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denwritesandcries · 4 months

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Take a Breath (and kiss me) – Tara Carpenter

Pairing: tara carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: Your girlfriend Tara gets a little clingy when she realizes you haven't kissed her properly in days.

Word count: 2,0k

Content: cursing, fluff, kisses, cuddles, tara being a sad pup, college routine kicking everybody's asses, core four as a family.

A/N: First time writing for Tara! Pure fluff cause I’m starting on a new job this week and needed comfort.

English is not my first language.

It's been four days straight since you last kissed Tara.

Not that she was counting, she really wasn't, but now, after an extremely long and tiring day of exams and more exams, it seemed impossible not to feel your absence next to her. The feeling of neediness and loneliness hits her hard when she realizes how long it's been since you two have been together.

Four days. Four whole days of no holding hands or playing with her hair, no hugs, no cuddles and definitely no kisses. Be it on the forehead, the cheek, the shoulders, the hands, or on the lips. Nothing. It's like the universe just decided one day 'nuh-uh, no kisses for Tara Carpenter' and boy that was unfair.

The last time you kissed her – actually kissed her – was on Monday morning, at the beginning of that hellish week, when she woke up too early with the sunlight escaping through a crack in the curtains bothering her eyes, with her whole body completely curled up on top of yours. One of the best ways to wake up, really. The same thing happened to you a short time later, because as much as Tara loves being in your arms, she also can't help but feel restless when she's awake and move a lot, but the way she lights up when you sleepy mumble a good morning to her doesn't make you able to be upset with her for that.

You gave her a slow, lazy kiss, still with that warm aura of sleep remaining.

It was the most she could enjoy of your company before you had to leave in a hurry to escape the scolding Sam would give you both for spending the night having class the next day – even though, you know, you're college students and adults – and get to your own dorm to be ready in time for your first class in the morning.

She would have braved the scolding and made you stay a little longer if she had remembered that exam season was about to start. Unfortunately, this only occurred to her when she had her first taste of it later that day.

See, that was perhaps the thing Tara hated most about her new life as a student in New York: the way the change in routine could easily overwhelm her, and how that made it even worse because you couldn't be around as much as she wanted you to.

You were a year ahead of her and your courses were different, so you didn't have any classes together and your paths barely crossed during the day, which meant the only times she got to see you were on quick runs across campus, barely having time to exclaim a 'hi baby!' before disappearing with stacks of books and notebooks in your arms.

Sure, you exchanged a lot of messages, but it wasn't the same as having a warm body next to her in bed or on the couch. You couldn't even come to the apartment after everything because she was also too tired from her own work to hangout after it.

But Friday had finally arrived and she had enough time to wallow in self-pity until everyone got home. Checking the patterned wall clock that her sister bought when they moved in, Tara realizes that it's already past five pm and the sound of the door opening is the sign that her family has started to come in. She buries her head in the pile of cushions, ignoring the throbbing pain in her temples.

“Ugh, finally,” Mindy plops down next to Tara on the other side of the couch, clasping her hands above her head to stretch, “What is this? Why is there a sad, miserable gremlin on our couch?”

She hears Chad's loud laugh coming from the kitchen but can only mutter a 'fuck you' muffled by the cushions she's sunk into, feeling a tap on her calf in response.

Tara wasn't going to put up with any mockery now, not when she was so tired and sleepy and missing you. She would do the same thing she had done the last few days: take a hot shower without giving a shit to Quinn's protests about using all the water, hug Sam when she got home from work in 45 minutes, and accept the offer of a snack when her sister ask if she had already eaten, then she would go to her room, throw herself on the bed and text you goodnight, before completely blacking out until the next day, when she could finally have you all to herself for the entire weekend – and for the rest of the week too. The worst part is over, so screw it, you guys could afford to miss some classes.

“Are you just gonna lay there and give up on existence, lil dude?” Mindy starts again, interrupting the peaceful and only partly distressing silence Tara had settled into as she builds up the strength to stand up.

“Will you shut the hell up?” She bites, grabbing one of the cushions and hitting her friend in the face, “You’re not funny and my head hurt as fuck.”

“Jesus, okay, okay!” Mindy waves her arms in defeat and stands up, “I won’t say anything else then.”

"Great."

“I’m not gonna say–” She takes on a teasing tone, “–that Anika thought that a certain someone was really upset and buried in books all that time in their dorm and that it would be better if they came straight here after class to take a break, but I’m not gonna tell you that.”

"What?" Tara’s expression immediately brightened, “You’re serious? What you–"

“Well, I told my girlfriend to bring your girlfriend, but it's okay, I'm not gonna say any of that.”

Mindy looked extremely smug but Tara chose to spare her another hit in the face for the sake of the information she just received. She lights up and jumps off the couch in a flash, rushing to shower and get ready now that she has a good reason. She hears Chad shouting from the kitchen:

“Girl, I thought you were tired!”

“Right?” Mindy laughs, “Wednesday’s at that age when a girl has only one thing on her mind, Chad.”

This makes her stop: “I don’t look like her!”

She slams the door shut when she hears their laughter increase in response.

If someone asked Tara if it was true that she sat on the side of the sofa closest to the door so she could see the exact moment you arrived, she would vehemently deny it – even though that's exactly what she did – and she would also deny that she deflated a little when the first person to arrive after the twins was Sam with a pizza box in one hand and covering a big yawn with the other.

You and Anika only arrive almost half an hour after Sam, finding Tara already watching you with doe eyes. Your haggard face immediately breaks into a smile, lines of fatigue crinkling in the corners of your eyes.

“There you are, dear,” you cross the room towards her and Tara leans in, even before you touch her, practically purring at the soft kiss you leave on her forehead, “I missed you.”

She melts when you wrap your arms around her, burying her head in your chest, but that's it. A kiss on the forehead and a hug and then you're pulling away again because you and Anika have brought more food that should be placed on the kitchen counter.

It only took this small moment of you going back and forth for everything to come back to Tara with full force. You didn't kiss her.

It's stupid, it's irrational, but her eyes fill with tears even though she can clearly see you from behind, unpacking the groceries and talking to your friends there.

Tara tried to just sit and wait for you to come back as soon as you were done, but patience was never her thing.

“Hm?” You hum when you feel a tug on your hodie's sleeve, looking back to find Tara with a tearful, frustrated expression.

“I had a really long day,” she begins, not quite sure how to ask for what she wants, eyes focused on the floor, “Will you come stay with me?”

Your heart races and your voice immediately softens: “Of course, sweetheart.”

Tara wastes no time in dragging you to her room by your wrist and you can't even react to the warning look Sam throws you over her shoulder.

She perches on your lap the second you sit down on the bed, sighing in relief as she buries her face in your shoulder.

You rest your chin on her head, “Did somethin’ happen?”

“I’m gonna quit college,” she moans in defeat against your neck.

You huff a giggle into her hair, “Same, baby.”

Tara pulls away just enough to look at you and the pure love and tenderness in your eyes is more than enough to make the tears come back.

“What? What is it?" You straighten up, worried, tightening your arms around her.

“You haven’t kissed me in four days.”

She blurts out, voice cracking and strangled and you stop.

“Four days?”

Tara nods, “Except for the one on the forehead, you haven’t really kissed me in four days and like, several hours.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” She frowned. Shit, now she was getting mad at you, “Oh?”

You rush to take her mind off it, pressing a kiss to her lips in which she immediately melts with a soundly sigh of relief.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” you murmur between small pecks distributed on her lips, “I was so caught up in everything that I didn’t even notice.”

Tara still seemed a little upset by your response, but you kissed her again, bringing a hand to her jaw to deepen, feeling your girlfriend's arms entwined around your neck.

When you pull apart this time, you're both out of breath and Tara's face is covered in a soft red glow. You gently draw patterns with your fingers on her hips and lean in, leaving a kiss on her warm cheek.

“I’m sorry, Tar,” you echo, looking deep in her eyes “I’ve missed you so much. How can I make it up to you?”

She pretends to think for a moment, averting her eyes to hide the shiver that runs through her body.

“It's been four days,” she huffs with more annoyance than she actually feels, “I'm a girl who has abandonment issues, you know, it's your obligation to kiss me every day from now on.”

“Noted,” you smile.

“But…” She starts with a mischievous smile, “You could also make me feel better by watching The Babadook with me.”

“No, no, Tara!” You whine, “The noises of that movie freak me out!”

“Oh, I know,” your girlfriend says, blinking innocently, “But I want to do something with you, it's been so long since we watched something together alone and I love you so much.”

"I love you too." You respond instantly.

It only takes a look at those doe eyes and you lose the battle immediately and Tara looks victorious. She knows the power she has over you, the adorable little shit.

She leaves your lap just enough time to pick up the laptop on the table and returns to her place, you pull her back and lie down on the pillows, dragging her against your chest, pulling a blanket from the corner of the bed to cover you both.

“Tests are over,” you say, burying your face in her neck as the movie scene darkens, “The next few weeks are ours now. Just ours.”

Tara giggles when you startle again, sinking further against your body, smelling the hodie you were wearing, the one she got you for your birthday.

“Ours,” she says, “I like how that sounds.”

Tara tries to stay awake as long as possible, even after you fall asleep with your face buried in her neck. She's almost asleep when Sam quietly opens the door, a plate of pizza in hand and an eyebrow raised. The silent question of ‘can she stay the night please?’ is just a formality.

There's no way you're getting out of her league anytime soon.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #scream x reader #scream #scream 6 #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna marie ortega #tara carpenter fluff #denwrites

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bigfatbreak · 5 months

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Wait does Tom saying Audrey needs to pay child support for Zoe mean she needs to pay Andre, or did Tom adopt Zoe to have an extra barrier between Chloe and Marinette?

It's both a little more simple than that, and a little more complicated, too. Essentially when Tom decided he was going to take Chloe to court for her various bullshit, he decided to look into what other shit her family might be hiding, in the hopes of adding more pressure.

(In this AU at least, I really couldn't find confirmation in any real sources) Zoe is an illegitimate child Aubrey had while in New York, and since she's such an influential person, the father figure decided to settle out of court, as trying to wrench something like child support payments or any sort of supplemental care from an asshole who's also a millionaire seemed impossible. Tom decided to make contact with Zoe and her dad in the hopes of essentially double-teaming the Mayor's family.

It's technically how Zoe and Marinette met in this AU.

A sort of "butterfly effect" (hehe) happens when Tom uses Nooroo to gather information for both their cases, leaving these two to bond on and off. Marinette at her core is still very, very wary, (as this is during the mourning process, Sabine had passed away recently during this time) but she's also kind, which strikes a chord with Zoe, who's constantly changing facades to try and appeal to those around her. It's hard to change yourself to be what someone wants if they never let slip what they want.

Because of this, we're not going to see Zoe really in this AU, as when she eventually heads back to New York with her dad, her time with Marinette has helped her try to establish her own personality with her own wants. Hanging out with a mysterious, kind baker girl who's overworked but still makes time for you does a lot for a baby lesbian, and she manages to make and keep friends.

She does send Marinette letters and emails though, and they text on and off - Zoe still harbors a crush on her, but to Marinette, Zoe is just a good friend : )

#replies #my art #dad villain au #the good friend curse adrien has instead has been passed to the overworked and jaded baker girl everyone is in love with lmao

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hier--soir · 6 months

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a lover's pinch | five

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: you and your professor enjoy a day in new york. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, oral [m receiving], a smidge of cock worship, spoilers for antony and cleopatra by shakespeare lol, flirting, these fuckos kinda go on a date, prof joel is man of the arts idgaf, a tlou2 easter egg, oral [f receiving] and then oral [f receiving] again, sex acts in public, jealousy, sexting/nudes, unprotected piv sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, light choking, overstimulation [f], pain kink, kinda dom!joel, describing men as pretty and beautiful because I LIKE IT, soft!joel. word count: 8.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: so this whole thing is almost entirely sucking fucking and flirting, and i hope you enjoy it before we encounter angst. all credit to willy shakes for the passage from A&C that joel reads in the opening scene. thanks king for inspiring the title of this series lol xo this is part five of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four.

Sunday.

The sound of paper rustling wakes you. Muted scrapes of page shifting against page.

Through your lashes you can see a thin reed of sun streaming in the window, flaring across the end of the bed to warm your skin. And there’s a dull ache between your legs; a rhythmic throb that dances and twists through your core, through the muscles in the inside of your thighs. The type of pain that is warm – soft in its caress, like the trail of a lover’s fingertips down your spine. A sort of remembrance, or celebration. And you welcome it eagerly; delight in the sharp reminder of how it felt to welcome his body inside yours again. The hot sting of every third second, the meticulous pulse and ache of flesh that you hope stays with you for days.

Another page turns.

You tilt your head to the side, eyes open a mere crack, and smile at the secrecy of it. At the private sincerity of this man who lies awake, sporting nothing but the thin veil of a sheet, gaze fierce and focused on an endless stream of text that raps his attention. It’s a type of heaven for him, you realise. This resting place, as calm and tranquil it is. The only weight that bears down is in the place where his wrist bends, hand coiled around the spine of a book, fingers poised, flicking impatiently against the corner of a page, begging to turn it, to see more.

You take in every ripple of muscle, every dip and curve and freckle and scar. The jut of his elbow. The hard line of his jaw. Watch pink lips part and purr as he whispers the words on the page to himself, and think about how perfect that mouth felt between your thighs.

His fingers pinch the corner of a page, pressing it down into a dog ear before he moves onto the next. You wonder what piqued his interest, what collection of words made him want to mark it, to leave a trail for himself to come back one day and remember.

You break the silence finally. “What are you reading?”

Joel flinches, glasses jolting to the tip of his nose.

“You’re awake.”

“I am,” you hum. When he stares at you for a moment you just smile, snaking a hand out from the sheet to tap the page of his book. “Tell me.”

“Shakespeare,” he murmurs, a faint blotch of red rising at the base of his neck. You want to kiss that blush—taste it. Want to know if his skin smells like you. “Antony and Cleopatra.”

“I love that one,” you yawn. “Where are you up to?”

“Act five,” he says. “Cleopatra’s big scene.”

“Will you read it to me?” you smirk.

There’s an upward shift of an eyebrow. The spark of a curious glint in his eye.

“Really?” he drawls, unimpressed.

“Please?” your smile softens into something kind, something honest.

With a sharp sigh, and a quick adjustment of his glasses, Joel begins to read.

“Give me my robe, put on my crown,” he begins slowly, as if unsure. “I have immortal longings in me: now no more. The juice of Egypt’s grape shall moist his lip: yare, yare, good Iras; quick.”

His voice is a low vibration, a honeyed sound that drifts through the air and has goosebumps raising across your skin. You watch his mouth shape the words, enamoured. Savouring every glimpse of his teeth, every slip of his tongue between them.

“Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act. I hear some mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come. Now to that name my courage prove my title.”

His hair is a mess. A shock of greying curls that have flattened against his scalp after a night of being pressed into his pillow, threatening to spring up again. That dull pain flares in your core again and you rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache. But something stirs there—low, prowling just behind the pain. Something wet and wild that whispers his name.

“I am fire and air,” Joel continues obliviously, licking his thumb to turn the page with ease. “My other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done?”

Slowly, listening—hanging—you shift against the mattress. Allow the sheet to fall down to your stomach, exposing your breasts to the morning air. Your nipples stiffen, chest tightening as he glances at them from the corner of his eye. He pauses, mouth ajar. Swallows. Brown eyes return to the page, and he continues to read.

“Come then, and take the last warmth from my lips.”

Your hand drifts across the mattress, hidden from sight as it traverses the soft plains of the sheets, the blankets, and then the skin of his thigh. Bare, but smattered with soft hairs that tickle your palm and fingertips. Goosebumps tear across his skin and his breathing hitches; the faintest cracks in his calm façade. You surpass where you can see him hardening, fingers floating up his side to rest against his stomach. Gently, you feel across the soft slopes and curves of his tummy. Glide your finger over the dip of his belly button and smile when he clears his throat, legs shifting in a restless dance. And then your hand shifts down. Past his happy trail, past the dark curls at his base, to wrap your fingers softly around his length.

“Farewell, kind Charmian,” Joel’s voice deepens. “Iras, long farewell.”

You lower yourself on the bed, dragging the sheets with you until they rest wayward and wrinkled around his knees. Your cheek nuzzles against his thigh as you stroke him, humming in delight as his cock stiffens in your palm.

Joel sighs. “You don’t have to—”

“Keep going,” you hush, glancing up. He watches you over the top of his glasses, gaze darkening. There’s still sleep in the corners of his eyes, and it’s so soft, so domestic, it almost hurts. You look down, simpering as you admire the sight of his cock, now fully hard and leaking in your grasp.

The head is swollen, a flushed shade so reminiscent to that of his lips that you want to kiss him. But his skin is warm and smooth, like silk as you nuzzle his length against your face. Feel his wetness streak across your skin, over the closed line of your lips, the apple of your cheek. “Joel,” you urge him quietly when he still doesn’t speak.

“Have I the aspic in my lips?” His voice is hoarse when he continues; wanton, rough with sleep and desire. “Dost fall?”

You lathe soft kisses against the tip, along the vein that pulses along the side of his shaft, against the tight swell of his balls, taking your time with him. You giggle when he sucks in a sharp inhale, the muscles in his thighs tightening beneath your cheek.

“Such a pretty cock,” you whisper, swiping your fingers over his weeping head.

“Yeah?” he exhales and drops the book against his stomach, fingers reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Gonna show me how much you like it?”

“Mhm,” you bat your eyelashes up at him.

Joel raises the book again, slowly, eyes unfocused and glassy but still watching—still devouring—the way your lips purse around his tip. His stomach tightens when your tongue leaves soft kitten licks against the slit, lapping at the salty precome that rests there.

“If thou and nature,” he murmurs. “Can so gently part.”

And it’s almost painful, the way he sounds. Exhalations of tragic Shakespeare mixed with soft gasps, with curses loosed beneath his breath. The occasional revered whisper of your name, spurring you on.

His free hand settles at the back of your head, thick fingers curling in your hair as your lips part to take him deeper inside your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, hips shifting against the mattress. “That’s it, baby, god you’re good at that.”

You hum around the weight of him, stomach warming at the praise. Swirl your tongue generously around his girth, lathing saliva over his skin until it’s dripping down to his balls. You cup them gently in your palm, massage him as your lips drag to rest around his tip again, paying close attention to the way he gasps and sighs when the point of your tongue dances along the ridge at the underside of his head.

