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janeyseymour · 4 months

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Enchanted

I was working my double shift at the restaurant when Enchanted by Taylor Swift came on, and this was born...

Summary: Ava begs you to go to a school event. You dread the night, but you quickly find that you're enchanted to meet a feisty redheaded teacher there.

WC: ~1.8k

Ava, your best friend, is currently begging you to come to one of the events she has to attend for her school.

“Please, Y/N,” she pleads. “If at least fifty people don’t show, my ass is on the line! This is the first job I actually like!”

“What do you even do there?” you chuckle. “I see you go live on Instagram constantly.”

“I’m running a school and being an influencer!” she snorts. “Please, Y/N.”

“What can you offer?” you ask as you file your nails.

“After, we can go out to the clubs?”

“I’m done drinking for a while after the last time we went out together,” you roll your eyes.

“I’ll… pay for your next manicure?”

“I’m getting a new set,” you grin.

“Whatever,” she groans. “Just show up to the school by seven so I can count you as a head.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

“Your favorite pain in the ass, otherwise you wouldn’t have stuck with me all these years,” the principal rolls her eyes.

“I think I got stuck with you, is more like it.” The truth is, you had grown up with Ava as a neighbor. Your families often had dinners together, and even splurged on one big ‘family’ vacation together when the two of you were thirteen. It was the best week of your life, and you really don’t know where you’d be without the spunky and full of live woman by your side.

So here you are, at Abbott Elementary, for some sort of fundraiser- and it isn’t one that you particularly wish you were at. Sometimes, Ava came through for this school and knew how to threw a child-friendly party, but this is clearly not the case with this one.

You’re engaging in friendly conversation with Janine and Jacob, forcing laughter and faking your smiles. You glance over to where Ava is interacting with one of the sponsors, clearly schmoozing them.

“Oh, there’s Melissa!” Jacob grins. “Melissa!” he waves the woman over.

Not expecting anything, you turn to glance at the woman the history teacher is calling over, and the vacancy that was in your eyes as you listened to Janine drone on immediately vanishes.

The two of you lock eyes as she crosses the room to greet her coworkers. There’s a spark in her eye that whispers, ‘Have we met?’ and you can’t help but smile at her as she makes her way over.

“Melissa!” Janine grins.

“Hey, kid,” she replies without taking her eyes off of you. Then she directs her words towards you. “Melissa. Schemmenti. You are?”

“Y/N,” you tell her softly, hoping she doesn’t hear the waver in your voice. She’s taking your breath away.

“Why’re you here?”

“I- Ava’s my best friend. I’ve been to a few of these fundraisers,” you tell her. “But I’ve never seen you around. Are you a new teacher?”

“If working here for the last twenty years is new,” she playfully retorts. You catch her eyes glance at your outfit, memorizing it. “I need a drink. You want one?”

You nod, thankful for an escape from the two younger teachers. You follow her to the bar.

“Lemme guess,” she looks you over again. “Seltzer girl?”

You can tell in her voice that she might judge you if you tell her she’s absolutely correct, so you shake your head. “I was actually thinking a Yuengling tonight.”

“Pretty and has good taste in beer?” she looks impressed.

You turn nearly as red as the woman’s hair. “It’s just a Yuengling.”

“Didn’t strike me for that though,” she shrugs before ordering two beers. The two of you clink your bottles together before taking simultaneous sips. “Easy on the eyes, likes a good beer… friends with Ava?”

“Not by choice,” you quickly remark. “More like stuck with her since we were five.”

“I didn’t realize you were the same age as Coleman,” she notes. “You look much younger.”

“My secret is that I don’t work with kids,” you joke.

“That would do it,” she chuckles. “I had gray hair by the time I was twenty five from working at this school.”

You find that you really enjoy talking to this Melissa Schemmenti character. She finds that she loves that you’re able to keep up with her quick remarks and can usually deal it right back. You spend the night in a corner with her, tossing jokes back and forth, and it’s almost like you’ve been passing notes in secrecy during class.

“Y/N!” Ava calls as she makes her way over to you. You have to bite back a groan at your friend for interrupting this time with perhaps your new favorite Abbott teacher. “Melissa! You came!”

“Been here for two hours, Ava,” the redhead rolls her eyes.

“I see you met my bitch,” the principal raises a suggestive brow. She knows you’re into redheads, and she also knows that you’re exactly Melissa’s type- a hot, quick to remark, decisive woman.

“Not your bitch,” you stick your tongue out at your best friend.

“You’re here, ain’t you?” she grins. “My bitch.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” you tell her for the fifth time that night.

“Yeah, but you love me,” Ava chuckles.

“Do I?”

“Well, if you don’t love me, who do you love?”

“I am painfully single, and you know it, Coleman,” you roll your eyes. Underneath your tough exterior though, you know the question of ‘Who do you love?’ is going to linger in your mind for the rest of the night.

Melissa subconsciously licks her lips. So you’re hot, you drink a good beer, you know how to give it right back to Ava, and you’re single? This just keeps getting better and better for her.

“You could have anyone you want. You’re just picky,” the principal retorts. “Anyway, this party is lame, so I was thinking we ditch it and go out!”

“You’re the principal,” Melissa reminds her. “You have to stay til the end.”

“Who says?”

“The superintendent who is already hellbent on trying to get your ass fired,” the second grade teacher remarks.

“Shit, girl,” your best friend groans. “You’re right.”

“I also already told you I was done drinking for a while.”

“You have a beer in hand,” Ava points out.

“Well…” you shrug. “Melissa asked if I wanted anything to drink, and I figured I could handle a beer. I will not be able to handle fireball shots like I know you want to take.”

“How much longer does this go to?” the redhead asks.

“Til ten, so… an hour longer.”

“I’m gonna need another beer.”

The redhead stays until everyone clears out, keeping you company. You truly don’t want this time with her to end.

Ava heads to her office to grab your things, and you sigh when you realize that your time with Melissa is quickly coming to an end.

“It was really nice to meet you,” you say quietly to the woman who’s stuck by your side all night.

“Enchanting,” she smiles back at you with a wink. She grabs her bag and heads out. You watch her as she goes. You really were enchanted to meet her.

“So, Melissa,” Ava wiggles her eyebrows as she locks her office.

“We were just talking,” you roll your eyes. “Can I go now?”

“Yeah, just let me know when you want to go get your nails done,” she tells you dryly. Then she gives you one of the softer looks that she usually only reserves for those who are especially close to. “And seriously… thank you for coming.”

“Once again, I’m stuck getting you out of ridiculous situations,” you joke with her.

“Like it’s your job,” she quips.

“I’ll give you a call soon,” you tell her as you turn on your heel.

You’re laying in bed, Ava’s question running through your head for the thousandth time this night.

Who do you love?

You glance at the clock, and 2 AM is staring back at you. Jesus Christ.

You wonder about who you love until you’re no longer tired. You love your family, you love your friends, you love Ava… but who would be the one that you truly love and want to spend the rest of your days with? You have no idea. All you know at this very moment is that intoxicating redhead that stood by your side tonight is in your head and stealing all of your thoughts.

Giving up, you get out of bed and head into your kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. You’re pacing back and forth as you wait for the water to heat when you hear something that sounds sort of like a knock on your front door. Your brain tells you that you hope it’s Melissa- but realistically, you know it’s that stupid tree branch that hits the window when it’s windy out.

You let yourself fantasize about what it would be like to open the door and her standing there. You imagine that all she would say is a simple, ‘hey’. It’s past 2 AM now, what else would she say if she showed up at your door?

All you know is that you were enchanted to meet that gorgeous second grade teacher. You had blushed all the way home that night thinking about the different things that she had whispered to you- her jokes, her snarky remarks, that infectious laugh where she would throw her head back and bring her hand to her chest. A night that you had dreaded ended up being flawless. You wonder if she felt the same way. Maybe you would have to ask Ava for her number. No, she’s probably in a relationship- someone like her would have to be. There’s no way she’s single. But you let yourself think about what it could be like with her.

As you settle down on your couch, you wonder if there are any more events that are upcoming for the school. Hopefully, you would be able to see her again- that tonight was the very first page of a new chapter in your life, and not where the storyline ends with that woman. You know she’s going to be on your mind until you see her again, or at least get to hear about her through Ava.

You mentally kick yourself for holding back what you had wanted to say to her as you were leaving. You should’ve asked her for her number- if she wanted to meet you for dinner or another drink. But you didn’t. Because you didn’t know if she was in love with someone else. If she had somebody waiting on her.

Maybe you’ll ask Ava about her another day. But for now, you quietly whisper, “Please don’t be in love with someone else. Please don’t have somebody waiting for you.”

Part 2

#melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

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flemingsfreckles · 1 month

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Be a Good Teammate pt. 4

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Read Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 first!

Preview: You and Jessie have dinner at her new place.

Warnings: it’s angsty yall, buckle up (just for a bit), swearing, very brief mention of sex (no descriptions, nothing like that, but it gets mentioned)

WC: 5.5k

A/N: I think this is the end of this series. I never intend to make it more than 1 part honestly, but you all enjoyed it enough so here we are at Part 4. This also ended up more angsty than I had planned so, whoops :)

It was nearing 5pm when your Uber pulled up in front of the address Jessie had sent you. You thanked the driver and hopped out. You hadn’t thought much of the address, not noticing that there wasn’t an apartment number or a unit letter attached to the end of it, so you were surprised to find yourself standing in front of a house instead of an apartment complex as you had expected.

It was a small little blue house, wood fencing all around, a good sized front yard, a few trees, it was exactly what you would expect Jessie to pick out.

You pulled your phone out of your sweatpants pocket to let her know you had arrived. You had gotten back to the hotel, quickly thrown on a Nike sweatshirt and a fitted pair of gray joggers.

“Hi.” You look up to see Jessie walking through the doorway and down the steps toward the fence gate. You put your phone back in your pocket, not needing to let her know you were here anymore. She reached the gate, unlatched it and held it open for you to come inside. You notice that she quickly looks you up and down as you walk through into her front yard. You can’t help but do the same to her.

Jessie’s hair was down, still slightly wet from her postgame shower, she was wearing a lavender colored long sleeved shirt and a pair of sweatpants. She looked cozy, as if she was ready to cuddle up on the couch for the evening like she had mentioned wanting to do.

“You bought a house?” Your curiosity gets the best of you and you can’t help but ask.

“Yeah, I did. I lived with Janine and her fiancé for the first few weeks while I looked at places, and then I had to leave for the gold cup and I just couldn’t find any apartment that felt like home. I started looking at houses instead once I got back. This was actually the first one I saw and I really liked it. It’s not too big, which works since it’s just me right now but has some room if I need it in the future.” Your brain wanders to the thought of Jessie having her own kids in the future, you knew she wanted them and you had seen how good she was with kids over the years.

