfiction in so long, so i apologize for how scattered this may seem. i'm (finally) graduating with my undergrad in april, so i'm hoping that i can dedicate some more of my free time into creative writing this year! lmk if any of y'all wanna be mutuals mwah
important info about palestine
prologue
You couldn't recall exactly when you started to look forward to your morning routine more than usual. Perhaps it was when the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans began to mingle with the scent of aged manuscripts and artifacts. Or maybe it was when you first noticed the cheerful smile of the barista across the street, Ellie, as she handed over the perfectly brewed cup of coffee.
The local history museum where you worked stood tall and proud, its grand facade a testament to the stories held within its walls. As the assistant collections manager, your days were consumed with cataloging, preserving, and inputting the items into the online database. It was a job you adored, one that allowed you to immerse yourself in the past and connect with the present through the lens of time.
But there was something about Ellie that added a new dimension to your mornings. Each day, like clockwork, you would step off the 48 bus line and make your way across the cobblestone street to the cozy coffee shop. And each day, Ellie would greet you with a warm smile and a knowing twinkle in her eyes.
"Good morning," Ellie would say, her voice as inviting as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
"Morning, Ellie," you would reply, returning the smile. It was a simple exchange, yet it never failed to brighten your day.
As the weeks went by, the interactions evolved beyond mere pleasantries. You began to exchange snippets of conversation—small talk about the weather, musings about the latest museum exhibit, and eventually, deeper discussions about the shared passions for art.
You found yourself eagerly anticipating the morning conversations, the moments of connection amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. There was something about the way Ellie listened intently, her eyes sparkling with genuine interest, that made you feel seen and understood in a way you hadn't before.
So when Ellie had begun to leave doodles on your to-go cups, you felt obligated to return the favor in some way. It started innocently enough, with a simple "thank you" scribbled on a napkin, accompanied by a smiley face. But as the days passed and your interactions became more frequent, your gestures grew bolder, more playful.
On this particular morning, the one after you had meticulously scoured the back office for a set of pencils to match the parcel in your bag, you realized you were running late for work. You were supposed to be at your desk ten minutes ago, and yet here you were, still a block away. You tried your best to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as you glanced at your watch, until the familiar awning came into view and you practically ran into an older gentleman as you swung open the door.
As the jingle of the large oak door signaled your arrival, the familiar gleam of the girl behind the counter drowned out your previous anxieties. Her hair was tied back in her usual low bun, a gray flannel adorning her slim torso, a black apron tied loosely around her hips. As Ellie handed you your usual order – because of course she already had it made – you slid a journal across the counter, a mischievous gleam in your eye.
"For you," you said with a grin, watching as Ellie's curiosity piqued.
Ellie's eyes widened in surprise as you flipped open the sketch pad, revealing a whimsical drawing of the two of you—coffee cups in hand, surrounded by swirling patterns and doodles.
“Well this is quite…” she began, laughing quietly to herself.
“Oh you are the artist, that’s for sure. But I always feel guilty putting your little doodles in the compost bin, so I figured I’d offer something more…” You flipped through the remaining blank pages, turning the leather bound book in your hand, “Permanent.”
“Oh, I can’t just take this,” Ellie suddenly felt flustered. A pretty girl gifting her art supplies when she could barely afford rent?
“Dude,” You pushed the journal into her reluctant grasp. “We have like a hundred of these just floating around from overstock at the giftshop.”
Ellie's cheeks flushed with gratitude as she traced her fingers over the smooth leather cover of the sketch pad. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice tinged with emotion.
"You're welcome," you replied, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction at her reaction. You dug around in your purse trying to find the exact amount of change for your latte, the line of people now forming behind you a reminder that you were, in fact, still running late for work.
“It’s on the house,” Ellie rushed out, attempting to reach out and stop your anxious rummaging. You raised an eyebrow in response.
“Are you even allowed to do that?” You replied, tucking a portion of your hair behind your ear. Could Ellie tell how clammy you were? The barista only shrugged and offered back a sly smile. Knowing you didn’t have the time to argue, and before thinking it through fully, you grabbed a pen from the cup next to a collection of straws and napkins. As your fingers grazed Ellie’s arm, the ink diligently showcasing the swirling of your writing on the other girl’s forearm, Ellie could swear that every patron in the shop could hear how loud her heart was beating.
"In case you ever need someone to cover your shift," you said with a playful grin, grabbing your coffee and at last making your final trek to the building next door.