“Sensitive there?” you ask quietly, eyes flitting up to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed, eyebrows furrowed as he nods.

“S’good,” he confirms, fingers tightening in your hair as you rub that spot again. A fresh bead of precome oozes from his slit and you smile, fingers curling around his length to tap his tip against the flat of your tongue. “Jesus,” he mutters, eyelids fluttering. “Yeah, good girl.”

You shift down on him eagerly, letting the heavy weight of him slip against your tongue, inside the warmth of your mouth, until he’s pressing against the back of your throat and you can hear him moaning.

“Got the prettiest fuckin’ mouth, baby,” Joel whispers. “S’like a fuckin’ dream, seeing those lips on my cock again.”

You whimper and swallow around him. A tear squeezes out of the corner of your eye, trailing a shiny path down to your chin. In steady, measured movements, your head bobs up and down on his length, guided by the gentle press of his hand.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Take it all, baby, yea—yes.”

You relax your throat and take him deep enough to feel your nose brush against the rough hairs at his base.

“The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch,” he reads, the cadence of his words stilted and breathy. “Which hurts, and is desired.”

Suddenly, his hips jut upward and you gag, throat constricting around him until your eyes are wet and blurry. He tugs gently on your hair, pulling you backward until you part from him with a splutter, messy strings of saliva dangling between your swollen mouth and his cock.

“God damn,” he swipes a finger across your lower lip. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. So so good."

You think your eyes water more at that. Sweetheart.

“I want it,” you slur, lids heavy as you make eye contact with him.

“What do you want?” he pushes, cupping your jaw in his large palm. “Tell me.”

“Want you to come in my mouth,” your face warms and you lick your lips, fingers stroking him slowly. “Want all of it.” Everything.

“Okay,” Joel soothes, and then his hand drops from your hair so he can grip himself. Gently, he glides the tip along your bottom lip, trailing his salt across the skin of your chin, your cheeks, your nose, before finally pressing the head back against your tongue. “Take it, come on. It’s yours.”

He presses between your lips, jaw tensing, and his eyes drift back to the book as you begin to move.

“Dost thou lie still?” he reads. “If thus thou vanishes, thou—Christ—thou tell’st the world.”

Your lips are tight around him, mouth sucking and moving in tandem with the strokes of your fingers, wrapped loosely around his base. Carefully, you shift to straddle his shins, forearms resting heavily against his thighs as you bring him to the brink of his orgasm. Yours.

“Fuck,” you hear him spit, and then he’s arching forward, the splay of his palm moving down the length of your spine until his fingers slip into the crevice between your ass cheeks. Gripping and squeezing the flesh there until you’re moaning too, the vibrations of your voice muddling with the wet sounds of your mouth against his cock.

It doesn’t take much longer for coherent thought to evade him, Antony and Cleopatra flung to the wayside of the bed as his broad hands cradle your head, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every thrust. Your entire body is hot, slick with sweat, the musky scent of Joel filling your nostrils with every rushed inhale. The sounds he’s making turn rougher, deeper; raspy grunts and exhales that are almost animalistic in their intensity, and then—

“Fuckin—look at me,” he bites out, and watery eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I fill you up.”

And fuck you’re wet. So wet that it’s seeping onto the skin of your thighs, drooling out of you as you clench around sweet sweet nothing, cunt desperate and begging to be filled again. Tightening your fingers around his cock, you drag your mouth back to suck gently around the pulsating head, and when he comes it’s with a drawn-out, laboured groan that fades into harsh mutterings of your name and fuck and so fuckin’ good at that god damnit and that’s it, swallow it all baby, it’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours.

You pull off him with a gasp, sucking in deep desperate breaths as you fall onto your back beside him.

Soft sheets stick to the sweat on your skin, and you close your eyes, vaguely aware of how the two of you breathe in sync; a high-strung cacophony of sharp inhales and heavy exhales.

After a few quiet moments you ask, “What time is it?”

“Eighty thirty,” he answers. The mattress jostles and tilts as his large frame shifts on it.

“Probably time to start the day,” you grumble, throat raw and tired.

But you can feel hands on your waist, nudging you backward until your head is slumped amongst the soft pillows again. And when your eyes peak open Joel is getting comfortable between your legs, glasses forgotten somewhere out of sight, hands pressing your thighs into the mattress to reveal your glistening sex to him.

And he says, “No,” shaking his head slowly, near-black eyes piercing as his lips lower to meet your cunt. “Not yet.”

You were unsure, initially, whose idea it was.

Unsure of who spoke first; if you or him brought up the idea of the museum. Unsure if he mentioned the bookstore or you mentioned The Iliad. Unsure, unsure, unsure.

But as you stand on the outskirts of Central Park—showered, dressed, sure—eyes scanning the front window of the shop, the glass overflowing with newspaper cuttings and novel covers and author profiles and ads for signings – you are certain that it was him. Certain that he asked what your plans were for the day, head resting on your thigh, lips and beard still glistening with your come. Certain that you mentioned going to the museum, and that those brown eyes lit up, mouth splitting into a smile as he revealed that he had plans close by. Certain that he introduced the idea of going together.

A bell tinkles and your gaze sharpens, watching as his broad frame slips out the door with a brown paper bag tucked under his armpit. Joel ticks his head wordlessly to the side and you fall into step next to him, two sets of shoes scuffing against the pavement in a perfect rhythm.

“Can I see it?” you ask, eyes roaming curiously around the street.

“Sure,” Joel holds the bag out and you take it carefully, fingers peeling back paper so you can take a peak inside.

“The cover is beautiful,” you breathe, fingers tracing vibrant swaths of gold and red, the white lettering that spells The Iliad. You balance the spine in your palm, curious to flick through to the first page. To see the acknowledgements, her author photo, anything. And as your eyes skirt over the very first page your feet stutter to a stop, pulse increasing as you spot the black marker on the page. A messily scrawled signature.

“Joel.”

Joel says your name, pausing a few steps ahead before turning back to face you. “What’s wrong?” he frowns.

You hold up the page, brows lifted in awe. “She… how did you get a signed copy?”

“We’ve met a few times in passing,” he admits sheepishly, eyes glancing between the book and your face. “I’ve always admired her work, and she offered to set a copy aside for me here. She’s very impressive, the first woman to—”

“The first woman to publish an English translation of The Odyssey,” you interrupt. “Yeah, Joel, I know exactly who Emily Wilson is.”

“And now she’s published The Iliad,” he hums. You begin walking again, the museum in sight now. “I’m lookin’ forward to readin’ it. Especially now that I’ve heard all your thoughts about how women and men translate differently. I’m sure it’ll be on my mind as I go.”

The skin on your face prickles and tightens under his attention. You’re still smiling, a wide and satisfised flash of your teeth, when the two of you reach The Met. Still smiling when he pays for your tickets and leads you toward the Cloisters.

You wander together through the exhibit. Medieval, Bohemian, Byzantine. Jean Pucelle, Robert Campin, Tilman. You catch Joel staring at the Bust of the Virgin, one hand on his hip, knee jutted out as he admires her elegance, the tenderness with which her face was carved.

“You like her?” you tease.

His shoulders stiffen and then relax into a sort of indignant laugh.

“I like terracotta,” he smarts, reaching out to pinch your forearm. When he pulls his hand away you see his eyes dart over your shoulder – a quick glance around the room to see if anyone noticed.

“Oh of course,” you nod, a mock serious expression on your face. “Me too. Terracotta virgins.”

“You know,” he huffs, turning to face you head on. “You oughta start showin’ me a bit of respect. Where’s your reverence for an authority figure, huh?”

“Authority?” your eyes widen, smirking broadly as you take a step forward, the material of your jacket brushing against his. “And what authority might that be?”

“I could fail you,” he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. “Tell everyone you’re the worst student I ever had. Never does as she’s told, always talkin’ back.”

“Oh, Professor,” you whisper back, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, your snark emboldened by his. “I hate to say it, but you’re not very convincing in your distaste.”

You don’t wait around to see his reaction, turning on your heel and heading into the next room. Your cheeks are sore from smiling at the end of it, eyes tired from reading, and then you reach the courtyard gardens. See the cloisters. See the Romanesque columns with their fluting grooves that lead into arches, see the vast green garden with its flowers of yellow and pink and purple. Herbs and flora border the walking paths, filling the air with the scent of thyme and rosemary, and you can’t help but grin.

“Not bad right?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.

“Not bad at all,” you turn to smile at him. “Would’ve been cooler if they had some dinosaur bones around here though. A museum should always have a dinosaur.”

“A dinosaur,” he repeats, quietly amused. “Of course, you like dinosaurs.”

“I thought, uh,” Joel clears his throat then. Glances away for a second. “Thought you might like it here; that it might remind you of your time in Greece.”

The words make your chest go all warm and tight. He looks so handsome, so easy in the middle of it all. Dark features and broad shoulders softened by the smell of flowers.

“It does,” you nod. “A little bit.”

“What was it like?” he asks.

“Greece was…” you trail off as you remember it. White sand beaches, turquoise waters, boreks and Doric columns, seemingly endless nights spent translating sheets and sheets and sheets of ancient texts. “It was wonderful, really. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity, and Professor Samaras was a phenomenal instructor.”

Joel nods, fingers looped and resting across his stomach as he digests your answer.

“Good,” is the response he settles on, finally. “I’m glad. You… you deserve that. You work hard, and your presentation was solid.”

And it’s been less than twenty-four hours, but those words bring you calm now, not frustration like they did last night. So you smile, and thank him, and don’t stop yourself from asking him something in return.

“Have you really never been?” you ask, eyes squinting inquisitively as you watch his face, searching the emotions that flitter across it – near impossible to decipher, as always. “You said you weren’t interested, that first night when we spoke about it… but I would’ve thought… I don’t know, maybe a semester abroad or… or a fellowship?”

“Never,” he looks away. “Always too little time, too little money, too many responsibilities.”

You nod slowly, watch him curiously. You wish you could peel back his skin and see inside of that gorgeous brain, that heart. Understand every trouble, every missed opportunity that weighs on his shoulders.

“There’s still time,” you offer. “You’ve got so much time, Joel.”

Joel looks at you and you can see in his eyes that he’s grateful for the words. See that the earnestness with which you speak brings him some kind of solace, some kind of hope.

His fingers graze the skin of your wrist, curling around it to hold you in place beside him. Your body stills, eyes training carefully on the garden; the green of the grass, the pink of the flowers that bloom amongst it all. One of his fingers searches the skin at the inside of your wrist, swiping and rubbing over the tendons and veins there until he finds where your lifeline pulses. And then he strokes that spot, a calm, meticulous glide of his fingertip, over where blood thrums and rushes inside your body.

The tickling sensation has a painful knot of want curling in your chest, but you don’t stop him. Don’t pull your hand away, don’t take a step back. And with every stroke against skin, you feel it as if it where between your thighs—the soft curling of a finger between your folds, against your clit. It feels feverish, like a steady flame that spreads across your skin, up your chest to lick at the inside of your ribcage.

“Soft,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “You’re so soft.” And it sounds painfully like, you’ve got so much time.

And you look at him and he knows. Your face says it all.

Says, let your hands wander wherever they like. Says, if you touched me here—now—I wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t tell a soul. Says, everything I have to offer is yours if you could only bring yourself to take it. Says, and if your hand won’t wander, won’t stray, I’ll take it in my own and show you where to touch.

So you lead him back inside. Quiet, discreet, slipping past patrons and staff and guards until you find a bathroom. Tuck him inside and smile at the snap of the lock shifting into place behind you.

Joel’s knees meet tile with a soft thud, and dark eyes hold yours as he peels your trousers down, as he drags the slick fabric of your underwear to the side, as he presses the soft cut of his mouth between your legs. He watches you, steadfast, cheeks ablaze and pupils blown as his tongue works you open, calloused fingers holding your left thigh over his shoulder.

And after you’ve come, face pinched and hidden behind your palm, he pulls away. Skirts wet kisses down the inside of your thigh, against the shell of your kneecap, to the bruise that colours your shin.

And he whispers, “Does it hurt?” with his fingers tracing tender splotches of purple and blue.

And you whisper, “No.” with your fingers brushing the curls off his forehead.

Afterwards you walk through the park, pressing through streams of tourists and locals alike; a lively crowd that parts and flurries around the two of you as you push forward. He fields your questions about Emily Wilson, about the years he spent doing his PhD, parrying seamlessly with queries about the West coast, about your undergrad, your roommates.

The bubble doesn’t break until Joel gets the text. Cursing softly, he turns away from you, eyes focused on his screen.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, yes,” Joel says, fingers flying across the touch screen, typing out a response before he tucks his phone away. “I, uh, look I actually forgot that I have somethin’ I need to do tonight.”

“Sounds mysterious,” you smile, eyebrows raised expectantly. But your smile wavers when he doesn’t match your teasing, face relaxing as you wait.

“Rachel and I planned this dinner a few weeks ago,” he explains. “When we both agreed to attend the conference.”

“Oh,” you blink. “That’s nice.”

“It’s this thing we do,” Joel offers, shifting on his feet. “A tradition, I suppose. To celebrate another conference done.” And you remember, I’ve been to twenty of the damn things. His twenty to your one.

“That’s nice,” you repeat, and hold your smile when he checks his phone again.

Hold it when he tells you he should go, that he needs to get ready to meet her. Hold it when he hesitates, staring at you for a moment. Hold it when he presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head, lips meeting your temple, the weakest point of your skull, before turning to walk away from you.

Only when you’re alone do you let the smile fall.

After a lonely dinner, you find yourself back in your hotel room, thinking about Rachel.

Folding your blue dress into a neat square, and then a smaller square. Tucking it into your duffel bag, thinking about the rough sound of her laugh. The soft curve of her jaw, the sparkling greys that curl through her dark hair. You fold your underwear, pack that too, and think of her fluorescent toenails and her dangling earrings. Think of how sure she is; how intelligent, how charismatic. And then you think of yesterday – of her hand on Joel’s arm, soft fingers curling around the sleeve of his blazer, carting him around the conference. Leading him. Standing by his side, making him laugh.

And it burns, this hot feeling in your chest. Something dark green and scalding, fiery enough that you feel the need to sit on the edge of the bed and press your palm against the skin above your breast to tamp it down. Feel your heartbeat there, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, and tell yourself that this feeling is cruel and unforgiving but that it is wrong. You lay out your clothes for the airport, wrap yourself up in the coarse hotel robe and push away the images your mind creates of them at dinner together. Push away the thought of her foot nudging his beneath the table, the thought of them sitting beside each other, thighs brushing like yours had on the bench last night. Because it’s wrong. Joel isn’t like that. Joel wouldn’t do that.

When Nora calls, you pick up on the second ring.

“How did it go?” she squeals, and you feel your shoulders relax at the sound of her voice.

“It was good,” you respond. “I feel good about it. Glad it’s over though.”

“You never answered my text—" the line crackles a little, muffling the last word of her sentence. “I was worried something bad might’ve happened.”

“Fuck,” you apologise. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, I—I got caught up with something, I… I wasn’t looking at my phone.”

There’s a beat of silence over the phone. Another fried, crackle over the line.

“Oh you cheeky bitch,” she gasps then. “You could’ve just said you were getting some!”

“Nora—” you try, stomach dropping.

“Who the fuck was it?” she continues eagerly. You can almost picture the way her eyes would widen if she were here with you, hands clenched excitedly at her sides as she pushes for all the gory details. “Was it someone from the conference? Oh my god, was it someone from UNE?”

“No, no,” you rush, feeling an anxious heat rise in your chest. “It was just a random guy, we… I met him at a bar afterwards, it’s no one from Maine. No one from the conference.”

Another pause.

“And?” she asks finally. “How was it?”

You consider her question for a moment. Remember the way he undressed you in the dim light of his hotel room – slow, cautious. Remember the way he looked at you. Those dark brown eyes feasting over every inch of flesh, every mark, every freckle, every scar. The feeling of his hands on your breasts, his bare chest against yours as he pressed inside of you.

Quietly, earnestly, you say, “It was amazing,” and smile when she hollers down the line.

And this feeling is so much kinder, you think. The relief and the warmth that comes with being able to tell someone. To talk about him, even if you’re not really talking about him. Even if she can’t really know the truth.

You put her on speaker, still listening and laughing as she rattles off question after question. Did he go down on you? How big was he? Wait he was older?! You bitch! How old?! That’s hot. Fuck, I need to get laid.

“You really do,” you chuckle, laying down against the pillows and typing out a text to Joel.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

He replies within minutes.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing?

“Hey Nora?” you interrupt. “I actually need to go.”

“Oh,” she huffs. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re gonna go get fucked again. Good for you bitch.”

“I love you,” you laugh, already typing out a response to him. “See you tomorrow when I get home.”

Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed

You watch the text bubble appear, disappear, and reappear over three times before it vanishes completely. Minutes go by; maybe ten, maybe fifteen, and then—

Show me.

Grinning, you loosen the tie around your robe to reveal a flash of the skin across your chest; the curve of your left breast, the peak of your nipple. Take a picture and make sure he can see your finger snagged between your lips, resting against the softness of your tongue.

For a moment you worry. Feel a spike of fear in your chest that if you send it someone else might catch a glimpse of his screen – that Rachel might see it. But then another text comes through, and you feel that fear melt into a warm pool of liquid.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

So you do. You click send and wait, teeth catching against the nail on your thumb.

The response is almost instant.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am

Are you touching yourself?

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

You send him the address of your hotel. Call the lobby and tell them to let him up. And when he arrives, you’re waiting for him on the balcony. You hear the heavy pad of his footsteps crossing the room, and then the slide of the glass door. Feel the broad span of his chest press against your back; outstretched fingers that glide around the curve of your waist to settle over your stomach.

Joel doesn’t say a word, nosing at the frizzled kinks of hair at the base of your neck. One of his hands drifts upward, fingers curling beneath the neckline of your robe, just grazing the curve of your breast. You let your eyes fall closed and think this feels like coming home. Think, if this moment could last for hours, for days, for ever, that would be enough, and I’d never ask for another thing. Think, where have I been all of my life, and why was it not here with him?

You say, “Let’s go inside,” as he touches your nipple, and feel him shake his head.

“No,” he says. Presses his hips against your ass, rough denim brushing the backs of your knees. “Want you here.”

You start to say Someone might see, but Joel pushes you forward again and your stomach presses against railing. Your eyes dart down toward the street, the road. To cars and pedestrians and tourists.