“Plus I figured even if I’m only here for a couple years, I can keep the house. It’s only been a few weeks but I love the area. I'd consider coming back here to settle when soccer is over.” She opened the front door, stepping back to let you walk in first.

You slip off your shoes, placing them on the mat next to the door where Jessie’s shoes lay neatly in a row. Looking up you realize you're standing in her living room, there’s a large gray couch, a small table in front of it, a tv, a bookshelf that’s filled with books and art and other trinkets.

“You can keep a plant alive now?” You tease her as you see she has a variety of green plants. In college you had watched her become what you described as a serial killer of plants.

“I’m getting better. A lot of them were housewarming gifts from my teammates so I maybe just haven't had enough time to kill them.”

Stepping out of the entryway you walk over to her bookshelf, looking at the various titles, there’s a couple photos placed on the bookshelf, one with her parents after she had won the gold medal, one of her and her Chelsea teammates holding up a couple trophies, one of her and her siblings all wearing matching Christmas pajamas. The opening to the kitchen was just to your right, you step in its direction before turning to look at Jessie who was following closely behind you.

“Can I see the kitchen?” You don’t want to invade her privacy by inviting yourself to take a tour of her place.

As if she read your mind she gestures her hand in the direction of the kitchen. “Go ahead, I can just give you the whole tour now while we wait for the food, it should be on its way by now. I was also thinking we can watch the Angel City and Orlando game, only if you want it should be on at 7. ” She looks at the clock mounted on the wall.

“Yeah that sounds good.” You reply as you step into the kitchen.

Her kitchen was cute, the same wood accent from the outside of the house scattered throughout. She offered you an ice pack for your nose as you stood looking at her fridge. You declined, having just taken the pain meds, it was bearable pain.

As you continue to move through her house Jessie makes a few comments here and there about what she liked about the house so much, the wood flooring, the large windows that let in natural light, the little nook that she had set up to be a place to read. Hearing her talk about the little things, paint colors, furniture was so simple and yet it made you feel like you were back to your old friendship. The simple minded discussions, the joking around, all the tiny moments you would have with her, it hit you how much you really missed just her existence and company.

You get to two closed doors at the end of the hallway, you point at the one closest to you and look back at Jessie.

“Linen closet, nothing exciting unless you want to see towels.” You move your finger to point at the other. “My bedroom.”

“Oh,” You’re not sure what to say, the closed door seemed like an obvious sign to not go in. Jessie again, able to tell what was running through your head, speaks up.

“You can go in, I just close the door out of habit. I don’t have anything to hide.” Wanting to see her bedroom, you push open the door. It reminds you a little bit of her bedroom in your college apartment. Not much as far as decor, just a few special things on display throughout. Her bed in the center of the room, a nightstand on one side.

“Sorry it’s still a mess in here, I haven’t had a ton of time to dedicate to unpacking and I was more focused on the rooms everyone else would see.” You look around, trying to find the mess she was referring to. Her bed was made, no clothes scattered across the floor, no pile of clean laundry to be put away, no water bottles on bedsides, not even dust, just a few boxes stacked neatly in the corner, the one on top open as if she had been in the middle of unpacking when you had arrived.

“If this is what you consider a mess, we have completely different standards of mess.” You let out a laugh, Jessie doesn’t say anything, just gives you a smile and slow nod.

You’re interrupted by her phone ringing, she picks it up and before answering the call she points around the corner. “If you want to see my bathroom, it's through the closet. I’ll be right back.”

She walks out of the room and you hear her answer the call. You take a second look around her bedroom, looking at the couple of personal items that were scattered, photos of her and her Canada teammates, photos of her family, photos of skylines and nature that you assume she had taken. She has her array of cameras all neatly set on a shelf, displaying them. Making your way over to her closet you walk through to peek into her bathroom. It looked like a bathroom, nothing too special about it, a shower, toilet, a vanity with two sinks, her toothbrush, hairbrush, and other bathroom things just placed neatly around one side.

You turn back to go wait in her bedroom being done looking at the bathroom. You walk into her closet, taking a quick glance around, the closet had more boxes in it than unpacked clothing items. Each box was neatly labeled, varying in sizes, all stacked on top of one another. You look at what clothes she had unpacked, it was nearly all clothes for training, one pile had clothes with the maple leaf and the name Canada across them, the other a mix of red, green, some blue, with the thorn’s logo and Portland across them. Looking back toward the exit of the closet your eye catches on a box, more specifically the label of the box catches your eye.

It was a box with your name on it. Printed carefully along the side, in Jessie’s handwriting. You could feel your heart begin to race. You couldn’t move, your eyes staring, your own name looking back at you. Why did she have a box with your name on it?

“Foods here.” You didn’t even hear Jessie coming, the sound of your blood rushing through your ears muffling outside noises. She comes around the corner, you quickly look away, not wanting her to see you and think you were snooping through her stuff. You weren’t, but you could see how it could look suspicious, but then again she was the one with a box labeled for you. She must’ve seen your sudden movement as she looks at you with a questioning look, then at where the box sat, you see the moment she knows you’ve seen the box. Her eyes widen and dart back to you. You expect her to say something, she does, just not about the box.

“It’s on the kitchen table.” Her face returns to a relaxed state, almost emotionless.

“Perfect.” Mirroring her behavior you decide maybe you’ll both just pretend that box doesn’t exist. Maybe you’ll just let it eat away at you for years, just like you had done with your feelings for the girl. You follow her out of the closet and bedroom back down the hallway and into the kitchen.

You both make a plate, grab a water, and sit down at her kitchen table. She sits first and you’re then forced to make the choice between sitting next to her or across from her. You decide on sitting across, hoping she doesn’t judge your choice. It’s quiet for the first few minutes, just the sound of silverware. Jessie keeps her eyes down, looking very interested in the plate of food sitting before her. You knew it was going to be awkward, seeing her in a non-football setting for the first time in so long, you were prepared for the small talk, asking about your family, your friends, the weather, you weren’t prepared for whatever this was. Both of you sitting here thinking about that box brought a whole different level of unexpected discomfort, it was making you itch.

“Your girlfriend doesn’t mind you having a box with another girl's name on it?” Unable to hold it in any longer, you let the question come out, you quickly kick yourself for asking that way, bringing her girlfriend into this conversation. Jessie picks up her head and puts her fork down.

“She’s not my girlfriend anymore.” Choosing the wrong time to take a sip from your glass you choke slightly causing a coughing fit. Jessie just looks at you as you try to calm down. Once you stop coughing she continues muttering the words, “and she actually did mind. A lot.”

Your brain is spinning, you heard her keep talking but your mind kept repeating the words she had spoken “not my girlfriend anymore”.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you split.” You now feel guilty for bringing up the girl.

“Of course you didn’t, you stopped talking to me, you didn’t get to have the privilege of knowing that we split.” Her tone of voice was shifting, becoming annoyed. Wanting to ask more but also not wanting to pry on a relationship you barely knew about.

“Why didn’t you just get rid of the stuff? If that would’ve made her happy?”

“I don’t know.” She pauses looking down at her hands. “I mean I do, it’s,” she sighs. “To be fair it wasn’t just the box, she had always been a little suspicious of our relationship, I told her the truth, that there’s never been anything between us, we didn’t have a history. And she believed me, I think, at least at the start. But then when you stopped talking to me, she’d catch me watching your games, checking up on you, looking at old photos of us, and she eventually found some clothing of yours that I had put away, along with the notes we used to write each other, the birthday cards, the Polaroids, everything. I wasn’t intentionally hiding but it was out of sight out of mind for me. I didn’t need the constant reminder that I had been dumped by my best friend. She again made the assumption that we had dated, or at least had slept together. She read the letters claiming friends to talk to each other in that manner. That was just the start of the mess.”

Nodding along to her story, you try to show her you’re paying attention, and you were, it was just hard when your mind was drifting to a hundred different thoughts.

“And then the rumors started about my transfer. I hadn’t told her about it, I hadn't even mentioned the idea of leaving London. I wasn’t even sure it was going to go through, it was a lot of money for Portland and I was waiting on visas and medical and all that bureaucracy and we got into an argument about it. She accused me of moving for the wrong reasons, she brought up you.” Jessie pauses for a minute as if to collect her thoughts before she continues.

“ I then said some things about you I shouldn’t have said to her and then it was over with her shortly after.” The volume of her voice drops as she rushed her words at the end of her sentence.

“You could’ve just thrown it all out at the start, if that would’ve fixed things with her, I wouldn’t have known.” Your statement is true, you didn’t even know she had kept all those things you wouldn’t have known if she had gotten rid of them.

“It wasn’t that easy, I know we weren’t talking, and like I said we weren’t even friends, but fuck I missed you so much. You were my best friend for nearly 5 years, only to get dropped without a reason and I was mad at you, sure but I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of that box of stuff.”

“There was a reason, I hope you know that.”

“Well you didn't give me a reason, if you just would’ve told me I could’ve fixed it or apologized or something. Instead I just had to sit and run through every decision I had ever made questioning where I went wrong with you, what I did to hurt you.” You can see tears welding in her eyes as she continues to stare at you, despite the tears, her eyes are cold and make you feel tiny under her gaze.

You stayed sitting, staring back at her, having no clue on what to say to her, stuck between wanting to apologize and also wanting to yell back at her. You silence allows her to continue.

“I would’ve done anything to have you back in my life, all you had to do was ask, but it felt like you wanted nothing to do with me. And that fucking hurt.” Her fist comes down hard on the table, it startles you, making you sit back away from where you had been leaning against the table. You cross your arms as you sit back and bow your head to stare down.

“I couldn’t ask.” It comes out quiet, from your mouth almost as if it was an accident.

“What?”

“I couldn’t ask you to fix it, it wouldn’t have been fair.” Speaking louder you bring your head back up to look at her.

Now it’s her turn to say nothing. She looks from you to where her hands sat on the table. She just waits, giving you the space to give her more information. You know you owe her the explanation, what you don’t expect is the word vomit that comes out once you start.

“I couldn’t ask you to break up with her, I couldn’t tell you I was jealous of her, I couldn’t bring myself to tell you those things, you seemed so happy with her, it wouldn’t have been fair. I had my chance for 4 years before she existed to tell you and I didn’t, but I also couldn’t stand seeing you so happy with her, it tore me apart, I wanted you to be happy and you were. It just sucked that you were happy with someone else. It sucked trying to be a supportive friend, I hated having to hear about your dates, and hearing about your first kiss, and I really hated having to hear all about the first time you two fucked.” The last word coming off with extra emphasis, the memory of her call to you after their night together briefly plays in your mind, only making you more upset.