As you grabbed your coffee and hurried out the door, Ellie stood rooted to the spot, her mind swirling with a million thoughts and emotions. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was over analyzing the interaction. A sudden jolt to her side earned her best friend, Jesse, a sharp kick to the shin.
“Ow!” He whined, putting his hands up in defense. “One conversation with a pretty girl and you zone out. There’s customers and I’d love to be done by three.” Ellie rolled her eyes, going back to actually doing her job and not drooling over the woman who had become a regular.
“Dina won’t care if we’re late,” Ellie mumbles, running the espresso machine for another order.
“That’s bullcrap and you know it,” Jesse shakes his head, restocking the ice and rolling his eyes. “She’ll have both our heads.”
“Whatever,” Ellie groans, opening up a new carton of oatmilk. God, she complains, why do queer women love oatmilk so much?
Despite the flurry of activity at the museum, you sat quietly humming to yourself in the back storage rooms. You put your anxious energy into your work, trying to focus on deframing old pieces. You made quick work of the frames, carefully utilizing a box cutter to slice the paper backing and removing the mat – the acid-free board that most of the artwork in the collection is taped to – from the plexiglass. As you work through this older collection, you evaluate the condition of each print and place it in a pile to either be put into storage or deaccessioned.
And yet, amidst the meticulous work of evaluating, your mind kept wandering back to Ellie and the uncertain exchange at the coffee shop. You couldn't shake the feeling of anticipation mixed with apprehension. What if you had misread her signals? What if your attempt at playful flirtation had come across as presumptuous? These questions circled endlessly in your mind, distracting you from the task at hand.
As you carefully removed the last print from its frame, you mentally checked off one of the various tasks on your todo list. The little remaining coffee from this morning had gone cold, a frown adorning your face as you rinsed the cup and tossed it in a bin. Your phone, which has been balanced precariously on the edge of your work station, buzzed softly.
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: leaving your digits on my arm, huh? trying to make sure I don't forget you?
Your heart fluttered at the sight of her message, a mixture of anticipation and relief washing over you. She hadn't outright rejected your gesture, and her playful tone hinted at a mutual interest.
you: guilty as charged! wanted to make sure to leave my mark :p
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Duly Noted (A College AU)
[Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X GN!Reader]
Summary: As a studious undergrad on track for graduating with stellar marks, missing class because of the flu was by far the worst way to start your week. Fortunately for you, there’s one bright-eyed classmate who cares about you more than his reputation as a C-minus college athlete.
Rating: General
Warnings: None
Word Count: 2.3K
A/N: Well, since my inbox has been dry as the Sahara, I decided to come up with an idea of my own. So, without further ado, here’s the college AU Rooster fic that no one asked for! (No beta, per usual. We out here raw dogging these mistakes.)
Where are you?
Still in bed…
You’re playing hooky without me???
I’m not playing hooky! I’m sick!
You okay?
Yeah I’m alright. Got the flu I think.
Need me to get you anything? I can bring you medicine or snacks after class.
Nah, I’m good. Thank you though!
If you change your mind, lemme know.
Bradley frowned. As benign as the flu was, the thought of you being ill left a bad taste in his mouth. He knew fully well just how much that course meant to you and your degree. While he spent every class lounging in his chair and letting his mind wander to God knows what, you would bury your nose in your notebook or laptop and take notes on everything the professor said as if your life depended on it. He could only imagine just how disappointed you were missing out on a whole lecture’s worth of information.
Dammit…
As much as it pained him to admit it, he knew right away what had to be done.
“Hey, ’Tasha,” he whispered. “Natasha.”
The dark haired woman one row in front of him turned. Eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a sharp line of irritation, her gaze made daggers feel blunt.
“The hell do you want, Bradshaw?”
“You got a pen I can borrow?”
The question took her by complete surprise. Her brow raised, the scowl on her face melting into an amused smirk.
“You’re joking.”
Bob Floyd, her glasses-wearing friend and study partner, was drawn to her disbelief. “What is it?”
“Jockstrap over here is actually going to take notes.”
Bob glanced between her and Bradley. It took him a second to process what was happening but as soon as it hit him, he cracked a massive grin that rivaled Natasha’s.
Bradley rolled his eyes. “Alright, don’t make a big deal of it. You gonna lend me a pen or not?”
“Y’know, part of me wants to say no,” Natasha mused, “But watching you exercise those dusty ol’ brain cells is honestly a rare treat.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She reached into her bag and grabbed an extra pen which she tossed back to him. “Give that back to me after class or I’m gonna beat your ass.”