“You don’t want that?” his lips brush the side of your neck as he speaks, the softest pressure. He tugs at your robe, guiding it down past your shoulders, elbows, until it pools around your feet. “Don’t want them to see us together?”

“That’s not—” you gasp as his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, hot tongue gliding over already bruising flesh. “Fuck, Joel.”

He groans against your skin, lathing wet kisses past your neck to the top of your spine. His hands are on your waist and your stomach and your tits and his jeans chafe against your bare ass, zipper catching every now and then. But your mind is hazy, a blur of thoughts that can only focus on the feeling of teeth and lips, on something long and firm pressing through the material of his pants, rutting slowly against you.

“You’re hard already,” you breathe, surprised—delighted.

Joel grunts, distracted. “Been hard since you sent me that picture.”

A shaky breathes leave your lips as his hand skirts down your stomach, your hipbones, until his fingers slip past the glistening seam of your cunt – tender and swollen and aching.

“But that’s what you wanted, hmm?” he rasps. You whimper as his fingers circle over your entrance, collecting your slick and dragging it upward. A flinch rips through you when he touches your clit, the nerves fraught after being given so much attention throughout the day. “You like knowin’ how much I want you? How badly? You like that I’d leave dinner early just to come here and fuck you?”

Face on fire, you nod; caught out. And then he takes another step forward, bending you further over the railing and pressing himself against you, hard enough that you can feel his cock between your ass cheeks, denim scraping the sensitive skin there.

“That is how much I want you. All the fuckin’ time,” he says. “Get it?”

“Joel,” you stutter urgently, voice almost a squeak. Your thighs shake, knees close to buckling as his finger rubs slow circles against your clit. “S’too—fuck, Joel, it’s too sensitive.” It burns, too much – but his touch only serves to stoke the fire in your belly until it’s a roaring, raging thing, begging for more of too much.

“I know, honey,” he groans, and you think you can hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. “You sore?”

When you don’t answer immediately Joel’s fingers still, body straightening as if he’s about to stop, about to pull away.

“Don’t,” you say quickly. “Just—”

“M’not goin’ anywhere,” Joel hushes. “Does it hurt?”

You hesitate, stomach tightening when his fingers start to move again. “It’s… yeah a little, but it’s…”

“But you like it? Like it when it hurts a little?” he fills the silence, and you can hear the change in his voice. Hear how it deepens, a gravelly effect that has your cunt tightening. You cringe, turn your head to the side in the hopes that he won’t see your reaction. But he doesn’t let it slide. Of course not. “Talk to me.”

“Yeah, yes, I like it,” you admit, exhaling a relieved sigh when you hear his belt hit the ground.

“Good,” he says, and then you can feel him, hot silken skin on your own, the wet glide of his cock against your ass check.

His knuckles brush against you as he adjusts himself, and the weight of his tip at your opening is not unlike the brush of his fingers along your bruised shin. Tender, careful – the touch of someone that would never hurt you. Not unless you asked him to.

When Joel rocks his hips forward, cock splitting you open around his weight, the stretch is long and deep. A sweet, searing burn that has you balancing on the tips of your toes, mouth hanging open as you grip the railing and take it. The night air is cool against your skin, but warm hands land firm on your hips, thumbs circling and rubbing away the goosebumps there

“God,” he grunts into the hinge of your jaw, teeth nipping at the muscle there. “You’re so wet, so needy. Want this cock all the time, don’t you?”

You can only moan in response – a choked, whimper of a noise that scratches its way out of your throat as he bottoms out. His thighs are warm and thick against yours, body practically moulding itself to you as you squirm, cunt pulsing around the thick length of him.

He gives you a moment to adjust, waits to feel you relax against him, and then he’s moving. Slow, powerful thrusts that have you feeling him in your stomach, and wishing you could see his face. Wishing you could watch his nose scrunch up, his lips curl into a snarl as he fucks you. Wishing that everything you’re feeling could be reflected back to you in his face, the way it was last night.

“Thought about you all night,” he says in your ear, a dirty little confession, whispered only for you to hear. “You know how sick that is? At dinner with my colleague, my friend, and I couldn’t get this perfect cunt out of my head. S’drivin’—me—fuckin’—crazy.”

And it’s sick, it’s awful, but you feel your lips peel back, face breaking into a toothy grin at the words. That envy, that jealousy, that dark green sticky feeling - all of it for naught because you were right. Joel Miller is yours.

“Yeah?” you pant, pushing your ass back into him and smiling even wider when he grunts, blunt fingernails digging into your waist. “What were you thinking about?”

“’Bout how tight you always are,” he kisses the side of your neck, tongue flicking incessantly against the skin there. “How perfect you felt around me last night. How you take it so well.” He bites down, sucking until the skin throbs, another mark left in his wake. “How, if I can help it, I’ll never wear a condom when I fuck you again.”

You curse, head lolling back against his shoulder. The confession makes you ache. “Please,” you mutter desperately. “Joel, please.”

“Thought about fillin’ you up,” he continues eagerly. “Fuckin’ you so hard, so deep with my come that you’d feel it for days. And you’d be mine.” His hips snap forward in a particularly harsh thrust and you grunt, cringing as the railing bites into your ribs. Mine mine mine.

“I’m yours,” you moan as he fucks you, a steady smack-smack-smack sound filling the air as his hips collide with the meat of your ass, over, and over, and over again. “You know I am.”

And you want to know what he thinks of that, want to know what comes next, but the sound of laughter echoes up from the street suddenly, and you tense, eyes snapping wide open. Joel doesn’t slow down.

“Look at them,” he hushes, voice quietening some.

His hand raises to point somewhere over the balcony, but you don’t see where; eyes trained on his fingers, his skin, the blue veins that swell and pulse beneath it. Your eyes try to follow it, but you’re looking the wrong way, following the hard line of his wrist, the corded veins in his forearm, his bicep, trying desperately, shamelessly, to catch a glimpse of his face.

“I said look at them,” his voice deepens, an authoritative tone taking over as his long fingers grip your jaw, angling it down until you do as he says.

You can see three of them. Squinting, you try to make out their faces from four storeys up. Stumbling down the street, laughing loudly, bumping shoulders as they walk.

Joel’s hips press forward and you gasp, eyes rolling back as his swollen tip nudges the deepest, softest place inside of you.

“Wait,” you whisper hoarsely, body jerking forward with every practised thrust of his cock. Say again, “Someone might see.”

“I hope they do,” he growls, hand falling to drape over your neck.

His fingers press gently against either side, cradling your pulse point in the palm of his hand. Your brain goes foggy with the pressure, mind buzzing and blurring. The sensation of his broad grip against your throat mixes with the drag of his cock between your thighs and it’s intoxicating; a high that you’ve never experienced before, and never want to end. You don’t realise how loud you’re gasping, moaning, keening his name, until you hear him laugh. A rough, elated sound.

“I knew it,” he chuckles, and you tighten around him, fingers fumbling backward, seeking purchase at the soft flesh of his hips as he continues rocking into you. His hand drops from your neck to your tits, and he squeezes.

“Admit it. Admit you fuckin’ love it,” Joel pants, every word punctuated by a white-hot press of his cock and a heavy exhalation against your neck. “Dirty little thing—you want them to see. Say it.”

“Fuck,” you cry, spine arching as you push backward, meeting the movements of his hips.

“Fuckin’ say it,” he snaps, all hints of laughter gone now, his rough drawl only offset by the fond way his hands play with your tits. Careful, kind; every pinch, every squeeze, every caress a generous and tender display.

“I want it,” you blubber, sight blurring into a mess of streetlights and skyscrapers and strangers on the street. “W-want them to see how you fuck me, how you take care of me.”

“That’s it,” he groans, and you can feel the way he twitches inside of you, cock jerking against your walls in hot fast movements.

“Want them to know,” you continue, and there’s tears streaking messily down your cheeks, your lips moving faster than you can control. “Want them to see us, see how good it is, how perfect.”

And it’s too much now, you think. Finally, too much of too much. The railing is bruising against your stomach. Every stroke of his cock, every graze of your nipples – Joel’s touch akin to the end of a frayed wire, sparking and spitting embers wherever the two of you come into contact. Your cunt is on fire, every inch of sticky wet flesh throbbing and smarting.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby, you gonna show them how you come for me? Gonna let them hear it?”

“I can’t,” you choke out, shaking your head numbly. Yours lungs are on fire, mouth dry as you try fruitlessly to suck in breath after breath. “Fuck, I don’t think I can—”

“Hey,” his voice calls. A rough finger wipes across your cheek, smearing the salty tears further across your skin. “You can, you can, I can’t—I fuckin’ need this, need it.”

“It’s too much,” you gasp frantically. But your words aren’t matched by the desperate grind of your hips. Aren’t matched by the way you twitch and shake between him and the glass, abdomen tensing tighter tighter tighter with every thrust. “Fuck, I’m—I’m close but it’s too much, Joel, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t—”

He pulls out quickly. You gasp wetly at the loss, at how your walls clench and suck around that empty warm space in his absence. Deft hands grip your waist, tilting and turning you until your back is against the railing now, and his mouth is between your legs, wet lips and tongue so soft in comparison, so soothing against that burn.

There’s no shying away now, no stuttering or whining – you simply melt, thigh softening around the curve of his shoulder, allowing him to hold you up as his tongue teases and coaxes you to the edge of your third mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm that day.

And you don’t notice at first how his bicep shifts and flexes beneath your thigh. Don’t notice how he groans and sighs against your messy cunt, panting and muttering your name as he strokes his cock in tight, wet jerks. And when you come, gushing into his mouth, his eyes snap open, endless spheres of deep brown gazing up at you, desperate to see. Your legs tremble with the force of it, hands grappling for purchase on his shoulders, in his hair. And with your lips parted, tears drying on your cheeks, you watch the way his face crumples—wrecked. How eyebrows furrow and eyelids flutter shut. Joel’s mouth slips away from you, teeth sinking into the flesh of your thigh, something to ground him as he grunts, a low, ragged sound, before you feel him come in warm, thick spurts against your calf.

“Fuck,” you mumble deliriously. Can hardly hear yourself over the roar of your pulse in your ears. “So good, you’re so beautiful.”

Joel’s face is flushed, skin tinged with a deep red that settles across the highest peaks of his cheekbones and disappears into his beard. And when his eyes open again, drowsiness swimming beneath those heavy lids, you can see the way they shine. Glistening with something wet, something earnest. You thumb gently at his waterline, swiping away the tears like he’s done for you.

His lips press a chaste kiss to the pad of your thumb, tongue snaking out to lick his tear from your skin, and you think you must repeat it, So beautiful, because he smiles. Breathing heavily, eyes wet, he grins for you. A flash of white that he quickly smothers against the skin of your leg.

After catching his breath, Joel leads you inside and helps you shower. Stands outside the glass door, hand gripping your elbow to brace your shaking frame as you glide soap over your arms, down your legs. His fingers dig in firmer when you slip a hand between your thighs, whimpering as warm water streams over the sensitive skin there. He doesn’t flinch or shy away when specks of water flick out and dampen his shirt.

“You okay?” he asks as he helps you out, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

You nod, mind still foggy, and let him rub the coarse fabric over the skin of your arms, your legs, drying you off before he tucks you back into your robe. And when he leads you back into the room, helping you carefully onto the bed, a flash of concern splits across his face. He takes a step back, a step away, until his back is brushing against the wall.

You lay down on the bed, heavy limbs splayed haphazardly across the soft blankets and pillows. Your robe is open, the tie still forgotten somewhere on the balcony, revealing the skin of your stomach, your thighs, still dotted with warm droplets of water.

And Joel's not far, not really; tucked away in the corner of the room, unsure, arms hanging listlessly by his sides as he stares. Takes in every inch of you as if it’s the first time all over again. Perhaps, as if he’s worried it will be the last.

“I should go,” he says, painfully unconvincing.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, eyelids heavy as you stare back at him.

Your lips part in a soft yawn as you scratch languidly at the skin over your ribs, and dark eyes follow the movement of your fingers. Watch how your skin smarts and pulls beneath your fingernails until you sigh in contentment, the itch disappearing.

“You gotta be up early,” he says.

“I do.”

“And it’s late,” his eyebrows raise.

“Is it?” you smile. Raise your eyebrows in return and laugh when he sighs, hands twitching at his sides.

“Are we really doing this again?” you ask, smile slipping when you notice his frown. The twisted furrow of his brows, the curl of his upper lip. As if all of the features on his face have pinched together in the middle. Something churns in your stomach; a sick feeling that rises to lodge at the base of your throat. Waiting. “Talk to me.”

“M’tryin’,” he admits quietly. “Tryin’… tryin’ to be good. I want to be good.”

Your heart drops. And then, driven by some emotion that you can’t name, don’t want to name, it climbs its way back up, lurching forward in your chest. It claws and scrapes and tears itself out through a crack between two of your ribs, flinging itself across the room at him.

“You are good,” you whisper. Feel your bottom lip wobble, unsteady but sure. Certain of nothing but this as the words slip out. “You’re good, Joel. We are good.”

And when he smiles you think you can see it in his teeth. Little fragments of your heart; the beating core of you, dark red and macerated in the cracks of his canines, the lining of his gums.

Joel closes his eyes and repeats the word. A softly murmured, Good, as if the word itself confounds him, and you think you must be imagining the red smeared across his chin. Your blood seeping out past his lips, dribbling down to stain the skin of his neck.

“I hope you’re right.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. One that shakes the planes of his broad chest, makes it rise to its fullest potential before he sucks another in, shoulders relaxing, and walks across the room towards the bed.

Towards you.

thank you for reading! x

#i hope you wanna know what happened at the dinner with rachel #cause i'm gonna tell you #my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #ALP #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut

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writing-for-marvel · 7 months

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Day 4: Overstimulation

Mob!Bucky's Kinktober Honeymoon

Mob!Bucky Barnes × Wife!Reader

Summary: Bucky’s determined to give you an orgasm in every room of your private villa.

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, fingering, oral (fem receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squirting, spanking

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: dividers by me, please do not use. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

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The villa Bucky chose for the first week of your honeymoon is absolutely stunning - views directly out onto a white sandy beach from a large infinity pool, a built-in spa and sauna you are already eager to try out as well as being completely fitted out with the most lush furnishings and extravagant amenities.

But he doesn’t give you time to enjoy any of it, for as soon as you walk over the threshold, Bucky bends you over the substantial kitchen island, pushes your skirt up around your waist, pulls your panties down to your ankles and licks a stripe up your slit, paying no mind to the two bodyguards following you into the residence.

He starts out eagerly, pushing his warm, wet tongue into your pussy as his thick fingers spread your folds bare for him. His name falls from your lips in a low moan, but this only spurs him on, wanting to hear his wife repeat his name like the God the majority of New York believe him to be.

As he relentlessly devours you, your orgasm builds, the band in your lower stomach tightening with every flick of his tongue, lapping up the arousal flooding from your core that Bucky himself is responsible for.

“Fuck Buck, right there, don’t stop.” If it weren’t your beloved husband spreading your ass cheeks wide and nose deep in your pussy, you might be embarrassed by how quickly you are hurtling towards your release.

But James Barnes knows every inch of your body with exact precision, he has memorised the map of how to navigate to the height of your pleasure and has the uncanny ability to bring you right to the edge with a single touch. Something he prides himself on.

Your first orgasm comes when his thumb toys with your puckered asshole and his plump lips suckle on your clit. The smooth marble underneath your fingertips provides no grip, no traction to pull yourself away from Bucky’s onslaught.

Before you can even take a breath to stabilise yourself after your high, Bucky picks you up bridal style and walks your limp body over to the couch of the connecting lounge room.

He places you on all fours on the leather couch, and after ridding himself of all nuisance clothing, he drives himself inside your sopping entrance without any notice. Your velvety walls burn deliciously as you stretch to accommodate him - a stretch that you will crave for the rest of your life.

“Good girl, take it all.” Bucky commands. He starts out at a brutal pace, but somehow with each thrust he seems to both accelerate the movement of his hips and plunge deeper within you, filling you completely and kissing your cervix.

Wet, salacious sounds fill the grand room, along with your strained voice chanting Bucky’s name like a prayer. You bury your face in the top of the backrest of the couch in an attempt to muffle the obscene moans falling from your lips as Bucky grips your hips tighter and continues fucking into you relentlessly.

You feel him press an affectionate kiss between your shoulder blades before his domineering hand grasps your neck and pulls you back into him, the warm length of his body pressing against yours.

“Be a good wife and take everything your husband gives you. Every. Fucking. Inch.” His words are growled into your ear and a shiver runs down your spine. He punctuates each word with a hard slap to your ass.

He reaches around your body, his hand finding your clit with the ease of magnets attracting one another. As he begins teasing your sensitive bundle of nerves, you feel like you’re floating, unable to come down from the pure bliss Bucky has fucked you into, every collision of his hips against yours bringing you closer to your inevitable end.

“This fat cock feels good, doesn’t it?” Luckily it’s a rhetorical question because in your current euphoric state you can’t find any words to express how good your husband is making you feel. “Be a good little slut and cum on it for me.”

You don’t even realise tears are leaking from your eyes when your next orgasm slams into you like a train, thighs quivering, inadvertently trying to crawl to the other side of the couch to find some relief from the spasming pleasure, even though you know Bucky will never let you go until you’ve ridden out your entire high.

The next room you find yourself in is the adjacent dining room. The table had been set for your arrival, but Bucky soon sweeps the settings at one end crashing onto the floor as he lays your back gently on the mahogany tabletop.

“God damn, I’ll never get enough of this tight pussy.” Bucky exclaims as he pushes inside you again. You gasp at the sudden intrusion of his thick length, every part of your body twitching with heightened awareness.

His thrusts are more languid this time, longer and deeper, but you’re so sensitive from your previous orgasms that you’re already right on the edge with just a few pumps.

“You’re so beautiful when you cum, my love.” His voice is softer in tone, words soothing as he shifts the position of your legs so they instead rest on his shoulders. His eye contact is just as intense as the momentum of his hips slapping yours. “Need you to do it again for me. Want you looking in my eyes when I make you cum.” Bucky urges, his hand migrating down to where your bodies meet, his thumb rubbing tight circles over your puffy and oversensitive clit.

The pressure building within your core borders on agonising, you’re sure that this impending orgasm will be larger than any else of your married life thus far, and with how he’s hitting every spot inside you that engages an electric current surging up your spine, you know you’re so close.