“I hated it Jessie, but I sat through it for as long as I could because I wanted to be there for you. I wanted to be a good friend to you. I wanted to still be your best friend but I couldn’t and all I wanted was for her to no longer exist. I started to think horrible things about her and your relationship and that’s when I knew I needed to take a step back for my own health. I was no longer being a good friend to you. So I stepped back.” Your voice was loud, you were slightly out of breath barely stopping between words as you yelled across toward her, you’re not sure why you were yelling, you weren’t trying to yell at her. It wasn’t her fault she had found someone to make her happy that wasn’t you. But the past year of frustration had built and built and unfortunately this was the time the wall broke, and here you were practically shouting at Jessie across her own kitchen table.

Jessie doesn’t say anything. She stands up from the table, the sound of her chair scraping the floor was the only noise in an otherwise silent room. Grabbing her own empty plate and then extending her hand she offers to take yours. You pass it to her. She walks them over to the sink, putting them down, running the water over them. You stand up, not wanting to feel like a terrible house guest, you start packing the leftovers back up. You open the fridge door and place them inside. The water shuts off and Jessie puts the plates on a mat to dry. She walks past you, not saying anything as she moves into the living room. You hear the noise of the couch, assuming she has sat down you take a few steps toward the other room.

She’s sitting on the couch, bent over with her head in her hands. Her thumb is rubbing against her temple and she’s bouncing her knees. Leaning against the doorway you stay quiet, you feel bad for yelling at her, seeing her overwhelmed like this because of you, tugged on your heart. You wanted to rush to her side and hug her but you also knew that would probably be the worst thing you could do. You stayed put, leaned against the wall just watching her. She lets out a large breath and then sits up.

“What?”

“I didn’t,” you shake your head, not sure what she’s asking. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“I know, but you look like you want to, so what? Just say it. Don’t be a coward again.” Her words are harsh, insulting you in a way she hadn’t ever before. To be fair to her you realized you had also never yelled at her before either.

“I’m not a coward.”

“Hiding your feelings for 6 whole years, 5 of those years when we were best friends feels a little cowardly, but that’s just my opinion.” You hadn’t seen Jessie like this often, especially towards you, she was almost being mean, not caring what she said to you or how she was saying it.

“Fine, what did you say about me to her? Before you broke up, you said that you said stuff to her about me that you shouldn’t have. What did you say?” You can’t help but ask, the question of what she had said had been sitting in your brain since she mentioned it.

When Jessie doesn’t respond right away you push her. “Don’t be a coward.” You mock her tone from earlier using her own words. She rolls her eyes at you.

“She accused me of moving to try and be closer to you, she said I wanted to rekindle our relationship. And by that point I couldn’t take her nagging about you anymore and so I was honest with her. I told her the reason I had kept all of your stuff, the reason I checked up on you, the reason I would look at old photos of us, even though you didn’t care about me anymore. I had to tell her my memories of you were comforting for me.” She looks you in the eyes for a second before looking down at her hands.

“Those memories felt like home, that you felt like home. And I then had to tell her that was something I had never felt with her.”

You’re not sure how to respond, trying to process all of Jessie’s words before saying anything back to her. You move off the wall and sit down on the couch, putting some distance between where you both sat.

“Naturally, admitting having feelings for someone else to your current partner doesn’t go over well so that was the end of that.” She mumbles as you sit down.

“You have feelings for me?” Maybe you had heard her wrong, doubting that this conversation was actually happening. She slowly blinks at you.

“Did they check you for a concussion after the hit?” Her question only confuses you more.

“What?”

“Oh my god.” Jessie throws her hands up. “Yes, I have feelings for you. That’s what I just said, I just didn’t really know that they were those kinds of feelings until you stopped talking to me and I realized how important you were and that it felt like I was missing a part of me that no one besides you could fill. And then I had her, and that was fine for a little bit, but she wasn’t you.”

You have half a thought to call her out, call her a coward the way she had to you for hiding her own feelings, but decide against it.

The silence takes over the room, you’re not sure what to say to her. What do you say to someone you’ve been secretly in love with for 5 years when they finally admit they want you back? Where do you even start to make up for the time you both wasted? Where do you go from this conversation?

Thankfully you don’t have to figure it out at that moment as both your phone and Jessie’s vibrate and light up, both of you reviving the notification that the Angel City and Orlando game was set to start.

Jessie looks up from reading the notification, “Do you still want to watch the game? I understand if you don’t, I probably wouldn’t want to stay around someone who called me a coward.”

“I want to stay, if that’s okay. You can yell at me and call me whatever, but just being around you has really made me realize how much I’ve missed your company. So, I’d like to stay if you’ll let me?”

“Of course.” She reaches for the remote on her coffee table and points it toward the tv turning it on.

“Can I get that ice pack you offered earlier?” No longer caught up in the intense conversation you feel the pain from your nose starting to return in full force. Jessie tosses the tv remote in your direction and hops up from the couch immediately, rushing to her freezer. She comes back with an ice pack, a bag of frozen veggies, a towel, and a bottle of pain meds.

“Do you want to just sit and hold it or lay down? I can get you a different pillow. I brought the towel in case the direct ice is too cold. And if you want these.” She gives the bottle of medicine a shake. “I also wasn’t sure if the ice pack would sit nicely on your face so I got this.” She holds out the package of frozen vegetables to you.

“Yeah that’ll actually probably work best.” You take it from her hand. “Thanks.” You add. She placed the pain meds on the coffee table and leaves to put the other ice pack back in the freezer. You use the remote to find the game, and Jessie returns as they commentators start talking about the starting lineups for each side.

When Jessie sits down you notice she sits a lot closer to you then the two of you had been before. Your hips and thighs are only inches apart. She leans back and puts her feet up onto the table.

You both sit in what is now a more comfortable silence, watching the game. You both make comments here and there about footwork, ball movement, passes, shots, critiquing and complementing the players. At halftime Jessie stands up, takes the now thawed bag of vegetables from you and brings it back to the freezer. She comes back from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn and waters.

When she sits back down, she closes the gap between the two of you. The outside of her leg now resting against the outside of yours. She places the popcorn bowl so that it rests on both of you. Jessie leans back to rest against the back of the couch and you do the same. The game starts back up again, you both focusing your attention back to the tv.

It only takes 5 minutes into the second half for you to feel Jessie shift in her seat. She’s moving only slightly but being hyper aware that she’s pressed up against you, you can’t help but notice her movements. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel her lean her head over, placing it to rest on your shoulder, leaving her body more forcefully against yours. Your whole body tenses, not wanting to move and disturb her.

You stay like this for a couple minutes. Deciding you couldn’t let her make all the moves you glance down to see Jessie’s hands resting on top of each of her thighs. You place your own hands in the same position, then move the one closest to her, in her direction. You move just as slow as she had until your pinky finger is hovering just over hers. You slowly let your hand fall on top of hers, she doesn’t pull away, or tell you off. Instead she flips her hand so her palm is now facing up. Eager to finish what you had started you now quickly move your hand, interlocking your fingers with hers. You wait a minute, then let the pad of your thumb gently rub against her thumb.

You stayed in that position, holding her hand, her head resting on your shoulder as the two of you watched the remainder of the game. Wanting more time with Jessie you desperately were hoping for an insane amount of added time, unfortunately only 3 minutes are added and the game is quick to end.

Jessie pulls her head off your shoulder, sitting up with a yawn.

“I should probably get back.” You say, realizing it was nearing 9pm and while you didn’t have a curfew, you still didn’t want to be caught coming back too late by any of your teammates knowing you’d never hear the end of it, especially since they knew you were at Jessie's.

“Right.” Jessie stands up from the couch and flips a light on. The sun had gone down as you watched the game and the two of you were in the dark without the light from the tv. She holds her hand out to you, you take it and stand up. You quickly pull out your phone and order an Uber, thankful you were in a larger city and your ride would be here in less than 5 minutes. You move toward the door, bending down to slip your shoes on before standing up facing Jessie.

“It feels weird to say that I had a really good time tonight with all the yelling that happened, but I did. I had a really good time with you Jessie.” You smile at her.

“I had a good time too, this was nice. I’ve missed you.” She replies to you. She holds her arms out to you, offering a hug. You take a step toward her, leaning in to wrap your arms around her waist as she places hers on your shoulders. You stay hugging, longer than a normal friend’s goodbye hug would be. You both release the hold on each other but you don’t move back from her. You stay face to face, your eyes staring back at her brown ones.

Much to your surprise Jessie is the one who makes the move. One of her hands comes up to your cheek, her fingers are warm and soft on your skin. Her eyes break contact with yours dropping to your lips quickly and then back up. She starts to lean in but stops just moments before your lips would connect.

“Is this okay?” Her voice is barely audible, quieter than a whisper.

“Yes.” Before you have a second to think about kissing her it’s already happening. It’s a gentle kiss, her lips just placed on top of yours. She starts to pull away a second later, but you let your head chase her lips, giving her a bit more forceful of a kiss. In doing so, you bump your nose against hers causing you to pull back quickly from her, hand coming to clutch your nose.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry I forgot about your nose.” Jessie’s eyes are wide as her hand comes to rest on the forearm of the hand holding your face.

“It’s okay Jess, that was my fault, I forgot too for a second.” You wipe your hand under your nose and look down at your fingers making sure you’re not bleeding again. “It’s not crooked or anything right?”

“No, but those black eyes are starting to come in.” Her eyes dart between both of yours. You both let out a small laugh and then are left in silence.

“I’d like to take you out sometime, on a proper date, if you’d want that?” You look at her hopeful she’ll want to continue whatever the two of you started.

“I do, I want that.” She smiles back at you, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Okay.” You can’t help but smile big back at her.

“Okay.” She just repeats your words.

“I should be going.” You repeat your words from earlier, you knew you had to go, you just didn’t want to.

Jessie moves her hand from your forearm up to your face to grab your chin. You think for a second she’s going to kiss you again but then she’s pushing your head away from her and to the side. She moves in and places her lips on your cheek.

“Once your nose is healed you can have more on the lips.” She says teasingly. The gentle gesture has you blushing more than the kisses to your lips did. She releases your face and you see her eyes look at your cheeks, the blush growing. You turn quickly facing the door, grabbing the handle and stepping out.

“Goodnight Jessie.”

#jessie fleming #portland thorns #jessie fleming imagine #jessie fleming x reader #jflem #woso imagine #woso x reader #canwnt

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hairtusk · 15 days

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sicko mutuals. need your disturbing novel recommendations. ideally pre-2000. ideally also a little humorous and morally socially politically incorrect. i.e., 1982 janine by alasdair gray or money by martin amis or o caledonia by elspeth barker.