Bringing two fingers to his temple, he gave a little salute. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, unable to hide smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
For the first time that semester, Bradley Bradshaw’s untouched notebook was stained with ink.
* * * * *
You had fallen back asleep within minutes of his last text. The previous night had been an absolute nightmare. Violent chills had racked your body and made it impossible to get comfortable. Combining the shivers with the upset stomach and stuffy nose, you were miserable. Any rest you could get throughout the day was God-sent.
Your early morning nap lasted a good two hours. It was the most sound, dreamless sleep you’d had in the past week and, if it weren’t for the fact that Bradley called you just after 10am, you probably would have slept three times as long.
“Hello?” You answered groggily.
On the other end of the line, Bradley hissed. “Shit. Did I wake you up?”
“It’s okay. I’ve got all day to sleep. What’s up?”
“I don’t wanna make you get out of bed but I kinda need you to open the door.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Well, I know you said you didn’t need anything but I stopped at the store for stuff anyway. Can you come let me in? I would have one of your roommates open the door but I guess they’re both in class or something.”
You blinked. He was outside of your apartment.
“Yeah, hang on. I’ll be right down.”
Despite the protests of your body, you hurried out of bed. You ditched the sweat-soaked pajama shirt in the laundry basket and threw on a clean tee before stepping out of your room into the main hallway. A short walk to the front door and you pried it open to find Bradley standing on your welcome mat with paper bags of groceries nestled in both arms. He perked up the second he laid eyes on you.
“Hey,” he greeted with a soft smile.
“Hey. Come on in.”
You stepped back to let him inside, closing the door behind him as he headed for the kitchen. It wasn’t the first time he’d come over and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. As one of your closest friends and long-time classmate—it was honestly crazy to think you’d been in classes together as far back as the 7th grade—the two of you spent more time together than apart. Neither of you would have had it any other way.
“I’d give you a hug,” you said as he started unpacking the grocery bags, “But I don’t want to get you sick too.”
He chuckled. “I think I could take the hit.”
“Just ‘cause you can, doesn’t mean you should.”
You spotted a bottle of Gatorade on the counter where he’d unloaded stacks of soup cans and Tylenol. Taking the bottle, you slunk over to the couch where you could watch from a safe distance. The last thing you wanted was to share your germs with one of the school’s star baseball players. As much shit as Jake Seresin gave you and Bradley, something told you that the dickwad would be all the more annoying if he found out you were the one to force Bradley onto the bench for a week.
“How was Simpson’s class this morning?”
“Oh, thrilling as always,” he replied caustically.
“Bob answer every question?”
“You know it.”
You laughed. “Figures. At least we know that means somebody besides me knows their shit. I’ll have to get his notes later so I can catch up.”
“No need. I got you covered.”
Bradley paused his kitchen organization and dug in the backpack he’d discarded on the dining room table. Grinning proudly, he pulled out his notebook. Yes. His notebook—the one and only busted red spiral notebook with a sticker of a goose in aviators slapped on the bottom right corner of its cover.
“Wait. Don’t tell me…You actually took notes for me?”
“Sure did!”
He strolled over and dropped the notebook in your lap before collapsing on the cozy little armchair across from you. The look on his face as he watched you go through his notes was priceless. With big eyes and a triumphant smile, he bore an uncanny resemblance to a golden retriever waiting for his owner to give him a treat. And boy did he deserve one.
The thoroughness of his notes left you stunned. With six pages of organized, neatly scripted notes, it was by far the most effort you’d ever seen him put into classwork.
“Jesus, Bradley,” you said, “You really went all out on this didn’t you?”
He chuckled. “If I wanted any shot at making something up to your standards, I kinda had to. Plus, Bob and Natasha were eyeing me the entire lecture. I think I finally get what peer pressure’s like now.”
A dull ache echoed in the back of your head as a reminder of your crappy night’s sleep and irritating affliction. You should’ve gone back to bed but you couldn’t pry your eyes from Bradley’s notebook. It meant the world to you that he’d done that. To think that he’d actually put that much effort into notes taken on your behalf when he wouldn’t even have bothered to jot down a single bullet point for himself.
You flipped through the pages again, unable to hold back an awestruck sigh. “God, I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”
The statement was out of your mouth and lingering in the air long before your brain processed the consequences. What on God’s green Earth compelled you to say that? Were you high on over the counter flu meds? Or had the fever actually fried your brain?