It only takes another flick of your clit and you’re there, falling over a cliff and plunging into a deep ocean of pure pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m cumming again!” You announce as your back arches off the dinning table, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your entire body convulses by the sheer magnitude of your orgasm.

“That’s it baby, keep ‘em coming.” Bucky doesn’t let up, smirking as you writhe in front of him. “Soak me sweetheart.”

And you do just that.

Before you even realise what’s happening, your release gushes out of you, soaking Bucky’s stomach and thighs, the force of your squirt pushing him out of you. He rubs his bulbous tip frantically over your clit, prolonging your high and milking every last drop of arousal from you.

You sense him pick you up again, a soft kiss placed to your hairline as you move throughout the house again.

Much later in the night, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum, the line between each orgasm blurring, waves of pleasure melding into one huge tsunami. You can’t even remember which room you last came in, mind in a complete daze, all you can perceive is Bucky’s looming presence over you and the way he’s playing your body like a fiddle, each stroke, strum and nip brings you closer to your next high like a symphony orchestra playing to a crescendo.

“Too much.” You attempt to mumble, unsure if you’re even articulating the words correctly, feebly pushing at his veiny arm to give yourself a semblance of a break from the overwhelming sensations your husband is subjecting you to.

It feels like your entire body is trembling on the king sized bed you get to call yours for the next week as you attempt to steady your breathing, trying to focus on anything other than the violently intense sensations Bucky is responsible for between your legs.

“Just one more, darling. I know you can give me another. You’re doing so well for me.” He coos before his lips latch onto your breast, the tip of his tongue lightly circling your areola before suckling your hardened nipple.

“I can’t.” A sob bubbles up your throat, understanding if you really wanted to stop you could use your prearranged safeword. It isn’t that you want to stop - it just feels too good, the pleasure so earth shatteringly intense that it borders on pain.

“Yes you can. I know you can, baby.” He praises, planting a sweet kiss to your sweaty forehead as you mewl, Bucky’s nimble fingers continuing to move in and out of you at a damaging pace. “Do it for me.”

All it takes is those four short words. Do it for him, do it for your husband, and you’re coming undone again for him. You whine his name as the most immense pleasure fires from the base of your spine, spreading like exploding fireworks through the rest of your body.

You don’t feel Bucky pull his fingers from you, nor do you discern his weight drop beside you in bed. It takes a couple minutes before your mind becomes a clear stream of thoughts and you can decidedly feel your extremities again.

“My perfect wife.” Bucky mumbles into your neck as you work to catch your breath and bring yourself assuredly back to earth after your visit to the heavens.

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and if you weren’t already breathless from the numerous orgasms he’s pulled from your body, the pure love and affection swirling in his stunning blue eyes you’ve fallen in love with would punch all the air from your lungs.

Warmth blooms in your chest at the soft, devoted smile painted on his features. He places a sweet kiss to your nose and then to your sweaty hairline.

“You still with me, darling?”

“Just barely.” You chuckle, finding enough energy to lift your arm up and draw along his sharp jaw with your index finger. Bucky takes your hand in his, kissing your knuckles and adjusting your extravagant wedding ring so that the scintillating diamond sits perfectly centred on your finger, before pulling your body into him so there is no space remaining between you.

“How about we run you a warm bath?” Bucky offers in a low tone, lifting your chin with a single bent finger so he can slot his supple lips against your own in a tender kiss. “We didn’t quite make it to the ensuite, so if we’re to complete the set, you still owe me one more orgasm.”

💋 Join my Kinktober Taglist 💋

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celiastjamesoscar · 10 months

Text

No Hard Feelings

Pairings: Sam Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: Tara makes plans with you to go to dinner and watch a movie, but she forgets and can’t go. So she sends Sam in her place

Warnings: slight spoiler for No Hard Feelings (small scene, no significance to plot), light cussing, mentions of Ghostface attacks

Read part 2 here

Word count: 7.6k

Tara sat on the floor of her and Sam’s apartment with a mountain of papers spread around her. To her demise, her past self thought it would have been a good idea to put off her month and a half project so she could-in her words-"be older so, therefore, wiser,” and she would get a better grade on it. Now, her present self wishes she could go back in time and politely murder her past self, as she would have to stay up all hours of the night even to get a passing grade on her project. She could call Y/N and ask for help, but she knew that the girl was probably busy doing who knows what.

Since the move to New York City, Tara found it hard to make friends she could trust; the only real people she did trust were the Meeks-Martin twins, Anika, her roommate Quinn, Y/N, and Sam.

Tara met Y/N when she first moved to New York through Anika, as she was her roommate. Anika introduced her to the core four one night while they watched movies and swam at their shared apartment. When Y/N first met everyone, she immediately clicked with the group, except Sam.

Sam was naturally standoffish towards new people, especially Y/N. Sam didn’t know if she disliked the girl because she shared the same love for horror as Mindy, her undeniable charm, her beautiful features, or the fact she was a fucker that fed off of Tara’s little fucker energy. So together, they just become this giant mass of fucker energy that wreaks havoc on innocents. Sam tries her best to make sure that her and Tara are not left alone together-God only knows what mischief they would get up to if left unattended-but that usually meant she was the one keeping an eye on them. From dragging them out of karaoke bars to forcefully stopping them from shooting fireworks at each other, Sam has seen enough to know she wasn’t too much of a fan of Y/N.

On the other hand, Tara and Sam haven’t always had the best relationship (Sam left her for five years with her alcoholic mother), but they loved each other dearly, and everyone knew that. However, Tara does things to get under Sam’s skin for fun. For example: going to frat parties after Sam told her not to, getting too drunk at said parties, throwing up because of the alcohol after Sam specifically told her not to, waiting until the last minute to do projects, and the one Sam hated the most, trying to set her up with her friends. Tara would spend days writing out plans of setting Sam up with her friends, pouring hours she should have spent doing homework into Sam’s love life.

Sam found it funny how Tara and Mindy worked together to try and set Sam up with someone, even though she never went out with the people they set her up with. She also admired their dedication to it, but she would never tell them that. Tara would invite some of Chad’s football friends over for a game night and hope one would hit it off with Sam, but Sam shot down every guy. Eventually, Tara got fed up with it and asked Sam, “Are you ever going to give a guy a chance?” Sam just looked at Tara with the most trustworthy eyes as she spoke, “I’ll never give a guy a chance again.” And with that, Tara stopped trying to get Sam with men.

Since that conversion, Mindy had been Sam’s “wingman” in picking up women, and it was not going well. At all. They’d go to a bar every other weekend, Mindy would point out a woman that Sam might be interested in, and immediately get shot down.

“What about her, Sam? She’s pretty, plays the guitar, and keeps looking over at you?”

“No.”

“The fuck do you mean ‘no’?”

“No, she looks like she bites.”

“Biting can be good in some instances.”

“No.”

“Okay then, moving on. What about her-”

“No.”

And it continued like this until Mindy eventually had enough of it. “Dude, your sister refuses to give anyone I point out a chance! At first, I thought she was wary of getting romantical with someone because of he-who-shall-not-be-named, but now I think she’s doing it out of spite.” Mindy complained to Tara over a game of Uno one night.

“She’s not doing it out of spite; she’s doing it because she knows she’s getting set up.” Anika butted in while placing down a blue five. “You just need to set her up with someone without her knowing it’s a setup.”

And at that, Tara and Mindy shared a telepathic thought when their eyes made contact and simultaneously reached for their phones. Not reading the room, Chad threw down a blue draw two while standing up and yelling, “Uno!”

Mindy sent him a glare before speaking, “Do you want me to call her, or should you?”

“I’ll call her; just wait for me!” Tara exclaimed as she left the table with her phone in hand, walking about ten feet from the group before dialing Y/N’s number. Mindy and Tara’s plan began to hatch that night.

Tara would invite Y/N to the apartment everyday. She would even invite her over if she had somewhere else to be later that night, leaving the poor girl alone with either Sam or Quinn. Y/N was rather fond of Quinn; she enjoyed the redhead’s stories about her strange hookups and they played a very intense game of Blackjack on occasion. On the other hand, she hated being left alone with Sam. Sam would either not say anything or just glare at Y/N; she didn’t know which one was worse.

Sometimes when Y/N was over, Tara would excuse herself to leave her and Sam alone for long periods. Naturally, the two of them would sit in awkward silence while the tv played in the background. They would occasionally discussed what was on TV, but that never lasted more than four sentences.

Of course, Y/N was drawn to Sam: her beautiful tan skin that she sometimes dreamed of stroking, those beautiful brown eyes that reminded her of old brick libraries and vintage books she sometimes got lost in, and her protectiveness for her sister.

She's Everything. Y/N’s just Ken.

In the present, Tara groaned and rolled around the floor, “Why do I do this every time?” She whined while looking at her papers.

“I know; I thought you would have learned your lesson by now,” Sam joked as she watched her little sister dramatically roll around the floor. “I told you to spend at least twenty minutes a day working on it, but nope. You said you would be smarter by putting it off, and now look at you.”

Surprised by Sam’s words, Tara quickly sat up and looked at her sister before falling back onto the floor with an exaggerated groan. Sam rolled her eyes at Tara’s actions and sat on the couch. “What are you working on?” Sam questioned as she picked up a piece of paper with chemical formulas.

“I’m supposed to show what acid, like from soda, does to teeth. But I hate chemistry, and I’m seriously considering dropping this class.” Tara stated as she picked herself up off of the floor and stretched. As she was stretching, there was a knock at the door.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get it. You just finished your project.” Sam said as she got up and walked towards the door, ignoring the slight grumble of words Tara let out as she sat back down on the floor.

As she approached the door, Sam looked out of the peephole, as no one in the apartment was expecting any guests. When she saw who was at the door, she uttered a small cuss word as she opened the door, “What are you doing here?”

Y/N scoffed at Sam’s words but spoke with a gentle smile, “Tara and I have plans tonight to go to dinner and see a movie; I’m here to pick her up. Why? Are you jealous I’m here for her and not you?” She finished with a smirk that Sam wanted to smack off her face. She just scoffs at her words but lets her into the apartment.

Sam took in her outfit as she walked in: black dress pants, a black blazer, and a black lace strapless corset top. If she didn’t know any better, she’d assume you and Tara had a date planned, which hurt her heart a little.

“Hey, Tara, you ready to… go?” Y/N asked as she looked around the living room and found scattered papers everywhere.

Tara looked at her with bug eyes before frantically searching for her phone. Once she found it, she checked the time and date, which resulted in her smacking herself on the forehead. “Oh my god, I am sorry, Y/N. I completely forgot about our dinner and movie night; I just got so wrapped up in my project.” Tara apologized as she stood up from the floor.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Y/N stated as she popped her head to her left. Sam noticed that Y/N does that whenever she’s upset or doesn’t like talking about something. Sam hates that she sees the little things that Y/N does: rubbing the back of her neck whenever she’s anxious, bouncing her right leg when excited about something, and picking her nails whenever she’s stressed. The list goes on of the little things Sam noticed about Y/N, but she’d simply defend it as making sure Y/N wasn’t lying to her about whatever she and Tara were doing.

“No, it's not. You’ve already bought the tickets and made the reservations for dinner. I don’t want it to go to waste because I pushed off this stupid project.” Tara complained as she turned towards the spread-out work. “Is there any way I could make it up to you?”

“I’m serious, Tara. Don’t worry about it at all. We can go another time.” Y/N suggested. She didn’t want to see Tara upset over some movie tickets and a dinner reservation.

Tara sighed as she looked at Y/N, “But you’ve gotten all dressed up-you look amazing, by the way-and I don’t want it wasted.” Tara said as her eyes slowly drifted towards Sam, who was listening in on the conversation from her bedroom doorway, and a brilliant idea popped into her head. “Actually, what if I found someone to go with you?”

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed at the question but told Tara to continue. She had no idea who Tara had in mind but hoped it wasn’t Sam. She could hardly stand to be in the same room as the movie. Let alone go on a dinner and movie date with her. Not a date, though, because Y/N would never think about Sam in a more than platonic way. No way at all.

“Uhh, sure. Who is it?” Y/N as she looked at Tara with wary eyes, already knowing who Tara had in mind.

Tara looked at Y/N with innocent eyes and a mischievous smile, “Sam will go with you.”

“Abosulety not,” Sam said as soon as her name left Tara’s lips, already walking back into the living room, “I am not going anywhere with her.”

“Sam, you are going whether you want to or not. You’ve been talking about going to see No Hard Feelings since the trailer came out, and now you can watch it; I’d be a bad sister if I let you pass it up.” Tara reasoned while staring at Sam with determined eyes. She has the perfect opportunity to force her two favorite people together, and she’ll be damned if she lets Sam wiggle her way out of it.

“Tara, please, it’s not that big of a deal. If Sam doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to go.” Y/N pleaded, hoping Tara would let it slide.

“Yes, I agree with it,” Sam stated rather dryly.

Y/N turned to face Sam and pointed at her before exclaiming, “Hey! Do not call me ‘it’! I have feelings and thoughts!”

“Yeah, feelings and thoughts of being a pain in the ass,” Sam said as she rolled her eyes at Y/N.

“I will fight you right here and now, Samantha!” Y/N declared as she walked towards Sam, invading her personal space.

“Don’t call me ‘Samantha,’ you fucker.” Sam stated as she pushed Y/N’s shoulders, causing the woman to stumble backward away from her. Y/N ignored how gentle the push was and fought the urge to smile at the thought of Sam not wanting to hurt her.

“Hey! Knock it off, you two!” Tara commanded as she stepped between the two women, even though she wanted to see how their ‘fight’ would end. “Sam, go get changed into a nice outfit. Y/N, you’ll help me with my project while you wait for Sam.”

Sam opened her mouth to argue with Sam, but Tara's glare caused her to close her mouth quickly. So instead, she sauntered into her room and looked for a decent outfit. “I’m going to shower and get ready; give me thirty minutes.” She called out from her room.

Y/N grumbled while sitting on the couch, waiting for Tara to give her instructions. “Why are you making me take her? I know that Mindy wants to see it. I can just take her instead.”

“Because, Y/N, you and Sam will have fun. You’ll go to a fancy dinner and watch Jennifer Lawrence in a comedy. It’s like the ideal date.” Tara said with a devise smirk on her face. Tara knew Y/N’s feelings for Sam and used that as leverage over the girl.

“You’re an asshole. You know that?” Y/N said as she looked at Tara with pleading eyes, hoping she’ll just call Mindy and explain the situation to her.

“Wrong. I’m just a little guy, so I cannot be held accountable for my actions.” Tara informed as she sat down on the floor.

Y/N scoffed at her words and rolled her eyes, “You cannot use your size to justify yourself for being an asshole.”

“Yes, I can, and I will. Now shut up and help me with this.” Tara stated as she turned on the tv and picked out a movie for them to watch while they passed the time. Y/N looked up at the tv once the film began playing. “‘The Babadook’? Really?”

Tara knew of Y/N’s irrational fear of the Babadook and loved to tease the poor girl about it. They’ve had many arguments about the movie: Y/N claiming it’s the scariest movie ever to exist, while Tara defends it saying it’s a comedy movie. Y/N believed Tara had lost her mind. Tara believed Y/N was a baby.

“It’s my favorite movie. Why wouldn’t I want to watch it?” Tara questioned as she began working on her project while Y/N made zero effort to help.

Y/N scoffed at her words before uttering, “I’d stab someone too if they told me their favorite movie was ‘The Babadook.’” Tara playfully hit Y/N’s leg while rolling her eyes before returning to her task.

Tara told Y/N about the Ghostface attacks she and the core four survived after knowing her for a few months. Tara knew she could tell the girl anything and wouldn’t be judged. Y/N listened to Tara talk about the trauma her and her friends went through, and when Tara was done, Y/N lifted up her own shirt to show Tara where she had been stabbed in her stomach.

It was in the left lumbar region. Y/N had little cuts that littered her torso, but none went into her body besides the one. Y/N explained to Tara that she understood what she went through, as she was eight years old when Jill Roberts tried to murder her. The two bonded over their shared trauma of Ghostface stories and quickly used it to joke with each other.

As Tara worked in peace while watching the movie, Y/N sat away from the tv, refusing to watch it. They patiently waited for Sam while the annoying sound of Samuel’s voice could be heard in the background.

“I hate that kid; he deserves every bad thing that comes his way,” Y/N stated coldly, refusing to watch the tv.

“You just hate little kids,” Tara replied, turning her attention to Y/N. “You should check on Sam; it’s been over thirty minutes.” Y/N didn’t see the smirk on Tara’s face.

“So she can stab me? Yeah, no thanks.” Y/N shrugged. Sam could stab her, and she’d thank her, but Y/N would never tell anyone that secret.

“Just go check on her, you giant baby,” Tara stated as she threw a shoe at Y/N. And with that, the girl got up and walked over to Sam’s room, gently knocking on the door, hoping the woman was ready to go.

“Sam? It’s been over thirty minutes. Is everything good?” Y/N asked quietly, afraid Sam would strangle her if she spoke any louder. Not that she would complain: Sam could do almost anything to Y/N, and she wouldn’t complain.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just give me a minute.” Sam called out from behind the door.

Not even a minute passes before Sam calls out again, “Could you help me with something? I’m in a bit of a bind.”

Y/N looks at Tara with wide eyes, silently pleading with the girl to intervene, but Tara does nothing but mouth “Babadook-dook-dook.”

Y/N flipped Tara off before replying to Sam, “Yeah. Of course. Just let me know when it’s okay for me to come in.”

Sam instantly replied to Y/N and told her to come in, so she did. Sam was facing a full-length mirror in the corner of her room. She wore a black dress with a leg slit on her right leg that wonderfully highlighted her curves. She wore black heels as well. When Sam turned to face her, Y/N was left speechless. The dress had a shallow dip that showed off Sam’s cleavage beautifully, and Y/N had to fight herself not to stare at the woman’s boobs.

Sam noticed the way Y/N stood straighter when she walked in. She saw the way her eyes refused to leave her own. And she noticed how Y/N wiped her palm on her pants, trying to get rid of sweat.

“I need help zipping up the back,” Sam admitted with a defeated tone, turning back towards the mirror.

“Y-yes, of course,” Y/N mumbled while approaching the goddess before her. She went to grab the zipper on the lower part of Sam’s back but accidentally bumped her hand against Sam’s ass, causing the woman to stare down Y/N’s eyes in the mirror.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Y/N apologized while refusing to meet Sam’s challenging gaze.