#askbox is open please i'm begging.#current read isn't hitting the spot :/

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serenailith · 13 days

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I'm baaaaaaack(ish)

first fic in almost a year, and it's a birthday gift fic!

In his defense—

No, there is no defense. What he plans is absolutely pathetic, and he should feel shame proactively for his future actions.

But Dream doesn’t feel shame.

in which dream needs touch more than he thinks.

In his defense—

No, there is no defense. What he plans is absolutely pathetic, and he should feel shame proactively for his future actions.

But Dream doesn’t feel shame. He merely sits on the garden wall and watches the man absentmindedly petting the cat in his lap as he reads a book in the warm sunshine. Dream’s scrutiny goes unnoticed by the man but not the cat. The smoky-gray feline stares through narrowed eyes at Dream, ears twitching and a smug gleam in her orange eyes with each stroke of the hand against her back. Dream lifts his head, pointedly turns away, and steps off the wall to land with boots on concrete. Brushing a bit of black fur from his shoulder, he strides into the New Inn with a facade of far more confidence than he truly feels.

Seeing the easy affection Hob Gadling showed the stray cat has triggered something unknowable in Dream, drowning in the depths of his existence. He cannot parse what exactly it is, but it sits heavily, unsettling and discommoding, on his consciousness. He shoves aside the sensation and stops at the bar to order two drinks—one for himself, the other for the man he’s come to see. Janine smiles slightly and points him toward the door to the patio. Dream takes a step away from the bar then turns back, belatedly thanking the woman. She waves him off, but he sees the newfound looseness of her grin.

Hob looks up from the pages as Dream approaches; a small smile tugs at the immortal man’s lips while he sets his book aside. The cat’s ears flatten for a second, then she slinks off of Hob’s lap and disappears into the bushes lining the garden. Dream watches the bottlebrush tail vanish in the bramble before he turns his attention to the man.

“Hello, Hob.”

“Sit, sit,” Hob says with a gesture to the place beside him on the bench. “What brings you by?”

Dream hesitates. He can no longer remember the exact reason for coming to the New Inn, though Hob’s company is usually reason enough. Since his escape and the rekindling of their rendezvous, albeit at a much more reasonable rate than once a century, Dream has slowly settled into the prospect of friendship with Hob. It shouldn’t feel like such an impossibility, but Dream knows his other… ‘friendships’ pale in comparison to the one he now holds with Hob Gadling. This one is true, steadfast, and not built upon what Dream can do for the other.

Hob accepts Dream’s silence easily, shrugging it off as if it is normal to have innocuous questions go unanswered. He does as he has for centuries: He takes control of the conversation effortlessly. Hob tells Dream of the goings-on in his life, the students he teaches and the employees he’s hired for the New Inn. He speaks of new menu items and hobbies he’s picked up for this iteration of life as Gil Hadlen and the stray cat he’s come to love.

Something sharp bristles inside of Dream at the mention of the cat. He forces the stiffness to leave his muscles, leaning against the back of the bench as nonchalantly as possible, and stares at the expanse of brilliant white-blue overhead. Hob doesn’t seem to notice Dream’s reaction; he merely continues chattering on.

Dream lets the heat of the day seep into his skin, ground him to this moment. The bright sunshine and warmth remind him he is free. He will never be held captive again. No one will ever subject him to shortsighted, selfish demands or the cruelty of being on display as a specimen in a zoo. Dream now chooses who sees him and how, and he breathes in fresh air that tastes of an eternity of self-autonomy.

Hob falls silent beside him. Dream blinks at the sudden quiet, turning his head. Hob stares back with soft brown eyes. There is a tiny divot between his brows, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. His lips are pulled ever so slightly downwards.

“Are you alright?”

“I am,” Dream answers with a nod.

Hob doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it drop. Rising to his feet, he extends an invitation of lunch and heads inside without waiting for Dream to reply. Dream smiles. He appreciates the easy manner in which Hob treats him now, four months into their friendship. The first two months were filled with awkwardness and hesitance, as if Hob was afraid of somehow upsetting or offending Dream. Which is… a rather fair worry, Dream can admit. He had, after all, stormed away in 1889 because of something so trivial as a proclamation of friendship.

But Hob no longer acts as if the relationship is built of spun sugar. Dream finds this quite enjoyable, even if it means hearing Hob boast of superficial achievements on occasion. Humans do as humans are wont to do, Dream supposes.

Dream deigns to eat a meal with Hob then takes his leave. There are situations to handle in the Dreaming; his realm is still not quite what it was before 1916 happened. There is the Corinthian to remake and more Dreams and Nightmares to craft.

He makes his way to the Shores of Creation and stands, staring at the sands before him. His hands rise, curve into shape in preparation, and hang unmoving in the air. Water crashes onto the shore, but it goes unheard. Shaking his head, Dream forces himself to focus, to create as he has for billions of years.

Time passes with the ease of the warm ocean tide, ebbing and flowing. Seconds stretch to minutes to hours, rich threads connecting every moment that slips by. The edges of the Dreaming ripple with each dreamer that enters their dreamscapes.

A tuft of black fur hits the sand and rocks.

The cat is back in the garden of the New Inn. Dream barely spares a glance as the night air fills with a low rumble. She rises to her feet and trots away, tail twitching in agitation until she vanishes from view. He turns back toward the bench where Hob sat just this morning. The man is nowhere in sight, but Dream knows Hob enjoys watching stars appear in the expanse of deepening blue-black overhead. So Dream leaps up onto the wooden seat and waits.

True to his prediction, Hob appears moments later. A glass gleams in the dim glow of the street lamps in front of the building. A few drops of beer slosh over the rim and drip down the sides of the glass. Hob lets out a low chuckle then, whistling cheerfully, settles in on the bench. Dream waits a beat before slinking forward out of the shadows.

“Well, you’re a new one.”

Hob’s voice is soft, pleasant, warm. Dream doesn’t make a sound as he inches forward. Hob holds out a steady hand; his expression softens at Dream’s hesitance. He murmurs encouragement and wears a smile that grows when Dream presses the top of his head to Hob’s palm. The touch is tender, careful, and Dream struggles to maintain composure.

Life-rough fingers scratch gently behind Dream’s ear, massage at a particular tense area behind his front shoulder. A low grumble escapes him; Hob’s face brightens at the eruption of purrs. Dream feels no shame as he presses closer.

His world narrows to this. This touch. This comfort. This affection given freely. He closes his eyes and curls up beside Hob’s thigh. Warmth rushes through his fur to soak into his skin, and Dream feels something loosen inside of him.

Hob yawns suddenly, and Dream snaps to awareness. The sun has set, leaving nothing but stars amongst the wisps scattered across the sky. The city is closing its eyes, settling in to enter his realm. Lucienne can handle it, he thinks only to let out a small grumble when Hob stretches. Dream freezes at the sound then darts away.

Hob’s voice fades as Dream steps into the Dreaming.

Dream listens with half an ear as Lucienne tells of the needs, the desires, of Dreamers and denizens alike. Matthew perches on the tall back of the throne, surprisingly quiet as the Librarian speaks. As much as Dream cares for his realm, his mind is elsewhere.

It’s been nearly a week since he sat with Hob. Since he felt a touch that branded itself into his skin. Since he let himself sink into the reality of his need—

Need.

Dream shifts in his seat. Need. A need for touch. As if he’s a child held at their mother’s breast, seeking comfort in her arms.

“Sire?”

He blinks once, twice, Lucienne swimming into focus. Her dark eyes are narrowed behind her glasses, and her lips press tightly together. Matthew ruffles his wings before fluttering down to rest on Dream’s knee. Dream frowns at the unmitigated concern etched in every facet of Lucienne’s face, in the way Matthew says “Boss?”

Dream rises to his feet, ignores his raven’s indignant squawk, and vanishes.

Thick, humid air presses in on all sides. It smells of ozone and wet. Sticky grass clings, scratching, bowing beneath the weight. A bottlebrush tail vanishes with a sharp flicker. Leaves rustle in the gusts of heavy wind, and something thwucks. Dream looks around, sees nothing but half a body striding along the sidewalk, torso and above hidden by their umbrella.

Dream leaps on silent feet to pad across the bench seat. Hob’s hand lands between Dream’s ears before the man looks down. An easy smile flickers on his lips, and his brown eyes sparkle. Dream gazes up at his friend—friend. What a novel concept, still, this friendship. No want of his gifts, only his company. A camaraderie so freely given. A companionship once claimed to be built on twin loneliness but has grown to be so much more.

A soft “mrew?” escapes when Dream finds himself suddenly scooped up into arms that speak of past work but a softer present, held to a breastbone beneath which a six-hundred-year-old heart beats. Dream hesitates then relaxes; it seems to be what Hob was waiting for. He chuckles, runs a hand over Dream’s back, and carries him inside.

For a full pub on a Friday night, it’s relatively quiet inside. Voices fill the air but none so loud as to be startling. Disarming. Hob speaks to nearly everyone he passes, but he doesn’t stop. His boots land on the stairs with easy, steady thumps, then a lock squeals as it moves out of place. Dream swallows against the tightness rising in his chest. His ears flick, tail swishing side to side in staccato movements. But then Hob steps over the threshold, and Dream’s apprehension fades.

“Silly one,” Hob croons softly, lowering Dream to the floor with ease. “You’ve chosen the wrong time for some scratches, haven’t you? About to be the storm of the year, they say. We can’t very well sit out in that, can we? Are you hungry?”

Hungry.

Hunger.

Dream is an anthropomorphic personification of a concept. Needs are nothing beyond his need for his realm. Hunger is nothing. But—

Dream is hungry. His stomach yearns not for sustenance, but he is. Starving. Needing. Craving.

For what, he knows not, but accepting the tin of tuna that Hob sets out is well enough.

The storm arrives with a rattle of windows and a thunderous crash through the heavens above. Dream sits with Hob on the sofa while the man watches the news then a gameshow. The hours wind away until Hob is stumbling down the short hall to his bedroom.

Dream waits until he hears snoring, until he feels the added presence in his realm, before he rises to his feet. Being within the walls of Hob’s flat had never once been an option for Dream. He would never impose like that. Even Hob, in all his affability and generosity, has limits. He deserves his own space on which no one encroaches.

Yet here stands Dream, hands folded together behind his back, as he examines the bookshelves lining one wall. The books are organized by no discernible pattern—Dream can make no sense of the sorting. Aged and newly-printed editions mingle amongst each other. He turns away at the gilded lettering on the spine of one book in particular: Metamorphoses. Acid dies, sharp, in the space between his ribs.

Innumerable plants sit on brightly-painted racks in front of the windows. Dream lets his finger run over the silken petals. Hob has done well, taken such care of these beauties. The love is shown in the flourishing. Frowning, Dream reaches out. Pale fingers pinch a misshapen yellowed leaf. It comes off easily, crumbles into nothingness on his palm. He brushes his hand on his jeans and moves on.