You wanted to take it back. Especially when you dared to glance up and found Bradley gaping at you.
Oh, for the love of God, you thought as fresh, non-fever related color rushed to your cheeks. Of all the ways to confess, this is the one you go with?
In all honesty, you should have seen it coming. It was only a matter of time.
He’d been your best friend for the better part of a decade. Inseparable from the moment you met. Every big life event from birthdays to buying your first car, he was the first one to celebrate with you. Hell, the guy passed up a full ride to play baseball at the University of Florida just so he could go to the same school as you.
Slowly but surely, as the years rolled on and childhood faded into the past, the friendship that you treasured became the key to your happiness. The goofy, thrill-seeking kid you’d come to adore and trust with your entire being grew into a selfless gentleman. Though he never lost that edge that separated him from perfectionists and academics, he’d clearly come into his own. It would have been impossible for you not to fall for him.
“Did you just say you wanna kiss me?”
Bradley’s voice reeled you back in from the sea of your internal torment. He didn’t sound angry or even disgusted by the notion. In fact, he almost sounded delighted—a theory that was backed the moment you looked over and saw a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You swallowed the lump in your throat and, despite the outcry from every defense mechanism tucked away in your subconscious, you forced yourself to reply. “I did.”
“Did you mean it?”
“Yeah,” you admitted, voice registering just above a whisper.
“Good.”
Your brow furrowed at his reply. You wanted to ask what he meant, to see if your confession was something the foundations of your friendship could withstand. But he was on his feet and crossing the distance between his chair and the couch before a question was even formulated in your mind.
“Bradley, hold on. I don’t wanna get you si—“
The protest died on your tongue. Warm, gentle hands cupped your jaw as his lips met yours. It was a sweet kiss. There was no hurry, no hesitation. Just the taste of a decade’s worth of fondness and pent up intimacy. Between the soothing caress of his fingertips at the nape of your neck and the bristle of his mustache just above your upper lip, you swore his kiss was better than heaven itself.
His hands kept their post along your jaw when he pulled back to look at you. The smile on his face was unbearably reverent. Anything softer than that look in his eyes and you would have suffocated.
“How long have you been waiting to do that?” You asked.
“How long have we been friends?”
Both of you chuckled. Turns out you weren’t the only one who’d gradually fallen over the years.
“Well, thank you,” you said.
“For what?”
You patted the notebook still sitting in your lap. “For thinking of me this morning. And for not flipping out when I said I wanted to kiss you.”
“This may come as a surprise,” he said with a lopsided smirk, “But I think about you a lot.”
Your brow cocked. “Oh, really?”
While it was clear from his tone that he meant it in an innocent, heartfelt manner, you couldn’t help but toy with the more explicit connotation of his words. And let’s be honest, you were guilty of having thoughts that strayed a little too far off the path of purity.
“Hey!” Bradley’s hands fell from your neck and one of his palms playfully shoved you back against the couch by the forehead. “Settle down. You’re supposed to be sick, not horny.”
You reached out to smack his thigh. “And you’re not supposed to be kissing people when they’re sick, dumbass. Jake’s gonna kill me if you end up missing a single practice.”
“Relax, sweetheart. I’ll just OD on Emergen-C when I get home.”
He ignored your childish pout and plopped down on the couch next to you. Rather than drape his arm over the back of your seat like he normally did, he hooked it around your shoulders and pulled you into the warmth of his embrace. Your head nestled perfectly in the crook of his neck where the scent of his cologne lulled you into dream-like contentment. You’d always thought he smelled good but nuzzling into him like that made it hard to overlook just how right it felt to be engulfed in his presence.
“You need anything?” He asked after a long moment of agreeable silence. “I can make you some soup if you want. I also got some mac n’ cheese if you’re feeling up to it. I don’t know how bitchy your stomach is acting right now.”
“Bradley?”
“Hm?”
“Shut up and let me fall asleep on you.”
A delightful, weightless sensation twisted in your stomach when you felt a chuckle rumble in his chest. Now there was a feeling you never realized you wanted.
“Alright. You sleep. We’ll get you to eat something when you wake up,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
You hummed your approval and closed your eyes. All of your senses zeroed in on him. The way he smelled of cedarwood and ocean breezes, the way his chest rose and fell beneath you with each breath, the way his thumb absentmindedly stroked your shoulder. All of it was new and exciting. And yet, at the same time, it was as if you’d been indulging in the gifts of his adoration your entire life.