She grabbed the zipper and gently began pulling it up. Y/N looked into Sam’s eyes through the mirror, and they held each other’s gaze until the dress was zipped up. The atmosphere was so full of tension that Sam swore Tara could feel it in the living room. Sam wanted nothing more than to throw Y/N onto that bed and make her her own, but she had to show some restraint as she didn’t wish for Y/N to get the idea that Sam liked her. She could hardly tolerate the girl, let alone care for her enough to want a relationship. No way at all.

Y/N let her hands linger on Sam’s back before whispering, “Okay, all done.” Afraid her voice would give out at any second. Sam slowly turned around to face Y/N; they were so close that their breath fanned each other’s lips.

“All ready?” Sam questioned, still making eye contact with Y/N.

Y/N nodded as she spoke, “Yeah, let’s go.” She wanted to stare into Sam’s eyes forever but quickly glanced away, afraid Sam could read her not so pg-13 thoughts.

They left Sam’s room and bid Tara goodbye before going to the apartment level. Once they had left, however, Tara quickly sent Mindy a message, telling her that their plan worked and that Sam and Y/N were on their way to dinner.

A month and a half ago, Mindy and Tara devised the “perfect, fool-proof plan” to get Y/N and Sam together. The plan was relatively simple: Tara puts off doing her project, makes plans with Y/N to go to a fancy restaurant and movies the night the project is due, and then bails because she hasn’t started the project. Tara had done her entire project in one night and stashed it in Mindy’s room, so now all they had to do was sit back and relax while their plan unfolded.

When they reached the ground level, Y/N walked out in front of Sam and held the door open for Sam as they walked out onto the street. Y/N gently touched Sam’s lower back and led her to her car. Sam ignores the way her touch shot sparks throughout her body. Y/N opened the door for Sam—which Sam scoffed at—but she climbed in nonetheless. Y/N walked around the driver’s side and got in.

The two sat in awkward silence while Y/N started the car. Her phone automatically connected, and the soft voices of Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers, and Lucy Dacus could be heard. Y/N looked over at Sam after pulling out onto the road. “You look beautiful.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Okay.”

Sam refused to admit that Y/N’s words caused her face to heat up, and a small smile threatened to appear on her face. She’d never had someone call her beautiful before, but to hear that word fall from the lips of someone she wanted to strangle and kiss all at the same time, she thought her head might explode.

The two drove the entire way to the restaurant in silence; the only thing that filled the silence was their fast-beating hearts and the graceful voices of Boygenius.

When they arrived and walked into the restaurant, Sam had to clench her first, trying not to murder Y/N violently. The restaurant they were at was an upper-class one, and Sam felt out of place, borderline uncomfortable. She began fidgeting with her hands, and her eyes nervously darted all over the room. Y/N noticed this and slowly reached for Sam’s hand, hoping the girl would accept the lifeline, and she did. Y/N held Sam’s hand down by their waists as she approached the front desk. “Hello, I had a reservation for two under L/N.” She spoke politely to the hostess. The hostess quickly looked through her book before leading them to a small table set up just for two.

Y/N gently pulled out Sam’s seat for her and pushed it in once she sat down. Y/N then walked over to her seat and joined Sam at the table. The two looked at their menus silently, waiting for their waiter to take their order. A small but enthusiastic man approached their table, “Hello, my name is Matt! What can I get for this lovely couple?” He asked with a gentle tone.

“We aren’t a couple.” Y/N and Sam both stated at the same time while looking at the man. He seemed a bit taken aback but quickly recovered. After that, they both ordered their meals and watched the man disappear.

Y/N laughed to herself before speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, “he thought we were a couple.”

Sam rolled her eyes at Y/N's comment but didn’t say anything in return; she knew arguing would have been useless.

“So, what do you do in your free time?” Y/N questioned as she leaned her elbows on the table, eagerly awaiting Sam’s response.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I would like to know you on a more personal level. I don’t like the level I’m on right now.” Y/N stated as she looked into Sam’s eyes, maybe sneaking a glance at her boobs as well.

“Fine, but you have to stop looking at my boobs,” Sam said with a playful smile as she called the girl out.

“I’ve only done it a couple of times!” Y/N defended with a blush on her face that Sam noticed. “I promise to stop looking. For now.”

Sam nodded and drank her water before discussing her interests, and Y/N listened. Y/N loved the sound of Sam’s voice and wished she could hear the woman talk forever. She had the kind of voice that could put sirens in a trance, and Y/N loved it.

The pair bonded over their love of nature and wanting to live in a cabin in the woods. They both loved reading and discussed their favorite books. As their food was brought out, Y/N brought up different scenario questions, and they went back and forth with their answers.

Talking with Sam was just as easy as breathing for Y/N, and Sam would hate to admit it, but she slowly felt herself loosen up around the girl. She could see now why Tara trusted her; she was easygoing, normally calm, and always had a good smile. Sam felt like she could trust Y/N with anything, which terrified her. She hated the idea of trusting someone that wasn’t a part of the group from Woodsboro, afraid that if she let anyone in, they would betray her. So, she began asking Y/N what her interests were; she wanted to know more about the girl in case she became a threat, and definitely not because she started to warm up to the girl.

Y/N talked about her love for horror movies, even though Sam already knew that. She mentioned her fear of the Babadook, and Sam found that hilarious (and cute). She even mentioned a “band” she was in with her friends.

“I play the guitar for my friend’s shitty band,” Y/N admitted with a slight frown as she picked at her food.

Sam noticed the slight frown and the way Y/N’s eyebrows turned down, “You in a band? I don’t believe it. Bud why do you sound so disappointed?” She questioned.

Y/N sighed as she looked up at Sam, “It’s not a band; we just do shitty covers of songs for fun. That’s about it. But we don’t do it as much anymore because we all moved to different states for college.”

As Y/N spoke, Sam felt her heart break a little when the woman mentioned how her friends had moved away from each other. Against her better judgment, Sam reached across the table and grabbed Y/N’s hand, squeezing it gently, subconsciously rubbing her thumb on the back of Y/N’s hand, “I’m sorry about your friends moving, Y/N.”

Y/N’s eyes quickly shot toward Sam’s hand, and smiled at the contact. She wasn’t used to Sam being nice to her, so seeing this new side of Sam was interesting, but she slightly missed the grumpy Sam she had grown accustomed to. As Y/N admired how Sam’s hand squeezed her own, Matt quickly made his way to the table, a knowing smirk plastered on his face when he saw the women rapidly pull their hands back when they felt his presence. “Alright, ladies, how are we doing the check today.”

“Seper-” Sam began to say, but Y/N quickly cut her off.

“Together, please,” Y/N stated while looking at Matt, refusing to acknowledge the death glare sent at her from the end of the table.

“Okay, I will be right back with your check,” Matt said, hoping to leave the tension-filled area as soon as possible.

Once he left, Y/N looked at Sam with puppy dog eyes and gave her the most loving smile she had ever seen, which made her heart yearn. “When you told me about what you like to do, you always mentioned how Tara liked to do them. You always said, ‘Tara and I’ or ‘I do this because of Tara.’ You never said that you do anything for yourself. I’ve known Tara for roughly six months now, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do anything just for yourself; you are always taking care of others. You never let anyone care of you. So tonight, I want to do that. If you’ll allow me.” Y/N said softly, hoping she didn’t push things too far. She wanted Sam to know she cared for her and saw her as more than just her best friend’s sister.

Sam didn’t say anything back. She couldn’t. Sam tried to muster up words, even a thank you, but nothing left her lips. She simply nodded her head, praying that Y/N would understand her predicament. Sam never had anyone in her entire life do something for her that was out of the kindness of their heart. They always expected something in return, but when Y/N smiled at her after she handed Matt her card and asked her if that was okay with her, she felt every doubt she had about Y/N slip her mind. Y/N ignored the tiny tears that formed in Sam’s eyes, and Sam felt like kissing her for not saying anything about it.

Once Matt returned Y/n’s card, they left the restaurant and got into Y/N’s car. Sam was the first to break the silence as they drove toward the movie theater. “Thank you,” was all she said. Y/N looked at her and smiled, admiring the alluring woman on her passenger side. She started to let her eyes wander down to Sam’s breasts but was interrupted by Sam yelling, “Watch Out!” Y/N quickly slammed on the brakes, almost running the red light.

Sam was getting ready to rip apart Y/N for being reckless but was interrupted by Y/N’s laughter. Sam didn’t understand why the woman was laughing, but she soon joined in until she gained enough sense to ask her why it was funny. Y/N turned up the radio as Taylor’s voice softly sang, ‘You almost ran the red ‘cause you were lookin’ over at me.’ Sam rolled her eyes and softly slapped Y/N’s arm as the other woman drove again once the light turned green. They both ignored the way Sam’s hand never left Y/N’s arm.

The movie theater was in an outlet strip mall, surrounded by food places and clothing stores, but most importantly, a dollar store. “Come on; we’ll go to the dollar store, buy our sneaks, and get our popcorn and soda at the theaters,” Y/N said as she got out of the car and approached the store. Sam laughed at Y/N’s words but quickly followed behind the woman.

As they are walking, a faint song could be heard playing over the speakers, and Y/N suddenly spins around in a circle with her arms stretched outwards, singing, “To live for the hope of it all. Cancel plans just in case you’d call and say, ‘Meet me behind the mall.’” She ended while pointing at Sam.

Sam stared blankly at the girl while saying, “I will never call you nor tell you to meet me behind some mall,” with a serious tone but a playful glint in her eyes. Y/N just scoffed at Sam’s remark, goes to say something, but closes her mouth, as they approached the front doors of the store.

Y/N held the door open for Sam, then led the woman to the candy aisle in record time. This clearly was not the woman’s first time sneaking in candy. “I’m going to get some sour patch kids along with-What the fuck?!” Y/N exclaimed as she bent down and got a closer look at the candy.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked while laughing at Y/N’s words. She reached for her own box of sour patch kids.

“I’m going to cry. They don’t have cookie bites,” Y/n said as she stood up and pretended to wipe a tear from her eyes, “my life is over now.”

“You can probably buy some at the theater,” Sam suggested as they made their way to the checkout.

“Yeah, but I’m not paying $6.50 for a box of candy,” Y/N grumbled with a slight pout on her lips. Sam almost kissed it off of her.

“Whatever, stop being a baby,” Sam stated when she saw Y/N cross her arms as if she was throwing a fit. Y/N mumbled something under her breath at her remark.

Sam paid for her snack while Y/N paid for hers and left the store. Y/N led them back to her car, where she grabbed her backpack purse and put the snacks inside, then they made their way toward the theater. Once again, Y/N held the door open for Sam as they entered the theater.

The two got their tickets and ordered drinks and popcorn while Y/N still groaned about her cookie dough bites. After entering their auditorium, they sat down and silently watched the previews. They had rather good seats, third row from the front and in the middle. Sam just hoped it wasn’t too busy for no particular reason at all.

Once the lights start to dim, the screen cuts to a woman walking through a puddle on the ground, and Y/N immediately turns to Sam, “We come to this place for magic,” she says along with Nicole Kidman on the screen. “We come to AMC theaters to laugh, to cry, to care. Because we need that, all of us.”

Sam rolled her eyes at Y/N’s words, trying to pay attention to Nicole, but then turned toward Y/N once she stopped talking, “If you do not stop, I will leave.” Sam threatens.

Y/N smiles as she continues, “That indescribable feeling we get when the lights begin to dim, and we go somewhere we’ve never been before.”

Sam quickly looks around, only seeing four other people spread throughout the room before whispering, “Stop it right now, or I will walk out. I’m serious, Y/N.”

“Not just entertained, but somehow reborn together again. Dazzling images on a huge silver screen–hey, where are you going?” Y/N asks whenever Sam gets up to leave. Whisper-shouting at Sam as she walks up the aisle, “Sam, come on, stop being an asshole.” And with that, Sam walks out of the theater. Y/N felt her heart shatter when Sam left; she felt she had fucked up her one chance to be with the woman of her dreams. All she wanted to do was make Sam laugh and forget about all her problems, but all she did was make it worse. Y/N was an overthinker, and her thoughts quickly filled up with outcomes of her and Sam’s situationship–if one could call it that–and none of them were good.

Filled with shock and not knowing what to do, Y/N quickly sends Tara a text message telling her that Sam had just walked out on her. Tara soon responds with a thumbs up, saying, “Very nice.” Y/N grumbles at the text message but shuts off her phone and slides down into her seat, praying that no one else in the theater just watched the perfect woman leave her.

The intro to No Hard Feelings begins to play as she gets ready to text Sam, ‘I’m sorry I continued talking after you told me to stop. I should have listened to you. I was just trying to make you laugh, and I didn’t mean to upset you. Will you please come back and watch the movie? If you don’t want to, I will take you home. I am so sorry, Sam. Please give me another chance. I really like you, and I don’t want to mess this up,’ but before she hits send, Sam walks back to her seat and pretends as if nothing happened. Y/N quickly turns off her phone, hoping Sam didn’t read any part of the pitiful message she almost received.

“Jesus Christ, Sam! Don’t do that! I thought you had left!” Y/N whispered while Jennifer Lawrence appeared in the background screen. Sam chuckled before shoving a small candy box into Y/N’s side.

“You got me my cookie dough bites? Why?” Y/N quietly asked while looking at Sam like she had just hung the moon and stars.

“So you won’t bitch the whole movie. Now shut up; Jennifer Lawrence is on screen.” Sam said with her eyes glued to the screen, trying her best to ignore the woman she’s put in a trance beside her.

When a beach scene comes up, Y/N leans forward in her seat; her lips form into a mischievous smirk while her eyes are lustful. Sam is about to ask Y/N why she is so suddenly interested in the movie when a naked Jennifer Lawrence storms the beach and beats up three teenagers, even suplexing one. “I want her to do that to me,” Y/N muttered, staring at Jennifer Lawrence like she was a god. Sam just scoffed at the woman, her chest getting heavy with jealousy, but nodded in agreement because same.

When the movie ends, everyone begins to leave the auditorium except Y/N. “Hey, the movie’s over; let’s go,” Sam says quickly, placing her hand on Y/N’s shoulder while she stands up.

“There might be a post-credit scene, so we must stay,” Y/N says, looking up at Sam with puppy dog eyes.

Rolling her eyes at Y/N’s words, Sam states dryly, “Not every movie needs a post-credit scene.” Y/N stares at Sam before getting up, causing Sam to move her hand from Y/N’s shoulder. Y/N frowns slightly at the loss of contact but doesn’t say anything as they leave the room.

When heading towards the doors to leave, Y/N quickly stops as she exclaims, “Oh my god, Sam! I have to get your picture next to it.” Sam turns to look at what Y/N is talking about and then rolls her eyes.

Y/N has stopped in front of the Barbie poster. “I am not taking a picture with the Barbie poster, Y/N,” Sam said as she crossed her arms.

“Yes, you are. Now get it in front of it.” Y/N said as she put the popcorn bucket between her arm and side and took out her phone.

“No.”

“Sam. Get it in front of the poster. Now.”

“Why?”

“Because it will be funny, Sam! Just do it for me.” Y/N pleaded, already having her phone opened to the camera. Sam rolled her eyes at the woman and walked over to the poster. She stood with her hands by her side and didn’t even bother to smile. “Come on, take your picture.”

“No, you have to smile and do the pose Margot Robbie is doing.” Y/N motioned to the poster beside Sam.

Sam turned her head and looked at Margot Robbie's pose, “absolutely not, Y/N. You wanted a picture of me next to the poster, and you will get it. Just take the damn picture you-hey! Do not throw popcorn at me!” Sam exclaimed as she reached down the front of her dress to grab a stray piece of popcorn Y/N had thrown at her.

“I will continue throwing popcorn at you until you do the damn pose!” Y/N deadpanned, getting ready to throw more popcorn. Giving in, Sam raised her right leg slightly and lifted her left arm up into the air with barely a smile. Y/N quickly took the picture with a giant smile on her face, definitely because she had gotten Sam to do the pose and not because when Sam lifted her leg, it showed off more skin.

After the picture was taken, Y/N showed it to Sam, “See? You look so beautiful in it too.” Y/N said honestly as she tried to fight the blush that crept up her neck. Afraid to speak, Sam just nodded and told Y/N to send her that picture as they left the building.

When they arrive at Y/N’s car, Y/N again holds the passenger door open for her while saying, ‘My lady,’ as Sam gets into the vehicle. She smiles at the woman’s words as the door closes. Y/N jogs around to her side and gets in. “So, what did you think of the movie?” Y/N asked as she started the car and drove back to the Carpenter’s apartment.

“It was good; I’m glad that raunchy comedies are coming back; too many superhero movies,” Sam joked as she looked at the beautiful driver.

“I agree with you on that,” Y/N said as she stopped at a light and looked at Sam, quickly glancing at the woman’s lips before turning her attention back towards the road. Y/N hoped that Sam didn’t notice how she smiled when she looked at Sam’s lips, wondering if they felt as soft as they looked. As they drove, Y/N asked Sam to text Tara on her phone to let her know they were on their way back.

“Why can’t I just text her from my phone?” Sam questioned as she took Y/N’s phone from her hand.

“Because I might have texted her and told her that you walked out on me during the movie, so I feel like a text from me would be best.” Y/N reasoned as she brought the car to a stop at a light.

“Okay,” Sam simply said, not wanting to argue with the woman, “What’s your password?”

“120384.”

“Any significance?” Sam questioned while she typed in the password.

“Yeah, that’s when my wife was born. Natalia Alianovna Romanov,” Y/N stated with a dreamy voice.

Sam didn’t respond to Y/N, as she opened Y/N’s phone to the text message Y/N almost sent her. Her heart was flattered when she read, ‘I really like you, and I don’t want to mess this up.’ She felt her entire body heat up over those few words, and she couldn’t help herself as she thought about having a relationship with the younger woman.

Not wanting Y/N to know what she just read, she quickly backed out of the chat and entered her chat with Tara, “Alright, right do you want me to say?” Sam questioned as she read the text message Y/N had sent to Tara.

“‘Just kidnapped Sam, heading back to the apartment now. I severed minor damage, but I will live.’”

“Really? You kidnapped me? Alright then.” Sam laughed as she typed the message out. Y/N nodded her head in agreement.