The living room is otherwise undecorated. It seems so unlike Hob to not show evidence of life, of his desire to greet each day and bid each night hello. There is nothing to prove that the man who resides here wishes to live. That he made a deal with Death in 1389 and both have abided by it since.

Dream’s feet carry him along the same path Hob took only an hour before. The immortal man lies, sprawled and snoring, across his bed. There is no moonlight here, only the occasional flicker of lightning to illuminate, but Dream doesn’t need it. He can see clearly enough what he hadn’t seen in the other room.

What Dream had been shown so long ago now sits, larger and in a delicate wood frame, on the nightstand. Eleanor and little Robyn stare back from the painting. It is within reach; all Hob has to do is stretch out one arm, not even to its fullest, and his fingers will grasp the frame. Dream pauses at the thought then discards it. And with it, goes the jealousy.

The roll of thunder morphs into the crash of waves, and Dream closes his eyes as he settles into the Dreaming. His hands rise, he inhales, and the grains of sand move into place.

A woman smiles back at him. He sees the familiar softness of the face, the gentle light in her eyes. He feels the home in her hand as she cups his cheek tenderly. The Dream, not quite but so very close to Eleanor, turns on her heel and walks away. She leaves the ghosts of forever love in her wake.

Dream watches her go, until she enters the Dreamscapes beyond the Shores.

“Sire?” Lucienne moves closer, her steps sure even on the rocks. “Is everything alright?”

“Quite.”

Hob can’t hide his alarm when Dream tells him, only days later, that the Corinthian has been remade. That the Nightmare—the mirror of humanity’s darkest—exists once again. Hob asks if Dream is certain he made the right decision.

To his surprise, Dream doesn’t walk away from the offense. He merely assures Hob that he knows what he is doing—now. He’s taken counsel from those closest to him, those whose wisdom he trusts. Lucienne, Merv, Matthew, even Rose Walker have given him plenty to think about. They’ve taught him more than he thought he needed to learn. Hob may not look totally convinced by the time Dream takes his leave, but he at least no longer argues against the decision.

So it goes. Dream divides his time as equally as possible, between the Dreaming where he creates but never unmakes, walking amongst the dreamscapes of his Dreamers—because they are his, aren’t they, after all?—and in Hob’s arms with a gentle hand stroking over his fur. It’s an easy way to exist, Dream has to admit.

The need grows ever larger despite Dream’s best attempts of allaying it. His existence is calm; his realm is operating smoothly. He has learned to listen and heed advice. He has friendships beyond the ones forced to be within his presence.

Dream has changed, become better in his flaws.

He still craves.

Dream glares at the man who has his elbows on the bar, an effortlessly charming smile on his handsome face. Yes, this is a face many would dream of, would wish to see more often. Many, but not Dream. The man ducks his head, laughing at something Hob has said.

Dream cares for Hob, there is no denying that. But funny, Hob is not. Not in the “guffaw until your lungs ache” sense of the word. A small smile, maybe a huff of laughter, a Good one, Hobsie.

And Hob…

Dream hasn’t seen this sort of expression on Hob’s face since 1789, when Hob asked if they should take their chat to another location after Lady Joanna interrupted—this interested, hopeful thing, a baby bird at the edge of its nest, wings lifted and fragile body poised.

The skin splits beneath the sharp tips of his teeth. The man yanks his hand back with a shout, and Hob lunges for napkins. Dream clings to Hob’s thighs with his claws, with everything in him.

“I’m so sorry,” Hob says, dabbing at the blood on the man’s hand. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s never bitten anyone before, that I know of.”

Dream purrs—perhaps a bit smugly—when Hob refuses to toss him outside like the man suggests. The man scoffs and shoves his way to the door. Hob watches him go then lets out a heavy sigh. His finger scratches behind Dream’s ear even as he swallows a mouthful of ale with his free hand.

Once Hob has slipped off to sleep, to his own dreamscape, Dream settles in on his throne. He rests his chin against his knuckles and inhales shakily. The touch lingers on his skin, muted but warm, Hob’s hand just this side of felt through the thick fur. Dream suppresses a shudder, a shiver, the electricity that threatens to run down his spine.

He still craves.

The craving, the unadulterated need, swells. It rushes ever closer. And Dream can fight it all he wants, but he will drown in the weight crashing over him. He will suffocate in the desire to be touched—really touched.

“Boss? Mind, uh, shutting off the waterworks?”

Dream’s eyes snap open at the first droplets of water splattering against his cheeks. Matthew shakes his feathers once more, though it does no good: Rain still falls from the thundering black cloud overhead. Dream scowls, and the rain doesn’t stop.

Fingers, ghostly and nonexistent, brush across the back of his hands. Down his back. Along the shell of his ear. He swallows.

“I have made a grievous error,” he admits hoarsely.

Matthew hops closer, flutters upward to rest on Dream’s knee. The rain seems to not bother him now; he’s too intrigued by the confession. “How so?”

Dream hesitates—will this vulnerability prove disastrous? A mistake? But no, Matthew has had his chances to double-cross Dream. He could have allowed Lucifer to win the Oldest Game by not fomenting Dream into his last play. He could have led Dream astray at any point. Instead, Matthew has been as much a confidant and guidance as Lucienne and Merv.

So Dream tells the raven about the last month and three weeks, of slipping into the Waking to lie as a cat on Hob’s lap. Of the need threatening to overwhelm him.

“Sounds like you’re touch-starved,” Matthew supplies helpfully, and Dream pauses. Matthew cocks his head. “When’s the last time you’ve been touched like that as yourself, not a cat?”

Only one moment stands out—Lucienne clutching his hand upon his initial return to the Dreaming, when he was weak and grateful for escape. He’d clung back just as hard, desperate for the touch, near tears at the relief of contact.

“What should I do?”

Matthew shrugs as much as a raven can. “Talk to Hob, I’d say.”

Matthew flaps his wings, launching off of Dream’s knee, in time for Dream to rise and disappear in a swirl of fine sand.

Water drips from his clothes as he stands outside of Hob’s flat. His hair is plastered against his forehead, and he allows himself a slight shiver at the chill. Accepting the humanity in himself has had wondrous if unfamiliar effects. Dream watches his hand rise as if of its own volition. The knock echoes in the silence of the upstairs.

Thunder cracks outside, but Dream is more focused on the face that appears when the door swings open. Hob blinks a couple of times, gaze sweeping over Dream’s drenched form, then he steps back. Dream crosses the threshold; memories assault him as he looks around.

A book sits on the coffee table. Metamorphoses. Dream swallows thickly then averts his gaze. The flat smells of roasted meat and potatoes, and rain patters against the windows. Hob clears his throat.

“You’re soaked through. Let’s see if I can find some dry clothes for you.”

Dream makes to protest, but the words die on his tongue. He waits while Hob enters the bedroom, waits for the man to return. Return he does with a bundle of fabric in his hands. He shows Dream to the bathroom then closes the door.

The outfit is too large for Dream, but Dream doesn’t mind. In fact, he finds he enjoys how the shirt hangs on his frame—and how it smells of Hob. He breathes in the scent clinging to the fabric before emerging.

“So what brings you by?” Hob asks as Dream steps into the kitchen. Two teacups are on the table. Steam rises from the liquid inside in delicate swirls.

“I…” Dream closes his eyes, draws in a breath that trembles. He has never been so nervous as to struggle this way. He is the crafter of Dreams and stories. He has always known words. “I have not been touched in over a century.”

“Touched?”

Exhaling slowly, Dream closes his eyes. The expression on Hob’s face is too much. “Touched. As you would a cat. With gentleness and kindness. I have not known such things since before my capture. I felt myself above them. After all, how would a ruler benefit from vulnerability?”

“Oh, love.”

“I was wrong.”

The admission hovers in the air, almost palpable in its weight and sincerity. Hob blinks owlishly, and it is only through immense willpower that Dream doesn’t squirm. How odd, this so human urge to show discomfort. How strange to feel discomfort.

“Is this why you came to me as a cat?”

This time, it’s Dream’s turn to blink. “You knew?”

Hob chuckles, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Of course I did. Cats don’t have stars in their eyes.”

“Why did you never say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” Hob counters before shrugging. “To be fair, it took me three visits to realize. Couldn’t believe it for another couple times you came.” He pauses. “May I… May I touch you?”

Dream nods.

He squeezes his eyes closed as strong arms come up to wrap around his shoulders. Hob carefully, so gingerly, pulls Dream closer. The wet in his eyes surprises Dream—another human reaction. But one so expected after such a desperate wish come true.

“Come, love,” Hob murmurs, and Dream follows where he leads. The bedroom.

The mattress dips, molds around his body, as he lies down at Hob’s gesture. There is no hesitation before Hob stretches out beside him. A rough hand brushes a tear from Dream’s cheek; warm lips press to his forehead.

Dream breaks into a million galaxies.

This is everything he never before dared ask for.

“Rest. I’ve got you.”

Dream trusts Hob.

Dream needs no sleep, but it is easy to pretend he does. Here in Hob’s arms, tucked against his chest, no longer an ancient concept but something made mortal in action. Hob cards fingers through Dream’s hair, whispers gentle nothings, and just holds him.

“Thank you,” Dream murmurs, voice soft and small.

“Always.” There’s a beat of silence, then: “Did you really have to bite that man?”

#my writing #the sandman #dream of the endless & hob gadling #dream is a sad wet cat

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notsoterriblymisanthropic · 2 months

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I will pour into the mouth of this head another dram of stupidity. The questioning part of this brain is too active tonight.