In a stark contrast to the evening prior, you fell asleep in record time.
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au where wonwoo is a 30 year old professor and you’re his phd student in your late 20’s and…
wonwoo is the most popular professor in the department. not only is he incredibly intelligent, thoughtful and kind, soft-spoken yet confident, and a leader in his field of study, he’s also hot. all the undergrads who attend his lecture will dress up, and girls who go to his office hours put on makeup beforehand. while grading papers for him, you’ve seen the occasional phone number slipped in. and wonwoo, who is a bit awkward and shy, has no idea.
(after you graduate, you bring it up to him. “you’re ridiculously attractive.”
wonwoo flushes and stutters, “what are you talking about?”
“why do you think your office hours were so popular? i had undergrads begging me to get off the waitlist for your class”
“what? i just thought the kids were really interested in organic polymer engineering!”)
the problem is: while your professor might not realize how perfect he is, you certainly do. getting a phd is hard enough without your stupid crush on your stupidly perfect professor getting in the way, so you squish it all down, deep inside you and shove it all in a little box labeled “unrealistic fantasies” along with your nobel prize aspirations and meeting beyoncé. (what you don’t know is that the whole lab can see it, the heart eyes that you make at professor jeon each time he stands at the podium to lecture or gets lost in a particularly tricky problem. and what you also don’t know is that when you’re not looking, wonwoo makes those same heart eyes at you. the two of you are crazy for each other, everybody in the lab can see it. everybody except you.)
time goes by and before you know it, you’ve successfully defended your thesis. the whole lab goes out for drinks and at the end of the night, happy and slightly tipsy, wonwoo pulls you in to a very professional hug and says in that gentle deep voice of his, “well done,” in a way that sends shivers down your spine.
you graduate. you have a job lined up. everything is falling into place. three days after graduation, you stop by the lab to turn in your keys to the building manager and to pick up a few notebooks, when you run into wonwoo sitting in the lab, reading over a manuscript. it’s saturday and the first week of summer break, so the building is empty save for the two of you. and he’s just sitting there, reading, but he’s so attractive and, somehow, cozy-looking, with his sleeves rolled up and his glasses sliding down his nose and dark circles under his eyes, so familiar and you’re hit with a sudden wave of overwhelming fondness.
so you crack the door to the lab open and peek in. “hi, wonwoo. i’m just about to head out.”
“oh,” he looks up in mild surprise. his glasses are askew, and you feel your chest ache with affection. “i was hoping you’d stop by.”
“yeah, well i’m about to get fined by the building manager if i don’t drop off my keys today,” you laugh.
he smiles at you, a small tight-lipped smile. “i know i’ve told you this many times over the past few weeks, but i need to tell you again how wonderful it was having you as my student. i’m very proud of you,” he says, “and i’m excited to see where you go.” then, he adds on in a tone that feels too tender and soft, “i’ll miss having you around in the lab, y/n.”
it make your breath catch in your throat. just one of hundreds of moments of half-whispered maybes, edging on the potential of something more. maybe it’s time to put that behind you, you muse to yourself. after all, he’s no longer your mentor, and you’re no longer his favorite grad student. “thank you,” you tell him. “i’ll miss you too.” more than you’ll know.
you turn to leave once and for all, but then wonwoo stops you when he calls out your name. “y/n, wait—“
you turn to look at wonwoo, who has his head raised, wearing a hopefully expression on his face. he frowns for half a moment, lips thinning into an expression you recognize as his thinking face, and then he asks, almost tentatively, “would you want to go out to dinner with me some time?”
you blink. wonwoo is flushing now. you can see his ears flashing pink. “dinner? just us?”
wonwoo nods. “yes, since you’re no longer my student now…”
“professor jeon,” you laugh, “are you asking me out on a date? because if you are, the answer is yes.”
wonwoo smiles at you, a wider grin now. “you know, you don’t have to call me professor anymore, dr. l/n.”
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Conveniently Yours
Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader
Synopsis: In a desperate attempt to pay for your mom's cancer treatment you take a job as a dancer at one of NYC's prestigious strip clubs where you meet Jake Seresin who just happens to need a wife.
Warnings: Allusions to cancer and cancer treatment, alcohol consumption. This is another easy chapter
Word count: 2.6k
THIS BLOG AND ITS FICS ARE 18+! MINORS DNI!