The drive back was filled with jokes and laughter, and Sam pretended she didn’t notice how Y/N drove the entire way under the speed limit. When they arrived at the apartment, Y/N walked Sam back to her place. As Sam opened the door, she felt sadness fill her chest as she prepared to say goodbye to Y/N. “Despite my better judgment, I actually had fun with you tonight,” Sam said as she stood in the doorway to her apartment.

Tapping her foot on the ground, Y/N grinned at Sam, “Yeah, I had a lot of fun too, Sam. Even when you walked out on me.”

Sam laughed at Y/N’s remark and subconsciously moved closer to Y/N. When Sam stepped closer, Y/N rubbed the back of her neck while her eyes darted around the room. She took a deep breath before asking, “Would it be alright with you if we did this again sometime?”

Smiling at Y/N, Sam leaned in and kissed her cheek, leaving behind a faint outline of her lipstick, “Of course, Y/N, I’d love to go on another date with you.”

Flustered and taken awake, Y/N automatically placed her hands on Sam’s hips before dropping her hands back down to her sides in case she made Sam uncomfortable. “Yeah, a date. Of course,” Y/N said as they made eye contact and simultaneously looked at each other’s lips. Sam slowly leaned in to kiss Y/N when a voice called behind her, “Hey, you’re home!”

Tara practically ran to the door and quickly stopped when she saw how much space Y/N and Sam put between each other. “Am I interrupting something?” Tara questioned with a raised eyebrow.

��No.” Y/N and Sam both exclaimed; now Tara knew that she had, in fact, interrupted something and was getting ready to smack herself for it too.

“Well, alright then. I’m just going to leave you two to it then.” Tara said as she sent Y/n a playful wink.

After ensuring Tara was far away, Sam returned to face Y/N, “Text me when you get home, okay?” She said as she placed her hand on Y/N’s cheek.

Y/N lightly pressed her face into Sam’s hand and gently kissed her palm. “I will, Sam. Don’t worry.”

They shared one last smile before Y/N left, but she stopped halfway down the hallway and sent Sam a wave. Sam softly smiled and blew Y/N a kiss, which the girl pretended to catch and place on her heart before turning to leave Sam with a yearning heart that they both shared.

When Sam saw Y/N disappear, she shut the door and made sure to lock up the front door before quickly disappearing into her room, sending Y/N a text asking if she had made it out to her car safely.

Unbeknownst to the two women, Tara crawled out from under the couch after listening to their entire conversation. She quickly sent Mindy a text, “Our plan worked!”

(I projected a little bit of my fear of the Babadook onto the reader ngl)

#sam carpenter #scream #tara carpenter #melissa barrera #sam carpenter x reader #jenna ortega

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strawbeelemonade · 1 year

Text

Imagine: Being Miles Morales’ best friend but also your a bit insane

•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_

🕷- Miles used to be so scared of you

🕷 - Even before you started a mutual friendship you sorta just…. kept appearing.

🕷 - He wasn’t sure when he became desensitised to you. but he likes to think his new double life of being a crime fighting upstart has given him a bit of a tolorence.

🕷 - Miles will now watch you eat an apple from the top down, core, stem and all, and literally not say anything.

🕷 - Your so consistently insane in such a harmless way, it’s kinda nice.

🕷 - He wishes you would stop picking up wild animals, though.

🕷 - Seriously stop. at least one of them will have a fatal disease.

🕷 - You keep venturing into the underground subway to play with the New York rats. Nothing bad has happened yet but that doesn’t mean nothing will.

🕷 - Don’t get me wrong. Miles isn’t overprotective or anything, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still worry. Your one of his closest friends.

🕷 - He’s not sure what he’d do without you.

🕷 - So please take the rat out of your jacket pocket. Please.

🕷 - Oh but it’s so cute!!

🕷 - You are Cinderella actually.

🕷 - Miles stumbles across you as his spider-sona surprisingly often.

🕷 - Not always when your doing something illegal, so he kinda forms this double friendship with you.

🕷 - It’s hard because he forgets your not supposed to know who he is!!

🕷 - He keeps forgetting to deepen his voice and act macho. You just make him relax so easily.

🕷 - I like to think His powers are particularly in tune with body language, even if he doesn’t mean or want to. And it can become so incredibly exhausting. all the extra information and interference is unrelenting unless he’s completely alone or has his headphones on.

🕷 - But you’re different. You let Everything rest on the surface. You say what you think, and miles found after a couple of months of knowing you that you’re actually more deep thinking then you like to let anyone realise.

🕷 - Your completely willing to sit in total silence with him. It’s so relaxing.

🕷 - The closer you both get the more he starts to see that you are actually a total sweetheart.

🕷 - You remember little things about him, your willing to go through great lengths for him. He knows that no matter where the both of you are or what your doing, you are ready to drop anything and everything to come to him if he needs you.

🕷 - He doesn’t demand it from you, but…

🕷 - You show up outside his dorm window at 3am all on your own ok?!

🕷 - He just mentioned he was having trouble sleeping!!! It’s not his fault!!! … but he’s not complaining either.

🕷 - So yeah, you put him at ease.

🕷 - Which is why it comes to no one’s surprise except miles when you bust him within the first two weeks.

🕷 - It scared the shit out of him. The next time you saw him as spider man you were like “Yo, Miles”.

🕷 - Y/N PLEASE.

🕷 - He asks you how you found him out, And you laugh and claim his mask made him look like he’s bad at Spanish. He socks you in the shoulder and you laugh harder.

🕷 - He then timidly asks if you’ve said anything to anyone.

🕷 - You tell him you don’t have deep enough conversations with anyone else TO tell.

🕷 - He understands what your trying to say.

🕷 - It’s actually a lovely little moment.

🕷 - As Spider-Man, he’s gotten to know an even crazier side to you. The fact that that was possible scared him a bit.

🕷 - Miles always wondered what you would get up to when he wasn’t around. You would disappear for hours, even days at a time. But you’d always come back.

🕷 - You were like an outdoor cat lmao.

🕷 - Turns out your a bit of an adrenaline junky.

🕷 - “Y/n this is a 7 story building and there’s no stairs how are you up here.”

🕷 - You liked feeding the pigeons… which was… yeah. Ok, fine.

🕷 - Miles wasn’t sure how his parents would react to you. He wasn’t ASHAMED but… Was he worried? Definetely.

🕷 - His dad is a COP.

🕷 - When He gets home from a couple hours of patrolling New York after school he has a heart attack when he sees you sitting on the couch nursing a drink while chatting to his mom.

🕷 - Your not fake, your still you. but you make a conscious decision not to pull out the rat in your pocket until you both head to his room to hang out.

🕷 - He’s much more emotional then he likes to make himself out to be. He’s still trying to figure himself out, He’s still only 14 after all.

🕷 - So hearing you drop deep emotional wisdom at 2 in the morning is a fucking EXPERIENCE.

🕷 - The deep conversations you have (and, now that he’s thinking about it the meaningless ones as well) feel like precious moments. They leave a lasting affect on him, your presence makes him feel safe.

🕷 - He’s not sure how to say all that out loud though.

🕷 - He doesn’t have to. you already know.

🕷 - His parents are happy to know that he’s made you as a friend. No matter how much or little they really know about you, anyone with eyes and two working ears can tell that your a good kid.

🕷 - You probably end up in the hospital a lot.

🕷 - Like a lot a lot. You are in so many wrong places at so many wrong times…

🕷 - An arm in a cast is considered a small case when it comes to you.

🕷 - Miles wonders how your still even alive this point!

🕷 - foreshadowing

🕷 - After you become more acquainted with miles’ family, you start getting visits from them!

🕷 - Especially If you don’t have any stable adult figures in your life.

🕷 - You get in a lot of accidents and fights. And it starts getting worrying. You don’t go looking for any trouble but you don’t let the criminal population of New York stop you from venturing out at night, either.

🕷 - In the waiting room Your all smiles and laughs. Nothing fazes you it seems, even under extreme amounts of pain. so it makes them relax a bit.

🕷 - But they are MUCH more willing to let you practically walk in and out of their house whenever you need a Homebase to fall back on.

🕷 - Mr. Davis does NOT enjoy getting called out late at night over a complaint of a homeless person loitering on a bench and it’s literally just you.

🕷 - What are you doing out here young lady/man/ster.

🕷 - Sorry sir I missed my bus

🕷 - But why were you sleeping outside!

🕷 - Eepy.

🕷 - Let them help you please you don’t have to do things on your own.

🕷 - You’ve only gotten lucky enough to be attacked a handful of times.

🕷 - But when the opportunity arises you are so ready.

🕷 - Remember how I said you were crazy in a harmless way? Forget I said that.

🕷 - Miles has literally watched you rip an old (albeit loose) stop sign out of the ground and beat a mugger over the head with it.

🕷 - He was not ready.

🕷 - You don’t even have any powers that he knows of. No super strength or healing. No heightened senses to protect you.

🕷 - Miles is in awe of you sometimes.

🕷 - he’s saved you from trouble a

Handful of times.

🕷 - you’ve literally got Spiderman looking out for you.

🕷 - If anything happens to you

He will freak the hell out.

🕷 - you might end up being room

-mates at his new school

🕷 - No matter how low he’s feeling he knows that you’ll find a way to make him smile.

🕷 - You find the craziest things to do, there’s no where you’re not willing to venture and there’s nothing your not willing to play with.

🕷 - Unfortunately Miles suffers from the terrible ailment of being a teenager 💔 (and also occasionally having terrible bouts of anxiety)

🕷 - often times he just feels so painfully uncool. He catches himself asking if he’s really cut out for this life. Not just about being the next Spider-Man, but also in the the-American-dream-is-not-real-and-I-don’t-have-a-future kind of way. He worries if he’s failing underneath the weight of his burdens. That he’s a loser.

🕷 - But you don’t let him feel that way when your around.

🕷 - You make him feel like he’s cool. You make him feel like he’s funny. like he’s the most interesting person in the world, your so unshakably and enthusiastically invested in him and his successes!

🕷 - You celebrate with him when he wins small fights. When he saves people. When he gets higher grades on exams.

🕷 - He doesn’t feel insecure standing next to you, even when your personality is as chaotic as it is.

🕷 - Miles isn’t sure sure how he got so lucky to have met you. He doesn’t realise you feel the same about him.

_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•

#miles morales #spider man #spiderverse x reader #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #not romantic btw #platonic #miles morales x reader #eyestrain #flashing lights

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twistedbloodstain · 4 months

Note

I have two ideas for the marquis de framing that I think you’d do great writing!

1: where the reader is interrogating the marquis (meaning she kidnapped him) and through there, they start to get feelings for each other

2: reader (who had a relationship of some sort with the marquis) fakes their death because they couldn’t take the assassin world. The marquis is devastated (lots of angst hehehe). They meet again while the reader is trying to help someone (maybe John, lol)

3: reader who is part of the high table meets the marquis for the first time. Sorta like live at first sight.

vincent de gramont x reader: i could never give you peace | what’s meant to be is supposed to be

plot: the one where he finds you again.

warnings: the reader’s a medic/healer in here SORRYYY…, she knew john from before, he rats her out lolz, kidnapping except vincent doesn’t do it this time..(yay! cuz he forced someone else to do it!!!), anon im so sorry i focused too hard on one part, i will do an extra (i swear)

masterlist

“stay still.” you mumble.

mr. wick lets out a small grunt while you sew his wound back together, nothing too fatal (at least in his standards) but without the help of any anesthesia or alcohol to soothe the pain, the assassin had no choice but to follow.

“don’t worry, it's almost done.” you whisper almost finished with patching up the flesh on his back. “and..there..”

he immediately gets off his seat and reaches for his shirt stationed on a random desk scattered with medical supplies. he digs into his suit jacket and fishes out a coin and hands it over to you, you accept it eagerly and begin cleaning up.

“you need any help with transport?” you inquire while you discard your bloodied gloves and utensils.

“yeah.”

“on your way out turn left and find the guy with a gray jacket. he’s one of winston’s men, he’ll help you out. where are you headed?” you inquire while washing your hands. he hesitantly answers before offering a reply.

“paris.”

“oh.” you stop in your movements and look at him. he stands near the door way all dressed up with blood caking his temples, he still looks rugged and in no shape to do what he has to do in pairs but your opinion likely doesn’t matter to him.

“good luck, i guess.” you mutter.

“you’ve been there.” he says.

“i..have.” you hope he doesn’t press any further.

“what’s in paris?” he questions but doesn’t take a step further.

“for you?” you uneasily say, he doesn’t reply.

“a dangerous man. i..think you’ll die trying just to get what you want, mr. wick. but hey, who knows? maybe, it’s now him.” you explain.

“the guy who had the continental demolished, was it him?” he sternly asks.

“..yes, i think it was him.” you confess, avoiding his eyes.

it had been almost three years since you left that country.

three years since you left him.

you can’t even bear to say his name because if you do, all of it will spill out. how he met you, how kept you and how he loved you.

he nods, “and for you?”

“an even more dangerous man.”

ever since mr. wick entered and left your clinic. you've been in a constant state of anxiety. the mere thought and mention of him had you nervous, especially when you heard that he was in new york a few days ago. you thought it was all over, that he found you and was going to rip you from your freedom in this city.

the following news shocked you to your core, the new york continental being demolished was not in your bingo card as to why he’d be here. all because of an excommunicated assassin which you had tended to almost a day after the bombing.

although you’re horrified with the state of events, relief flooded you when you realized he wasn’t there for you. you’d still be safe from him.

but you can’t help but think what all of this means for him. at some point, you know that john wick will kill him, and you somehow played a part in it. you feel a tinge of regret for him but it’s quickly overshadowed with the horrors he’s done and you don’t feel as bad.

he did like you though, when you still worked at france for him as his estate medic. whenever he found himself wounded in the line of fire in an ambush attack, you were the one who tended to his wounds and saw him at his weakest. you don’t know why but a strong sense of trust was established between the two of you.

you thought it to be a friendship but fleeting glances of affection would seep through when you talked or when a large bouquet of flowers suddenly appeared in your clinic after patching him up.

you toyed with a pin he gave you, his insignia. only he wore it proudly on his coat and truly, it warmed you to him. he did make you feel appreciated, small touches on your back and sometimes fiddling with your hands whenever you sewed his wounds, gave you butterflies in your stomach.

with you he was just…vincent.

soft words and touches with soulful eyes looking into yours, just gentleness and affection present in him. it made you indulge into it too, that he isn’t the cruel man people made him out to be. he isn’t heartless, that’s just how the world is.

a naive perspective.

a perspective that was easily shattered when you’d hear a bloodcurdling scream from the barn, and he walks out with blood on his hands and a disgusted look on his face from his clothes being stained. gunshots echoing beneath the servant’s staircases and thudding bodies being dragged into the secluded forests of the estate. you whisper to yourself those very same words even if all his actions sent chills on your spine.

but the truth of it is that, he is heartless. he is the man people made him out to be and you’re a fool thinking he could be better for you but at the end of the day, he is still the marquis.

it made you think. what if this is all a game to him? what if the moment he finds you uninteresting you become another stain on his suit?

it’s not a secret that men like him love having delicate pretty things only to break them apart. that’s all you are his current delicate and pretty thing.

you decided to leave. you weren’t staying long enough to find out what would happen to you, feelings be damned when you’re easily replacable to him. you knew that the marquis was like a dog to a bone when he didn’t get the things he wanted, which only pooled fears into your stomach should he find you in new york.

he cannot have you.

you stare at the pin before chucking the pin somewhere in the room, you get up from your chair and begin closing the windows from your clinic.

a knock comes from the door, you chuck the remaining medical materials into a random desk and walk up to the door. wounded assassins aren’t a strange occurrence at this time of the evening but something…felt different.

your gut was telling you to ignore the person on the other side and stay still. you thought that maybe if you didn’t answer the person would go away. wanting to play things safe you don’t mutter a word that would alert them of your presence. it usually worked in some cases.

the knocking persists, much harder and louder now. your hands begins to shake and your eyes start looking around for an emergency firearm to help defend yourself, your actions frantically halt when you hear a voice through the door.

“doc?” a gruff voice asks.

you sight and put a hand on your chest. it’s just john wick. you eagerly open the door to let him in.

“john.” you greet, “come inside.” you invite him as you walk inside.

john doesn’t follow you and a confused expression takes your face, until you take a good look at him. for the first time, john wick doesn’t look wounded to you, his face and hands void of any blood, a new bulletproof suit adorning his body, a french one you notice but it still leaves you questioning things.

“i’m assuming france went successful.” you say.

“…it’s close.” he pauses before replying, seeming as if he’s finding the right words to say.

“what do you need?” you question.

“it’s winston. he’s been shot.” you freeze.

oh dear. you never really approved of the things he did but a soft spot was always present for him and charon. they helped you settle here in new york, but winston took you in even when he knew of your history with vincent. you swore to always help him in ways you could and now the opportunity presented itself.

the car sped down the street with you and john in tow. you hold your medical kit close to your lap, feeling uneasy with the thought of losing the old man. charon had been so recent and you don’t think you bear to lose the friends you’ve made along the way.

you glance at john and he looks calm and composed as usual, eerily so. a week earlier he was calm but you could feel his anger and determination simmering underneath his skin. now it looked like he was taking a walk in a park. you eye him carefully, uneasiness seeping in your stomach.

“did they give it to you?” you ask, he looks at you before clearing his throat.

“just an extension.” he answers, knowing exactly what you were referring to.

“to do what?” you ask again, john doesn’t budge and continues driving, ignoring your question. your eyes stay on him but he doesn’t look at you.

silence settles into the car and you lean back in your seat. you really wish your brought your gun with you right now. you don’t know why but you have a feeling that something is wrong right now, especially with john. he’s not telling you something.

or maybe it really is none of your business. perhaps he wanted to spare the bloody details of how he’s going to win his freedom back. you relax and try to forget the uneasiness, trying to remember that winston is the priority right now, you shut your eyes. all of your fears are gathering together and it’s making you overthink your interaction with john, everything’s okay.

the loud sound of drilling makes you open your eyes, you look at the window and you see a familiar street.

the new york continental was being rebuilt.

your apprehensiveness returns.

“john?” you look at him once again, “who shot winston?”

“he got hit during the line of fire.” this time he replies.

bullshit. winston would have an emergency plan before the shooting started.

“in new york?” you press.

“yeah.”

another bullshit. you could see through his lies, he’s clearly fresh out of france. what was he trying to do?