Alasdair Gray, 1982, Janine

#Alasdair Gray

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allamericansbitch · 3 months

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Hi everyone! Here’s the newest addition to my Creator Shoutout Series ( january 21 - january 28)! I want to appreciate editors and their creations that i love from the past week. To track this series or look at previous shoutouts, please check out the tag on my blog *creatorshoutouts.

bleachers: let's get married graphic by @ignorancelive

yellowjackets: lottie matthews gifset by @natscatorrcio

the hunger games gifset by @carricfisher

saltburn: felix catton gifset by @blackthornluce

renee rapp: snl gifset by @ayo-edebiri

the hunger games: lucy gray baird and katniss everdeen gifset by @fkevin073

boygenius: souvenir graphic by @cellphonehippie

taylor swift: lover eras tour gifset by @redstv

the ballad of songbirds and snakes gifset by @buffysummers

saltburn: felix catton gifset by @hellshee

the hunger games gifset by @tbosas

maisie peters: wendy graphic by @loserdiaz

yellowjackets: florence + the machine gifset by @girlbutcherwife

saltburn gifset by @sangwoochos

schitt's creek: alexis rose gifset by @alexisrosemullens

the bear: carmy gifset by @sophsun1

friends: monica and chandler gifset by @chandler-monica

saltburn gifset by @myrcella-lannister

renee rapp: vhs graphic by @shessoft

gilmore girls: paris geller gifset by @slayer-barbie

the hunger games: katniss and peeta gifset by @bellamysgriffin

five nights at freddy's gifset by @neil-patrick

noah kahan: stick season + pantone colors gifset by @patrick-stewart

taylor swift: eras tour gifset by @lovestory

monkey man gifset by @irlvernon

abbott elementary: janine and gregory gifset by @trueloveistreacherous

megan thee stallion: hiss music video gifset by @tessas-thompson

samia: honey gifset by @sofiarostova

maisie peters: holy revival graphic by @imkindatheman

the ballad of songbirds and snakes gifset by @magnusedom

gilmore girls gifset by @slayerbuffy

taylor swift: songs as books gifset by @reputayswift

pride & prejudice (2005) gifset by @jakeperalta

paramore: color palettes gifset by @dhawanmasters

brookyn nine nine x heartstopper gifset by @jakeyp

taylor swift: i know places gifset by @tolerateit

sabrina carpenter: how many things graphic by @loserdiaz

samia: honey gifset by @killherfreakout

chappell roan: hot to go music video gifset by @heymacy

the ballad of songbirds and snakes gifset by @richardgrimes

megan thee stallion: hiss music video gifset by @bu99erfly

the hunger games: catching fire gifset by @jackiietaylor

megan thee stallion: hiss music video gifset by @sunmiyah

#*creatorshoutouts

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hardtchill · 1 year

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ACL list 1st of january 2022 - 18th of march 2023

Aoife Mannion Ria Percifal Remi Allen Angelina Alonso Christen Press Marie Antoinette Katoto Beth Mead Vivianne Miedema Giulia Gwinn Alexia Putellas Jana Fernandez Cata Coll Bruna Vilamala Ellie Carpenter Simone Magill Kyah Simon Kit Graham Martina Rosucci Cat Macario Teyah Goldie Tierna Davidson Janine Beckie Emily Gray Nadia Nadim Kayla Sharples Marta Kelcie Hedge Mallory Webber Clair Lavogez Jodi Ulkekul Annika Schmidt Sarah Gorden Ona Baradad Ludmila da Silva Emma harries Ellie Brazil Dzsenifer Marozsan Amel Majri Makamae Gomer-stevens Justine Lerond Jessica Ziu Jess Sigsworth Rocio Garcia Hannah Glass Paulina Dudek Barbara Votikova Selina Cerci Lucia Ramirez Andrea Paraluta Gisela Robledo Alison Gonzales Bianca sierra Chantelle Boye-Hlorkah Jannette van Belen Svenja Fölmli (updated) Kirsten van de Westeringh (updated

#woso #these are the names i can find but i most definitely missed people #there are 54 people on this list already #i will add to it if i find more names #acl fc

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tryingtograspctrl · 1 month

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ANYTHING YOU WANT: AVA COLEMAN X BLACK PLUS SIZE READER

SUMMARY - Yet another sub is hired to fill in for Janine, Ava think she wants this one to stay for a while...

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

Finding and keeping a good substitute was harder than Ava thought it would be, either they're under qualified, just as immature as the children or they can't handle the class and give up after a week.

She came across your application and not only were you drop dead gorgeous but your resume was impressive too, you graduated at the top of your class and did a bunch of volunteer work around the community. You also subbed for pretty much every school within the district and your reviews were nothing but good.

"Hey where the hell is Mr. Johnson? This is the third time the bathroom has flooded this week, my kids can't even pee without feeling like they’re on the titanic." Melissa poked her head into Ava's office.

"He's on vacation, said something bout the stress of the job making him grow grays. I don't know where he got that from, the man ain't had hair since Roosevelt was in office." Ava rolled her eyes.

"Well we need someone on the job. Can't you call a temp until he gets back?" Melissa crossed her arms.

"I'm on it." Ava nodded.

"Hey where you headed so fast?" Melissa looked above her glasses at Gregory.

"To find a bathroom where there isn't water up to my ankles. Hi." He rushed out the door hurriedly letting you inside.

"I'm looking for an Ava Coleman." You looked at the redhead.

"That's me, you must be y/n?" She looked you up and down.

"In the flesh." You winked noticing her checking you out.

"Come on let me show you to your classroom." She cleared her throat leading the way.

“This is you, just buzz me if you had any trouble.” Ava opened the door to the classroom.

Time skip

Half the day had gone by already and not one buzz sounded in Ava’s office from your classroom. She didn’t know whether to be grateful or anxious, she just hoped she didn’t have to hire yet another sub for the week.

“Hey go check on the sub for Janine’s class, keep an eye on how she’s doing.” Ava looked up at her secretary.

“I have work to do, why can’t you do it?” The woman huffed in annoyance.

“Because i have work to do too, bigger work, more important work, i’m principle! Now go before i fire you again.” Ava picked up her pen and fiddled with the paper on her desk as if she was actually about to do something.

“God help me.” The woman sighed.

“That’s the one to call on, amen.” Barbara spoke from the entrance.

You were halfway through your lesson plan when you noticed the kids began to lose focus.

Your eyes followed the direction they were looking in and you saw a woman peeping through the small window on the door.

“Um excuse me ma’am may i help you? You’re kind of interrupting the lesson.” You face scrunched up in confusion.

“Just doing my job, i was told to come observe.” The lady spoke flatly.

You could tell she didn’t wanna do it as much as you didn’t want her to.

“By who?” You frowned.

“Ava.” She responded.

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, if she wanted to know how class was going why couldn’t she just come see herself.

“Hey kids, i’m gonna step out for a moment but Miss…”

“Allen.”

“Miss Allen is gonna keep an eye on you, don’t give her any trouble ok? I’ll only be gone a few minutes.” You looked at the children.

“Yes miss y/n.” The students responded in unison.

You power walked to the front office, the sound of your heels bouncing off the empty walls.

“Miss coleman can we talk? In private.” You looked between her and another teacher.

“Sure.” She nodded signaling for the teacher to leave.

You closed the door behind her and placed your hands on your hips.

“If you wanted to see how class is going you could’ve just came and had a look yourself you know.” You spoke in amusement.

“I would have but i’ve been very busy filling out paper work.” She held up a stack.

“Those are blank.” You bit your lip suppressing a laugh.

“What’s the real reason you wouldn’t come to the classroom yourself?” You looked at her skepticallly.

She avoided your eyes, picking at her nails.

“You’re hot ok!” She blurted out.

You smirked at her confession crossing your arms.

“I know i couldn’t resist hitting on you and i’m trying not to mix business with pleasure anymore. It just gets me into trouble.” She huffed.

“Listen Miss Coleman why don’t you just come and observe tomorrow, i’m sure you can handle yourself for just one day right?” You placed both hands on her desk leaning in.

Her eyes darted down to your chest, your breasts slightly spilling over the top of your form fitting dress.

“And who says i don’t like a little trouble?” You tilted her chin.

She clenched her thighs together looking up at you through hooded lids.

“See you tomorrow Miss coleman.” Your lips ghosted over her ear.

You walked out of her office making sure to throw a little extra swing in your hips, knowing her eyes were burning holes into your back.

Y’all like this? Want a part two?? 👀

#abbott elementary #black plus size reader #ava coleman #janelle james #plus size reader #quinta brunson #fanfic #janine teagues

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sophiaphile · 5 months

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To anyone who is planning on seeing Poor Things, I highly recommend reading the book it is based on!

It is the best and most moving thing I’ve read this year. It is a super fast read, imo

And I will just throw out that 1982 Janine is probably the best book I’ve ever read, and it’s worth a read too!

#personal #alasdair gray #poor things #1982 Janine #I recommend 1982 Janine so hard and often that I have copies on standby to give to people #Scottish literature

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naavispider · 4 months

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Spider stood outside the apartment, trying to calm his pounding heart. Maybe this wasn't as great an idea as he thought. What if Quar - his dad didn't want to see him after all they had been through?

"The uncertainty will drive you crazy. To move forward, you have to try. If he refuses, you will know that this chapter of your life is closed for good. However, if he agrees, you can start over together." - The voice of his therapist, Janine, rang in his head. Spider sighed quietly. At the urging of Norm and the Sullys, he finally agreed to start therapy to work through all the turmoil in his life, and although it did bring some relief, the process itself was not very pleasant. And that's how he found himself at his father's door, with whom he decided to cut off all contact. He nervously adjusted his hair, automatically running his hand over the beads that Tuk had woven into it. "Breathe", he reminded himself and took a preventive puff of his inhaler. "The worst thing he can do is close the door in your face". Finally, with a trembling hand, he rang the bell. "That was it, there was no turning back".

He heard footsteps and a moment later the door opened. Quaritch looked the same but a bit older. Spider noticed more gray hair and more wrinkles around blue eyes wide open with surprise look . They both spent a few seconds just staring at each other, taking in the sight of the other.

"Um...Hi, Dad." He began, mentally cursing his trembling voice.

"Son" The man replied and Spider felt a lump in his throat. Even though he heard that word from Jake's mouth almost every day, it felt like he was hearing it for the first time in 4 years. An uncontrollable smile appeared on his face, which was an attempt to hide his nervousness, even though he had a feeling that it didn't work out well. Quaritch still didn't speak. "Damn, you should have warned him somehow, instead of appearing in front of him without any warning.." He shifted awkwardly, swallowing and saying a quick mental prayer to Eywa that his greatest fears of rejection would not be realized.

"Can I come in?" It took all of his willpower to keep himself from running away as Quaritch mercifully nodded in agreement and Spider almost sighed aloud in relief as he crossed the threshold.

“Sit down,” came the voice of the homeowner. He tried for the last time to put together what he had to say (of course to no avail, as he collapsed due to his nerves) as he crossed the room to carry out the order. He saw Quaritch move out of the corner of his eye and looked up hesitantly. The man was rubbing tattoo. A tattoo that evoked so many feelings in Spider that he couldn't even describe them. His dad caught his eye and immediately stopped, probably not wanting to scare him away. He then took a hesitant position, leaving enough space between them that Spider wasn't afraid to make a move. "Get your shit together, you're an adult and it was your choice to come here, so start a topic". Maybe he should start the conversation with the fact that after years of feeling separate and stupid, he was finally diagnosed with ADHD? Maybe then Quaritch would understand why he's sitting here speechless, as if his brain had shut down.

"This is weird" he focused on honesty. To his relief, his dad laughed lightly.

"I'm sorry for... dropping in."