A/N: I know I said I'd have this out yesterday but then tequila happened sooooo
I do not consent to having any of my work shared on any other platform. If you see any rendition of my works on another site know that it has been posted without my permission.
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Jake Seresin.
CEO Seresin Software
555.456.7788
You fiddled with the card in your hands. Reading the shiny black printed words over and over and then flipping it to the back.
Think about it. -J
555.345.6543
It had been a week since that night and you’d stared at that card what felt like a million times. What the fuck were you going to do? This wasn’t some simple passing opportunity. This would affect the entire trajectory of your life. This was an actual legal, binding marriage to a man you only knew through tabloids and media outlets. Which was another scary aspect to all of this. If you accepted this offer your entire life would be picked clean through by the media.
You didn’t have any dirty, life altering secrets, but that didn’t mean you wanted everything about you to be put on display for the whole world to see. And you knew that you wouldn’t be able to be a wife in hiding. The whole issue was Jake’s debauchery with women. He needed you to show your face and make it look like someone had finally tamed him.
It was laughable. The idea that someone as meek and mild as you could tame the likes of Jake Seresin. He’d been attracted to your stripper persona. Sapphire was a different person than you. Sapphire wore a blue wig, skimpy clothes and was confident in what she did. Hell, you were still developing Sapphire as a whole. Sure, maybe once he pulled that wig off you were no longer Sapphire, but you were still in the club. You were still working. Whether or not you were spilling your guts and laughing with him.
With a sigh you grabbed your old laptop and fired it up. The thing was on its final days, evidenced by the loud hum it constantly made and the way it got hot real fast. Still it worked well enough for you to search Jake. It was eerie how you were able to find basically his whole life story in a few searches.
He was born October 21,1989 in Austin, Texas. Where the family lived up until he was about fifteen. When the company really started to take off and his father moved the family out to New York. He went back to Texas for both his Undergrad and his masters.
“So he’s a Longhorns fan…” you mused silently. Remembering how your dad had been an Oklahoma Sooners fan. He hated the Longhorns with a passion.
Jake had three sisters, all of whom were as equally beautiful as Jake himself was. The family had some damn good genes. The two eldest ones looked a little…bitchy. The youngest one looked sweet. Her smile was genuine as she clung to the man you could only assume was her husband or fiancé. His mother didn’t look very agreeable, her smile was forced and you were certain if you went through with this she would hate you. His dad you couldn’t get a read on. Certainly if his mother hated you, his father would too.
From there the info was centered on his antics. Picture after picture of him with models and heiresses. Women that were of his caliber. Beautiful, rich, had probably never lifted a finger in their life or ever had to consider stripping for money. He was hardly ever spotted with the same woman more than a few times. If even more than once. Why hadn’t he just asked one of these women to be his wife? Surely they would jump at the bit, no questions asked.
You let out a defeated groan and collapsed back on your bed. Inside your head felt like a war zone between the side that wanted you to tell him yes and the side that wanted nothing to do with him.
The sound of your phone going off made you jump from your confused daze. It was probably Nat wanting to go get dinner or drinks or something. You didn’t answer, knowing she would just text you about it instead. Only instead of the familiar ding of a text alert your phone just started ringing again. You sat up, immediately worried that something was wrong. Which was only exacerbated when you noticed it wasn’t Natasha calling you.
“Hello?” You answered.
“Y/N?” Jake’s voice came through the speaker and your eyes shot open wide.
How did he get your number? “How did you get my number?” You knew why he was calling. He wanted to know if you had an answer.
“I have my ways.” God that sounded creepy. It was creepy, but he was rich. He probably had ways of getting anything he wanted. “So…have you decided?”
You swallowed hard.
“Not yet,” he let out a sigh on the other end of the receiver. “But I will have it for you tomorrow night.” Where that had come from you weren’t sure, but now that you’d said it you knew you’d have to follow through with it.
“Perfect, we’ll meet for dinner. I’ll send a car for you at 6:30.” Your stomach did a somersault. The way he spoke sounded so sure that you were going to say yes. Otherwise he wouldn’t need a dinner, just a call or a text.
Another call started coming through. This time it was Nat. “Nat is calling me, I have to go.”
“The one that got you the job at the club?” The fact he’d remembered that little tidbit took you by surprise. Then again he did seem incredibly smart, perhaps he just had a good memory.
“Uh yeah. Her. 6:30?” You asked. Natasha’s call had come and went.