“j-john.” you voice shakes almost as if you’re begging. something happened in france, something that saved both winston and john.

he looks at you with regret in his eyes. not enough to save you for what’s about to come.

“where are you taking me?” you sputter, your heart beating fast in anxiety, “i’ve done nothing but help you, please don’t do this!”

“he took winston with him and he found out.” he quietly defends.

“please help me, i don’t want to go back!” you begin crying, tears rolling down your face, “he’ll kill me!”

he makes no reply and continues driving. with no hope left with him, you try to open your side of the door. he immediately notices this and grabs your arm trying to stop you from leaving, you begin hitting him with your other arm.

you know that he doesn’t want to do this but it feels so unfair. you’ve saved his life only to throw yours away.

“let go of me!” you scream.

“i’m sorry.”

you feel a prick in your neck.

you feel a heavy sensation pulling at your leg, your eyes feeling groggy still wanting to keep your lids closed. however the sensation persists and this forces you to open your eyes and sit up.

a dark room welcomes you, only a small lamp helping you take a small look of where you are. specifically, on a plush bed and a decorated room. your body feels heavy from exhaustion which makes you lean back to the pillow behind you.

pondering what made you feel so tired when you haven’t done much for the night, you’ve sewn back together…a pair of assassins for the night? or was it three? two austrians and…who?a french? no…no..it was winston.

that’s right.

wait.

only you didn’t treat winston.

you bolt up, your body seemingly sobers from the realization.

john brought you here in exchange for his freedom.

you look around to see some sort of presence in the room but with the darkness it was hard to tell, nevertheless you hopped off the bed and bolted to the wooden door nearby. no wonder the place looked familiar, only the marquis would have a place as frivolous as this.

you need to leave right now. your hand reaches for the door until you find your body being slammed on the floor. a groan leaves your throat, in pain you massage your forehead and look around.

oh goodness.

a gasp leaves your mouth when you see a chain wrapped around your ankle, you inspect your foot before tracing the lines of chains, which were sourced on the thick foot of the bed you were on.

you tug it to check its strength and to see how long it actually goes. it was long enough to walk around the room but not long enough to reach the door. this is basically your fully furnished torture chamber.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

a loud creak echoes through the room.

you really hate how things are right now.

he’s going to kill you. kill you for leaving him, how you easily made him look humiliated for being abandoned.

feeling your knees weaken you sit back on the bed and your hands shake in trepidation. the marquis’ simple presence made you scared of him, you felt tears falling down once again and you lowered your head, not wanting to look weak right now.

his footsteps are heard through the room, the door loudly closes shut, a thud echoing. he doesn’t say a word.

you feel everything leave your body. hope,freedom and life mostly.

he walks up to you until you see his shoes on the floor, a blurry sight entering your eyes due to the tears, he touches you, tilting your chin upwards and you do everything not to flinch. was he going to snap your neck?

you look at him and he still looks the same, slightly more mature.

but the same man you met a few years ago, if you jumped back into your rose tinted glasses, you’d probably see the vincent you cherished at some point if you weren’t so frightened right now.

he inspects you, his eyes wandering through your face. searching for something that’s supposed to be there, his lips part almost as if he’s about to say something but you beat him to it.

“i-i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” apologies spill out of your lips, wanting to take the chance of saving yourself, “i-i’m so sorry! i didn’t mean to.” you cry. your hand reaches up to his hand that held your chin and you grip it for mercy, his hold on you weakens.

he doesn’t say anything and leans forward to you. you need him to say something, anything, whether it meant he’d simply say he wants yuu dead.

“please forgive me, just please don’t kil-“ he cuts you off.

with a kiss.

not a firm one but a surprisingly soft kiss on your lips.

he takes your hands into his and fiddles with it, trying to find his place in them just like before, he halts the kiss and leans towards your face. the man right in front of you wasn’t the marquis, it was vincent.

your vincent.

the one with soft eyes looking at you with relief and adoration. the gaze that looked at you as if you were the most precious thing on earth, he wipes the tears on your cheeks and the next thing he says dissolves all sense of worry out of you.

“i could never hurt you.” he whispers.

author’s note: this kinda doesn’t make sense bc im so braindead rn to expand things but basically vincent finds medic!reader through winston and in exchange for the continental and john’s freedom, john brings medic!reader back to vincent. so basically she got ratted out lolz. this would work better if i made a vincent pov would be fun but i have a bunch of prompts to work on…(tempting) + he literally chained her down to him (hshshsh marriage allegory…) i kinda want to be funky dynamic of obsessed man + “ngl what’s wrong with this guy but i vibe with it” woman

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unreliablesnake · 1 year

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Stay (Vincent de Gramont x reader)

Summary: Vincent would go to great lenghts to keep you by his side.

Note: Previously on... / I can't get enough of this dude. / If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the get notifications button. I don't have a taglist.

You gave Vincent the silent treatment for the rest of the day, even refusing to breathe the same air as him. You locked yourself in your room, although all you could do was lie in bed and stare at the ceiling since he had taken away your phone back in New York. It was hard to be all alone here, especially knowing that your friends were in the very same city at the moment.

He tried to come in. He kept his manners in check and knocked instead of barging in, but since you refused to answer, he eventually gave up and left. Then later there was a soft knock again, one which was followed by a letter being slipped into the room under the door.

With a sigh, you picked it up and sat on the edge of the bed to read it. He invited you for dinner, and he wanted you to wear a dress he had left in front of your room. It wasn't a long letter, but you could feel his adoration through every single handwritten word. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to be so nice to you?

After opening the door a little to make sure no one was nearby, you brought in the box with the dress to take a closer look at it. You hated to admit it, but Vincent's taste was impeccable. This was the perfect color for you, the perfect silhouette, the perfect fabric. And the matching nude shoes were heavenly too. Everything was great, and you hated that you loved it.

Two hours later you walked down to the hall where Vincent was waiting for you, wearing another phenomenal suit and looking as dashing as always. And when his eyes landed on you, you could tell his breath caught in his throat. He opened his mouth to say something, probably a compliment, but when you shot a warning look at him, he changed his mind.

He took you to a fancy restaurant, but instead of going to a table far from the rest of the guests, they led you to a private room in the back. Well, what were you expecting, really? That he would spend the evening among ordinary people? Vincent talked to a waiter in French once you settled down across from each other, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling.

Silence ruled the room when you were finally left alone, but you didn't feel like breaking it. You wanted him to suffer. You wanted him to understand that he couldn't always get what he wanted. And he got the message. As those beautiful green eyes were glued to you, you noticed the change in his expression.

“Marry me,” he said out of nowhere while he pulled out a ring from his pocket.

You almost fell off your chair. This must have been a mistake. Something was definitely wrong with your hearing. “I'm sorry?” you asked hesitantly, even though you saw the ring that proved it was way too real.

Vincent flashed a charming smile at you. “You heard me.” He stood up and walked around the table to stop right in front of you. “Marry me.”

“No,” you gave him the only reasonable answer.

“Why?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused. “I would give you everything your heart desires.”

You couldn't help but laugh at him. Did he just try to buy your love? “I don't want to stay here, I already told you.”

“You would seriously leave me for your life in New York?” he asked, a hand finding its way to your cheek as he spoke.

“Yes.”

Suddenly he crouched down and steadied himself by putting his hands on your thighs. “Wouldn't you miss me? Be honest with yourself. Wouldn't you wish I was there with you whenever you felt lonely?”

“Don't,” you warned him.

“You want me, mon amour, why are you trying to deny it?”

“Stop projecting.”

His fingers dug into your skin through the fabric of your dress, moving towards your core painfully slowly. “You kissed me several times on your own free will. You slept with me because you wanted to. Why are you acting like you didn't feel anything?” he asked.

It was terrible and wrong and damn it, he was right. You had given in too many times for your liking in the past few days. Winston was right, he knew how to charm a woman. When his hands reached your inner thigh, you put your hand on his to stop him.

But he didn't react the way you expected, because he was quick to lace his fingers with yours, raising your hand to his lips. “Stay with me,” he whispered against your skin.

“John will win, and when he does, I'm going home,” you told him plainly, hoping he would finally accept it.

Vincent let out a sigh, clearly trying hard to keep his composure, and stood up. He didn't say anything, instead he sat down and pushed a button on the little device the waiter had given him. Soon the wine and the food began to arrive, and the two of you focused on that instead of talking about his ridiculous idea.

The next day you were livid. This son of a bitch appointed Caine to be his representative in the duel because he didn't even care enough to do it himself. Or he was just sure John would easily kill him so he chose a way that ensured he would stay alive.

“You're nothing more but a spineless cockroach, Vincent,” you growled at him when you returned to his home.

For a moment he looked surprised to hear you talk to him like that, but it didn't seem to bother him. If anything, he looked calm and sure of himself, as if he had made the right decision by getting someone to do the job for him. “Darling, you don't seem to understand,” was all he said.

But before he could give you a speech to defend himself, you raised your hand to stop him. “I don't care. I don't want to hear your excuses. I'll be in my room,” you told him before turning on your heels and marching in that direction.

Before you could leave the room, you felt his arm sneak around your waist and pull you against his chest. “Don't go,” he whispered into your ear. “Stay with me until the end.”

Inhaling and exhaling slowly to calm yourself, you thought about what to say. You didn't want to be near him, yet you wanted to be by his side. Your brain and your heart wanted entirely different things, and it confused you. Feeling his body heat made you melt into his arms, but your brain kept reminding you that he was a monster.

“Let go of me,” you told him threateningly, expecting to feel him move away from you. But his grip only tightened, and he rested his chin on top of your head. “Vincent, don't do this. Please,” you said, trying a different approach.

“Stay,” he asked you quietly.

Gulping, you put your hand on his and stayed like that for a minute or two. It was nice to feel this way, knowing he cared so much about you, but this feeling didn't last long because you soon pried his arm off of yourself.

When you turned around to look at him, you were met by his disappointed gaze. “Don't give me this look,” you told him as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

Vincent only watched you in silence, clearly trying to come up with a plan to convince you. But then he nodded and walked away with his phone already in his hand, giving you space as you wished. A part of you, a small, quiet part of you felt disappointed that he left, but once you shook your head and went in the other direction to your room, you felt a lot better.

Just a few more hours and you will be free. You will go back to New York with Winston and John, continuing your life as if this didn't even happen. Sure, Charon's death would always remind you of it, but the pain will fade away with time.

As the day passed by, you eventually crawled out of your room, but Vincent was nowhere to be found. One of his men said he was working, and when he led you to him, you found him standing by a table with an angry look on his face.

“Is everything okay?” you asked cautiously.

He finally noticed you when you spoke up, but he didn't say anything at first. Just when you thought he would shut you out, he reached out to signal you to come closer. With a sigh, you did as he wanted, and once you stopped next to him, he leaned down to kiss you.

You weren't expecting this. It took you by surprise and you wrapped your arms around his neck without realizing you were doing it. “No. No, no, no, stop,” you mumbled once you came to your senses and pushed him away. “What's going on?”

He told you everything. He told you about his plan to get John killed before sunrise. You shouted, you pushed him, you told him what you thought of this stupid idea. It wasn't fair, and you thought he was better than this. He wasn't a good person, but you believed he had standards.

This time he didn't even try to make you stay. He let you leave so he could focus on the ongoing manhunt.

Hours later you went to the location of the duel, patiently waiting for John and Caine to arrive. You and Winston exchanged worried looks when you heard gunfire nearby, only minutes before the deadline. If he didn't make it, you would have to stay here. This wasn't good. No. This was nerve-racking.

But he arrived and you felt like you could finally breathe again. That's until John ended up on the ground, slowly bleeding out. You glanced over at your boss, but the corners of his lips curled into a barely visible smile. Before you could understand what was happening, Vincent jumped up and took the gun from Caine.

Did he really wait until John was vulnerable? This was a low you weren't expecting, but apparently he felt like ending the duel himself. But there was a catch, as Winston was quick to inform him–John hadn't shot in the last round yet.

“I'm giving you a chance here,” John suddenly said. “I let you go if you give us everything we want and promise never to come after us.”

“John,” Winston warned him.

You couldn't decide whether or not it would be a good idea to let him go. After everything he had done, it wasn't guaranteed that he wouldn't go after John anyway.

Vincent looked over at you, and you could see that he was still shocked. “Will you stay with me?” he asked you quietly. “Or at least will you visit me?”

John didn't seem to understand, and even Winston raised an eyebrow. But by now you were quite used to him asking you to stay with him, although this was different. This time it felt like he would rather choose death if you said you wouldn't meet again.

“I won't stay here. But,” you added before he could say anything, “I like this place, so I might come back for a few days. That is if you keep your word.”

He nodded. “All right. Anything you want, my love.”

#vincent de gramont x reader #marquis vincent de gramont x reader #vincent de gramont #marquis vincent de gramont #marquis de gramont x reader #marquis de gramont #john wick chapter 4 #john wick 4

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null-skull · 1 month

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Monsters learning to be human is one of my favorite tropes in stories and I love the way Malevolent handles it. Yes, John learns that he’s more than his past and learns to love Arthur and humanity, but not only does he “become good” he is also gains all the selfish emotions that come with being human.

Take lying for example. In seasons 1 + 2 he lies because that’s what he knows as the King in Yellow. He lies and manipulates for his own benefit. He does so uncaring how that affects Arthur because he is just an end to a means. And it’s hard to tell when he’s lied as he only points it out when he knows it would hurt Arthur.

Compare that to season 3 + 4. Despite lying being the core of who he was as the king, he gets kinda bad at it. It’s pretty clear that John is hiding things from Arthur about what happened to him when they were separated and why John wants to go to New York. He begins to sound so unconfident in his words because he now understands what he’s doing is wrong. Instead of lying to manipulate and hurt Arthur, he’s lying to try and hide the fact that he’s hurting him. He’s so scared of the repercussions of the bad thing he knows he did, that he lies to cover it and pretend it will all blow over. It takes a lot of guts to admit your own guilt, and deciding to shrink away from it instead is so human.

When John admits all his lies to Kayne in part 40 he just sounds so desperate. He truly believes that he’s in the home stretch. That just a little more lying and everything will be done and he won’t feel guilty anymore. He decided he’ll tell Arthur when it’s over because he believes Arthur won’t be that mad, that he’ll think “you did something bad, but it all worked out in the end so it’s okay”, but we all know that’s not how that works. He’s so horrified when it’s revealed Arthur heard his confession because he knew what was coming, all of Arthur’s feelings of betrayal, disappointment, and anger, and he wasn’t ready to face it. He feels so guilty that he probably can’t imagine Arthur understanding and forgiving him.

Of course Kanye’s deal makes this worse. John once again knows that this is wrong as he hesitates at the beginning. But once Arthur begins to threaten him to not take the deal, John decides to take it, once again trying to run away from the repercussions of his actions. John doesn’t know yet that lying more only makes things worse, and Kayne knows this and gives him one more bump to trip on before leaving John to the fate that he has been avoiding for so long.

Of course it’s enjoyable to see John gaining his humanity. Him showing compassion, sympathy, and enjoying the mundane parts of life like admiring the view or wanting to watch a movie. But humanity is a double sided coin that comes with emotions like jealousy, selfishness, and envy. It’s frustrating to see John make all these decisions that we know are wrong and will have bad consequences, but he hasn’t been in this position before doesn’t know how this will all play out yet. And we just have to watch him learn the hard way.

#it’s john apologist hours #and while Arthur definitely would be upset #I feel like if he told him earlier Arthur would pretty easily forgive him #he already knew John was lying and went along with it anyway #but now that johns actions lead him to be stuck in the literal Middle Ages with nothing #it’s definitely not gonna go well #malevolent #malevolent spoilers #john doe malevolent #malevolent analysis

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tonyspank · 8 months

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GREEDY

Warnings: Reader being oblivious, i never snowboarded in my life, and i think that’s all

A/N: who r u 2 should be out today or tomorrow

Core Five, a stupid but fitting nickname Chad had given your group of friends. Well, it's less fitting now as Sam wasn't present for the group's France getaway. Sam wanted to stay back in New York, as she finally had free time with Danny, her obvious boyfriend, whom she had been dating for the past few months.

Core Four, more fitting and still slightly stupid, who had just arrived at a ski resort in Chamonix, France, were excited to enjoy their much-needed vacation.

"I don't understand why we're wasting a night here. We don't even know how to ski!" Tara complained, watching as you and Chad unloaded the luggage from the car. You chuckle while Mindy wraps an arm around Tara's shoulders, "We'll see your Eiffel Tower later in the week, plus Y/N knows how to ski."

Tara pouted, crossing her arms. You close the trunk of the car with a satisfied thud and turn to face Tara. "Not just me. Chad said he knows as well." Tara narrows her eyes at you, "How on earth does Chad know how to ski? He's lived in California half of his life!"

Chad smiles. "I watched a few TikToks to learn." Tara raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "TikTok? Are you sure that's even a reliable source for learning how to ski?" Chad shrugs playfully. "Well, it's worth a shot, right? Plus, I've always been a quick learner."

Tara looks back at you, her skepticism still evident. You just shrug before saying, "I have faith in Chad."

Chad grins at you. "Thank you. It's about time I received moral respect from my fellow core members." Mindy lets go of Tara, groaning at her brother. "Shut up, Dingus."

You laugh at the playful banter between Chad and Mindy and start making your way to the ski resort. Tara quickly catches up to you, and the two of you walk side by side in comfortable silence.

"If we don't get them together by the end of this trip, I don't know what will," Mindy whispers to her brother, who immediately nods, eager to play matchmaker. They exchange silly grins, ready to take on the challenge of bringing you and Tara closer together.

"Wait, what? You only want me to strap in one foot?" Mindy asks you, confusion evident on her face. You nod, "Yeah, just until we get off the lift." Mindy raises an eyebrow but obliges, strapping only one foot into the snowboard binding.

"Time to get on the lift!" Chad shouts, trying his best to run, but it's kind of hard with his foot attached to his snowboard. Tara giggles at Chad, finding his struggle amusing. She looks over at Mindy and you, who calls out after Chad.

"Hey, Chad! Maybe you should slow down before you—" before you can finish your sentence, Chad falls face-first into the snow, causing a small cloud of powder to billow up around him. Mindy and Tara burst into laughter, while you wobble over to your friend with a huge smile on your face.

Chad rolls over on his back, "Let's just... get on the lift...please." You extend a helping hand to Chad, trying to suppress your laughter. "Sure, man, whatever you say," you smile, trying to hide your amusement. Chad gratefully accepts your assistance, and together you all make your way towards the lift.