So that's it, that's all for now because I don't know if it makes any logical sense at all 😅 Spider's thoughts are originally written in italics, but here they are removed, so they are in quotation marks. Sorry for any mistakes, but English is not my first language and I have never written anything like that. If you like it, I can write something more because I have some ideas haha

Jsjshsjjsjs OMG?!!! You wrote JANINE?!!! When I read her name I screAMED 😭😭 of couRSE she’s Spider’s therapist in this au 😭😭 I loved this so much! I was grinning the whole time 😍 Please, if you’d like to write more I would LOVE to read it! 🥰💞💙💞💙

#spider socorro #miles quaritch #avatar modern au #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #miles spider socorro #atwow #the cat's in the cradle #ask #the cat’s in the cradle: epilogue #spider pov #mama Janine

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pilferingapples · 7 months

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ah that bit in every Romanticist bio where we gotta get the who's who as the author sees it (all this is from the Fourth Musketeer)

At the Café de Paris, on the boulevard, Alexander breathed the air of the great world. There the celebrities of journalism, literature, and dandyism met.

...this gets long

That man with the warlike hat and blinking eyes' is Nestor Roqueplan who has now left his garret, his washbasin-clock and his pistols-candelabra for the comfortable offices of the Figaro.

OK was this before/after/during its time as an anti-Romanticist paper??

Next him is Jules Janin, who looks comfortably rotund but thinks only of snapping at his neighbor, and who will later fight a duel with Dumas about a wretched question of dramatic criticism.

JULES JANIN DUELED ALEX DUMAS?? ...JULES JANIN DUELES ALEX DUMAS AND LIVED?!?

That fellow by way of being a gentleman, dressed with the correctness of an English lord in a blue coat with gold buttons, a yellow waistcoat, and pearl-gray trousers, is the husband of Marie Dorval, Merle, one of the legitimist party, an epicure and an authority on gastronomy.

..wait, isn't that outfit a Werther cosplay? Am I getting the colors wrong?

. . Over at the long table, orating in a high voice, with his face awkwardly swathed in an enormous neckcloth to hide certain unpleasant scars, is Veron, nicknamed the Prince of Wales, actually the manager of the Revue de Paris, who pays Dumas royally, at least for the time being. With his high color, his greedy lips that look as if they were smeared with jam, and his gluttonous eyes, he seems at once an abbot of former times and a comedy valet.

This guy is way more important than you'd guess by how little he shows up in histories! Also he got his start in patent medicine, which is really jumping out at me post-Blue Castle read!

That tall, thin, dark man, with hair cut brush-shaped and a prominent nose, wearing a velvet caftan and a cap lined with martin fur, is Adolphe de Leuven, librettist of the Postillon de Lonjumeau, who launched Alexander. By his side, flaunting a magnificent kidskin waistcoat and whirling his rhinoceros cane, is handsome Roger de Beauvoir, with a mop of curly black hair, the only one of Alexander's friends who is an aristocrat of wealth-Beauvoir who entertains six hundred people at the Hôtel de Pimodan, and who has just challenged Balzac for accusing him of being named neither Roger nor Beauvoir. Although Balzac took the trouble to send him "forty pages of excuses," the dandy will listen to nothing and proclaims: "I scorn M. de Balzac's prose, I want only his skin!"

holy shit Balzac you messed up??

Here is Eugène Sue, very smart in his sea-green coat, with a rather vulgar turn of the nose that detracts from his good looks. Last, simpler and jollier than the rest, is that good fellow Méry who passes for a librarian at Marseilles, but who is always off on a lark to Paris; an amazing improviser who can compose correctly an act of a classical tragedy within two hours, and in the drawing-rooms describe the tortures of hell so vividly that the ladies beg for mercy.

Fun new party game: Describe the tortures of hell!

Near these gentlemen, but on a lower plane, the madmen appear. "He who was Gannot" and has made himself God under the name Mapah, is a fop and a billiard player now fallen on evil days who sends out manifestos signed "By Our Apostolic Ruin."

The Mahpah is one of the wildest ...visionaries? religious ...somethings? movement leaders? of the time, love seeing him get mentioned (Wiki) (Nonbinary wiki)

Jean Journet, called the Apostle, goes about dressed as a begging friar and sells his verses unfailingly entitled "Songs" or "Cries."

...I have no idea who this is . Sounds like he's coping with poverty very artistishly.

Poor Petrus Borel imagines himself to be a wolf; at his house Alexander has eaten cream from a skull. . . .

excuse you he never said he was a wolf he said he was a werewolf and no one actually disagreed also man,you serve ice cream in skulls ONE time...

...you might see (Dumas) in the rue Grange-Batelière, in the salon of the dancer Marie Taglioni, "the sylph of sylphs," or at Delphine de Girardin's on the days when she recited her poems. But Alexander always grew sentimental near "the Muse" and asked her to receive him in private. "I love you," he said, "with an affection too selfish to share you with the world." Then, when they were alone together, she would interrupt him with questions about dramatic art. "Do tell me how one writes for the theater?" Dumas laughed at what he called "the naïveté of genius." He was attractive to women, there was no doubt of that, even to the most distrustful of them. When Sainte-Beuve, who was fond of playing the rôle of intermediary, proposed to introduce Alfred de Musset to George Sand, she answered: "I don't want you to bring Alfred de Musset. He's too much of a dandy, we should never get along together. . . . Instead of him, do bring Alexander Dumas, in whose art I have found a soul, exclusive of his talent." Alexander came and Sand took a great liking to him.

Wow, imagine if George Sand had ever hung out with Musset What a disaster that would have been huh in that alternate world ><

#place names!#people!#too many to tag #alexandre dumas #Dumas #Delphine Girardin #George Sand #Petrus Borel #French Romantics

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beyoursbb · 1 year

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€uro Tra$h Series: Dipped in $ugar (Part 2)

Pairing: Billy Butcher x You (Reader) || Rating: Explicit || Word Count: 3.3k || Link to Part 1 and Link to Part 3 - final (Timeline for this work is Season 1 btw)

Summary: Billy comes back from work with The Boys. He can't say what he was up to, but makes sure your wait for him is worth it.

Author’s Note: Really happy to post this sequel as I appreciated the love and feedback Part 1 got. Would like to know how this work compares to Part 1 (I feel like I let this one go more lol, tried to make the smut a little hotter, and be intentional with pacing the story) and hear any writing advice in general. I’m excited and enjoying getting back into it!

Warnings: same as before — sugar daddy / daddy kink (use of the name daddy 2 times), age gap (implied, not specified), swearing, protected p in v, tiny bit of choking and degrading reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke up startled. The sound of several deep, booming male voices arguing outside the room reverberated through the door. You hardly had time to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes before the latch unlocked and Billy came striding in followed noisily by three other men all talking at once. You lifted your head and instinctively covered your arms around your frontside even though you were completely clothed.

“Jesus, fuck!” one of the men exclaimed, just as startled. “Butcher, who the hell—”

The sound of a heavy, blunt metal object clattering onto the table cut off the question and made you flinch as Billy stared at your rigid figure laying on the bed.

“ ‘m sorry, sweetheart, thought you would’ve left by now,” he said.

Your eyes flitted between him, the group of strangers frozen in place on the motel’s sage green carpet, and the large semi-automatic rifle laying next to your half eaten dinner. You forced yourself to take a shaky breath as you noticed Butcher’s battered physique — in fact — you realized all of them were in pretty bad shape: clothes tattered, arms cut and bruised, faces caked in sweat, grime, and dried blood. Each had at least one handgun tucked into the waistband of his pants.

“I’m going to get us another room,” the tall, skinny man announced awkwardly. “Come with me, Frenchie.” The shortest man nodded, took a moment to shift his gaze between you and Billy, then back to meet your eyes in a gentle glance as if he wanted to say something, but instead, he darted out quickly.

“Un-fucking-believable. This where you been fucking off to, Butcher?” the man who was left asked, glaring at Billy. “How fucking old is she, by the way?”

“She’s a fucking consenting adult so mind your fucking business,” Billy shot back.

“I would, if your business, like maybe the fucking plan tonight, didn’t always end up fucked up.”

Billy had been staring off at the far end of the room, but now turned toward his associate. He took one, slow, menacing step forward, squaring up chest to chest with the man, who was honestly built like a truck. Billy was obviously huge, but this guy’s biceps alone were bigger than your head. Billy’s gray eyes were piercing and stone cold, which you’d never seen before. They never broke contact with the pair of brown eyes across from him. You held your breath waiting for the first swing that never came.

Billy’s voice was low and sounded angry, yet also eerily calm when he spoke.

“You lot are the ones who called me for help. The fucking plan tonight was me doing my fucking best to clean up your mess. So I can fuck off where ever I want with whoever I want because I’m not the one who needs a fucking babysitter. Next time you get in trouble when you go off on your own, MM, call Janine’s nanny.”

The man’s jaw was clenched so tight as he glared at Billy, you thought it would pop. After the longest silent minute you ever had to sit through passed, he shook his head, turning to you. “I’m sorry we scared you. I’m just pissed at this asshole.” With a final angry scowl thrown in Billy’s direction, the last mystery guy pivoted to exit.

As abruptly as the room had been filled, it had emptied. The distance between Billy and you felt like miles in that small, cramped room, alone. You checked the time on the digital clock on the nightstand and did the mental math of how many hours you’d been asleep. You didn’t even remember falling asleep, but from your estimate, you calculated Billy had been gone for five hours. Whether you wanted to find out what happened in those five hours, you weren't sure.

You didn’t move a muscle, and neither did he as he sat against the table, arms crossed over his chest with one hand holding his bearded chin. His body was tense, his face hardened and unreadable. His eyes stared out in front of him, deep in thought. The silence hung heavy like the humid summer air in a New York City alleyway.

You felt confused, but mostly scared. Your heart was pounding in your ears from shock, your breathing was shallow and uneven as if you were recovering from a run, and the tension held throughout your body, culminating in your chest, was almost painful. Yet you couldn’t tell if you were scared of him or for him. It leaned toward the latter.

“That was work?” Your voice came out smaller than you wanted.

Billy straightened up slowly, making eye contact with you for the first time since he’d returned.

“ ‘Fraid so, luv.”

That already sounded like the end of the conversation.

Billy moved to sit at the foot of the bed and started undressing, kicking off his shoes first. You scooted up so you were sitting against the pillows again and hugged your knees into your chest. It was cold because the air conditioning had been running when you accidentally fell asleep, but you didn’t want to get under the covers in case that crossed a line.