“6:30. See you then.” And the line clicked silent. Your phone dinged with a text from Nat asking to meet for some drinks.
About an hour later you found yourself at some corner bar, sitting in a back booth with a gin and tonic recounting the story to Nat. You weren’t sure you should actually share it with her, but he hadn’t explicitly told you not to. Even if Natasha told someone they wouldn’t believe her.
You still weren’t entirely sure you believed this was all happening. Maybe you just ate some bad food and this was some food poisoning induced hallucination. You would come out of it as soon as you vomited and shit all the bad food out. Except you weren’t that capable of convincing yourself this wasn’t real. It was all too real and you didn’t know what to do about it.
“How did it feel sitting in his lap? Is he as hot in person as he is in pictures? Did you fuck him? Does he have a nice cock?” Nat hit you with a barrage of questions and the last one had you nearly choking on your drink.
“Christ Nat!” You managed once you finished your coughing fit.
She just shrugged at you innocently as if those were perfectly normal questions to ask about someone. “What? I’ve never actually seen him at the club. I know he’s been but he usually already has a private room booked before he arrives.” Of course he did. That didn’t surprise you. You were sure he had a few of the girls that were his favorites.
“Anyway…he’s even hotter and I wouldn’t know about little Seresin because I didn’t fuck him! That’s against the rules!” The dark haired beauty gave you a pointed look. The No Sex rule had never really stopped anyone before. Especially not when the customers were fronting as much money as they were. You followed the rule. It wasn’t that you didn’t fuck, but you definitely weren’t about to cross that line into what was basically prostitution.
Then again you were contemplating marrying some uber rich man to pay for your mom's chemo. So were you really any better?
“What should I do though? I mean this is a big fucking deal Nat!” You sunk back into the booth, wrapping your arms around yourself as you felt the anxiety of it all start to settle in.
Natasha’s features softened as she realized just how much you were needing her in that moment. “Okay I mean I’ll be honest, I don’t really see the downfall of the situation. He’s hot, he’s rich, it’s mutually beneficial. No feelings are involved and you’ll get a clean divorce? Maybe he’ll even give you a good amount in the divorce settlement to live off. Or maybe you can finally finish school while you’re married. Seriously, what’s holding you back?” Nat pushed her empty glass to the side, having finished her whiskey sour.
“I mean the fact that it’s an actual fucking marriage?”
“Is there anyone in your life that a marriage would jeopardize your chances with?”
“No.”
There wasn’t a single man in your life that you had any sort of romantic feelings for. When your mom got sick you had kind of pushed any focus on a relationship to the side to focus on her.
“Okay so it’s a legal marriage, but marriages between people who thought they were in love end in divorce all the time. At least you won’t have to experience heartbreak with this one.” That much was true. You couldn’t see yourself falling for Jake and you were sure he would continue his debauchery in secret. You were just the cover up. The one that would make him look good in front of the media and to his company. And there was no way you could fall for a man watching him act like that all the time.
You grabbed your gin and tonic, sucking down a decent amount of it. Your eyes stared so hard at the grain on the table you might as well have committed the pattern to memory.
“What about actually having to act like his wife? All the media and the pressure to make it believable?” You weren’t sure you could actually pull that aspect of the plan off.
“Just pretend it’s like the club. You have to act like everything those guys want when you’re on their lap.” This all seemed like too much. You were quickly becoming overwhelmed. Nat was making good points. “And…you likely won’t ever have to step foot in Birdie again. I know you hate working there. It’s not who you are, it’s what you had to become. It’s unorthodox, but it’s your best shot at getting out.” Fuck. She was right and you hated it.
If you didn’t agree to this you would be stuck working at Birdie for the foreseeable future.
Natasha watched your face as you went through the five stages of grief until finally landing on acceptance.
“Holy shit. My best friend is marrying Jake Seresin!” She said a little too loudly and you immediately had to shush her. Luckily no one was paying attention or at least it seemed like it. “Okay, it’s still early, we need to get you a dress to wear to this proposal dinner tomorrow.” Natasha was way more excited about this than you were and if it weren’t for her boyfriend, Bob, you’d try to convince Jake to ask Natasha to be his wife instead.
Your stomach was in your ass the next night as you waited for the car to arrive. It felt like time was passing so slow. The navy blue dress you had on was far more posh than anything you’d worn before. Much pricier as well. Nat had been the one to talk you into buying it. She said it made you look like the million bucks you were about to be worth. Though, you weren’t so sure about that, it did look good on you.