"Wanna ride with me, Chad?" you ask, still chuckling. Chad glances at Mindy, who shakes her head, indicating that she wants Tara to ride with you instead. "Uhh, maybe Tara should ride with you instead," Chad suggests, giving you a sheepish smile.

You nod in agreement, realizing that it might be better for Tara to ride with you since you actually do know what you're doing. Tara joins you in the lift, looking a bit nervous but also excited for the ride. As the lift starts moving, you put out a hand for her.

Tara hesitates for a moment before taking your hand. "I got you, T. Don't look so worried." You reassure Tara with a comforting smile, reminding her that you've been snowboarding multiple times before. Tara's grip on your hand tightens slightly while the lift continues to ascend.

She admits, "I've always wanted to try snowboarding, but I'm a little scared of falling, plus I lived in California." You smile, squeezing her hand through your glove.

"Don't worry, Tara. I'll be right there with you every step of the way. And falling is just a part of learning, it happens to everyone." You encourage her, hoping to ease her fears and make her feel more confident about trying something new.

You and Tara get off the lift in sync, and she instantly grabs onto your arm for support. You breathe out a laugh, guiding her towards the beginner slope. "Here, put your foot here so I can fasten your binding. I'll make sure it's nice and secure so you feel stable on the slope."

Tara nods, her hands resting on your shoulders as you kneel down to adjust her binding. "Thanks for being so patient with me," she says, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

You smile reassuringly at Tara and reply, "Of course! Anything for you." You stand up and give Tara a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. You notice the redness on her cheeks, taking it as a sign of the cold weather. But in reality, it was due to the fact that she was blushing at your words.

"Do you want me to adjust your goggles too? Just to make sure your face protected from the wind and snow," you suggest, reaching for her goggles. Tara nods gratefully, allowing you to adjust them snugly around her head. "There you go, all set for a great day on the slopes!"

Tara smiles and thanks you for your help. You smile back, helping her to the beginner's slope. "Oh my god, is that Chad?" Tara exclaims, pointing towards a familiar face in the distance.

"Wait, what the fuck? Why is he actually good at snowboarding?" You squint your eyes to get a better look and notice Chad effortlessly gliding down the slope with impressive skill. "Looks like those TikTok's worked," you remark, surprised by his sudden talent.

"Okay! Your turn. If Chad can do it, you can do it." You encourage Tara, giving her a reassuring pat on the back. "Just remember to stay relaxed, and I'll hold your hand the entire time," you add, confident that she can conquer the beginner's slope like Chad did.

You hold out both of your hands, ready to guide Tara down the slope and provide her with the support she needs. She takes a deep breath and grasps your hands tightly, her snowboard beginning to move down the slope.

"Bend your knees a bit, T!" you shout over the sound of the wind, reminding Tara of the proper snowboarding stance. "Keep your weight centered and let the board glide smoothly. You've got this!"

She follows your instructions, gradually gaining confidence as she glides down the slope. With each turn, she becomes more comfortable and starts to enjoy the adrenaline-rushing experience of snowboarding.

As she gains speed, Tara's smile widens, her excitement evident in her eyes. The rush of the wind against her face and the grasp of your hands against hers make her heart race and her face flush as she sees the happy smile on your face.

You both reach the bottom of the slope, and Tara brings you into a tight embrace. She pulls away, smiling like an idiot. "Oh my god! I did it!" You nod at the shorter girl, pulling up your goggles.

"You did amazing, Tara! See! It wasn't so bad." Tara's cheeks turn a shade of pink as she takes a moment to catch her breath. "I can't believe I—" Tara's words are cut off by Mindy, who waddles to you, breathless and excited. "Guys, that was incredible! I saw the whole thing from the top of the slope!"

Tara's eyes widen in surprise as she looks at Mindy. "You were watching us?" Mindy nods enthusiastically, "Yes! You looked like a power couple out there. Hashtag go Y/ara!"

Tara blushes even deeper at Mindy's comment, and you furrow your eyebrows, confused. "What is Y/ara?" Mindy grins mischievously. "Your ship name, obviously! Keep up with the times, dude."

You chuckle, realizing what Mindy is referring to. "Ah, I see. Y/ara, huh? That's actually kind of catchy." You turn to Tara and give her a playful nudge. "Looks like we have our own ship now, Tara." Tara giggles and playfully rolls her eyes at your comment.

The three of you go back up the slope, meeting up with Chad, who was impatiently waiting for your return. Chad raises an eyebrow at the sight of the three of you. "What took you guys so long?" he asks, a slight smile on his face.

"We were just discussing our new ship name, Y/ara," you explain, grinning. Chad raises his eyebrow and says, "Oh, but Core Five is a bad name." Mindy nods, "It really is. Y/ara is just superior."

Chad chuckles and shakes his head. "I don't know about that, but as long as you all like it, I guess it works," he says, joining in on the playful banter. You turn your head to see a girl struggling to strap her feet onto the board.

"Hey, need a hand?" you offer, walking over to help her. She looks up at you with gratitude and nods, "Thanks, I'm still getting the hang of this." You smile reassuringly and say, "No problem, we all started somewhere."

The girl gives a small smile and says, "Yeah, I guess you're right. It's just a bit intimidating at first." You nod in understanding and reply, "Yeah, but with practice, you'll be gliding down like a pro in no time."

You finish her left foot, moving onto her right. She smiles at you, "I'm Ariana, by the way." You return her smile and introduce yourself. "Nice to meet you, Ariana. I'm Y/N."

Ariana blushes slightly and says, "Thank you, Y/N. I really appreciate your help." You help her to her feet, holding her arms to keep her from falling. "No problem, Ariana. I'm happy to help," you reassure her. As she gains her balance, you let go of her arms and say, "Just remember to take it slow and steady, and maybe you'll be as good as me." you joke, sending the girl a wink.

Ariana giggles and playfully rolls her eyes. "We'll see about that, Y/N. But I'll definitely give it my best shot." She adjusts her posture and takes a deep breath, ready to take on the slope.

You watch as Ariana pushes off and starts skiing down the slope, gracefully maneuvering her way through the twists and turns. Still, getting the hang of this? She was amazing.

"Hey, Doofus! Gonna snap out of your trance already?" Mindy calls out, breaking your concentration. You blush and quickly turn your attention back to Mindy, trying to hide your embarrassment. "Sorry guys," you mumble, picking up your snowboard from beside Tara, who has her arms crossed and her jaw tightly clenched.

"Hurry, or we'll leave you behind," Tara warns, her tone laced with impatience. You frown slightly, "Sorry. Are we riding the slope again?"

"Tara wanted to go to our room. She said she's tired and wants to take a break from snowboarding for a while. But I'm up for another run if you are." Chad answers, glancing at Tara. "I don't mind taking a break too," you say, trying to diffuse the tension.

You glance at Tara, who doesn't even look your way, before walking in the direction of the lodge. Her jaw is clenched, and her shoulders are tense, indicating her frustration. You exchange a concerned look with Chad, unsure of what has caused Tara's sudden change in mood.

"What'd I do?" you ask Chad, genuinely confused. Chad just sighs, shaking his head as Mindy does the same.

You arrive in your shared room with Tara a few moments later than her, noticing that she has already closed the door behind her. Using your key to unlock the door, your ears pick up on the noise coming from the shower.

You take off your jackets, hang them on the hooks by the door, and sit on the edge of the bed, contemplating whether to address Tara's change in mood or give her some space. You quietly grab your phone and start scrolling through social media, hoping that a little distraction will help pass the time until Tara is ready to talk.

Ten minutes later, Tara walks out with just a towel wrapped around her, her wet hair dripping onto her shoulders. She avoids making eye contact and heads straight to her suitcase to grab some clothes.

Your heart skips a beat. Did she not care that she was basically naked in front of you? You quickly avert your gaze, going back onto your phone to give her some privacy. However, the image of Tara in just a towel lingers in your mind, leaving you feeling both flustered and intrigued.

Quinn messages you, sending you a stupid photo of a funny-looking dog wearing sunglasses.

You let out a sniffle, and Tara mistakes this for a sign of sadness. She turns to you with worry in her eyes, now dressed and throwing her towel on the floor. "Are you okay?"

You raise your head from your phone, smiling. "Oh, yeah. Quinn just texted me." Tara gives you a puzzled look, clearly not understanding why Quinn would even text you knowing you were on vacation. She brushes it off and asks, "What did Quinn send you?"

"Just a stupid photo." You chuckle, putting down your phone. Tara hums in response, making her way towards her own bed. You stand up from yours, standing behind Tara. "Are you okay?"

You ask, concerned about how she acted earlier. Tara turns to face you, a faint smile on her face. "Yeah, I'm fine," she replies softly. "Just a little tired from the long day."

Tara sits down on her bed, staring up at you. "Are you sure that's all?" you ask gently, sensing that there might be something more bothering her. Tara nods, and you narrow your eyes at her, "Mmm...okay."

You decide to trust Tara's response for now, but you can't shake off the feeling that there might be something she's not telling you. Hoping that she will open up when she's ready, you give her a reassuring smile before going to the bathroom to shower yourself.

When you return to the room, you jump on top of Tara, putting your deadweight on her and playfully pinning her down. Tara giggles and squirms under your weight. "Y/N!"

You straddle her, pinning her arms above her head. As you hold her in place, you playfully tease, "Come on, Tara, spill the beans. Is there something you're hiding from me?" Tara's laughter fills the room as she tries to wriggle free from your playful hold.

"I'm not hiding anything." Tara insists, her laughter subsiding as she looks up at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. You lean down, blowing raspberries on her neck, causing her to erupt in a fit of giggles once again. "Oh, really?" you tease, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes! Really!" Tara protests, managing to break free from your hold and playfully pushing you away. You both collapse onto the end of the bed, catching your breath and still laughing. "Okay, okay," you say, holding up your hands in surrender. "I believe you... for now."

Tara smiles, watching you crawl back towards her. "You know there's another bed, right?" You chuckle, brushing off her comment. "Why would we waste another perfectly good bed when we're having so much fun right here?" you reply playfully, winking at her. Tara's smile widens as she pulls you closer, clearly agreeing with your sentiment.

"What are you ordering?" Tara asks you, looking over the menu. "I'm not sure yet," you respond, scanning the options. "But I might get some crepes."

"You look good today," Chad says to you, admiring your outfit. "Thanks," you reply with a grateful smile. Mindy joins in, "Right! You look like you belong in Paris. Don't you think Tara?"

Tara blushes slightly, taking a sip of her drink to hide it. "I think you've both boosted Y/N's ego enough," she says with a playful tone. You laugh, placing a hand on Tara's thigh to reassure her. "Oh, come on, Tara. It's just a little compliment," you say teasingly. Tara playfully swats your hand away, but her smile tells you she appreciates the gesture.

"Êtes-vous prêts à commander?" The waiter interrupts, asking if you are ready to order. You quickly glance at your friends. "Are you guys ready to order?" you ask, hoping they have made up their minds.

Everyone nods, and you proceed to place the orders for the table. The waiter closes her notepad, smiling at you. "Êtes-vous d'ici? Je ne crois pas vous avoir déjà vu."

You laugh, "Euhhh, non." She tilts her head, edging for you to explain further. "Nous ne faisons que visiter. En fait, je viens de New York." The waiter's smile widens as she responds, "Oh, New York! C'est une ville incroyable. Qu'est-ce qui vous amène ici?"

"Juste pour s'amuser." You reply with a playful tone, causing the waiter to chuckle. Tara furrows her eyebrows. She didn't exactly understand the conversation going on between you two, but she knew you had already given the waiter everyone's order, so why was she still here?

"Je pourrais peut-être obtenir votre numéro au cas où vous auriez besoin de quelqu'un pour vous faire visiter les lieux." You raise your eyebrows. Was she allowed to ask such a thing on the clock?

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to respond. However, you decide to play along and give her a friendly smile. "Bien sûr. Je suppose, merci."

The waiter smiles wider, ripping a piece of paper from her notepad and handing you a pen. You glance around your table, looking at everyone's reactions to see if they find this interaction as strange as you do. Chad seems amused, while Tara and Mindy appear indifferent. You quickly jot down your number on the paper and hand it back to the waiter, hoping that this won't lead to any awkward encounters in the future.

"Did you just give the waiter your phone number?" Chad asks, raising an eyebrow. You blush and shrug, unsure of how to explain your sudden decision. 'I didn't know what else to do," you mumble, hoping Chad won't tease you about it later.

"Uhh, I don't know? Decline?" Mindy says, rolling her eyes. Tara stays silent, her expression unreadable.

Breakfast continues in an awkward silence as you all try to move past the unexpected moment. The waiter returns with your orders, and you all focus on enjoying your meal, hoping that the incident will soon be forgotten.

When you exit the restaurant, you stand in the middle of the sidewalk, the group trying to decide where to go next. Chad scrolls through his phone, calculating the distance and travel time to various nearby attractions. Mindy suggests going to a local art gallery, while Tara remains quiet, still seemingly lost in her thoughts.

You lift your sunglasses off your face, leaving them perched on top of your head as you grab Tara's hands. Tara stares into your eyes, millions of thoughts going through her mind. She finally breaks the silence, "Are you going to call her?"

You give Tara a reassuring smile and gently squeeze her hands. "No." You simply say. Tara nods, allowing you to pull her into a hug, your bodies swaying back and forth. Tara wraps her arms around you, holding onto you tightly as if she never wants to let go. You place a kiss on the top of her head, not even noticing the group of girls approaching in the distance.

"Excuse me." One of the girls speaks up, catching your attention. Tara breaks away from the hug. Why is it hard to just have one moment of peace with you? You turn towards the group of girls, feeling slightly annoyed at the interruption.

"Can you be in our TikTok?" You raise an eyebrow, slightly taken aback by the unexpected request. "Umm..." Another girl speaks up, "Please. It's just a dancing video. We really admire your style and think you would add a lot to our video." Tara looks at you, waiting for your response.

You consider their request, weighing the pros and cons of joining their TikTok video. On one hand, it could be fun, and it's not every day someone asks you to join one of their TikTok videos. On the other hand, you were enjoying a moment of peace with Tara and didn't want to be interrupted again.

"I can't even dance." You admit smiling. However, the girl reassures you, "Don't worry! You just move your arms in a funny way, it's all about having fun and being silly." You glance at Tara whose head is in her phone.

You frown and say, "Okay." You reluctantly agree, realizing that it might be a good opportunity to step out of your comfort zone and try something new. The girls squeal with excitement and begin showing you how to do the dance, it was actually pretty easy.

One of the girls set their phone on the ground, positioning it to record the five of you dancing together. The music starts playing, and you do the stupid dance for about fifteen seconds before the video stops recording.

"Y/N! Where's Tara?" Mindy shouts, looking around frantically.

You look around and realize that Tara is nowhere to be seen. A feeling of worry washes over you as you start searching for her, hoping she didn't wander off too far.

Walking away from the group of girls, you walk to the twins, confused. "She was just here a minute ago. I'm not sure where she could have gone," you say. "Maybe if you weren't filming TikTok's with those girls, you would have noticed when she disappeared," Mindy remarks sarcastically.

You feel a pang of guilt, realizing that you were too caught up in the moment to keep an eye on Tara. "I'll call her."

You walk up behind Tara, who is engrossed in taking pictures of the Eiffel Tower, unaware of the panic she has caused. "Tara, we've been looking for you everywhere. We were worried," you say, trying to hide your relief.

"Sorry." Tara mumbles, but you can tell she doesn't mean it.

Tara's nonchalant response only adds to your frustration. You can't help but wonder if she purposely disappeared to get a reaction from everyone.

"Tara, what the hell is your problem?" you blurt out, unable to contain your anger any longer. Tara twists her body, anger flashing in her eyes as she meets your gaze. "My problem? Maybe if you actually paid attention to me once in a while, you would understand," she retorts, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"We're here on vacation, Tara! I'm sorry that I'm not giving you my undivided attention every second of the day!" You yell, feeling your frustration rise.

"Oh, but you can give it to random girls you meet," Tara interrupts, her voice dripping with bitterness. Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you struggle to find a response. What?

"...I'm confused?" You stammer, trying to gather your thoughts. "I don't know what you're talking about, Tara. I haven't given my attention to anyone else but you."

Tara scoffs, "Airana? Remember when we were skiing? And then the waiter giving her your number? And just now! Those girls! It's like you're the main attraction in Paris, and it's annoying!"

You feel a pang of guilt as Tara's accusations sink in. The memories of Ariana and the waiter giving her your number flood back, making you realize that perhaps you haven't been as attentive as you thought. But before you can respond, Tara continues to express her frustration, leaving you at a loss for words.

"I wanted to go to Paris and enjoy our time together, but it feels like I'm constantly competing for your attention. I love you, Y/N! And it's so fucking scary because I don't want to lose you, but I also don't want to feel like I'm always fighting for your focus."

"Tara..." you start, walking closer to her. "I love you too. I'm sorry if it seems like I haven't been giving you enough attention, if you didn't notice already, I'm pretty oblivious to things sometimes. It's not that I don't care, it's just that I get caught up in my own thoughts, and I'm a people-pleaser...and maybe a dumbass."

Tara laughs, a small sniffle escaping her. "You're not a dumbass, just a little absent-minded sometimes," she says, wiping away a tear.

"Can I kiss you?" Tara's laughter fades into a warm smile as she nods, her eyes shining with affection. "Of course you can," she replies softly, leaning in closer to meet your lips.

You place a hand on Tara's cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your fingertips. The kiss is gentle at first but quickly deepens as you pour all of your love and longing into it. The world around you fades away as you lose yourself in the moment, loving the taste of Tara's lips and the softness of her touch.

You pull away slightly, opening your eyes to meet those pretty brown orbs that are filled with desire and adoration. The intensity of the moment leaves you breathless, and you can't help but smile as you realize just how lucky you are to have Tara in your life.

Just as you're about to lean in for another kiss, you hear cheering behind you. "Wooo! Finally!" Mindy shouts, clapping her hands excitedly. You turn around to see Chad and Mindy smiling at the two of you.

You pull Tara into a tight embrace, and she hides her face in your chest. "Are you seriously recording?" You glance at Mindy's phone and see that she indeed has her camera out, capturing the entire moment.

Laughing, you playfully scold Mindy for invading your private moment, but deep down, you're grateful to have such supportive friends who are genuinely happy for you.

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