You didn’t normally stay the night and sleep with Billy; actually, it had only happened once, when he hit you up on such a whim, you both arrived at the hotel at the same time. The front desk staff only gave a couple weird looks when you two checked in, but Billy being his usual, completely unfazed self helped you ignore any awkwardness you felt. He had appeared a bit disheveled that night, but it was nothing compared to how he seemed right now. You didn’t even have sex; all he did was sleep next to you, one arm wrapped around your waist. He stirred slightly every time you reached for the TV remote or shifted to a more comfortable position, but in the morning when he unceremoniously handed you your payment, he mentioned it was the best sleep he’d gotten in a long while.

“How’d you get here?” Billy asked as he took the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head.

Your voice was a little stronger, but still quiet. “I drove.”

He nodded absentmindedly. “Offer still stands. You don’t needa stay.”

“It’s okay. It’s late. I’d rather not drive at this time.”

He stood to remove his jeans.

“Unless you rather I go,” you added, quickly. Maybe he wanted to be alone after whatever the hell he went through with his coworkers.

“Don’t matter to me,” he replied plainly, shrugging and bending his arms at the elbow, palms facing up as he walked to the bathroom.

This time, Billy stayed in there longer, which made you feel like the amount of time spent waiting with your fifty burning questions you assumed he wouldn’t answer anyways was more than twenty minutes. He went straight for the bed when he came out and untucked the covers on his side to crawl under right next to you. The mattress springs creaked under his weight as he sank in slowly on his back, trying not to wince. After his second shower of the night, he had patched himself up with several bandaids and medical tape wrapped around a couple fingers and his left wrist.

Before you had the chance to stand and wash up in the bathroom yourself, Billy rested his hand against your thigh down by your knee. You immediately relaxed the muscles you didn’t notice were still tense.

“I know you probably have a million questions. I can’t answer ‘em.”

You looked at him understandingly, as if it was totally acceptable to be kept in the dark in regards to the whereabouts of a man whose BFG-50 was still pointing in your general direction, but at least he was straightforward.

“You were never meant to know,” he added.

Now that made you furrow your brows. Know what? You literally didn’t know anything about his life because he’s never told you anything. You and Billy were not close. Your irregular meetings meant you didn’t have a connection built with him like you did with other sugar daddies you saw frequently. Sure, you were madly attracted to him, borderline obsessed, but you were far from friends sharing secrets. The nature of your arrangement was always business, and said business was the epitome of “get that bread, get that head, then leave.” It was work you enjoyed, but the opportunity for meaningful conversation was severely limited.

Billy’s hand slid up your leg and you stiffened again. He slowed, but kept traveling up past your hip to the middle of your back, turning his body onto his side closer to you, his other hand wrapping around your stomach, until you realized he was simply pulling you into a hug. You tucked yourself under his bearded chin and inhaled his scent off his bare chest, his fuzzy hairs tickling your nose.

Now that his adrenaline levels were down, his naturally rough voice was a tad softer. “You shouldn’t be scared of me.”

He spoke in a way that made you think he was not saying to stop your emotions, but externally processing the full realization of how the guys’ surprise entrance and his argument with his buddy affected you.

“Not scared of you,” you explained. “I was concerned for you.”

Billy’s chest rumbled with a chuckle. “Earlier you thought MM might’ve killed me right then and there? Not a chance, darlin’.”

You shook your head. Being witness to angry men sizing each other up can be terrifying, yes, but you hesitated telling him the truth about how you were still unsettled by their bounty-hunters-who-got-badly-beat look.

“You're stiff as a board, luv,” he commented, gently separating you both and bringing one hand to lift your chin to look at him. It was true, you still hadn’t fully relaxed at any point since he’d been back.

Except at this moment — when his lips connected to yours. And you melted.

It was probably the most tender kiss Billy had ever given you, but it didn’t stay that way for long. His tongue started it first, slowly going deeper into your mouth every time he took a breath, but it was your hands that gripped him tighter until your legs became tangled and your hips grinded together. You loved a makeout session that forced you to lose all your senses to where you could only handle hearing, taste, and touch. With your eyes closed, your sight disappears, and since your nose has to concentrate on helping your lungs obtain oxygen, you’re not really focused on smelling. But the sound, taste, and feeling of Billy in your arms is enough to overwhelm you. The longer you go at it, the heavier both of your breathing becomes, interspersed with short gasps and moans, the sloppier your taste buds get in exploring every centimeter of the other’s mouth, and the more desperate your hands are to tug, squeeze, and mold to the shape of your partner’s best assets.

You didn’t usually take your time kissing either, maybe because you typically met on a time crunch, or you were just extremely horny around each other, so you tended to skip to the main event pretty quickly. But you got the sense that because of the night’s earlier situation, Billy wanted to slow down to make sure your head was in an okay space before proceeding, or not. You appreciated that; it was a gentlemanly move. You made sure he knew you were ready for more by rolling on top of him, straddling his hips, and grinding down against his hardening cock, all while keeping your fingers interlocked behind his neck and your lips mashed onto his. Billy responded eagerly, his fingertips gliding across the soft, smooth skin of your back, and creeping underneath your shirt to unhook your bra. He didn’t even bother to remove any of your top layers before feeling up your chest. You refrained from any wanton noises while he kneaded your breasts, but you did bite his lower lip a little extra hard when he teased your nipples.

When you finally separated, the shift of your bodies made you well aware of the wetness in your underwear, and you were practically panting, your hands still roaming his torso because they couldn't decide whether to grip his muscular back, shoulders, or arms.

“The other offer from earlier,” Billy said, his hands sliding down to your ass, giving it a squeeze, “also still stands.”

Catching your breath, you were so nervous of sounding utterly gone already without even being naked, all you could do was nod.

“That a yes? Want me to fuck you ‘til you’re screaming my name, princess?”

“God yes,” you almost moaned. “Please, Daddy.”

You were pretty sure he could hear the urgency in your voice, but you made it crystal clear how badly you needed him by cupping the imprint of his dick through his boxers. Billy grunted in response, and in less than two seconds, he flipped you both over and discarded your leggings and panties carelessly out of the way. Now you were both playing with each other — you stroking his length while any number of his fingers rubbed your clit and teased your folds.

“It’s more than wet down here, luv; you’re soaked,” he chuckled against your neck, his hot breath hitting your ear.

It made you shiver, but at the same time, you were burning up, so you whipped off your shirt and bra. He wasted no time diving in to suck one of your nipples to a hardened peak. When he did the same to its twin, you finally gave in to the loud moan that had been gathering in your throat. Billy released his mouth with a pop and gazed down at you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he said, his eyes hungrily raking over your nude figure before he stood to finally take off his one article of clothing and retrieve a condom.

“That cock block of a call was bloody inconvenient,” Billy muttered as he rolled on the latex and lined himself up to your entrance. “Can’t wait to feel this sweet fucking pussy.”

His last word was punctuated by him sliding in fast and deep. Even though you watched him disappear inside you, you were still caught by surprise, evident in your eyes rolling back into your skull while your mouth formed a silent “O.”

Billy was so goddamn huge and he knew it.

“Somethin’ tells me your other daddies ain’t cuttin’ it,” he smirked. He didn’t give you any time to adjust, just grabbed your hips and set the tenacious tempo he wanted.

“They don’t fuck me like this,” you admitted through heavy breaths, reaching to bring him closer. Your hands settled on his lower back and he leaned forward, his arms moving to either side of your head to prop himself up above you.

“Like what?”

You knew what he wanted you to say. Like I’m a slut. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction so soon, even if it was true and you loved it. Your ability to form a coherent response was waning rapidly from his hips pounding into you anyways. The rhythmic slapping of his skin against yours made your brain go numb.

“Like what, darlin’?” Billy repeated. His right thumb swiped against your lower lip, ready to press into your mouth, while he pulled out and stopped, barely leaving his tip in you. The sudden emptiness brought you out of your daze. You opened your half lidded eyes to find his dark pupils peering down at you.

“Like—like you use me.”

“‘Course I do; what else are ya for?” he snarled.

His hand trailed down, fingers surrounding your neck, squeezing it just enough to hold you down to resume his relentless pace, sinking in deeper and deeper with every thrust.

All your sugar daddies “used” you so to speak, and you obviously used them for money. But with Billy, it never felt like you were fulfilling an obligation to the bit. It was almost natural to sink into the mindset of being nothing but a tool for his pleasure. It was easy because there was something so, so hot about laying spread open for him, allowing him to fuck you any way he wanted, and not caring how rough he was. Knowing you would be left to find bruises and deal with sore legs for the next few days after taking his cock excited you in the most feral, animalistic way.

You let your body go limp and closed your eyes to focus on the sensation of Billy’s dick continuing to stretch you out while he growled more filth disguised as praise in your ear. You were so distracted by his voice urging you to be a good little slut and let your wet cunt come all over his cock because you sounded so pretty moaning his name, you didn’t notice him lick two of his fingers and send them down between your bodies. If you weren't already laying down, the zap of pleasure that shot straight through your stomach from him circling your clit would have made your knees buckle. You were almost embarrassed at how fast your pussy clenched, though you knew it was just a compliment to Billy.

“Don’t be shy, luv,” he chided, as if he was reading your mind.

You gasped as your climax continued to build with each delicious stroke of his hips. The friction was like fire against your nerves, so close to setting your whole body ablaze. Billy was breathing hard now too, sweat beading at his brow. The thumping of the bed against the wall had long been ignored, but now was completely drowned out by Billy’s grunts and groans of how good you felt around him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Like your cunt was made to fit my cock.”

That elicited a loud, unrestrained moan from you. “Daddy,” you whimpered. It was futile to try to hold out longer. Your body craved release. “I’m gona—fuck.”

Your body seized and your mind went blank as pure ecstasy washed over you. The chant of his name filled the space and you wrapped your legs around his waist, sending him impossibly deeper. Billy groaned feeling your pussy contract around him, his climax following close behind. With a last couple thrusts, he shuddered to a stop as he milked himself dry.

Chest to chest, with Billy’s head resting next to yours on the pillow, you slowly came down from your high, unintentionally clenching his softening length as your breathing steadied.

He gave your sweaty forehead a quick peck as he rose up, removing his hand from your throat. You had honestly forgotten it was there, so engrossed in how your lower half had been responding to him. Billy carefully slipped out of you and took care of the condom while you adjusted the bed sheets.

Then he approached you with his wallet and held out two bills. “For staying the night,” he offered.

You shook your head while waving them off with a flip of your hand, not even looking at the number on them. You hadn’t checked the original amount he left in the envelope on the nightstand, but you figured he probably already paid more than what would be equivalent to the actual amount of hours you spent interacting.

“Special deal; cuddles are free, tonight only,” you smiled softly.

Billy returned a small, amused smile. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Oh, I’m very comfortable,” you sighed, opening up the blankets to let him under, and settling into the crook of his arm.

“Good, darlin’,” he replied with a yawn, his warm body pressed against yours, lulling you to sleep.

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