It had a sweetheart neckline that accentuated the natural swell of your breasts. It hugged your curves tastefully. And with the French twist you’d put your hair in, a few pieces left out to frame your face, the tasteful makeup and diamond jewelry you had to admit you looked expensive. The diamond necklace and earrings had been a gift from your parents when you graduated high school and wearing them seemed to help you feel a little better about this all.
“Sweetheart, are you sure you want to do this?” Your mothers sweet voice spoke from the doorway of your room. When you’d gotten home last night you’d broken down and told her what was going on. Not that you ever had the intent of not telling her, but you had wanted to wait until it was all set after your dinner with Jake. Ellen had been able to tell something was off and you cracked easily when it came to your mother.
Slipping your feet into a pair of nude heels you looked up at her. “Yes, mama,” you smiled weakly at her. “It’s not ideal but it’s better than working at Birdie.” Your mom let out a sigh. She couldn’t argue with that.
This was never something she’d envisioned for either of you, but especially not for her daughter. A knock came at the front door of your townhouse — they were here. “I’m doing this for both of us.” You gave her a kiss on the cheek before moving around her and towards the door.
A man in a nice suit with kind eyes stood at the door. “Miss Byers?” His voice was just as kind as his eyes. You nodded with a soft smile. “I’m Charlie, I’ll be your chauffeur to Mr. Seresin’s tonight.” He informed you as he led you out to the car.
It was a sleek car, all black with way tinted windows. On the inside it had all the bells and whistles. The exact kind of car you’d imagine a tech giant would own.
Charlie was sweet, keeping polite conversation the entire drive. He reminded you a lot of your father. Still you couldn’t shake the notion that you weren’t dining out at some ultra expensive restaurant. You were going to Jake’s place.
It took you a few moments but you finally brought it up. “You said you’re taking me to Mr. Seresin’s?” You phrased the question so that Charlie would understand it was in fact a question.
“Yes, Miss Byers. Mr. Seresin thought it best to have dinner at his place.” Your eyes went wide momentarily. Going to Jake’s place? That felt too intimate, then again maybe he didn’t want to be seen with you until he knew you were going to agree.
You watched all the buildings pass on the drive, trying your hardest not to pick at the fresh polish on your nails. A nervous habit you had picked up long ago. Keeping any sort of polish on your nails was nearly impossible unless you had gone to a salon. Whatever they used was nearly unmovable without acetone.
The knot that had started forming in your stomach only grew more when your eyes took in the massive building Charlie pulled into. It was all glass windows in the Lincoln Square part of Manhattan. You didn’t even want to know what the price tag of even one of the standard rentable apartments was in the building.
Charlie walked with you, leading you into the elevator. Your steady steps in the heels exuded a level of confidence that you didn’t actually have at the moment. He punched in a special code on the elevator panel and seconds later you felt it start to rise. Your fingers drummed nervously on your thigh as the elevator took you up. Floor after floor after floor. Of course he had to live on the highest floor. It was Jake Fucking Seresin.
Just as your anxiety over the whole situation started to peak and you were contemplating leaving the elevator dinged.
As the doors opened you were met with that same green gaze, the one that was about to make or break your future.
@love2write2626 @cherrycola27 @chaoticversion @3in1shampooconditionerbodywash @alldaysdreamers @sexytholland @mishala005 @a-serene-place-to-be @emma8895eb @aemondssiut @averyhotchner @blairfox04 @realdirectionx @rintheemolion @xoxabs88xox @clancycucumber230 @inky-sun @ilovewhalesharks444 @gigisimsonmars @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @bl6o6dy @potato-girl99981 @emorychase @hangmandruigandmav
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Intro to this page
Misinformation is the internet's drug of choice.
In the realm of medical misinformation, the internet thrives.
This page will be dedicated to providing proper information about chiropractic care, a routinely misinterpreted science and profession.
About me: I was a medical student for two years following undergrad. I found the environment to be inherently toxic and abusive. So I left and attended a chiropractic college. Frankly, I had always wanted to be a chiropractor (it's a family business), but wanted to see what medicine could do for me. It taught me how deadly the U.S. healthcare system can be. But it also taught me how to approach misinformation and evidence. How to seek knowledge.
So please enjoy the fruits of my labor.
I will post regular information about chiropractic, musculoskeletal rehab, my own musings about the profession, and anything fun about the practice that I can find.
Cheers!
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